The voice no longer waited for dreams.It followed Kean into the day.
Whispers behind doors.Echoes in empty fields.Words crawling up his spine when no one else was near.
At first, he ignored it.Shook his head. Clenched his fists.
But silence didn't help.
The voice wanted to be heard.
"You feel it, don't you?""This world isn't yours… and you're not theirs.""They raised you in a lie."
One afternoon, while tending the crops,Kean's hand touched a dry patch of soil.
Black.Dead.Burnt at the root.
But he hadn't burned it.Not with fire.
Just... his presence.
"You don't belong to the sun, Kean.You are something... far older."
He flinched.
Looked around.No one was there.
Yet the voice laughed.
That night, during a village prayer, the whisper crept again.
"Look at them.""Bowing to gods that don't listen.""They fear you. Even now."
Kean glanced up.
And caught the priest's eyes.
They were already watching him.
Later, in the silence of the temple corridors,Kean stood near his mother's coma-bound body.
He held her hand. Cold. Still.
"She knows who you are.""She always did.""That's why she sleeps."
His grip trembled.
"Leave me alone..." Kean muttered.
The voice paused.
Then whispered, softer than before:
"I am not your enemy… I am your truth."
And for the first time…
Kean didn't run.