By the third day, no one in Ebirien called what was happening an accident anymore.
They called it a warning.
The story of the shattered window spread like wildfire. Some said it was the wind. Others blamed the weak structure of the school.
But the story of Kola's ceiling collapsing?
That one no one could explain.
Because the crack in his ceiling had formed in the exact shape of a hand.
A hand reaching down.
A hand that never touched him…
but still chose him.
At school, everything had changed.
Laughter had disappeared.
Whispers replaced conversations.
Even footsteps sounded careful.
Students watched their words as if each sentence carried danger.
And at the center of it all…
was Tare.
He didn't ask for attention.
But now, attention followed him like a shadow.
When he walked past, people stepped aside.
When he sat down, nearby seats became empty.
When he spoke even softly others went silent.
Not out of respect.
But fear.
Tare sat alone during break, staring at his hands.
They looked normal.
Small. Quiet. Harmless.
But they didn't feel that way anymore.
"They think I'm doing this," he whispered.
You are.
The voice answered immediately now.
No delay.
No distance.
"I'm not," Tare insisted, shaking his head. "I didn't touch anything."
You don't need to.
Tare's chest tightened.
"I don't want this."
That does not stop it.
Across the field, Kola stood with his friends—but something was different.
He wasn't leading anymore.
He wasn't laughing.
He wasn't even speaking much.
He kept glancing at Tare like he was watching something unpredictable.
Something dangerous.
"Go and apologize," one of his friends whispered nervously.
Kola scoffed, but it sounded weak. "For what?"
"You know for what."
"I didn't do anything serious," Kola snapped. "Everyone jokes like that."
That word again.
Everyone.
The air shifted.
Not visibly.
But enough to be felt.
A strange stillness spread across the field.
Even the wind paused.
Tare felt it immediately.
His fingers curled tightly.
"No…" he whispered.
Yes.
CRACK!
The sound exploded across the field.
One of the metal goalposts twisted violently, bending as if struck by an invisible force.
Students screamed and scattered in all directions.
A teacher dropped the books in her hand.
Dust rose into the air.
And for a moment…
time itself seemed to freeze.
At the center of the chaos…
Tare stood still.
His breathing heavy.
His heart racing.
"I didn't do that," he said out loud.
But his voice lacked conviction.
Because deep inside…
something responded.
You felt it.
Kola stumbled backward, falling to the ground.
His eyes locked onto Tare.
Fear.
Real fear.
"You're not normal," he whispered.
That word hit harder than any insult.
Not normal.
Tare turned and ran.
He didn't wait.
Didn't think.
Didn't stop.
The forest swallowed him quickly.
Branches scratched his arms as he pushed through.
His breathing grew uneven.
The voice followed him.
Closer than ever.
Why do you run?
"Because this is wrong!" Tare shouted.
This is truth.
"No! This is hurting people!"
People have always been hurt.
Tare reached the shrine.
The moment he stepped into its presence, the air grew heavy.
The silence returned.
But it wasn't empty.
It was full.
Watching.
Waiting.
"Show yourself!" Tare demanded.
The wind rose instantly.
Dust circled around him.
The ground beneath his feet trembled slightly.
And then—
The voice came.
Stronger.
Deeper.
Clearer.
You returned.
"I didn't ask for this!" Tare shouted. "Make it stop!"
A pause.
Then—
Why?
Tare froze.
"Because people are getting hurt!"
They were already hurt.
"That's different!"
Explain.
Tare struggled to find the words.
His thoughts clashed inside him.
"They didn't deserve this!"
Did you deserve what you received?
Silence.
Heavy.
Painful.
Tare looked down.
"No…"
The voice pressed further.
Then why is your pain acceptable… but theirs is not?
Tare's chest tightened.
"Because this is too much!" he cried. "This is beyond anger—this is destruction!"
The shrine seemed to react.
The shadows deepened.
The air thickened.
And the voice answered slowly:
This is balance.
"No," Tare whispered. "This is revenge."
For the first time…
the voice did not respond immediately.
Instead…
the ground around the shrine began to change.
Marks appeared.
Fresh ones.
Scratches.
Footprints.
Signs that others had been here.
Tare noticed.
His eyes widened.
"…I wasn't the only one," he said quietly.
The voice shifted.
Now layered.
Now heavier.
Now… plural.
You were never alone.
Tare stepped back.
"What does that mean?"
Images flooded his mind.
Not his memories.
Other people's.
A girl crying silently as her best friend ignored her.
A man being insulted by his boss in front of others.
A woman blamed for something she didn't do.
A boy bullied… just like him.
All of them quiet.
All of them silent.
All of them… swallowing.
Tare dropped to his knees.
"No…"
Every silence feeds me.
His breathing became shaky.
"Then stop taking it!" he begged. "Stop growing!"
The voice darkened.
I do not take.
A pause.
I am given.
Tare's eyes filled with fear.
"Then how do I stop it?!"
The wind howled violently.
The shrine cracked slightly.
And the voice answered in many voices at once:
Make them speak.
Tare froze.
"What?"
Make them release it.
"But they won't!" Tare shouted. "People don't just speak! They hide things! They pretend! They stay quiet!"
Then I will speak for them.
The words hit like thunder.
Tare staggered backward.
"No… you can't—"
I already am.
Far away in Ebirien, something changed.
A woman arguing with her husband suddenly stopped speaking—
but the plates around her began to shake violently.
A boy being mocked by his friends stayed silent—
but the ground beneath them cracked slightly.
A man holding in years of frustration clenched his fists—
and the lights in his house flickered uncontrollably.
Back at the shrine, Tare felt it all.
Every emotion.
Every suppressed word.
Every hidden anger.
It was too much.
"This will destroy everything," he whispered.
The voice answered calmly:
Only what is already broken.
Tare shook his head slowly.
Tears filled his eyes.
Because now he understood.
This was not just his burden anymore.
This was a storm.
Built from silence.
Fed by pain.
Driven by anger.
And it was growing.
Tare looked up at the shrine one last time.
His voice barely a whisper:
"…what have I done?"
The answer came like a verdict.
You gave silence a voice.
And somewhere in Ebirien…
someone screamed.
Because for the first time—
their anger screamed back.