The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long, wavering shadows across the streets. Savoring the brief moment of clarity. As he looked out the window again, his eyes fell upon a troubling scene: people were gathering around the body, the lifeless form of a man. As he observed further, he noticed an unsettling lack of reaction from the crowd. Only the old man who was begging earlier seemed visibly disturbed. Yanz came to the conclusion that the old man was begging for his life
Driven by a mix of curiosity and concern, Yanz stepped outside. The cool breeze of the evening met him as he walked towards the gathering. The air was thick with an eerie calmness. Near the center of the crowd, a young girl with a look of distress was comforting a man who was sobbing uncontrollably. She patted his back gently, murmuring words of consolation, "Chief, it's not your fault."
Yanz's keen observation revealed the man's identity; he was indeed the area's chief, a leader who was now engulfed in grief. The scene was surreal. The girl's words implied a deeper story, one involving the white-robed men who had executed someone. Yanz's mind raced, piecing together the fragments of the situation.
Seeking clarity, he turned to an old woman standing a short distance away. Her face was a mask of stoic indifference, as though witnessing death had become a mundane affair. Yanz approached her, feeling the weight of her gaze. "Can you tell me what happened here?" he asked, trying to mask his unease with a veneer of casual curiosity.
The woman's eyebrows arched in surprise, followed by a dismissive scoff. "Huh? You don't know? Has your mother been hiding these harsh truths from you, even at your age?"
Yanz hesitated but chose to play along, nodding as if to signal understanding. The woman continued, her tone now laced with a hint of disdain. "The crops failed this year. The white magicians decided to execute the head of the crop producers as punishment."
Yanz's mind buzzed with questions, but he restrained himself, wary of attracting unwanted attention. The old woman's gaze had grown shrewd, and he sensed a danger in probing too deeply. He thanked her and walked away, returning to the house where he had woken up. There, he retrieved the last piece of molded bread into his pocket, a grim reminder of his current predicament. He tucked it away, resolved to find out more.
Stepping back into the street, Yanz noticed a man carving something from a wooden stick. Intrigued, he approached the craftsman. "Excuse me, do you know if there's a library around here?"
The man looked up, his expression one of confusion. "Library? What's that?"
Taken aback by the unfamiliarity, Yanz clarified, "A place where many books are kept."
The man's face shifted from confusion to realization. "Ah, that thing. No one around here knows how to read, so no one goes there. It's an abandoned building now, I think." He pointed vaguely towards a distant, crumbling structure barely discernible against the horizon.
Yanz's heart quickened with the prospect of finding answers within those forgotten walls. Without further discussion, he set out towards the building. The man's voice trailed behind him, tinged with a mix of amusement and concern. "Where are you going?"
Yanz did not respond, his focus fixed on the dilapidated library. The man's final words were a murmur of resignation. "There are… Whatever. I guess you have a death wish."
Undeterred, Yanz continued his journey. The library stood as a beacon of hope in a world shrouded in mystery. He moved swiftly, the weight of his task fueling his determination. Each step drew him closer to unraveling the secrets hidden within those ancient, forsaken walls. The journey ahead was fraught with uncertainty, but Yanz's resolve was unshakable. In the face of adversity, he was driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge, no matter the cost.