The night Věra Černá decided to leave the village, the air was thick with silence. She sat at the small wooden table in their tiny home, her hands gripping the edge so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The single oil lamp cast flickering shadows across the walls, making them seem alive, shifting, moving. Johan sat across from her, his small hands folded neatly in his lap, his posture too perfect for a child. He did not fidget, did not blink too often. He simply waited and watched. Věra tried not to meet his gaze. She could not explain the fear that had settled inside her. It had grown over the years, festering like an infection she could not cure. She had ignored it at first, dismissing it as paranoia, convincing herself that Johan was simply… different. But now, she knew better. The whispers in the village had grown louder. The glances people gave her son were no longer merely them being wary, but afraid. Věra had seen it firsthand. She had watched a woman at the market flinch when Johan had stood too close. She had seen a little boy run from him in the street, tripping over his own feet in his hurry to escape. She had seen the way Johan looked at people. Not like a child. Like something else. Like someone studying a puzzle, carefully pulling apart the pieces. The village was turning against him. Against them. And though no one said anything outright, Věra could feel the shift, the slow tightening of the noose around their lives. And so, she made the decision. They had to leave. The morning they left, the village was eerily quiet. Věra had packed their few belongings into an old suitcase, stuffing clothes, books, and a few essentials into the worn fabric. Johan stood by the door, watching her with his unreadable blue eyes. "We’re leaving?” he asked. Věra nodded without looking at him. "Yes.” Johan tilted his head slightly. "Why?” Věra swallowed. She had no answer that would satisfy him. No answer that would make sense. She knew, deep down, that he already understood. Still, she whispered, “We need a fresh start.” Johan only smiled. The smile was small and faint. A mere twitch of the lips. But it sent a chill down Věra’s spine. The train ride to the new town was long and uneventful. Věra stared out of the window, watching the landscape blur past in streaks of green and brown. The world outside moved forward, but inside, she felt as though she were sinking. Johan sat beside her, silent. He did not ask questions. He did not complain about the trip. He simply watched. The other passengers avoided looking at him. A woman seated across from them shifted uncomfortably, clutching her handbag as though she expected it to be taken from her. A man nearby flipped through a newspaper, but every so often, his eyes flickered toward Johan before darting away. It was always the same. They did not know why they were afraid of him. They only knew that they were. The town they arrived in was neither large nor small. It was a place where people went about their lives in quiet repetition, where strangers were noticed but not immediately questioned. Věra hoped this would be enough. She found them a modest apartment on the edge of town, a small space with creaky wooden floors and a single window that overlooked the street below. It was not much, but it was a new beginning. A new life. Or so she told herself. To Johan, the move meant nothing. It was not an escape. It was not a change. It was merely another place to observe. Another place to experiment. The village had been a testing ground, a small and insignificant stage. This new town was something more. He had already learned that fear was the most powerful tool. That a whisper, a glance, a well-placed pause in a conversation could shift the course of someone’s mind. Now, he would refine his techniques. And he would do it without his mother’s interference. Věra had once been a necessary provider, a source of care. But now? She was nothing more than a shadow in the corner of his world. Johan started with the children. At school, he was the perfect student. Polite. Intelligent. Soft-spoken. His teachers praised him for his maturity, for his ability to grasp complex ideas beyond his years. They marveled at how quickly he learned, how effortlessly he adapted. The other students, however, were not so quick to embrace him. They felt it, even if they did not understand it. The strangeness, the quiet wrongness that clung to him. And yet, despite their unease, they could not avoid him. Johan had a way of making himself the center of things without ever demanding attention. He was subtle. Patient. He planted ideas the way one plants seeds in the earth. One day, a boy named Daniel was caught stealing from a classmate. A week earlier, Johan had simply said to him, Do you ever wonder what it feels like to take something that isn’t yours? To hold it in your hands and know no one can stop you?” Daniel had laughed then, shaking his head. But the thought had lingered. And now, when the teacher demanded to know why he had stolen, Daniel could not answer. Because he did not know. Věra watched her son from a distance now. She no longer tried to understand him. She no longer tried to reach him. She only existed in the same space, like a moth circling a flame, knowing it would burn her but unable to leave. She saw the way people reacted to him. She saw the way he moved through the world, untouched, untethered. And she knew, with absolute certainty, that Johan no longer needed her. He had outgrown her in ways she could not comprehend. And so, she let herself fade. She stopped asking where he went. She stopped questioning the strange things that happened around him. She simply… stopped.  He did not notice. Or if he did, he did not care. She was just another piece in the world he was slowly learning to shape. The move had not changed anything. Johan had not been erased. He had not been stopped. The shadows that had followed him from the village had not been left behind. They had only grown longer. And now, in this new town, in this new world, he was free to refine his craft. To become something more. Something greater. And for the first time, as he stood in the middle of the playground, watching his classmates laugh and play, watching the teachers move about their daily routines, watching the world spin on in its ignorant, blissful stat. Johan smiled. Because he understood something that none of them did. They were all already his. They just didn’t know it yet.