The wind grew colder.
Not natural.
Not random.
Controlled.
Feroz's heart pounded as he faced Zarqaan. The uncle's eyes gleamed with something beyond malice—calculation, patience, and power.
The golden markings of the valley beneath them pulsed in response to the tension. It wasn't just energy—it was alive, recognizing the confrontation, feeding on it.
Feroz steadied his breathing.
"Control. Balance. Not rage." Haroon's voice echoed in his mind, steady and firm.
Zarqaan smirked faintly, noticing Feroz's effort.
"Interesting," he said, his voice low, deliberate. "You've learned… but not enough."
Feroz's fists glowed faintly, golden light mixing with the dark shadows around him.
"You think I need more lessons?" Feroz's voice was steady, cold. "I know exactly what I'm becoming."
Zarqaan's eyes narrowed. "Do you? Or are you just starting to feel it?"
Feroz froze. The words struck deeper than any attack could.
"What do you mean?" he asked, unease creeping into his voice.
Zarqaan's grin widened, cruel yet composed. "The Devil… in you. You think it sleeps. But it's awake. It's waiting. Watching. Guiding. And soon—it will take over. And no one will stop it."
The valley shivered. Shadows deepened. Even the golden markings seemed to hesitate.
Haroon stepped closer, voice firm. "Feroz, remember—you are not your fears. You are not your power. You decide your path."
Feroz's gaze shifted. He could feel it—the surge within him. A dark, roaring energy that wanted release. The same energy that had terrified him in his dreams. The Devil inside—the part of him he had always feared—was stirring.
Zarqaan moved with a sudden, fluid motion. In an instant, he was beside Feroz, hand outstretched. Not to strike—but to test.
Feroz reacted instinctively. Their energies collided, bright gold against a dark, almost black force. Sparks shot out. The valley trembled beneath their feet.
"Focus, Feroz!" Haroon shouted. "Do not let it control you!"
Feroz's body ached. Sweat poured down his face. But he remembered the words Mrs. Aliya had once told him: "Your gift is not just power—it is choice."
He breathed in. He breathed out.
And for the first time, he let the energy flow, not with anger, not with restraint, but with intent.
The shadows recoiled.
Zarqaan's smile faltered, just slightly.
"Impressive," he whispered. "But… the Devil is patient."
Suddenly, from the edges of the valley, a shadow moved. Not Zarqaan's. Not Feroz's. Something older. Darker. Watching.
Feroz's eyes narrowed. "Who's there?"
No answer. Only the wind—and a faint, almost mocking laughter that reminded him of his dream.
The same grave. The same man.
The Devil was watching.
And now, Feroz realized—the battle with Zarqaan was only the beginning.
It wasn't just his uncle he had to face.
It was the storm within himself.
The Devil among angels had finally begun to stir.