I set out early the next morning, determined to continue my research. The village I had arrived in the night before was still quiet, the only sounds being the distant clucking of chickens and the soft rustle of leaves in the morning breeze.
I knew that my next step was to find someone anyone who could help me make sense of the ritual I had read about. If there was even a slight chance that someone here knew something, I had to try.
The village library was small, just a single room attached to the local inn, but it was packed with books that seemed to have been passed down through generations. I approached the elderly librarian, a woman with a kind smile but sharp, knowing eyes.
"Good morning," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm looking for information about old rituals, specifically those related to memory and identity. Do you have anything that might help?"
