Kale had gotten comfortable. Far too comfortable.
Sin Mana was flowing like a river in flood and his traps were working. Emma was isolated, and James was lashing out at everything. Their misery, and anguish sustained him. Gave him weight, shape, and presence.
He used to be formless, but now he had shadows. Though it was faint, but it was real.
But power... power always brings eyes.
Her name was Lydia, student counselor. The kind who listened and spoke to unknot the tangles in a soul. She had warm eyes and soft words. Kale marked her early. She had a habit of being exactly where she needed to be, saying things people needed to hear.
Emma spoke to her once. Just once, and when she walked away, she wasn't whole, yes, but she was less shattered. There was something back in her eyes, something that suggested the light might return.
Kale despised that.
He watched her more closely. Not just as a predator watches a threat, but as a system watches for infection. She was interference. Static. She asked questions, the kind that didn't stop at surface wounds.
Why was Emma suddenly so distant from her friends? Why did James go from joyful to violent in a matter of weeks?
Why did the halls feel heavier, darker, and colder?
She didn't know Kale existed, but she felt the effect. The wrongness. The pressure. The invisible thread he had stitched through conversation after conversation, mood after mood. She couldn't name it, but she reached for it anyway.
Kale didn't panic, but he did pause for the first time. He had to slow down.
He watched Lydia move from student to student, steadily pulling people back from the edge. She had no magic or spells – only relentless empathy , kind words, and steady hand worked.
Wherever Lydia went, the pressure thinned, the fog lifted, and slowly guilt lessened. Despair didn't disappear, but it softened. Students who had been on the edge suddenly found their footing, even if only for a while.
She was a glitch in his system. An infection in his corruption. And Kale couldn't tolerate that.
So he infiltrated her,
In those vulnerable silences when Lydia laid her head down. Kale spoke into the corners of her mind.
"You're wasting your time."
"They're broken beyond repair."
"They'll fall apart again."
"You can't fix what was never whole."
He spoke into her, soft and insidious words. No command or threat, but doubts. Just enough to slow her down, enough to make her question the value of her efforts. He believed that was how Sin Mana spread best: not through fear, but fatigue. Through the slow erosion of will.
But Lydia didn't shatter.
She woke up tired, but she still showed up. She felt the weight, but she still smiled. Her steps were heavy, but they still carried her forward.
She wasn't immune. Kale could feel his whispers land. They sank into her. They hurt. But she carried them. She bore them like someone used to grief, someone who had walked with pain before and learned how to keep walking anyway.
That made her dangerous.
Kale realized something that chilled him.
Some people can't be broken the easy way, so he pulled back. Lydia made him cautious, and he realized reckless moves would expose him.
He adjusted. Backed off Emma and let James breathe.
He thought of spreading thinner, quiet, subtle touches. A nudge here and a whisper there. Just enough to spark conflict and never enough to spark suspicion.
And it worked.
Slower? Yes. But smarter.
He saw it now. Perhaps Sin Mana wasn't about speed. It was a system. One that thrived on slow rot, not explosions. If he wanted real power, if he wanted to reach Mira, he had to play the long game.
Lydia was just the beginning, and he knew she wouldn't be the last.
That night, Kale stood by a dorm window. His form was more solid than ever, but still unfinished.
Below, the campus buzzed with life, pain, and potential. He thought of Mira. The path back to her felt far and uncertain. He had momentum and enemies.
But nothing, not even Lydia, could stop him, so began to form another strategy.
Kale looked at the campus, lights danced in dorm windows. Voices on the air. Music, arguments, and laughter.
Every sound was a possible fracture. Every room, there was pressure.
He could feel emotion pulling him. Weak ones. Thin guilt. Old betrayal. Hidden envy. The campus was a forest of sin.
All it needed was the right spark, but he didn't light anything. Not yet.
He was done with fire for now. He had learned something more dangerous.
Patience.
That night, near the east dorm, it happened.
A boy named Devin had been laughed at by his entire study group. The kind of mocking that hides behind jokes. He had smiled through it and laughed along.
But Kale saw the tremble in his hands as he walked away.
Saw the way his shoulders tensed inward like the body wanted to disappear.
Kale followed.
He didn't whisper at first. Just walked beside him, invisible and quiet. That kind of mocking is enough to translate as humiliation and is expected to turn into something else. So if he nudged him forward, it shouldn't be suspicious.
Then, near the stairwell, as Devin stood alone, staring out the window like it owed him something
Kale leaned in.
"Push back," he said. "You've been quiet too long. They treat you like air. Make them choke on it."
Devin didn't reply.
But his fists clenched.
The next day, someone's laptop was smashed. Books torn. A desk flipped in the middle of class.
Devin didn't apologize.
But he sat straighter.
Kale knew the next thing he had to do was target another person and cause an argument. It should be enough to hold Lydia.
And it worked.
The girl whose laptop was broken didn't cry. She screamed. Loud, sharp words and accusations that cracked across the room like thunder. No one expected it from her. She was quiet. Polite. But her voice had teeth that day.
The one whose desk was flipped lashed out.
The class was a mess. Confused, tense, and shaky.
Kale floated through, Devin sat still, watching it unfold with a look that said he hadn't meant for this, but wasn't entirely sorry either.
Kale moved with purpose. He had targets.
He found her in the back corner. Jemima. The girl who smiled at drama and whispered rumors like lullabies. She didn't cause chaos but she admired it like art.
Kale leaned into her ear.
"Don't you think Meyar caused it?"
A seed and nothing more.
Jemima blinked. Looked up. Her eyes scanned the room and landed on Meyar.
Meyar was a quiet and smart boy. Used to be at the top of the class, but now he was barely holding on. He hadn't spoken much in weeks.
Kale felt the soft guilt in Meyar. The disappointment. The pressure to be perfect and the bitter heat of failing despite trying hard.
Jemima stood. Her voice slid into the air like oil.
"I think Meyar was the one who caused this. After all, his grades were the worst last year, and Eleanor — the girl whose laptop was broken — took his position"
The room froze. Eyes locked on Meyar. Even Devin looked confused.
Meyar looked up, face caught between shock and shame.
Kale hovered close to Devin.
"See?" he whispered. "It's good when they fight between themselves. Even better when they hurt each other."
Meyar opened his mouth, but no words came.
Kale moved back to Jemima.
"He is the one. He must be."
Jemima didn't stop. She listed every reason, every rumor. Her voice was calm but sharp and surgical.
The room broke. It didn't shatter all at once. It cracked with little fault lines, suspicion, hurt, and distrust. Exactly what he wanted.
Kale slipped out before it could be patched. He had work to do.
In the next class, he caused a fight between two friends. Over something stupid, a misplaced book. A forgotten promise. A joke taken the wrong way. Voices raised, hands nearly flew, and the teacher stood helpless.
That was enough for now.
Kale drifted to the edge of the building, just beyond the faculty wing. He watched Lydia from a distance. Her face tight, her steps faster than usual. She was already hearing whispers. Already being pulled.
Kale smiled.
She would spend days trying to clean what he made in minutes. She would see all the fractures and try to mend them. Try and fail.
That was the trick. Distraction, he needed that distraction.
Because every day, he felt his mana slipping. He needed fuel. Pain, doubt, despair. Those are what kept him solid.
The misdirection wasn't his goal. His goal was a new student who he wanted to channel enough whispers to yield him Despair mana.
But before Kale could even begin his work, Lydia was already moving and faster than he expected.