As Karthik stood trembling at the entrance of the mental graveyard, he heard Harry's voice echo in his mind, "Give up if you can't withstand it. Don't force yourself, Karthik."
For a moment, he considered it. He could just quit, and this would all be over. But the memory of the real ghost, and the crushing dismissal from Harry and his father, hardened his resolve. "I'm fine," he said, his own voice sounding thin and distant. "I can continue."
He forced his legs to move, stepping back into the graveyard. He looked at the disheveled graves and the twisted, skeletal trees. He let the creepy, oppressive atmosphere sink into him, a cold tide of dread rising in his chest. Fear began to take over. As he trembled, his real body back in the test room began to shiver, too.
This wasn't the normal fear he'd felt before, which he could manage by thinking rationally. This was something deeper, more primal. It was the absolute, irrational terror that comes with experiencing death itself, a fear so profound it couldn't be explained, only felt. The fear consumed his entire soul.
In the test room, Karthik's body began to convulse. A strangled, terrified scream ripped from his throat, his eyes still squeezed shut. His father, watching from the observation room, panicked. "He's screaming! Do something!" he yelled.
Harry, his face grim, hurried into the test room and snapped his fingers sharply in front of Karthik's face, reciting a short, sharp counter-chant. The connection to the mind realm severed. Karthik's screams cut off, and his body went limp as he slowly started to regain consciousness.
He woke up, but he wasn't really back. His eyes were open, but they were dull, empty... dead. Karthik's father rushed to his side, his face a mask of pure worry. Harry sat beside them, chanting a low, steadying mantra to calm the boy's agitated spirit.
Karthik's gaze slowly focused on Harry. "Did I fail?" he asked, his voice cold and flat.
Harry, not one to soften a blow, replied bluntly. "Yes. You did."
Karthik's father held his son's arm and slowly helped him up, ready to leave this place forever. But Harry stopped them. "Let him rest here for a while," he said, his voice softer than the father expected. "He needs to recover before you travel."
They stayed at the "Light in the Shadow" facility for two days, in a small, quiet guest room. When they finally went home, Karthik's mother was waiting, her anger at them disappearing for days without a word written all over her face. But when she saw Karthik's dead, vacant eyes, her anger dissolved into a cold dread. She didn't scold them. Karthik just walked past her and went to his room to sleep.
"What happened to my son?" she asked her husband, her voice trembling.
He looked at her, the memory of the ghost in the observation room still fresh in his mind. "Nothing," he lied, unable to explain the new reality he'd been forced to accept. "He's just tired. Go and sleep."
The next day, Karthik's father walked him to school to explain his absence. He found Karthik's teacher and explained, "Karthik was very sick. He still hasn't fully recovered, which is why he looks so pale. Please keep an eye on him." The teacher nodded, her face full of concern.
Karthik went to his class and sat down at his desk. He was like a zombie, a shell of his former self. At break, his friends, Rakesh and Priya, came over, happy to see him back.
"Hey, Karthik! Where were you? We were worried!" Rakesh said.
Karthik just stared at him, his eyes unfocused. He gave a slow, barely perceptible nod.
"Are... are you okay, man?" Rakesh asked, his smile fading. "You look awful."
Karthik didn't respond. He just stared through them. His friends exchanged a worried, slightly creeped-out look and slowly backed away. For the rest of the day, Karthik sat alone, silent and empty.
Back in the city, at the "Light in the Shadow" headquarters, Harry was trying to work. He sat in his office, attempting to meditate, but his concentration was broken. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw Karthik's face—not the determined boy who had walked in, but the shattered, empty shell he had become. Those dead eyes haunted him.
He was a master, a true practitioner who dealt with dark, powerful forces. He had tested the boy, sure, but he had miscalculated. He hadn't just tested Karthik; he had broken him. The boy's primal fear was deeper and more real than he had anticipated. Harry felt a sharp, unfamiliar pang of guilt. This was a mess. It was a loose end, and it was his fault. He let out a frustrated sigh, picked up his phone, and dialed the number Karthik's father had left.
The phone rang in Karthik's father's pocket. He saw the unfamiliar city number and stepped away from the teacher's lounge to answer it. "Hello?"
"It's Harry," the voice on the other end said, gruff and to the point. "Listen, I've been thinking. I can't just leave the kid like this. Tell him... tell him he can join the organization. He can start next weekend."