The air inside the village chief's home was thick with the scent of burning wood and something faintly metallic, like rust. The dim candlelight flickered against the wooden walls, casting elongated shadows that seemed to stretch unnaturally, as if something unseen watched from the corners.
Bruno sat stiffly at the low table, across from Raine, with Silas to his left and Varen at the far end. The village chief, an old man with deep-set eyes and a permanent, unreadable smile, sat at the head.
Between them, the young boy who had led them through the village sat cross-legged on the floor, eyes bright with curiosity. He had been watching them closely ever since they arrived.
"You all must be tired from your journey," the chief said, his voice even, slow. "Eat, rest. You are safe here."
Bruno didn't trust those words. Safe was not a word that belonged in the Abyss.
Still, the food before them looked surprisingly normal—bowls of steaming stew, fresh bread, and jugs of water. It felt wrong, like something pulled straight from memory rather than reality.
Varen remained silent, staring down at the food but making no move to eat. He knows something, Bruno thought.
It was Silas who finally spoke.
"This place," he said slowly, his fingers tapping against the wooden table, "doesn't feel like a normal settlement."
The village chief's smile didn't waver. "Many who arrive here say the same."
The young boy grinned suddenly, leaning forward on his elbows. "That's because mercenaries come here every time around the festival," he said, "to get their sins washed up."
Bruno felt a slow chill crawl up his spine.
"The festival?" Raine asked, her voice quieter than usual.
The chief folded his hands together. "Yes, the Festival of the Forgotten. A sacred event. In a few days, we will honor the one who watches over us. The one who grants us life within this dimension."
Bruno exchanged a glance with Raine. She looked uneasy, her fingers curled against her lap. She felt it too.
"Who?" Silas asked bluntly.
The chief exhaled through his nose, as if amused. "The Forgotten God."
A cold hush settled over the room.
The young boy nodded enthusiastically. "Every year, the festival brings visitors like you. It's always the same."
Something about the way he said that unsettled Bruno.
"The same?" he repeated.
The boy grinned wider. "Yes! You come, you stay, you take part in the festival—just like the others before you."
The chief gently placed a hand on the boy's shoulder, quieting him. "There is no need to worry. The festival is an honor, a tradition that has existed for countless cycles. You will understand in time."
Silas's eyes darkened, but he said nothing.
Bruno forced himself to relax, to not show the discomfort twisting in his gut. He turned slightly, stealing a glance at Raine. She was tense, eyes locked onto her bowl of untouched food. When she felt his gaze, she looked up.
Something passed between them—a silent understanding. They needed to figure this out, and fast.
Raine sighed, barely audible. Then she picked up the spoon, dipping it into the stew but hesitating before taking a bite. Bruno followed suit. They didn't have a choice.
As the meal went on, small talk continued. The villagers were too normal—too welcoming, too polite. It felt like they were playing a script, something practiced, something repeated endlessly.
Varen finally took a sip of water but ate nothing.
Bruno watched him carefully, then turned back to the young boy.
"You said mercenaries come here every time," he said slowly. "What happens to them after the festival?"
The boy blinked, then gave another wide smile.
"They stay."
The answer sent a sharp sense of unease through him.
Varen suddenly stand up. "We should rest," he said. "It's been a long day."
The chief nodded, standing as well. "Of course. The rooms are prepared. You may sleep soundly tonight."
Bruno wasn't sure if that was a reassurance or a warning.
As he and the others were led to their quarters, he stole one last glance at the boy, still sitting cross-legged by the table.
The boy grinned at him, head tilting slightly.
"See you at the festival," he whispered.
Bruno felt something in his chest tighten.
He didn't know what the festival truly was.
But he was sure it wasn't something they wanted to be a part of.