Krenvar Village awakened in tense silence, as if the air itself held its breath beneath the shadow of the mountains. The morning sun hid behind gray clouds, creating dim light that made the wooden houses appear like faded paintings. The cobblestone streets were filled with puddles from last night's rain, reflecting the gloomy sky like cracked mirrors. In the fields, villagers worked with downcast faces, their hands gripping hoes with desperation, as if every movement was a struggle against fate. Kael Varnis, now three years old, stood at the edge of the village square, his small body nearly lost among the tall wild grass. His eyes, too intelligent for a child his age, swept the scene with cold calculation, like a general studying a battlefield. Within him, the soul of Nargil, the God of Manipulation, pulsed, his arrogance still burning, driving him to see the world as a stage he must dominate.
Kael had not forgotten that night in the Krenvar Forest, when he faced the shadow creature and nearly conquered it with fragile threads of thought. His failure left a wound on his pride, reminding him of Nargil's arrogance that had destroyed his life as a god. But his mind, sharp as a blade, had learned from that mistake. He knew his power was still trapped within this small body, but his intelligence was a weapon unlimited by age. He observed the village with a puppeteer's eyes: children playing near the well, farmers grumbling about taxes, and village elders whispering about Dravholt's emissaries who would return. Kael knew, from his life as Nargil, that power was built upon fear and weakness—and Dravholt, with all its arrogance, must have cracks he could exploit.
That morning, Kael sat beneath an old oak tree at the village's edge, pretending to play with twigs while observing other children. Among them was Lir, a six-year-old boy with messy brown hair and eyes full of naive courage. Lir was the village elder's child, often boasting about his bravery, but Kael saw something else: doubt hidden behind his smile, fear of his harsh father. With terrifying intelligence, Kael decided to test his power. He approached Lir, an innocent smile carved on his face, but his eyes full of calculation. "Lir," he said, his voice soft as wind, "you say you're not afraid of anything, but I heard you're scared of the forest."
Lir tensed, his face reddening. "I'm not scared!" he protested, but his voice wavered, and Kael saw that thread of thought—faint, yet real. Carefully, like an artist touching canvas, Kael pulled at that thread, planting small doubts in Lir's mind. "If you're not afraid," Kael continued, his voice like Nargil's whisper in the Crystal Tower, "prove it. Take an apple from the elder's storehouse and give it to me. If not, everyone will know you're a coward." Lir stared at him, his eyes watering, and unconsciously, he ran toward the storehouse, returning with a stolen apple, his hands trembling as he handed it to Kael.
Kael bit the apple, hiding his victorious smile. The manipulation was small, almost trivial, but it proved that Nargil's power still existed, only waiting for time to rise fully. However, behind his soaring arrogance, something bothered him: an alien guilt, like a thorn in his heart. Lir now looked at him with a mixture of awe and fear, and Kael remembered Mira—his mother who hugged him with genuine love. Would he manipulate his family like this someday? The thought made him restless, but Nargil's pride quickly drowned out that doubt. "I am a god," he murmured in his heart. "I don't need compassion."
Tension in Krenvar escalated when word spread that Dravholt's emissaries would arrive earlier than usual. Kael, listening from behind the walls of village huts, noted every detail: the elders' panicked tone, whispers about "collateral" the kingdom demanded, and the fear that possessed the residents' faces. He knew "collateral" meant children—perhaps even himself—would be taken to become slaves or soldiers. His mind spun, formulating plans. He had to protect Mira and Gavern, but also use this chaos to strengthen his position. With unnatural intelligence, he began observing Dravholt emissaries' patterns, searching for weaknesses in Lord Vren, the cold-eyed man who led them.
That afternoon, when the village bell tolled announcing the emissaries' arrival, Krenvar stopped. Kael stood at the square's edge, hiding behind a hay cart, his eyes locked on Lord Vren dismounting from his horse. His red cloak billowed like flowing blood, the silver dragon emblem on his chest gleaming with arrogance. The soldiers at his side carried bows and swords, their faces hard as stone. Village elders, including Lir's father, lined up before them, their faces pale. "The kingdom demands collateral," Vren said, his voice like a whip touching skin. "Three children from this village will be taken to serve Dravholt. Refuse, and we will burn Krenvar to ash."
Gavern, standing among the crowd, stepped forward, his hands clenched until his knuckles turned white. "You will not touch our children!" he shouted, his voice full of long-suppressed anger. Mira, beside him, gripped his arm, her face full of fear. Kael, from his hiding place, observed carefully. He saw the tension in Vren's shoulders, how his hand moved to his sword when Gavern spoke, and a faint gleam in his eyes—not just arrogance, but fear of rebellion. Kael smiled slightly; even a man like Vren was a pawn, and pawns could be manipulated.
With terrifying intelligence, Kael tried something bold. He closed his eyes, searching for Vren's threads of thought, though he knew his body was too weak for major manipulation. The thread was there, thin and fragile, but enough to touch. He pulled it carefully, planting small doubt: *Perhaps this village isn't worth the trouble.* Vren tensed, his hand stopping at his sword hilt, his eyes narrowing as if hearing foreign whispers. But before Kael could push further, his body trembled, his head throbbed, and he stumbled backward, his breathing labored. The manipulation was too heavy, and Nargil's arrogance—which drove him to try—nearly made him faint before his enemy.
Vren shook his head, as if brushing away doubt, and continued. "You have until tomorrow morning to surrender three children," he said, his voice cold. "If not, blood will flow." He mounted his horse, and the emissaries departed, leaving the village in panic. Residents gathered, shouting and crying, while elders debated with voices full of fear. Kael, still hidden, processed everything with a machine-like mind: Dravholt didn't just want tribute, they wanted to crush the village's spirit. And Kael would not let that happen.
That night, in the Varnis family's small hut, tension enveloped them like fog. Gavern sat at the table, his head in his hands, while Mira knelt beside him, tears flowing down her cheeks. "They won't take Kael," Gavern said, his voice trembling. "I'll kill them all before that happens." Mira embraced him, but her eyes were full of unspoken fear. Kael, sitting in the corner pretending to play with twigs, listened carefully. He knew Vren's threat wasn't empty—he had seen kingdoms like Dravholt destroy villages in his life as Nargil. But this time, he had something he never had before: family. And that made him hesitate, though Nargil's arrogance urged him to act.
Kael rose, walking toward Mira with deliberate small steps. "Mother," he said, his voice innocent but calculated, "don't be afraid. I'll be fine." Mira looked at him, her eyes widening, and for a moment, she seemed to see something that wasn't her child—something older, more dangerous. Kael knew he had to be careful; his intelligence could protect his family, but it could also destroy their trust. He hugged Mira, a gesture learned from his observations, and felt warmth that split his heart. Was this love, or just another tool to manipulate?
Outside, wind carried faint howls from the Krenvar Forest, reminding him of the shadow creature still waiting. In his dreams that night, Kael heard the creature's whispers again, its voice like seeping poison. "You can conquer Dravholt," it said, "but only if you embrace Nargil fully. Release this child, or you will lose everything." Kael woke, his eyes blazing in the darkness, his hands clenched. He smiled, not a child's smile, but the smile of a god who knew the manipulation game was becoming more complex—and he would play it cleverly, or the world would pay the price.
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