Don leaned against his desk, the book resting on the surface in front of him. The first rule, clarity, had been a revelation. Specificity was key to commanding the book's power, but now he was curious about its reach. How far could the book's influence extend? Was it limited by distance, or could it affect anyone, anywhere?
The possibilities sent a shiver of excitement through him.
"Adrian," Don said softly, as if invoking the name would bring the entity closer. "Let's test how far you can go."
The book didn't respond, but the faint pulse it gave in his hands seemed like approval.
He decided to start with someone he didn't interact with directly. Sarah, his neighbor in Apartment 307, was a quiet woman who rarely left her unit. Don barely knew her, but that made her the perfect subject.
He wrote: "Sarah will hum a tune while making coffee tomorrow morning."
The ink vanished, and the book went still.
The next morning, Don lingered in the hallway near Sarah's apartment, pretending to check his phone. Sure enough, through the thin walls, he heard the faint sound of humming. A slow, melodic tune drifted out, followed by the clink of a coffee mug.
Don smiled to himself. It had worked.
But he wasn't satisfied. Sarah lived just a few feet away. Was proximity the key? Or could he influence someone farther away?
Back in his room, he decided to push the boundaries. This time, he wrote: "Eric, the cashier at the campus café, will drop a pen at 3 p.m. tomorrow."
The ink faded, and Don closed the book.
At 2:50 the next day, he made his way to the café. He ordered a coffee and sat by the window, watching Eric behind the counter. The clock ticked closer to 3.
At exactly 3:01, Eric bent to grab something from beneath the counter. When he straightened, a pen slipped from his pocket and clattered onto the floor.
Don's heart raced. The timing had been precise, but there was no dramatic shift in the air, no obvious sign of the book's influence. It was subtle, seamless.
Still, he noted that Eric had been within walking distance. Was the book's power limited to those in his immediate vicinity?
Later that evening, Don decided to test its range further. He thought of his cousin Jared, who lived two states away. Jared was always posting on social media, so it would be easy to verify the results.
Don wrote: "Jared will post a photo of his dog wearing sunglasses tomorrow afternoon."
He hesitated before closing the book, his mind spinning with the possibilities. If this worked, the book's power wasn't just vast—it was limitless.
The next afternoon, Don scrolled through his social media feed, his heart pounding. When he saw Jared's post, he froze. There it was—a picture of the dog, wearing a pair of oversized sunglasses, captioned: "Rockstar vibes."
It had worked.
But beneath the exhilaration, Don felt a pang of unease. If the book's power could reach so far, what was stopping it from affecting people on the other side of the world? Or worse—what was stopping someone else from noticing?
That evening, Adrian's voice interrupted his thoughts.
"You've found your answer, haven't you? Proximity is not the limit, Don. It is your connection to the subject that matters. The closer they are to your world, the stronger the influence."
Don frowned. "Connection? What does that mean?"
"Proximity is not always physical. It is about familiarity. Strangers require more effort. Acquaintances are easier. And those close to your heart? They will bend with but a whisper."
Don's mind raced. That explained why Marcus and Sarah had been easy targets. But Jared? They hadn't spoken in months.
"You mean I can manipulate anyone if I think about them hard enough?" Don asked.
Adrian's laugh was soft but chilling. "If your thoughts can reach them, so can I. But beware—stretch too far, and you may snap."
Determined to push the limits further, Don decided to test the idea of familiarity. He chose Laura, someone he saw daily but didn't interact with much. She was an intriguing balance—not a stranger, but not quite a friend.
He wrote: "Laura will drop her pen and pick it up without thinking twice tomorrow during class."
The next day, Don watched her closely. For the first half of class, nothing happened. Then, during a lecture, her pen slipped from her fingers. She bent to pick it up without hesitation, her attention never leaving the professor.
Don grinned. It had worked flawlessly. The book's power wasn't tethered by distance but by connection and familiarity.
As he walked home that evening, a thought occurred to him: what if he used this rule not just for experiments, but to expand his influence? Manipulating strangers would be tedious, but acquaintances—classmates, neighbors, professors—were fair game.
The possibilities were endless, and Don intended to explore every one of them.