On an island lost to time, far from the eyes of humanity, two ancient spirits clashed beneath the cold glow of the moon.
One was radiant—white as starlight, glowing like a sacred angel. The other cloaked in shadows, his aura black and burning with malice, like a devil risen from the deepest abyss.
Their battle tore the island apart. Lightning screamed across the sky. Volcanoes erupted. Oceans rose and fell. Shadows danced like fire, and the very air cracked with whispers of the dead.
In the end, the dark Qareen fell.
But just before vanishing into mist, his eyes—red like molten blood—locked onto the victor.
"This isn't the end," he hissed. "I'll return. And next time, I will win."
His words lingered in the silence long after he disappeared.
Thousands of years later...
Rain lashed against the windows of a small hospital outside the city. Neon lights flickered in sterile silence. Inside, a newborn boy named Ayaan slept peacefully.
But in the corner of the room... stood a shadow. Tall, twisted, almost human, but not quite. It whispered in an ancient, cursed tongue.
Suddenly, the door burst open. Fareed, the child's father, entered—eyes wide but determined. In his hand, a talisman carved with sacred symbols.
"Tasmim al-Zulmat," he chanted. "By blood and bond, I seal you!"
The shadow shrieked as it vanished in smoke.
Fareed knelt beside his son, touched his tiny chest, and whispered:
"I'm sorry. But one day… you'll have to face your destiny."
Fifteen Years Later
Saint Anthony High School was a war zone for kids like Ayaan.
He kept his head low, headphones in, hoodie up—the armor of someone used to being invisible. But it never worked.
"Hey, trash!" someone barked behind him, shoving him to the ground.
He clenched his fists but didn't retaliate. Not yet.
Another kick came. Laughter followed.
Ayaan felt something stir inside him—a voice, calm but cold:
"Fight back. Crush them."
For a moment, his hands curled into fists. He saw himself fighting them, winning.
But he didn't move. The bullies did what they always did—and left him broken on the floor.
He limped home under a sky full of storm clouds.
That night, he tossed in bed, slipping into a dream that didn't feel like his own.
He stood in a frozen wasteland, snow swirling around him. A shadow waited ahead—tall, red-eyed, a fire behind it.
Ayaan tried to speak, but no words came.
The shadow said, "They tried to hide me. But I was never gone. I've been waiting for you… to become strong."
Then, it disappeared.
Ayaan shot awake, drenched in sweat.
At breakfast, his father noticed the fear in his face.
"Nightmares?" he asked.
"How do you know?" Ayaan replied.
Fareed didn't answer. Instead, he said quietly, "Sometimes we carry things before we remember them. Be careful— not every voice in your head is yours."
Later that day, Ayaan passed a mirror.
His reflection… was smiling at him.
But Ayaan wasn't smiling at all.
That night, when Ayaan finally drifted off to sleep, he knew the black-eyed jinn would return.
This time, he wasn't afraid.
In the dream, the same dark figure appeared, his red eyes burning through the snowstorm.
"Who are you?" Ayaan asked.
"Long ago, your father sealed me inside you," the jinn said. "But the seal is weakening. Your body is now strong enough to handle my presence."
"Why now?"
"Because it's time," the jinn replied. "I am your Qareen—your shadow spirit. A companion given to every man by GOD. But I… I am different."
Ayaan blinked. "So, everyone has one?"
"Not like me," the Qareen said.
"Do they come in different forms?"
"Yes," the Qareen said. "The blue ones are the weakest. Red ones are stronger. Golden, stronger still. Then grey, white, and black—the rarest and deadliest."
Ayaan asked, "Which one is the strongest?"
The Qareen's grin widened. "Black."
"So… does that mean I can use your power?"
"Yes," the jinn whispered. "But—"
A voice cut through the dream.
"Ayaan! Wake up! You're late for school!"
On his way to school, Ayaan couldn't stop thinking about the dream.
If it's real… then I might be the strongest man alive.
He looked at his bruised hands and whispered to himself, "Today, I will fight back."
At lunch, he found his friends—Hadi, Rahman, and Moiz—and told them everything.
They laughed at first.
But Ayaan's face was serious.
"We're going to take the bullies down. Together."
This time, when the bullies approached, Ayaan didn't flinch.
He threw the first punch.
But it wasn't enough.
The bullies swarmed them—beating Ayaan and his friends into the dirt. Ayaan lay on the ground, dazed and bleeding.
How? he thought i thought after awakening the qareen i would win.
And yet, he was broken. Again.
Then a voice inside him snarled:
"Get up, you fool. You wanted freedom? Then fight for it. Even if you can't save yourself—save them."
Ayaan's eyes snapped open.
He stood slowly, blood dripping from his face.
One bully stepped forward. "Look at this loser—back for more?"
Before he could react, Ayaan struck him with a brutal punch that sent him crashing to the ground.
Another charged. Ayaan blocked, countered, slammed him to the ground.
The leader of the bullies, Hamdan, raised his fist.
But before he could strike—
Rahman blocked the punch.
Moiz and Hadi rushed in, fists flying.
Together, they stood, side by side, bruised but together
And when it was over, four bullies lay unconscious on the concrete—while Ayaan and his friends stared up at the sky.