Zayn walked through the village paths with steady steps, the fading sunlight casting long shadows across the narrow lanes. His mind churned over the firework launcher, gnawing at the thought of how the villagers would even light fireworks if they didn't have the technology to make them. It was strange—the kind of strange he couldn't ignore.
Curiosity tugging at him, Zayn decided to ask. "Hey, do you know if the chief assigned other projects like this for the festival?" he called back to the carpenter.
She paused momentarily, adjusting her grip on the contraption as she pulled it behind her. "Not to me. This was the only thing I had to work on. But I've heard the chief gave out tasks to others around the village. Couldn't tell you what, though. Probably different things for the festival."
Zayn nodded, filing that information away. If the chief had handed out multiple projects, then perhaps there were more oddities scattered across the village. He could check around and maybe piece together what was happening. The feeling that something crucial lingered just out of reach didn't sit well with him.
"Thanks for the heads up," he said, already thinking of who to seek out next.
Before he could take a step away, the carpenter added, "They're probably done by now. Most of us wrapped up our work hours ago. I just got stuck with the stubborn one." She patted the contraption with a wry smile. "You've got good hands, kid. I'll put in a good word for you. Helping the village always counts for something."
Zayn felt an odd flicker of pride at that. A small voice in his head whispered that the village mattered more than anything, that helping it was his duty. The words felt natural and familiar, yet… they left a sour taste in his mouth. His brow furrowed as he shook his head slightly, dispelling the thought. Something about it was too automatic, too ingrained.
He watched the carpenter haul the fixed contraption away, her small frame disappearing around the corner. At least that was one less mystery to deal with, for now.
Beside him, the boy bounced with excitement. "I never knew you were good at carpentry!" he exclaimed, nudging Zayn's shoulder.
Zayn almost corrected him, tempted to say it wasn't carpentry but machinery. But he let it slide. "Guess I'm full of surprises," he replied flatly.
The boy grinned. "You're always so quiet. Nice to learn something new about my best pal."
Zayn resisted the urge to sigh. The boy's constant energy was beginning to wear on him. He needed to distance himself, at least for a while. "I should head home," Zayn said, brushing off the boy's lingering excitement. "Got to get ready for the festival."
"Yeah, me too. I'll see you there!" The boy darted off down another path, leaving Zayn in peace.
Zayn let out a breath, grateful for the solitude. He traced the paths he had memorized, walking towards the couple's house that belonged to his persona's supposed parents. The narrow dirt trail twisted between the huts, flickering torches lining the way as villagers lit them in preparation for the night's festivities.
Yet, no matter how much he tried to focus, Zayn couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him. He glanced over his shoulder, but the path was empty.
A strange sensation coiled deep in his chest—like an old instinct trying to resurface, clawing at the edges of his mind. But when he tried to grasp at it, the feeling slipped away.
Just get home, he thought. Get your attire and join the festival. Don't make this complicated.
His steps slowed as he turned a corner and nearly stumbled to a halt. Standing directly in his path was a sickly tall man, his gaunt frame looming in the fading light. His sunken eyes, shadowed and clouded, locked onto Zayn as if he had been waiting there all along.
Zayn stood frozen, his eyes locked onto the sickly man blocking his path. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows, bathing the village in deep crimson hues as the festival preparations hummed in the distance. The man, tall and frail with skin stretched taut over his bones, watched him without a word.
Zayn furrowed his brow but chose to ignore the unsettling figure. Whatever this was, he didn't have time for it. The festival was waiting, and the sun dipped lower with each passing second.
He took a step forward, carefully maneuvering around the man, who remained motionless, like a statue carved from pale stone. But as Zayn passed, he heard it—a low, guttural groan. His footsteps slowed, but he pressed on until he felt it.
A hand. Cold and bony, resting heavily on his shoulder.
Zayn's heart thudded against his chest as he turned, his expression hardening into a glare. The hand, thin and trembling, tightened slightly as he met the man's gaze. And for the first time, Zayn truly looked at him.
The resemblance struck him like a hammer. The contours of the man's face, the shape of his jaw, even the set of his eyes—they mirrored Zayn's own features. Not as closely as his mother's, but there was no mistaking it.
Zayn's breath caught. A chill rippled down his spine.
The man groaned again, his lips barely moving, as if struggling to speak. The sounds came out garbled and strained, the effort clearly immense. Zayn shifted uncomfortably, torn between helping and simply leaving. The festival drew closer, and he couldn't waste more time.
He shook his shoulder free from the man's grasp and took another step.
"Don't... forget... what you saw," the man rasped, his voice cracking as if each word was being dragged from his throat. The strain twisted his features, veins bulging against his thin skin as if speaking alone drained the very life from him.
Zayn froze mid-step. His eyes narrowed.
What did he mean by that?
He turned to question him, but the man's gaze bored into him with such intensity that Zayn's throat went dry. Forget what he saw? He had lived on this island his entire life—he had seen nothing that merited such a warning.
And then the thought struck him like a lightning bolt.
Had he lived on this island his entire life?
Zayn stumbled back, the realization slamming into his mind. No… no, he hadn't. He wasn't from here. This was not his body. He had arrived here just this morning.
This was a story, it wasn't real. He came from that Libraros place and was supposed to complete this to leave so why was he thinking this.
His fingers instinctively brushed against his chest, feeling the pulse of something burning beneath his skin. A searing heat erupted across his torso, so intense it felt as if a fire was devouring him from within.
Panic clawed at his mind. He needed help. The village would know. The village would help.
But why would they? The thought lingered in his mind, sharp and intrusive. What made him so certain that the village, of all things, would save him? A strange pull toward the idea gnawed at him, but he discarded it with a bitter shake of his head. No. The village didn't matter. He had been here for mere hours, not a lifetime. Whatever was happening now, he wasn't going to really on them. Not for this.
Zayn's hands scratched desperately at his chest, feeling his skin grow raw. His fingers brushed against something warm—the necklace he wore. The moment he made contact, he realized the source of the heat.
Without hesitation, he tore the necklace from his neck. The heat vanished instantly, leaving him gasping for air.
The necklace hit the dirt path and ignited in brilliant red flames. The fire twisted unnaturally, condensing into a small figure that shimmered with a dangerous glow.
Taking a better look at the figure he could see it was a miniature monkey made of crimson flames. It's eyes where pitch black and it had long claws made of strange grey bony material, probably from the necklace.
Zayn took a step back, but before he could react further, the fiery monkey shot toward him.
He dropped to the side, barely avoiding the fiery creature as it zipped past his head and slammed into a nearby hut wall, leaving a smoldering mark.
The fiery monkey hesitated for a second, gripping on the hut's wall, then launched toward him again.
Without thinking, Zayn clenched his fist and swung at the flame as hard as he could. His knuckles collided with something solid, and the monkey flew back.
He had expected to get burned or at least to see fire come off of it.
Except it wasn't embers that splattered or fire that burned him.
Blood exploded from the clash of his fist against the monkey, coating his face and clothes in warm droplets. Zayn stumbled, wiping furiously at his eyes to clear his vision. The coppery scent filled his nostrils, disorienting him.
What he didn't expect was hearing movement behind him.
A second red flame monkey, slightly larger than the first, hurtled toward him with greater speed.
Zayn instinctively dropped to the ground, the creature slicing through the air inches above him. Heat radiated off it, scorching the tips of his hair.
He couldn't just lay down. He had to do something.