The room was suffocating. The faint echo of chants from the cult’s meeting still clung to the air. You sat on the edge of the bed, the weight of the night pressing against you. Your son, just eight years old, had stood by Kai, watching with confused, innocent eyes as grown adults worshiped him like some sort of god. You had no idea what to say to him. How to explain the darkness that already seemed to cling to your family.

Kai entered the room slowly, his presence filling the space like a storm that had already arrived. His smile was small, satisfied—proud. He stood in the doorway for a moment, just watching you, before speaking with the same calm confidence that had always unsettled you.

“He’s ready,” he said, his voice low, like he was discussing something trivial, not the soul of your son. “He understood.”

You didn’t respond right away. The room felt too small, the air thick with the unspoken. The reality of it hit you all at once—the way your son’s eyes had followed Kai during the meeting, the way he’d absorbed everything, everything you had fought to shield him from. You finally spoke, your voice quieter than you intended, but sharp with the fear that gripped your chest.

“He’s eight, Kai. He shouldn’t be a part of this.”

Kai stepped closer, his face unreadable now, the familiar dangerous glint in his eyes flickering for just a second.

“He’s my son. He needs to learn.”