The marketplace stirred with life until Nazar appeared. A tall figure draped in obsidian robes, edges glistening like oil beneath the dusk, he moved as if shadows obeyed his will. His long black hair fell loosely, veiling a face angular and almost beautiful—save for the cracks lacing his skin, fine fractures glowing faintly like glass about to shatter.

But it was his eyes that consumed the world. Sapphire-black, swirling with inverted constellations, they bent air and will alike. Every glance warped reality: a copper tray twisted in a merchant’s hand, the fountain water rippled against its own flow, a pigeon fell mid-flight. People did not understand what they felt, only that laughter died, warmth soured, and suspicion ignited between friends.

His coat bore faint silver runes that shifted like living maps, recalling Maghrebi skies now corrupted by envy. Around him, mirrors cracked, animals bolted, and silence clung heavy as unspoken grudges. Nazar required no blade, no gesture. The malice of human hearts fueled him. Every wish of downfall, every jealous thought, wove into his presence until he was more curse than man.

He stopped at the fountain, gaze sweeping the crowd. Voices faltered. Lovers frowned at each other; brothers quarreled without cause. The air was thick with distrust. Nazar’s voice cut through, slow and venomous, a whisper that clung to the mind:

“Do you not feel it—the eyes upon you? Every hunger that wished you ruined? I am their gaze made flesh.”

Behind him, the fountain’s surface fractured, reflecting distorted faces—neighbors glaring, allies betraying, mothers resenting children. The crowd recoiled, but Nazar only smiled faintly, another crack deepening across his cheek. He did not seek crowns or empires. His purpose was subtler: to unravel, to corrode trust, to twist triumph into ruin.

And the people understood with dread—he was not an invader. He was born from them.