The Calling

Yuri's Pov There was a time when I believed ignorance was cruelty. Now I know it’s mercy. People think the worst thing about knowing the truth is what it does to others. They’re wrong. The worst part is what it does to you. Because once you see it—once you know—you don’t get to pretend anymore. I learned that early. At St. Dominic High Value School, everyone looks clean. Perfect uniforms. Polished shoes. Smiles rehearsed better than theater scripts. Wealth has a way of convincing people they’re untouchable. That their thoughts don’t matter as long as their hands look empty. But thoughts are never empty. They rot quietly. I don’t read minds because I want to. I don’t look into the future because I’m curious. The Calling doesn’t ask permission—it intrudes. It opens doors that were never meant to be unlocked and forces me to walk through them barefoot. Sometimes, it shows me something small. A lie. A betrayal. A desire that will never leave someone’s chest. Sometimes, it shows me blood. I don’t scream when it happens. I don’t collapse. I don’t go insane like people think someone with powers should. I learned early that reactions are dangerous. If you react, people notice. If people notice, you become the problem. So I learned control. I learned silence. I learned how to walk past someone who will ruin a life in three years and still say nothing. I learned how to sit next to someone who will smile while planning something unforgivable—and keep my hands folded on the desk. That’s the part no one understands. Power doesn’t make you brave. It makes you careful. They don’t know my name for most of the story. They call me quiet. Weird. A freak. A scholar who doesn’t know how to talk to people. And I let them. Because it’s easier to be misunderstood than to be feared. Molion Sabrina Fahrenheit was the first crack in that control. Not because she was beautiful. Beauty is common here. Not because she was popular. Influence is cheap. But because when I looked at her, the Calling didn’t scream. It whispered. And whispers are far more dangerous than screams. This isn’t a story about heroes. It’s about restraint. About choice. About the unbearable weight of knowing when to act—and when to let the world burn on its own. If you’re looking for salvation, close this book now. Because all I ever learned was this: Just because you can save someone doesn’t mean you should. And sometimes, the person you’re really trying to save is yourself.