S
Silas could make a rabbit with his hands. That was easy. But Silas could also make a dragon. And the dragon could breathe fire.
He was a Shadow Puppeteer. He performed in the market square, projecting shapes onto a white sheet.
But his shadows were not just shapes. They were real. When his shadow-wolf howled, real dogs barked in fear. When his shadow-dancer spun, the wind picked up.
The King heard of him. "Make me an army," the King commanded. "An army that cannot bleed."
Silas refused. "Shadows are for stories, not war."
The King threw him in the dungeon. "Think about it in the dark."
Silas sat in the pitch black. There was no light to cast a shadow.
"I can't work like this," he sighed.
But then, he remembered. Darkness is just a very large shadow.
He moved his hands in the dark. He manipulated the blackness itself. He formed a key out of the absence of light. He inserted it into the lock.
Click.
Silas walked out. He didn't flee. He went to the King's bedroom. He made a shadow on the wall. A giant hand.
The hand flicked the King on the nose.
"Boop," Silas whispered.
The King woke up screaming. Silas was gone. From then on, the King slept with all the lights on.