Nkosana stood still at the edge of the broken earth. The silence around him was not peace—it was fear. The trees refused to move. The rain had stopped mid-fall, frozen in the grip of something watching.
From within him, the presence stirred again.
"You felt that, didn't you?" he whispered.
Behind him, MaGogo approached with caution. "That wasn't just a demon you destroyed. You called something else… Something older."
"I didn't call anything," Nkosana said. "It called me."
In the far-off hills, drums began to beat—low, ancient rhythms that hadn't been heard in generations. The Whispering Ones were awakening. Old gods, buried in myths. Bound by blood. And something about what Nkosana had done… had broken their sleep.
Villagers far from KwaNzimela began dreaming the same dream: a boy with glowing veins standing before a gate of bones. A voice whispering, *He is the key. He must choose.*
In the real world, Nkosana's eyes were growing darker. Every time he used the power, it changed him.
MaGogo saw it too.
"We have to find the Sangoma Elders," she said, urgency sharp in her voice. "Before the thing inside you finds its way out."
But Nkosana didn't answer.
Because in his mind… the gate was already opening.