The soft, rhythmic clack of their shoes against the pavement echoed in the cool evening air as Arman and his friends made their way back to the Mira Bagh Palace. His body moved on autopilot, but his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts.
If Kabeer is dead… then who was the one with us?
His brows furrowed as the weight of the thought settled in. The more he thought about it, the more the question gnawed at him, sinking deeper into his chest. His expression darkened, and he unconsciously picked up his pace, walking slightly ahead of the group without even realizing it.
The streetlights blurred as his mind spiraled further, his thoughts turning frantic. The CCTV cameras… That jewelry shop hed cameras in it. What if someone finds out? What if the police find out it was me?
The blood drained from his face, and his hands grew cold. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. He took in a sharp breath, trying to steady himself, but the thoughts didn't stop—they only grew louder.
"Listen to me, kid."
Arman's eyes widened. His pulse slowed, and a strange calm washed over him as the voice of the spirit echoed in his mind. "Stop worrying. There's nothing you can do about it now."
He couldn't help but let out a small, shaky laugh—more out of relief than anything else.
"But what about Kabeer? Who the hell was that guy with us?"
The spirit's voice came again, steady and calm. "A shapeshifter."
Arman stopped dead in his tracks, his mind skidding to a halt. "Shapeshifter?"
"Some Voidborns have the ability to change their appearance."
The words hung in the air like a dangerous fog. Arman couldn't quite grasp it. "So… could I do that too?"
"No." The voice was blunt. "I'm a power-type ghost. I can give you energy, but shapeshifting isn't within my abilities."
He frowned. That wasn't what he wanted to hear. "So… what do you think happened to Kabeer?"
"The shapeshifter killed him and took his place. But shapeshifters have limits—they can't maintain someone else's appearance for too long."
Arman exhaled a long, ragged breath. "So… Kabeer's death is connected to all of this?"
"Yes." The spirit's voice softened, but it carried an undeniable weight. "The shapeshifter is hiding something. And you're caught right in the middle of it."
Arman's thoughts spun again, but just as he was about to ask another question, a small hand grabbed his.
He stiffened, startled, and turned to his side.
"Big brother!" Meera's voice was a soft whisper, almost shy as she pulled at his hand. Her dark eyes looked up at him with a gentle smile. "I didn't tell anyone about our secret."
Arman blinked, a pang of guilt twisting in his stomach. He gently pulled his hand from hers, though not out of malice. It was just that… when he was alone, everything felt different. Social situations turned his insides into a tangle of nerves. He couldn't bring himself to talk properly to anyone outside his small circle.
"That's… good," Arman mumbled, his voice distant. "Now, go and play, okay?"
Meera didn't seem to notice the change in his demeanor, her face lighting up as she nodded and ran ahead to join the others.
But the discomfort in Arman didn't fade. It only grew, creeping into his chest as the reality of his social anxiety tightened its grip. He walked a little faster, trying to distance himself from the others. He didn't realize it at first, but now, as he moved ahead, it hit him—he was isolating himself again, a habit he couldn't seem to break.
Just as he thought he might manage to calm himself, Ayesha's voice called from behind.
"Hey, what are you two talking about?"
Arman paused, turning toward her, but before he could think of something to say, Meera, who had caught up with the others, added innocently, "I was just telling Big Brother about our secret."
Ayesha looked at Arman, her brow furrowing in confusion. "What secret?"
Arman quickly replied, trying to brush it off, "Oh, it's nothing. She just wanted to play, so I told her about a game and called it a secret."
Ayesha raised an eyebrow, then turned to Arman. "Oh? So you're not too tired to play with her then?"
"No," Arman replied quickly, forcing a small, nervous smile. "I said I was a little tired. I'll play with her tomorrow."
Ayesha looked him up and down, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You said that?"
Arman nodded, a faint unease creeping under his skin. "Yeah. I said that."
Ayesha tilted her head, clearly unconvinced. "It's not like you can't say that, but you hardly talk to anyone other than us."
Arman let out a sigh. "Okay, okay. I'm just not good at… talking to people sometimes."
"Yeah, we know," Ayesha said with a small grin. "It's just like you. Don't worry about it."
Arman smiled faintly, but deep down, Ayesha wasn't wrong. He did struggle to connect with others. He couldn't quite understand why—it had always been this way. Since childhood, he'd been quiet, uncertain, and lost in his own thoughts, constantly wrestling with a sense of disconnect.
As the group continued walking toward the hotel, Arman's mind drifted back to the shapeshifter. To Kabeer's death. To the war between the worlds. His role in it.
The spirit was right. He couldn't keep running from his powers, or the dark truths unraveling around him.
But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that no matter what happened, he'd always be the outsider—no matter how strong he became.
Finally, as they reached the grand gates of the Mira Bagh Palace, Arman turned to his friends, exhaustion clear in his voice. "Hey, guys, let's go inside. I'm exhausted. I just want to sleep."
"Yeah, you're right," Zubair said with a yawn. "We all need rest. Let's head to our rooms."
The group made their way inside, and as Arman entered his room, he immediately threw himself onto the bed, letting out a groan of relief. "Man, my body is hurting. Even though my wounds are treated, I'm still feeling weak."
"Of course you do," the spirit said, its voice calm. "You've just started your training, and you had to fight with this much of my power. Now, just rest for a while. We'll begin your training soon to gather pure Spirit energy. That's how you'll create the Key of Emptiness."