《LoreBound》


 Power

    The clean, sterile air of the school bathroom wrapped around Zain like a suffocating blanket. He crouched in the corner of the last stall, knees pulled to his chest, trembling. The pristine tiles and steady fluorescent light above him felt as though they were closing in. His breath came in quick, shallow gasps, and he squeezed his eyes shut.


    "It''s fine... I''m fine. He wouldn''t check the bathrooms," he whispered to himself. "He won''t find me here."


    His fingers dug into the sides of his uniform pants, clenching until his knuckles turned white. He repeated the words like a mantra, convincing himself it was true. But deep down, doubt gnawed at him.


    The bathroom door creaked open, then¡ª


    SLAM.


    Zain''s heart jumped to his throat. A voice followed, deep and laced with impatience. "Whoever''s in here... come out. Now. If I have to check the stalls, I won''t care who I find."


    Zain froze. He recognized that voice. It wasn''t a teacher or staff member. They wouldn''t be saying such things in the current situation. It was the boy he dreaded the most.


    "No one else is here. Just me," Zain thought, swallowing the lump in his throat.


    Silence. The footsteps echoed, slow but deliberate. Zain pressed further into the corner, trying to make himself disappear.


    Crash!


    The stall farthest to him flew open. Zain flinched at the sound, teeth chattering. The next stall groaned as it was kicked open with force. Each door that slammed brought the footsteps closer.


    Zain''s silent tears streamed down his face, his body trembling uncontrollably. "Please... please just leave."


    Another door opened.


    Then another.


    Finally¡ªsilence.


    A sigh echoed through the room. "Tch. Waste of time."


    The footsteps retreated. Zain exhaled shakily, his hands covering his mouth to stop any sound. Relief washed over him, and the tears of terror slowly turned to quiet sobs of joy. He had survived.


    But then¡ª


    SLAM.


    The door to his stall swung wide open.


    Zain''s gaze shot up. Standing before him was a teenager his age, short dark hair framing a pale face, wearing a plain black shirt and trousers. In his hand, he held a pulse gun.


    Zain''s lips trembled as he tried to speak. "P-please... I''m sorry¡ª"


    The boy''s eyes darkened. "You never cried and begged like this the days you tormented me. Disgusting that we even share the same name when you don''t even have the backbone to fight back."


    The gun''s barrel lifted.


    Bang.


    Zain''s body crumpled, lifeless.


    The real Zayn¡ªlowered the gun, staring at the corpse with cold disinterest. A small notebook emerged from his pocket, and with a pen he neatly crossed out a name.


    Thirteen down. Four to go.


    He flipped to a rough map drawn in smudged ink, portions scratched out where he had already searched. Only a few unmarked areas remained¡ªthe principal''s office and a few classrooms among them.


    Zayn clicked his tongue in irritation. "They''re here somewhere."


    Sliding the notebook back into his pocket, he stepped over the body and left the bathroom without a second glance, heading down the hall towards the principal''s office, the gun still warm in his hand.


    The hallways stretched endlessly, each step echoing faintly. The bodies scattered along the path barely registered in his mind¡ªcrumpled by lockers, slumped against doors. A girl he vaguely remembered lay near the art room, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. Another boy sat propped against the vending machine, blood smeared down the glass.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    Zayn''s focus stayed elsewhere. The memories tugged at him as he walked. The whispered insults, the mocking laughter, the constant reminders that he didn''t belong.


    An orphan. Funded by the empire. The pitiful waste of money.


    That was all they ever saw.


    He remembered the snide comments¡ª"charity case," "government pet." They sabotaged his projects, ruined his schoolwork, but Zayn never let it break him. What gnawed at him wasn''t the bullying. It was the fallout every time he fought back.


    He had lost twelve part-time jobs because rich brats whined to their parents. One confrontation in particular led to his funding being revoked, sealing his fate. Senior high school was no longer an option. His chance at a future was gone.


    So Zayn decided the rules no longer mattered.


    They had taken what little he had left from him. Now he would take something very big from them.


    Their lives.


    His hand tightened around the gun as he approached the next classroom. The door was locked, lights off inside. Zayn sighed. The twentieth one to do this.


    Bang. Bang.


    "Stop wasting my time," Zayn called out. "I know you''re in there. Ask the other dead bodies if hiding behind the door helped them."


    A voice¡ªfrail and shaking¡ªresponded from inside. "Please, stop... think about the innocents. Don''t throw your life away."


    Zayn laughed bitterly. "Throw it away? There''s nothing left to throw. Now send whoever is on the list out. Or I open this door, and no one makes it out."


    Silence followed.


    Zayn wasn''t doing this all out of a whim. He had planned it thoroughly ever since his funding was revoked. He had even made sure to send a list of those he was after earlier that day, not to spare innocents but to waste less time.


    He had even made sure to pick a day everyone was in school and picked the perfect time for none to escape. If anything it was the school''s fault so many people died as collateral.


    They should have taken him seriously.


    Zayn raised the gun, finger hovering over the trigger. The door creaked open.


    His eyes narrowed. This was the first time anyone complied.


    A blonde girl stepped out. Recognition flared in his chest. One of his main tormentors. The one among the many he really wanted to be dead.


    The one who made sure he would never attend senior high. To never have a real life.


    She trembled, hands clasped as she begged. "I can fix it, Zayn. Please, I''ll talk to my father. You can have another chance."


    Zayn''s lips curled in disgust. He said nothing, raising the gun slowly.


    His gaze shifted. Through the half-open door, he caught a glint.


    A sniper.


    The realization struck too late.


    Without hesitation, Zayn pulled the trigger.


    The shot rang out like thunder in the confined hallway, but Zayn barely registered the sound. His eyes locked on the sight of his own glowing bullet slicing through the girl''s eye, a burst of crimson painting the wall behind her. Satisfaction flickered for a brief second¡ªbefore his world exploded into searing red.


    The sniper''s bullet tore through his skull with merciless precision, sending him sprawling onto the cold, unforgiving floor. Pain wasn''t a sharp stab but a deep, dull throb that seemed to engulf his entire being. His limbs felt disconnected, as if his body was slowly floating away from him. Warm blood pooled beneath his head, seeping into his dark hair, while the distant echoes of panic and footsteps swirled around his fading consciousness.


    Zayn lay still, eyes fluttering. He knew death was close, its icy hand inching toward him. His breath hitched, uneven and shallow, as he cursed silently.


    "Three more," he thought bitterly. "Just three more... and I would have been done."


    He forced his trembling arms to push against the ground, barely lifting his head. The strain sent fresh waves of agony crashing through him, but he persisted. He needed to see. He had to know if she was dead.


    Through blurred vision, he spotted the crumpled form of the girl. Her face was twisted unnaturally, a dark hole where her eye once was. Kneeling beside her, the elderly teacher sobbed uncontrollably, clutching the girl''s lifeless body to her chest. A blonde boy¡ªher brother¡ªhovered close, trembling as he begged her to wake up. Zayn didn''t know the exact trajectory of his shot, but he could tell by the devastation painted across their faces that he hadn''t missed.


    Good. One less.


    The ache in his head pulled his gaze downward. His blood smeared the ground beneath him, pooling like ink on paper. He turned his head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse of the sniper, but darkness crowded the edges of his sight. His strength faltered, and his head dropped limply back to the cold floor.


    Staring at the ceiling, he felt a strange sense of peace despite the throbbing pain.


    "I got most of them," he thought. "That''s enough. The others... may they rot."


    His heart slowed as the blood loss sapped the last remnants of his vitality. His eyelids grew heavy, the fluorescent lights above blurring into hazy streaks.


    He braced himself, expecting his life to replay before his eyes¡ªevery miserable second of it. But nothing came. Instead, his mind drifted back to a different time. A time when he wasn''t twisted by hatred and vengeance.


    He saw a younger version of himself, small and fragile, sitting alone in the orphanage''s courtyard. The world then seemed vast and full of possibilities, untainted by the weight of betrayal. Back then, he hadn''t yet realized how cruel life could be.


    "Was there anything... that could have changed all of this?" he pondered, his thoughts unraveling slowly. Family? No. Friends? Unlikely. A better personality? He scoffed inwardly. None of those things could have mattered.


    His mind stumbled over a quote¡ªa distant memory, one that surfaced with startling clarity. He couldn''t recall who said it or where he had heard it, but the words lingered.


    "Power is a simple thing in a world full of difficulties. It can give one the most complex items and the most meaningful of relationships. It is the only constant in this strange world we live in. That is just what power is."


    Zayn''s lips curled faintly. Yes. That was it. Power. If he had possessed it from the start, or at any point, perhaps everything would have been different.


    As the last of his strength ebbed away, his vision dimmed. The weight of death pressed heavily on his chest, but a strange calm washed over him.


    And just as the darkness claimed him, a voice echoed softly in the void.


    Very Well.

 Libraros

    Zayn''s eyes fluttered open, and the first thing that greeted him was not the cold ceiling he expected, but a vast expanse of towering shelves stretching endlessly in all directions.


    The air was heavy yet silent as if the weight of countless tales pressed down upon him. The entire library shimmered under a soft, golden light, its source indiscernible, casting shadows that danced across the marble floors. The ceiling arched high above, painted with celestial murals that seemed to shift and move under his gaze.


    This place, wherever it was, exuded an almost superior and otherworldly presence.


    Zayn stood at the corner of this grandiose chamber, feeling like a speck of dust in the face of infinity. His breaths quickened, and an involuntary shiver ran down his spine. The sheer magnitude of the library made him feel insignificant as if he had stumbled into a realm far beyond his comprehension.


    His eyes narrowed as he slowly took in the shelves, lined meticulously with books of varying sizes, shapes, and designs. Their bindings glowed faintly, some more intensely than others.


    Initially, Zayn thought he had been transported into some sort of digital library, the eerie stillness giving the illusion of holograms or projections. But the distinct, tangible weight of the place dissuaded him. These were no digital artifacts ¨C they were real books.


    Danger.


    The word shot through his mind like lightning. His muscles tensed as the realization sank in. Books like those meant danger. Instinct clawed at him, urging him to retreat, to escape before something catastrophic occurred. But when he spun around, he found no door, no entrance, no exit. The wall behind him was bare and unyielding.


    He cursed under his breath, already calculating possible means of survival. Perhaps there was a hidden exit, or maybe¡ª


    Silence.


    It was too silent. He paused, realizing for the first time that, despite the magnitude of the library, there was no looming threat. Nothing rustled, no shadows crept unnaturally, and the books, while ominous in appearance, emitted no malevolent energy he could see or even feel. He slowly unclenched his fists, his wariness lessening by a fraction.


    A subtle sound¡ªa footstep.


    Zayn snapped his head to the side, eyes narrowing. A figure emerged from between the shelves, drifting toward him silently. Cloaked entirely in grey, the figure''s face and body were obscured beneath a deep hood. In their hand, they held a small, unassuming notebook.


    Zayn''s instincts flared. He prided himself on his awareness, yet he hadn''t noticed the figure''s approach until now. His jaw tightened as he took a cautious step back, but somehow, the distance between them diminished.


    The figure halted, tilting their head slightly as if surprised that Zayn had noticed them. For a moment, the two simply stared at one another in silence. There was no malice in the figure''s stance, only curiosity.


    They advanced again, and Zayn instinctively stepped back, but once more, the distance between them seemed to collapse.


    His grip tightened at his sides, though he had no weapon to defend himself. He watched carefully as the figure approached a nearby shelf, running their gloved fingers across the spines of the books. Without hesitation, they plucked one from the row and slowly opened it.


    Zayn immediately braced himself, preparing for the inevitable surge of danger, but nothing happened. No dark mist, no curses, no twisted manifestations. The figure casually flipped through the book as if it were an insignificant object, absorbing the words without consequence.


    Zayn''s eyes narrowed in disbelief. He had expected catastrophe. Wasn''t this supposed to be dangerous? Wasn''t that the unspoken rule?


    Another book was taken down, opened, read, and closed.


    "Impossible..." Zayn muttered under his breath, unable to process what he was witnessing.


    The figure paused, their hooded face remaining turned toward the shelf. "You need not fear. The Stories that dwell here are not yet ready to be unraveled."


    The calmness in their tone sent a shiver down Zayn''s spine. He did not understand their meaning, but the assurance in their voice held a weight that eased his nerves slightly. Slowly, he let out the breath he hadn''t realized he had been holding.


    The figure placed the book down and began walking away. After a few steps, they paused and turned slightly, their empty eye sockets seeming to pierce into Zayn''s very being. "What are you waiting for? Follow me."


    Zayn hesitated. A strange part of him wanted to stay put, but logic dictated that following this figure was safer than wandering a labyrinthine library alone.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.


    The memory of videos showing books shifting on their own lingered uneasily in his mind. With a quiet sigh, he stepped forward and trailed behind the figure.


    The vastness of the library overwhelmed him as they walked. It stretched endlessly in all directions, the towering shelves seemingly growing taller the further they went. Zayn craned his neck to take it all in, yet no matter how hard he looked, the top shelves faded into a misty haze.


    The books he passed by had no titles or labels on their spines, only smooth surfaces that did not indicate their contents. A chill prickled at his skin.


    Eventually, they arrived at a reception desk. The figure silently moved behind it, placing the small book down with careful precision. With one fluid motion, they removed their robe, revealing a startling sight.


    The figure was a pale-skinned man with unruly blonde hair, but where his eyes should have been, there were only hollow, dark sockets. Zayn involuntarily took a step back, discomfort evident in his posture.


    "Welcome to Libraros," the man said warmly, a stark contrast to his unsettling appearance.


    Zayn''s mouth opened, but no words came out. Instead, he opted to study the desk. It was worn, ancient, and bore the weight of centuries of use. As his gaze wandered, he noticed the small book the figure had set down. It looked eerily familiar. Upon closer inspection, realization struck him¡ªit was a notebook identical to the one he used for taking notes and information.


    The figure caught his lingering gaze and smiled. "I found it lying around. Consider it returned."


    Zayn hesitated before reaching out and taking the notebook. He tried to open it, but the pages wouldn''t budge. No matter how hard he pried, the cover remained stubbornly shut. With a sigh, he placed it back down.


    "What happens now?" Zayn asked at last.


    The figure''s expression softened. "Now it''s time for you to begin your Story."


    Those words sent cold alarms through Zayn''s mind. His eyes narrowed. "What do you mean by that?"


    The figure leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on the desk. "You are here to pick a story and complete it. That is how you become a Character."


    Zayn''s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Characters. His thoughts scrambled for understanding.


    Characters¡ªthose elite, supernatural figures capable of challenging and completing Stories, ensuring that dangerous anomalies didn''t wreak havoc on the world, all while using strange unmatched powers. They were the heroes, the ones standing between humanity and the unknown but unstoppable threat of Stories.


    Zayn had once dreamed of becoming a Character himself, back when he was younger. But reality struck hard. Without talent, without a sign of awakening, the dream had died quietly. He''d turned to studies and knowledge, clinging to the faint hope that it could forge a different path for him.


    Yet here he was. With no future, possibly dead and in this strange place.


    "That''s not possible," Zayn muttered, shaking his head. "I''m not supposed to be able to become a Character."


    The figure''s expression remained unreadable, his hollow gaze fixed on Zayn. "Why do you think you''re here, then?"


    Zayn sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on him like an iron chain. Despite everything he knew telling him that this was absurd, he found himself settling into the idea.


    What choice did he really have? The figure before him, the Librarian as it called itself, held all the answers. But those answers came in riddles wrapped in vague phrases.


    He crossed his arms, eyeing the pale-skinned figure curiously. "I don''t even know who you are."


    The Librarian smiled faintly, an expression that looked unsettling on a face devoid of eyes. "I am a simple Librarian," it said.


    Zayn raised a brow. "That doesn''t really explain much."


    "It explains enough."


    Seeing that line of inquiry would lead nowhere, Zayn shifted to more pressing concerns. "Fine. Then why am I, of all people here?"


    The Librarian''s fingers lightly traced the surface of the desk as it spoke. "Because you were chosen."


    Zayn frowned. "Chosen for what exactly?"


    "To begin your story."


    Zayn exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "But I died, didn''t I?"


    The Librarian nodded with eerie calm. "Yes, you did."


    The bluntness of the confirmation sent a chill crawling down Zayn''s spine. He rubbed the back of his neck, unsure how to respond to that. He let silence linger between them before asking, "Why aren''t the books around here exploding into Stories?"


    "They are not ready to be explored."


    "And what if I want to leave?" Zayn''s tone was edged with irritation, though he already suspected the answer.


    "You may leave when your Story is complete."


    Zayn could only sigh, dragging a hand down his face. The lack of control gnawed at him, but he recognized the futility of fighting against something so far out of his understanding. His gaze drifted back to the small notebook resting on the desk. There was something oddly familiar about it, and despite everything, the thought of starting a Story from his own notebook made his stomach churn with unease.


    "How do I begin?" he asked at last, resting a hand on the notebook.


    The Librarian stepped back slightly. "Select a book and place a drop of your blood on its cover."


    Zayn glanced up at the Librarian, surprised by the strange ritual. "That''s it?"


    The Librarian nodded, but after a pause, it added, "If I may suggest, starting with a smaller book would be wise."


    Zayn narrowed his eyes at the notebook beneath his fingers. It was far from large¡ªthin and well-worn, filled with notes from his old classes. But he hesitated, remembering that notebooks and journals couldn''t normally become Stories unless every page was filled. Even then, it wasn''t guaranteed. The risks of using them were well known, though it was a risk he often took since he couldn''t afford the more expensive digital journals others used.


    However, he always made sure to get rid of them before reaching the last page.


    "In Libraros," the Librarian continued, "any book can hold a story."


    Zayn''s fingers tightened around the notebook. Hearing that brought no comfort. But despite himself, he lifted the notebook, his thumb grazing its frayed edges.


    Now, how to draw blood? His eyes flicked to the desk, spotting a small pen lying beside the notebook. He considered using it, but something about this place made him wary of relying on tools that weren''t his own. Instead, he bit down on his lower lip hard enough to break the skin. The coppery tang of blood filled his mouth, and a droplet rolled off his lip, splattering against the cover of the notebook.


    The moment the blood made contact, the notebook trembled in his hand. Zayn''s eyes widened as faint golden lines began to trace the edges of the cover. A low hum filled the air, and he glanced at the Librarian, who simply observed in silence.


    Before he could speak, light erupted from the notebook, swallowing his vision entirely.

 Trouble

    Back in the school,


    The entire place was hushed, save for the occasional static of radios and muffled voices of law enforcement officers moving through the halls. The ''bodies'' had already been cleared, only blood stains left telling of the tragedy that took place.


    Splashes of blood stained the once beautiful tiles and bullet scorch marks littered the floor. Sunlight streamed in through shattered windows, casting jagged shadows across the lifeless forms.


    Detective Leon stood over one such form¡ªthe crumpled body of the shooter, Zayn. The boy lay face-up, the exit wound from the sniper''s bullet leaving a gaping hole through the top of his skull and out his head. His dark eyes were half-lidded, staring blankly at the ceiling.


    Leon exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his neck as he scanned the body.


    His digital pad hovered in his hand, displaying Zayn''s file as he recorded new observations. Zayn. No Surname. Fourteen years old. No Liberation Talent. Orphan. Empire-Funded. Funded Status: Terminated.


    Leon''s eyes lingered on the words "fourteen years old" in the classification box. He''d been in this line of work long enough to know children were sometimes capable of unthinkable things, but something about this case gnawed at him.


    "How does a kid this young even manage something like this?" he muttered under his breath.


    Beside him, Officer Keller approached, glancing down at Zayn before handing Leon a tablet. "Preliminary death count. Thirteen confirmed dead, all students. 145 others are injured, 32 life-threatening, and the remaining superficial. Few who didn''t resist suffer no injuries."


    Leon frowned. "Thirteen?" His gaze flickered over the crime scene. "Reports said he shot up most of the school. You''re telling me he only killed thirteen?"


    Keller nodded, lowering his voice. "That''s the odd part. Most of the shots were close-range, point-blank even. Those who survived said he had clear opportunities to kill them... but didn''t. Most of them were knocked unconscious from the shock or lost enough blood to pass out, their unconscious bodies making it look like there were more fatalities."


    Leon mulled over the information, his eyes narrowing slightly. He knelt beside Zayn''s body, eyes drawn to a slight bulge in the boy''s jacket pocket. Reaching carefully, he pulled out a small, well-worn notebook. As soon as it left the pocket, Keller instinctively stepped back.


    "Careful with that," Keller warned, voice taut. "For all we know, it could be filled."


    Leon raised an eyebrow, giving the officer a sideways glance. "Relax. Odds are low the kid kept a completed book on him."


    Still, he scanned the notebook with his device for any latent energy signals¡ªnone. Satisfied, he opened the cover, flipping through its pages as his pad recorded every word within.


    The first few pages contained hastily scribbled notes¡ªfloor layouts, schedules, and student routes. Leon''s brow furrowed in mild surprise at the level of detail.


    "He planned this thoroughly," Leon remarked, flipping to the next page. There, scrawled in black ink, was a list of names¡ªseventeen in total. Thirteen were crossed out.


    Leon stiffened. "Keller, get me the names of the deceased. Now."


    Keller tapped on his device, pulling up the list and reading them aloud. With each name he recited, Leon cross-referenced them with the notebook. They matched all thirteen.


    "These were his targets," Leon realized aloud. "The rest of the school wasn''t even part of the plan."


    Keller''s face paled. "That''s... too precise. Could the kid have been an assassin?"


    Leon shook his head, lips pressed into a thin line. "I don''t think so. If he was, he''d have been cleaner. This was personal."


    He didn''t tuck away the notebook, instead, his grip tightened slightly as he processed the implications. The names listed¡ªthose crossed out¡ªwere all connected, their families tied to high-profile figures within the Empire. It felt calculated, like an assassination, yet Leon''s instincts resisted the notion.


    His gaze drifted once more to Zayn''s hollow expression. A child with a vendetta¡ªor something deeper?


    The soft shuffle of boots on cracked tiles signaled the approach of another officer. He leaned down, whispering something briefly into Officer Keller''s ear before turning on his heel and disappearing back down the hall. Keller straightened, glancing over at Detective Leon, who had taken to quietly inspecting Zayn''s notebook once more.


    Leon didn''t bother looking up. "What was that about?"


    Keller cleared his throat, eyes flicking nervously toward the body at their feet. "The Archduke''s daughter survived."


    Leon''s head snapped up. "Survived? The shot to the head?"


    Keller nodded. "Barely. She''s unconscious, but the medics say she''ll make it."A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Leon''s gaze dropped back to the list of names in the notebook. His thumb ran along the edge of the paper, stopping when he found Eliza Soranthe''s name, the only one marked with a small star beside it.


    "That seems to be an important shot for him." Leon tapped her name with the edge of his stylus. "He didn''t get his most important target before he died."


    Keller shifted uncomfortably. "You almost sound disappointed, sir."


    Leon exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. "Not what I meant." He closed the notebook carefully, tucking it under his arm. "I''m not fond of nobles, but I don''t hate them enough to wish their children dead."


    Before Keller could respond, another figure entered the corridor. A woman with short-cut white hair, a chain tattoo coiling around her wrist, and a sleek headset resting against her collarbone. The long, slender barrel of a sniper rifle extended above her shoulder, barely visible beneath her cloak.


    Both Leon and Keller straightened immediately, offering a brief but respectful bow. "Hero Athena."


    Athena''s gaze flicked over them coolly, her expression unreadable. "As you were."


    Leon straightened first, his mind racing. He had questions but held his tongue. Characters of her status rarely appeared in crime scenes like these unless something far more significant was at play.


    Almost as if sensing his thoughts, Athena''s eyes drifted to him. "I was here on assignment. When I caught wind of the shooter, I intervened." She adjusted the rifle strap slightly. "I stationed myself in a nearby building. This spot had the best line of sight."


    Leon''s brow furrowed. "I see. That lines up."


    He said nothing more, but inwardly, he marveled at how she had seemingly read his thoughts. Athena''s abilities were well-documented, but few understood the full extent of her sensory skills.


    Keller bent down, gesturing to Zayn''s body. "Should we call for the retrieval team?"


    Leon gave a tired nod. "Yes. Have them move him out."


    Keller left swiftly, leaving Leon standing in silence beside Hero Athena. The quiet stretched between them until Athena''s voice broke the lull.


    "He saw me."


    Leon''s head turned sharply. "What?"


    "The boy." Athena''s gaze was distant, fixed somewhere past Zayn''s lifeless form. "At the moment I got him in my sights, he saw me."


    Leon frowned. "If he saw you, why didn''t he dodge?"


    Athena''s eyes lowered slightly. "Because he was mundane. Not a Character. Even if he knew I was there before I did, it wouldn''t have mattered."


    Leon crossed his arms, trying to process her words. "Then why didn''t he hesitate?"


    Her voice was calm, but the faintest flicker of something like pity crossed her face. "He wasn''t trying to survive. He was ready to die, so long as he could take the girl with him."


    Leon''s gaze returned to the dead body, unreadable. "I''ve only seen that kind of resolve in someone with nothing left to lose."


    "Desperation can sharpen a person''s senses." Athena stepped forward, looking down at Zayn''s body. "But even among the desperate, few can react as quickly as he did. And even fewer to me."


    Leon''s mind churned at her words. What drove a boy like Zayn¡ªyoung, powerless, and mundane¡ªto nearly succeed in something so extreme? And how did he notice Athena, a Character feared and revered in equal measure for her abilities?


    Leon had the unsettling feeling that this case was far from simple.


    Officer Keller returned with the retrieval team in tow, their footsteps echoing lightly against the tiled floor as they approached Zayn''s body. The lead technician crouched beside him, carefully prying the pulse gun from his lifeless hands and securing it in a sealed containment case.


    Leon watched quietly, arms crossed, before murmuring, "How does a kid like him get his hands on a pulse gun?"


    Hero Athena, standing nearby with her arms loosely at her sides, replied without missing a beat. "It''s not difficult. The gun trade thrives because the mundane officers struggle to contain it."


    The casual remark landed like a slap, and Leon felt the weight of her words settle between him and Keller. Despite the sting, neither of them could argue. Compared to Characters like Athena, who regularly prevented world-ending threats, their roles felt minuscule¡ªjust struggling to keep society''s basic laws in place.


    As the retrieval team carefully transferred Zayn''s body onto a floating stretcher, one of the technicians approached Leon, eyes lingering on the notebook still clutched in his hand.


    "Detective, we''ll need that sealed as well. Any artifact found on the body has to be contained."


    Leon hesitated for only a moment before placing the notebook into the reinforced case. The technician snapped the lock shut, sealing it with a faint hum of energy.


    "Did you record a full scan before interacting with the body?" the technician asked, adjusting his visor.


    Leon swiped through his pad, sending the scan data over. "Yes. Full scan right here."


    The technician reviewed it, gave a curt nod, and turned back to his team. Leon exhaled quietly, turning to face Athena. "Thanks for your help today. I doubt this would have gone as smoothly without you."


    He expected her usual indifferent response, but instead, Athena''s expression twisted into a deep frown, her gaze locked on the containment case.


    Keller, noticing, cleared his throat. "Hero Athena, you don''t need to worry. The book wasn''t filled¡ªit''s incomplete. It should be safe."


    Athena''s eyes sharpened. "Get away from it. Now."


    Her voice cracked through the air, instantly shattering the calm. Keller froze, eyes darting toward Leon for confirmation.


    "Move!" Athena barked, already drawing her sniper rifle from her back.


    The retrieval team stiffened in confusion but obeyed without hesitation, quickly setting the sealed case down and retreating. Leon and Keller followed suit, backing away as Athena leveled her rifle at the containment box.


    A heartbeat later, the box exploded in a blinding flash of white light, energy converging rapidly over Zayn''s body.


    Leon shielded his eyes with his arm, blinking through the afterglow. As his vision cleared, he saw the impossible¡ªZayn''s body shrinking into the pages of the book, which glowed with vibrant, pulsating runes.


    The book hovered in midair for a breathless moment before expanding outward, tearing open a jagged rift. From within the rift, a massive stone arch began to take form, its surface engraved with blood-red runes that shimmered dangerously.


    Athena didn''t lower her weapon. "Did you write anything in the book, Detective?"


    Leon snapped his head toward her, eyes wide with disbelief. "Of course not. Why would I do something that stupid?"


    The air thickened with tension. The rift continued to pulse, the stone arch solidifying with each passing second.


    Leon''s voice dropped to a strained whisper. "What the hell is happening?"


    Athena shook her head. "I don''t know. But whatever this is¡ªit''s not normal. Call for reinforcements. Now."


    Keller hesitated. "You need backup? You''re a high-ranked Character, Hero Athena. We mundane won''t be able to assist in any way."


    "I meant to call another Character," she repeated firmly.


    That struck a nerve. Athena''s rank was no secret¡ªshe could dismantle large forces of enemies alone. The fact that she was asking for help chilled Leon more than the rift itself.


    As Keller scrambled to relay the order, Leon could only watch as the stone arch loomed over them, its crimson runes glowing brighter with each passing second.

 Strange Island

    Zayn drifted in a vast expanse of light, weightless and unanchored. The world around him twisted until he found himself gazing down from above, his vision stretching wide over a magnificent island.


    From his vantage point, he could see the entire landmass¡ªlush green forests wrapped around the base of a great mountain peak that jutted toward the sky like a stone spear.


    The island was encircled by golden sands, with waves crashing in rhythmic motion against the shore. Streams wove through the land, glinting like silver threads in the sunlight. Birds circled overhead, their dark forms casting fleeting shadows across the forest canopy.


    His eyes were drawn to the horizon where small ships, primitive but sturdy, breached the waters, slicing through the waves as they approached the island.


    Aboard them were figures, too small to make out individually, but numerous enough to fill the decks. As the boats landed, the figures spilled onto the shore, forming lines and carrying supplies inland.


    Suddenly, the world accelerated. The sun zipped across the sky, rising and setting in rapid succession. The people moved with supernatural speed, swarming the land like ants.


    Trees fell, huts rose, and fields spread out as the settlers cultivated the soil. Time folded over itself, and the island transformed.


    Zayn watched as structures of wood and stone replaced crude shelters, trails became roads, and fishing boats multiplied along the coast. Smoke spiraled from hearths and forges, merging with the sky as generations passed in mere moments.


    His vision began to lower, the high vantage slowly descending toward the land. The fast-forwarded scene slowed until everything moved at normal speed.


    Zayn''s feet met soft sand, and the blur of motion came to a halt. Darkness flickered briefly over his eyes, and when it receded, he stood at the edge of the sea, the waves gently rolling onto the shore.


    The cool breeze ruffled his hair, and the smell of salt filled his nostrils. He glanced down, seeing his reflection faintly in the water.


    ''This isn''t what I look like...''


    His skin was now tanned, his build leaner and slightly taller. He flexed his hands, unfamiliar with how different he felt. Even his face was extremely different.


    He felt strangely disconnected although he could still control himself perfectly.


    ''I must be in a different body'' he concluded.


    He pressed his feet into the damp sand, feeling the ground yield slightly beneath him.


    "Is this... what a story feels like?" he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the crashing waves.


    From what he knew, stories were hostile places¡ªworlds filled with danger, chaos, and unpredictable forces. Yet the serenity of the beach clashed with everything he had learned. This place felt... real. The wind, the warmth of the sun, the tang of salt air¡ªit grounded him in a way he hadn''t expected.


    He turned his gaze back to the sea, letting the calm wash over him until a voice broke the tranquility.


    "Bls! Wtye axc yki duiny hpor?"


    Zayn shifted his gaze toward the sound. A tall, broad-shouldered man strode down the beach. His skin was the same tanned hue, and his beard, thick and streaked with gray, moved slightly with the breeze. His features mirrored those of the islanders Zayn had seen from above, bearing the same air of rugged strength.


    Though his features were more rugged and rough than his own smoother features.


    At first, the man''s words were unintelligible, spoken in a language Zayn didn''t recognize. But as he continued, the words slowly unraveled into the Imperial English he had grown up with, each syllable smoothing into familiar clarity.


    "How could you leave your mother alone? Who will care for her if you go running off like this?"


    Zayn blinked, uncertain how to respond. The man''s tone was stern but not unkind. There was a familiarity in his eyes, a kind of parental weight behind his scolding.


    He didn''t know this man, yet something in the way he spoke suggested otherwise.


    "Come now," the man added, placing a firm hand on Zayn''s shoulder. "Let''s return to your mother."


    Zayn''s eyes drifted down to the rough, calloused hand gripping his shoulder. His gaze hardened, icy and sharp, as if the mere contact had pierced through him.


    The man''s brow furrowed slightly, but the sudden chill that swept over him caused his fingers to twitch and slip away from the boy''s shoulder.


    A tense silence hung between them. Zayn turned his head slowly, locking eyes with the man. The older figure stood tall and broad-shouldered, his weathered features framed by a short beard streaked with gray. There was confusion in his expression, while Zayn''s remained distant and cold.Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.


    After a moment, the man broke the silence. "Is something wrong?"


    Zayn sighed and shook his head. "No."


    The man lingered for a moment longer, clearly unsettled, but chose not to press further. With a curt nod, he turned and began walking down the beach toward the distant treeline.


    Over his shoulder, he called out, "Come along, boy. We shouldn''t keep your mother waiting."


    Zayn hesitated but ultimately followed. He didn''t know where he was, and learning more seemed like the most logical course of action.


    The path from the shore to the village was well-trodden, carved through patches of tall grass that swayed lazily in the warm breeze. Palm trees lined the way, their fronds rustling overhead. As they crested a small hill, the village came into view.


    Clusters of thatched huts made from wood and dried palm leaves dotted the area, nestled close to one another. Smoke curled lazily from stone fire pits, and villagers moved about with purpose, carrying baskets and chatting in the soft afternoon light. Children dashed between the huts, laughing and chasing each other, while older women strung red and orange cloths between wooden poles, decorating the village.


    Zayn''s eyes wandered, taking in the details. Small wooden boats were propped along the shore in the distance, and colorful trinkets hung from the huts'' entrances. The air smelled of salt and roasted fish. Despite the peaceful nature of the village, there was a hum of excitement. People smiled, exchanged greetings, and worked together as if preparing for something significant.


    The man beside him caught his lingering gaze. "It''s the festival. You''ll see it soon enough. This will be your first."


    "Festival?" Zayn asked, eyes narrowing slightly.


    The man chuckled, hands resting on his hips. "Aye. The Festival of the Red Flame. It only happens every twenty years."


    Zayn looked up at him as he continued. "It''s a sacred event. When our people first arrived on this island long ago, it was the Red Flame that lit our path and guarded our nights. Of the Four Great Gods, the Red Flame is the greatest. The only one that protected us after we lost our home."


    At the mention of gods, Zayn''s expression tightened. His eyes flicked toward the man, but he offered no reaction.


    "The Red Flame is a humble god," the man went on, glancing at the cloth banners swaying in the wind. "It could ask for worship every year, but it desires none until the sun burns its brightest red. That is when we celebrate."


    Zayn took in the explanation quietly. His focus drifted back to the villagers, watching them with faint curiosity. This gave him at least some understanding of the world he had stepped into, though it still left him wondering what part he was meant to play.


    From tidbits he heard here and there in school, Characters went into stories to resolve issues or play roles. If they successfully this the story would conclude and nothing will happen.


    If they failed though, well... an Undoing would occur, and from what little he knew, no one would want that to happen.


    They reached a small house nestled at the edge of the village. Unlike some of the larger huts, this one was modest but well-kept, with a small garden in the front. The man stepped forward and knocked lightly on the wooden door before pushing it open.


    "Come on in, boy," he said, disappearing inside. Zayn lingered on the doorstep for a brief moment before following him in.


    Zayn stepped into the house, his eyes adjusting to the dim interior as the door creaked shut behind him. The inside was modest, yet warm¡ªwoven reed mats lined the floor, and wooden carvings of sea creatures adorned the walls.


    A single hammock hung near the far side of the room, swaying gently with the breeze drifting in through the open windows. Dried herbs dangled from the ceiling, their faint earthy scent blending with the salt of the sea air.


    Zayn''s gaze drifted from one detail to the next, cataloging the unfamiliar surroundings. His fingers brushed lightly against the smooth surface of a carved wooden bowl resting on a nearby table. Everything about the home felt lived-in, in yet meticulously kept.


    The man who brought him there strode across the room, approaching a woman seated beside the window. Her posture was relaxed, eyes half-lidded as she ran her fingers over what appeared to be finely spun fabric stretched across her lap.


    Upon noticing him, she set the fabric aside and rose to her feet, her expression softening as the man wrapped his arms around her in a brief embrace. They exchanged a few words, their voices low and affectionate.


    "I found him by the shore," the man said, nodding toward Zayn. "He was just looking at the sea."


    The woman¡¯s eyes shifted to Zayn, her gaze tender. A gentle smile curved her lips as she stepped forward, cradling her belly with one hand. Her swollen form left little doubt¡ªshe was with child. But what struck Zayn more was the resemblance she bore to him, or at least this body.


    Her deep-set eyes, the curve of her nose, and the softness of her features mirrored this body''s own far more than the man¡¯s did.


    Zayn¡¯s sharp eyes lingered on her, noting the similarity immediately. This woman¡ªthis mother¡ªwas unmistakably connected to him, unlike the man.


    "Come here, little one," she beckoned with a wave of her hand.


    He hesitated for a moment but eventually crossed the room toward her. As he approached, she gently took his hand in hers, lifting it to inspect him as if searching for injuries. The warmth of her touch clashed with his cold, indifferent stare, but if she noticed, she gave no sign of it.


    "At least you''re unharmed," she said softly. "I was worried when you disappeared. Running off like that without a word... What were you doing by the shore?"


    Zayn said nothing, his mind blank. He had no explanation for what this body¡ªhis body¡ªhad been doing before he arrived in this strange place. What answer could he possibly give?


    Seeing that no response would come, she simply let out a quiet sigh and glanced over her shoulder at the man.


    "He doesn¡¯t seem hurt," she said, lowering Zayn¡¯s hand gently. "That¡¯s enough for me."


    The man crossed his arms, shaking his head. "You¡¯re too easy on him. He left you alone in your condition. What if something had happened while he was gone?"


    The woman chuckled, brushing the concern aside with a wave of her hand. "Oh, let him be. Can you blame him? The entire village is bustling, and the festival only happens once every twenty years. It must be hard for a boy his age to stay cooped up here with his mother. I¡¯d wager you were the same at his age."


    The man scratched his beard, relenting with a faint grin. "Fair enough. I suppose I was."


    Zayn listened in silence, observing the exchange between the two with faint detachment. He shifted uncomfortably, the easy atmosphere between them unfamiliar to him.


    Seeing his chance, Zayn took a step back, turning toward the doorway.


    "I¡¯ll let him go for now," the woman said knowingly, sensing his desire to leave. "Let him see the preparations for the festival."


    The man didn¡¯t object, and Zayn quietly slipped out, eager to take in more of this strange world he found himself in.

 Village Boy

    The soft rustling of palm leaves outside the window provided a calming background as the man¡ªZayn''s father¡ªlowered himself onto a wooden stool near the hearth. His wife, the woman Zayn now called Mother in his thoughts, reclined on a cushioned mat by the wall, gently rubbing her swollen belly.


    The man exhaled deeply, the weight of unspoken thoughts evident.


    She tilted her head slightly, her eyes soft but curious. "Why the long sigh?" she asked, her voice light but laced with quiet concern.


    He ran a hand through his coarse hair, glancing toward the doorway where Zayn had disappeared moments earlier. "It¡¯s the boy... he¡¯s different today. More distant."


    She smiled knowingly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "He¡¯s at that age, my love. Boys wander, they dream. You did the same."


    He shook his head. "No, this was different. When I found him by the shore, he wasn¡¯t just daydreaming. There was this... coldness about him. When I put my hand on his shoulder, he looked at me like I was a stranger. Like an enemy almost. It was... unsettling."


    She chuckled softly. "He just needs time. You know how he¡¯s been since you came into our lives. You¡¯re not his father by blood¡ªhe¡¯s still adjusting."


    "It wasn¡¯t just me," he added, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "He looked at you the same way when you held his hand. I know what I saw."


    Her hand paused mid-rub, her eyes flickering for the briefest moment. "Nonsense. He wouldn¡¯t look at me that way. I¡¯m his mother." She waved it off with a light laugh. "You must be imagining things."


    The man frowned, lowering his gaze to the ground. "I¡¯m not so sure."


    Sensing the weight his doubts placed upon him, she reached out and took his hand, lacing her fingers through his. "Don¡¯t worry yourself too much. You¡¯re a good man. You¡¯ve done right by him, even if he hasn¡¯t fully accepted you yet. Give it time. He¡¯ll see you as a father, eventually."


    A faint smile tugged at his lips, though the concern lingered in his eyes. "I hope you¡¯re right."


    "I know I am," she said softly, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. "He adored his father, and you remind me of him in many ways. He¡¯ll come around."


    The man exhaled, releasing some of his unease. "Maybe that¡¯s why he was by the sea. I found him just standing there, staring out at the horizon."


    She nodded thoughtfully. "His father loved the sea, you know. Always said he would have been a wayfarer if the elders allowed it. Perhaps the boy was thinking of him."


    The man¡¯s expression softened. "That does make sense."


    He shifted closer to her, his hand moving gently over her belly. "And how are you two doing?"


    Her eyes brightened as she placed her hand over his. "We¡¯re well. Kicking a lot today¡ªperhaps as excited for the festival as the rest of the village."


    He laughed quietly. "Let¡¯s hope the little one holds off arriving until after the festival."


    She leaned into his touch. "I think we¡¯ll manage."


    They sat in silence for a while, the warmth between them filling the modest home as the island breeze whispered through the open windows. The festival preparations continued faintly in the background, but for now, they were simply a husband and wife, waiting for their family to grow.


    Meanwhile,


    The midday sun hung overhead, casting its warmth over the village. Zayn, contrary to what the couple believed, was not exploring the village or off by the shore. Instead, he lay quietly on the thatched roof of their small home, his arms tucked behind his head as he listened intently to everything the two had said below. The filtered rays of sunlight flickered through the palm fronds swaying in the breeze, painting dappled shadows across his face.


    His suspicions were confirmed. This body, whoever it belonged to, was the child of the woman inside. But the man¡ªthe father¡ªwas not his real father. Zayn now understood the delicate tension in the man''s voice, the uncertainty behind his words. The mother''s reassurances only underscored how new the relationship was.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    As Zayn listened further, he took in the details like puzzle pieces slowly assembling into a clearer picture. The father, despite his awkwardness, wanted to connect. The mother held unwavering faith that, given time, the boy would come around.


    Zayn, however, felt no connection to either of them. This wasn''t his life. This wasn''t even his body. As he mulled over their words, his gaze drifted across the horizon where the ocean stretched endlessly into the distance. The wind carried the faint sounds of festival preparations, laughter, and idle chatter from the nearby village square.


    "So... the boy''s father was passionate about the sea," Zayn thought. "And he died? Or disappeared?" He sighed quietly, shaking his head. None of this explained what he was supposed to do. What kind of story was this supposed to be? There was no conflict, no immediate threat, no impending disaster¡ªat least not yet.


    He grimaced slightly, flexing his fingers. This body felt different. The muscle was softer, less refined. Back in his old life, he was stronger, despite the poor living conditions. Manual labor from several part-time jobs had sculpted his body, giving him an edge most boys his age lacked. Here, his movements felt sluggish in comparison.


    "I could probably take this kid in a fight." Zayn thought dryly, amused by the irony.


    But what did that matter now? He wasn''t back home. He didn''t even actually have a home to go back to.


    His gaze lowered as he mulled over the possibilities. ''Is this purgatory? Was the Librarian messing with me?'' The thought lingered, gnawing at him. There had to be a point to this, right? Stories, from what little he knew, were dangerous, chaotic things. Characters¡ªthe only people capable of dealing with stories¡ªweren''t normal. And yet, nothing here seemed dangerous. Nothing seemed remotely threatening.


    "Maybe I''m missing something. What do I even know about stories?" Zayn furrowed his brow.


    The Empire guarded information about Characters and Stories fiercely. Even whispers about them were rare outside of the upper echelons of society. The only reason he knew anything at all was because of the school he attended¡ªone of the more prestigious public academies. Children of government officials and high-ranking personnel filled its halls, and their careless gossip occasionally spilled invaluable scraps of knowledge.


    Zayn made it a point to eavesdrop, soaking in whatever morsels he could. But even with that knowledge, this situation eluded him.


    As the thoughts churned in his mind, a sudden sharp pain lanced through his skull. He hissed under his breath, clutching his head. "What the¡ª?"


    The pain was blinding, but as quickly as it came, it ebbed. Zayn''s breathing slowed, and he gradually lowered his hand. But something rested in his palm.


    His eyes widened.


    In his grasp was the small notebook.


    "How... did this get here?" Zayn muttered, flipping it over in disbelief. It was the same notebook he carried back at the school¡ªthe one taken from his body after he died. Yet here it was, as if it had always been with him.


    He stared at it for a long moment, the soft wind ruffling the edges of its pages. Something told him this was no ordinary book anymore. And just like that, the weight of the story pressing down on him felt a little more real.


    Zayn held the small notebook in his hands, turning it over carefully as if expecting it to disappear at any moment. The leathery black cover felt familiar, but there was something distinctly different about it now. Etched across the front in bold, crimson letters was his name: ZAYN. Just below it, in smaller script, was the word Outline.


    Frowning, he traced his fingers over the letters, feeling the slight indentation in the leather. He didn''t remember this detail. In fact, he was certain the book was blank the last time he held it. The sudden appearance of his name, paired with the splitting headache from moments ago, sent a cold shiver down his spine.


    Looking around the roof to ensure no one was watching, Zayn flipped the notebook open.


    For a moment, nothing happened. He stared at an empty page, wondering if the entire ordeal was just his mind playing tricks on him.


    Then, without warning, the page pulsed with light. A swirling mix of colors burst forth, illuminating his face.


    "Oh come on, not again!" Zayn groaned, squinting against the sudden brightness. It faded almost as quickly as it had come, leaving behind glowing runes sprawled across the page. The script looked ancient, foreign, yet somehow he could read it perfectly.


    He leaned closer, reading the text aloud under his breath:


    Character: Zayn


    Rank: Mundane


    Role: None


    Core Purpose: Mundane


    Qualities: [Blessed by Red] [Unfortunate]


    Abilities: None


    Story Purpose: [Village Boy]


    Fragments: None


    Wills: None


    Zayn blinked at the strange entry, his brows furrowing deeper with every line he read. His gaze naturally drifted back to the section labeled [Story Purpose]. As if responding to his focus, the runes began to shift once more. The book trembled faintly in his hands, flipping to another blank page. Fresh runes crawled across the sheet, forming a more detailed explanation:


    [Village Boy] ¨C [A simple village boy living peacefully on the island, like all others of his age. His days are filled with play and learning, preparing him to grow into a responsible man for the village. To him and all others, the village is everything. Even death holds no meaning beyond the service of the village.]


    At the very end of the description, a faint red rune flickered, adding a final line:


    ...But even among the boys who grow to serve the village, he saw something more.


    Zayn''s lips pressed into a thin line as he read the new addition. "I saw something more..." he repeated quietly. The words felt heavy, lingering in his chest, but he couldn''t quite understand why.

 Blessed By Red

    Zayn sat cross-legged, notebook resting lightly on his knees as the faint glow of the runes dimmed to nothing. His eyes remained locked on the last line. That addition at the end gnawed at him, confirming everything he had suspected. There was something beneath the surface of this seemingly peaceful village, and whatever it was, he was tangled in it.


    He couldn''t bring himself to interpret ''seeing something more'' as anything good. No Story ever pointed toward happy endings for those caught in their grip, and that part about the village being everything¡ªeven beyond death¡ªleft a sour taste in his mouth. Stories, he knew, were dangerous.


    His thumb ran absentmindedly along the edge of the notebook as he mulled over the implications. This body, this life he had stepped into, was far from ordinary. Even though most of the description read as generic, that final addition felt like a whisper from the Librarian himself.


    Zayn sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. His eyes drifted to the section labeled ''Qualities.'' Everything else was either blank or stamped with ''Mundane,'' and it didn''t take a protonium engineer to figure out what that meant. Mundane was the Empire''s favorite word for anyone without power or significance, and judging by the emptiness of the other sections, it was clear that this boy''s life was as ordinary as it got¡ªor should have been.


    Still, the ''Qualities'' section wasn''t empty.


    [Blessed by Red] [Unfortunate]


    He narrowed his eyes at the glowing text. He hadn''t gotten to it yet, but something about those two qualities made him pause. Blessed and unfortunate? What kind of mix was that supposed to be?


    Before he could flip back to the qualities and examine them closer, he heard a faint rustling at the edge of the roof.


    Zayn rose to his feet carefully and stepped toward the sound. Peeking over the side, he spotted a young boy, around his age, attempting to climb up. His head was completely bald, and he wore the same simple attire as Zayn.


    The boy grunted in frustration, still trying to hoist himself up. Zayn watched him silently for a few moments before their eyes met.


    "Oh! Hey! Help me up, will you?" the boy called, smiling through his struggle.


    Zayn arched a brow. "What are you doing trying to climb up here?"


    The boy''s grin widened. "I saw you sitting up here, and I wanted to come meet my best pal! But, you know, I''m not as blessed by the Red as you."


    "Best pal?" Zayn echoed, his voice sharp with confusion.


    The boy''s smile faltered for a moment, and his hand slipped. Zayn''s reflexes kicked in, and he caught the boy''s wrist just as he started to fall. With a grunt, he pulled him onto the roof.


    Panting slightly, the boy blinked up at him. "What was that about? Did you forget your greatest and only friend in the world?"


    Zayn''s mind raced. He needed to play this off carefully. "How could you be the greatest if you''re the only one?" he teased, smirking lightly.


    The boy burst out laughing. "Since I''m the only one, I''m automatically the greatest! Doesn''t take much."


    Zayn relaxed slightly. The boy didn''t seem to catch the shift in tone.


    Straightening his clothes, the boy glanced toward the village below. "Anyway, what are you doing up here? Don''t you want to help with the festival? You''re supposed to be extra involved this year."


    Zayn squinted at him. "Why''s that?"


    The boy gave him an incredulous look. "Did you hit your head or something? You''re blessed by the Red. Wouldn''t you want to try and get the blessing again this year?"


    Zayn froze. The mention of blessed by Red rang in his head like a bell. It matched exactly with the quality listed in his notebook.


    He mulled it over, staring blankly toward the ocean. The boy misinterpreted his silence as sadness.


    "Hey¡­ I know you miss your dad," the boy said quietly, placing a hand on his shoulder. "But wouldn''t he want you to carry on the blessing he had?"A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    Zayn perked up instantly. This was information¡ªimportant information.


    He leaned toward the boy casually. "When did my dad have it?"


    The boy scratched his head. "I don''t know exactly, but since he was blessed by Red before, he was supposed to hold onto it until the next festival, which is this one. That''s when the blessing gets passed to someone new. But, you know¡­ since he died, you are the one carrying it in his place."


    Zayn''s grip tightened around the edge of the roof. Blessed by Red. It wasn''t just a meaningless phrase¡ªit was something real. Something that tied directly to whatever story he was caught in.


    The Outline, the small notebook he currently hid behind him could very much help him understand what this blessing was exactly. He decided to call the book this since instinctually, like some kind of inkling in his head he felt it was right to do so.


    He could have checked the Outline right there and then to see what being "Blessed by Red" meant, but one glance at the boy clambering beside him told him that wasn''t an option. He didn''t trust the kid''s ability to keep his mouth shut or to not pry.


    His eyes dropped to the notebook still behind his back. What was he supposed to do with it? He couldn''t just hold onto it out in the open. As if responding to his thoughts, heat suddenly spread across his palm, making him flinch. Before he could react, the book dissolved from his grip, disappearing as the warmth crept up his arm, racing toward his head.


    "Ugh¡­" Zayn winced, clutching his temple as a sharp, stinging headache washed over him. It wasn''t as severe as the first time, but it still left him breathless for a second.


    "Hey, you good?" The boy paused his struggle up the roof, blinking at Zayn in confusion.


    "Yeah, yeah. Just a headache," Zayn mumbled, shaking it off as best he could.


    The boy scrunched his nose. "Since when do you get those? Doesn''t the blessing make you, you know¡­ not sick?"


    Zayn cursed internally. He should have known that detail would come up. Thinking quickly, he forced a half-smile. "Maybe it''s because the festival is so close. I''m not the original blessing holder, remember? Maybe that''s why."


    The boy tilted his head, processing the answer slowly before eventually nodding. "Yeah, I guess that makes sense." He scratched his bald head. "Still weird though. I''d be milking that blessing if I were you."


    Zayn smirked faintly, deciding not to dig too deep into the subject. "Anyway, shouldn''t we get moving?"


    The boy brightened up. "Oh yeah! Since nothing''s wrong with you, you should come help with the festival prep. The more you work, the better you''ll look to the villagers. Might help your chances with the blessing too."


    Zayn gave a small nod. "Sure. Lead the way."


    This was his chance. If he tagged along, he could learn more about the village without looking out of place.


    The bald boy clambered down from the roof with all the grace of a falling coconut, arms flailing until his feet hit the ground. Zayn followed, dropping down effortlessly. His movements were smooth, instinctual, and honed by years of manual labor added to the although weaker physique of this body.


    When his feet hit the ground, the boy gawked at him. "You make that look too easy."


    Zayn brushed the dust from his palms, shrugging. "I''ve done it enough times, I guess."


    The boy blinked, then grinned. "Sure, sure. Follow me."


    Zayn kept pace as they weaved through the village. Inwardly, he reminded himself to stay quiet and observant. The boy seemed carefree, but Zayn wasn''t about to risk exposing himself by saying the wrong thing. He wasn''t sure how sharp¡ªor airheaded¡ªhis companion really was, so caution seemed the best course of action.


    The village thrummed with life as they walked. Islanders moved about cheerfully, stringing decorations between huts and painting bright patterns on the sandy paths. Women laughed as they carried baskets of fruits and flowers, while children dashed between adults, caught up in their own playful festivities. The air buzzed with excitement.


    Zayn nodded absently to those who greeted him, but as the interactions piled up, something strange caught his attention. No one used names. Not when they greeted each other, not when they addressed him or the boy beside him. The realization gnawed at the edges of his thoughts.


    The Father, The Mother¡ªhe recalled how even they had avoided saying his name. They''d called him "boy" or used affectionate terms, but not once had they referred to him by anything else. Zayn''s brows knitted slightly. Was this just how things were on the island, or was there something more to it?


    Curiosity bubbled up, and as they crossed a narrow path lined with vibrant cloth streamers, Zayn decided to test it. "Hey."


    The bald boy glanced back, humming questioningly.


    Zayn''s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He figured he should keep it simple. "Do you know my name?"


    The boy tilted his head. For the briefest of moments, Zayn swore he saw a flicker of red dance across his irises. His muscles tensed, ready to react, but the boy only laughed. "Of course I do. What kind of best pal would I be if I didn''t?"


    Zayn waited, staring at him expectantly.


    But the boy simply turned around and kept walking.


    Zayn followed, his footsteps heavy with unease. He mulled it over for a few more moments before deciding to try again. "What is it, then?"


    "What?"


    "My name."


    The boy chuckled without looking back. "I told you, I know it."


    The words dropped like a stone into the pit of Zayn''s stomach. His eyes narrowed as he continued to walk, trailing behind the boy. Something wasn''t right. Either this was part of the Story''s strange mechanics, or it was connected to whatever problem he was meant to solve.


    He scanned the village with new eyes, searching for more signs of the oddity, but the warm atmosphere of the festival preparations felt almost mocking. Everyone smiled and laughed as if nothing in the world was wrong.


    But Zayn couldn''t shake the weight of the boy''s empty answer.


    And he couldn''t escape the feeling that someone¡ªor something¡ªwas watching him.

 Festival Preparations

    Zayn and the bald boy walked in silence for a while, the boy humming softly while Zayn''s mind spun in quiet disarray. The unsettling exchange about his name lingered heavily, gnawing at his thoughts. It wasn''t normal. It couldn''t be.


    The way the boy''s eyes briefly flickered red replayed over and over, sending cold waves of unease through him. Despite the warmth of the midday sun, Zayn felt an undercurrent of something cold slithering beneath the surface of this village.


    They finally reached the heart of the preparations, where the village square was alive with bustling activity. Zayn''s train of thought derailed as he took in the sight before him.


    Straw decorations hung from long poles that lined the edge of the square, swaying gently in the breeze. Vibrant fabrics, dyed in deep reds, rich purples, and glowing oranges, stretched between palm trees and wooden posts, forming makeshift awnings that shaded the villagers working beneath.


    Long wooden tables were being carved and sanded by hand, their surfaces inlaid with intricate swirling designs that mimicked ocean waves and island flowers. Children darted between the adults, carrying bundles of dried palm fronds or colorful shells strung together by twine.


    Near the far end of the square, women sang as they wove garlands from fragrant white blossoms, their voices harmonizing in soft, rhythmic chants that seemed to keep time with the gentle lapping of the distant sea.


    It was mesmerizing. Zayn couldn''t remember the last time he had seen anything that felt so... alive. The Empire''s public holidays were pale shadows of this. Back home, holidays were little more than excuses for time off¡ªa break from school or labor. Only the ruling class had celebrations, and those were gated affairs, far removed from the common folk.


    Here, the entire village was involved, and the warmth of their shared joy was almost infectious. Zayn felt something stir deep within him, a strange and unfamiliar sense of longing¡ªa desire to be part of it, even if just for a moment.


    He almost forgot why he was even here. Almost.


    The bald boy nudged him gently, snapping him from his reverie. "Come on! We''re gonna miss out," he said cheerfully, motioning toward a crowd of boys gathered around a burly man near the center of the square.


    The man stood tall, his skin dark and leathery from years of sun. His hair was pulled back into a thick braid, and he wore a sash of red cloth tied diagonally across his chest. The boys around him listened attentively as he handed out tasks, pointing to different areas of the square as he spoke.


    The boy beside Zayn grinned. "We''re late. Hope there''s something left for us."


    As they approached, the man glanced up and greeted them with a wide smile. "Ah, look who finally decided to show up. Thought you two were going to spend the day lounging on the cliffs."


    "Wouldn''t miss it for anything," the boy said, laughing.


    The man''s gaze settled on Zayn, his grin widening knowingly. "You here to earn some extra merits for the blessing, lad?"


    Zayn blinked, not quite sure how to respond. He forced a polite nod, deciding it was safer to play along.


    The man chuckled. "Ah, just like your father. He was always the first to lend a hand." He paused, his smile softening slightly. "Though, you could stand to laugh more than he did."


    Zayn gave a small, awkward smile but said nothing. The man didn''t press further and instead handed them their assignments. "Go help the others string the flower garlands by the western path. I think they could use a steady hand."


    "Got it!" the boy said enthusiastically, already tugging Zayn along.


    "Oh and before you go...Why not put on the Red Flame necklaces? It is almost time for the festival to begin and I don''t want you to complain about not getting one." the man offered.


    The bald boy enthusiastically smiled, "Oh yeah, we''d love to." he approached the man and took two necklaces from him.


    As Zayn was approached by the boy with the necklaces he took a good look at them, they were made of a few animal teeth on a string with a small circular carving of what he presumed to be an ape with a flaming head.


    As the boy looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to take it and wear it he felt uneasy about it but from how he noticed others were also wearing it he knew it would be odd if he was the only one not wearing it. Especially since he was supposed to be blessed by Red.


    He sighed as he put it on along with the bald boy, "Thanks sir, we''ll get to helping around with the preparations." The man nodded at the boy''s words and let them go.Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions.


    As they walked away, Zayn exhaled quietly, relieved that his lack of response hadn''t raised any eyebrows. It seemed that being quiet was part of the persona he now inhabited, and he was thankful for it. If he had to keep up the act of someone cheerful and outgoing, he doubted he''d be able to keep the facade from cracking.


    They soon arrived at the western path where several villagers, young and old, sat along long mats weaving strands of white and orange flowers together. Zayn settled into the task without complaint, mimicking the others. His hands worked slowly, carefully threading the delicate flowers along the twine as his eyes drifted from person to person, silently observing.


    Between the work, he took the opportunity to listen. Conversations drifted through the air, light and carefree. Occasionally, someone mentioned the festival''s importance, and how it would bring good fortune to the village for the next twenty years. He listened closely, hoping for some hint of what exactly this festival meant¡ªwhat being "Blessed by Red" truly entailed.


    While no direct answers came, Zayn gradually pieced together fragments of the life he now lived. This village was bound by tradition, by rituals older than anyone alive could recall. And his role in it, however small, felt like it carried more weight than he had initially realized.


    He wasn''t sure what awaited him at the festival, and even though he felt skeptical of it, he enjoyed the happiness of the villagers. As if the villagers were happy, the village was happy, and the village was what mattered.


    Later on,


    As the sun dipped lower in the sky, Zayn and the boy hauled the last of the woven decorations to the village square. The warm hues of the approaching sunset draped the entire area in gold and orange, and the two stood for a moment, taking it all in. Zayn wiped his brow and glanced at the boy. "I guess that''s the last of it."


    The boy nodded, stretching his arms behind his head. "Yeah, looks like it. We better get moving. The festival starts soon, and we need to grab our festival clothes." He pointed at the descending sun. "If we''re late, we''ll miss the start."


    Zayn gave a short nod but remained quiet, his thoughts elsewhere. Despite working all afternoon, he hadn''t uncovered anything substantial about the festival''s deeper meaning. His gut told him the answers would reveal themselves tonight, and the thought gnawed at him.


    As the two began to part ways, Zayn''s attention caught on a small figure near one of the outer huts. A short woman stood beneath a slanted roof, struggling to maneuver a large wooden contraption. Her frustrated grumbles drifted across the cooling air.


    The boy beside him grinned. "That''s the village carpenter. She''s probably wrestling with one of the chief''s projects for the festival."


    Zayn frowned slightly. "She looks like she''s got it handled."


    "Come on, we should help her." The boy tugged at Zayn''s sleeve.


    "Do you even know how?" Zayn raised a skeptical brow.


    "Nope! But helping her is helping the village, and helping the village is what matters." The boy''s voice flattened unnaturally on that last phrase, his usual bright tone disappearing for a split second.


    Zayn''s eyes narrowed, but the boy returned to his cheerful self so swiftly that Zayn decided not to press the issue. "Fine," Zayn relented. "Let''s see what we can do."


    The two approached the woman just as she cursed under her breath. She leaned against the wooden frame, clearly at her wit''s end.


    "Need any help, ma''am?" the boy called out.


    The woman glanced at them and shook her head. "Unless you two know how to build, the only thing you can do is carry it. And carrying it won''t make it work."


    The boy slouched. "Oh..."


    Zayn, however, crouched beside the structure, letting his hands roam the uneven joints and misaligned beams. Curiosity piqued, he traced the grain of the wood with his fingertips. He recognized the framework. It was oddly mechanical, almost too refined for village craftsmanship.


    The woman eyed him sharply. "Hey, don''t go fiddling with it if you don''t know what you''re doing."


    Zayn ignored her, twisting one of the supporting rods into place and adjusting a section where the grooves misaligned. He squinted at a carved-out channel, a track of sorts, and felt a spark of recognition. After a few more adjustments, he stepped back.


    "Try it now," he said simply.


    The woman crossed her arms, unimpressed, but humored him nonetheless. She gave the contraption a slight push, and to her surprise, the mechanism moved smoothly, slotting together seamlessly. Her eyes widened.


    "How did you...?" she trailed off, blinking at the now-functional structure.


    Zayn scratched the back of his head. "I guess I just saw what was wrong."


    The woman examined the contraption closely, tracing the areas he had fixed. "You fixed the entire thing." Her tone shifted from skepticism to awe. "I''ve been at this for the past week, and you solved it in minutes. How?"


    Without thinking, Zayn began explaining basic engineering principles, his hands tracing invisible diagrams in the air as he spoke. He described how misaligned joints could create stress fractures over time and how the grooves if carved slightly deeper, would reduce friction and improve structural integrity.


    He referenced the importance of weight distribution, recalling lessons from his mechanical studies and recalling afternoons spent repairing old machinery for empire credits. "You see, this part here¡ªif it tilts even slightly¡ªthrows off the balance," he said, pointing to a section she''d overlooked. "But by shifting the support beam forward, it aligns the load evenly across the frame." He caught himself mid-sentence when he saw her blinking in confusion, clearly unfamiliar with the technical jargon spilling from his mouth.


    "I don''t know," he finally said, brushing it off.


    The woman chuckled, shaking her head. "Well, I''m not complaining. The chief will get exactly what he asked for now."


    Zayn''s interest sharpened at the mention of the chief. "What does the chief need it for?"


    The woman shrugged. "Couldn''t tell you. This is the first time I''ve built something like this. The chief gave me some strange instructions and left the rest up to me. Didn''t explain much."


    Zayn frowned, watching the contraption with renewed suspicion. "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"


    "Never. Not in this village." She looked at the device thoughtfully. "It''s not exactly something our people would normally use."


    Zayn knelt beside the device, eyeing the structure carefully. Despite its rustic appearance, he recognized what it was. A firework launcher.


    His mind raced. Fireworks were considered ancient technology in the empire, relics of a bygone era. Yet, here it was¡ªmodern by this village''s standards and seemingly requested by their chief.


    Zayn silently added the oddity to the growing list of unsettling questions that begged for answers.

 Encounter

    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¡ªthe 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¡ªlike 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.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.


    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¡ªa 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¡ªthey 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¡ªhe 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¡ªthe 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.

 Blood Claws

    Zayn''s heart jumped immediately as he rolled out of the way as the smaller monkey slammed into the ground where he had just been. The force cracked the dirt, leaving a singed and shallow crater in its wake. He scrambled as fast as he could to his feet, but the larger monkey was faster. It collided with his chest like a cannonball, knocking the wind from his lungs and lifting him into the air.


    Zayn gasped in pain, trying to reorient himself, but the monkey''s claws found him first. They plunged into his chest, tearing down with brutal force. Pain erupted through him as flesh and muscle ripped away, and blood sprayed in a wide arc. The monkey''s attempt to slam him into the ground failed due to the difference in their sizes, but the damage was done. Zayn hit the ground hard, landing on his knees with a pained grunt, his vision swimming.


    Blinded by agony, he barely caught the flicker of movement in his periphery. The smaller monkey leapt toward him, claws aimed at his neck. Zayn raised his arm just in time, feeling sharp pain as the claws raked down his forearm. Blood poured freely from the wound, but he had avoided a fatal strike.


    He staggered back, panting. The monkeys circled him, one fast and nimble, the other slower but devastatingly powerful more powerful. His chest throbbed with every breath, the gouges deep and raw. He shifted his stance, eyes darting between them, knowing that one wrong move could end him.


    The smaller monkey darted forward again, claws glinting in the crimson light. Zayn sidestepped and lashed out with his foot, managing to strike the creature''s ribs. It tumbled, but before he could follow up, the larger one seized the opening and barreled into him once again. Zayn crashed backward, rolling over rough earth before returning to his feet, fresh pain blooming across his already torn chest.


    The larger monkey closed the distance swiftly, its claws reaching for him. Zayn gritted his teeth and ducked low, narrowly avoiding the swipe. He spun on his heel, using his momentum to drive his elbow into the creature''s side. The monkey staggered but retaliated instantly, slashing across his shoulder and giving him another devasting wound.


    As Zayn recoiled, something strange caught his eye. The monkeys'' claws shimmered with his blood¡ªmore jagged, more lethal than he remembered. The realization took a second to reach him. He watched in horror as the smaller monkey, now faster than before, zipped around him in erratic bursts. Its claws glowed faintly, absorbing the crimson droplets clinging to its tips.


    Every drop he shed made them stronger.


    Zayn cursed under his breath, gripping his wounded arm. He pressed his palm to the deep cut in his chest, trying to slow the bleeding. But it wasn''t stopping¡ªat least, not as much as he wished it would.


    His gaze flicked to the monkeys, and he watched as their claws drank in the red fluid. Was this their plan? To bleed him out as they grew stronger to inevitably kill him.


    But why? From how the monkey exploded from the necklace he could tell that they could have attacked him at any moment¡ªwhy now?


    Was it the sickly man''s words? Or something else?


    He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to stay focused. Questions wouldn''t save him.


    The smaller monkey lunged again. Zayn twisted to avoid it, swinging blindly with his uninjured arm. Luckily, his fist connected with something solid, and the creature yelped, tumbling away.


    Zayn froze for a heartbeat. Solid.


    He glanced down at his knuckles. Blood smeared his skin, but no burns. His eyes darted to the scorch marks on the hut wall, then back to the monkey''s flaming body.


    He had already forgotten his first fist-to-body contact with the small monkey. It was the same as then, although due to how quickly it all happened he hadn''t thought about it.


    He hadn''t been burned. Not once. The red flames that he thought made up the monkeys had not burned him, instead they just made him feel the heat.


    His mind raced. Was the fire not real? But the burn marks all around said otherwise. He considered the possibility of fire resistance but nearly dismissed it¡ªuntil he remembered. His Outline.


    [Blessed by Red]


    He had never gotten to looking over it as he was interrupted by the bald boy thus he didn''t know what it meant. All he knew was that it had something to do with the so-called Red Flame this festival was for. He also remembered the boy''s mention of it supposedly making him better and stronger in some way.


    Could this be what it meant?


    It made sense, these creatures were covered in red flames, and whatever blessed him was also named as such.


    The question to him now though was, how could that help him kill these things? Or at least survive?


    Zayn''s eyes narrowed as an idea sparked to life. Wild. Stupid. Extremely deadly to him if it failed, but it might be his only chance.


    Zayn barely had time to register the thought before the larger monkey barreled into him with bone-crushing force. Taking advantage of his distracted state to remind him he was in trouble.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    The impact, much stronger than the first few, sent him hurtling through the air, crashing back-first into the wall of a nearby hut. The wood cracked and splintered beneath him, threatening to give way entirely. Dazed, stars flashed in his vision, but the sharp instinct to survive forced him to roll just as the smaller monkey''s claws sliced through the air where his head had been.


    A dull thud followed as the smaller creature''s claws embedded deep into the wall, trapping it momentarily. Zayn gritted his teeth through the pain, his eyes narrowing as he felt he had been blessed with his chance. And he would definitely not waste this chance.


    The larger monkey lunged at him again, but this time Zayn was ready. He twisted his body awkwardly, narrowly avoiding the slash of its claws, and lunged at the smaller monkey. His arms wrapped tightly around its waist as he wrenched it free from the wall with a grunt.


    The creature screeched and writhed in his grasp, its flames searing against his skin, though¡ªmuch to his expectation¡ªthey did not harm him. His gamble had worked.


    Zayn''s muscles strained as he locked his arms around the thrashing monkey, struggling to maintain his grip. His studious and hard-working life in the empire hadn''t kept him from many fights, and although grappling was far from his forte, he knew had to keep a good hold.


    The monkey snapped its jaws, claws raking at the arms that bound it and his legs, but Zayn held fast. Every twist and turn of the creature scorched him with terrific heat, but still, not a single burn came.


    His eyes flicked toward the larger monkey, locking it in his sightline. Zayn tightened his grip further. If these creatures held any sort of bond, he hoped the larger one might hesitate, giving him a chance to escape or come up with something better. But as the larger monkey growled low and began its charge, Zayn realized this line of thinking was wrong.


    The beast leapt forward, its much larger claws outstretched, with no regard for its smaller companion. Zayn''s eyes widened as the massive claws impaled both him and the restrained monkey. The jagged bones drove through his abdomen, pinning him to the smaller creature like a skewer.


    Blood spewed from his mouth in a violent cough as the smaller monkey howled, flames sputtering as it writhed in agony. Zayn grimaced but forced himself to stay conscious. His mind raced, and before the larger monkey could retract its claws, he acted swiftly.


    He released his grapple on the smaller monkey, allowing it to slump forward, weakened. With a swift motion, Zayn''s hands clamped around the bony claws of the weak creature. Gritting through the unbearable pain, he forced the smaller monkey''s limp body upwards, driving its claws into what he believed was the larger monkey''s face.


    The smaller monkey''s claws pierced the flickering sockets of the larger beast''s flaming head.


    A guttural, blood-curdling screech erupted from the larger monkey as blood spurted from the punctured sockets. Its body twisted violently, flames sputtering chaotically around them. Zayn''s breath came in ragged gasps, his arms trembling as he fought to keep the claws embedded deeper into the creature''s skull.


    The larger monkey reared back in agony, violently shaking its head. With a furious kick, it dislodged both Zayn and the smaller monkey from it, sending them sprawling across the dirt.


    Zayn''s back slammed hard against the ground, fresh pain coursing through his battered body. He coughed, clutching at his bleeding wounds as he tried to rise. The smaller monkey lay a few feet away, its flames flickering dimly, barely able to move.


    The larger monkey stumbled, clutching at its mutilated face, blinded and disoriented. Zayn wiped the blood from his eyes, forcing himself to his feet, knowing this might be his only opening.


    Zayn gripped the ground, his fingers curling into the dirt as waves of pain coursed through his body. Blood trickled steadily from the gashes along his chest and arms, and the hole in his abdomen didn''t forget to add its own share, but despite the searing agony, a small grin tugged at the corner of his lips.


    His plan had worked.


    When he grabbed the smaller monkey, the goal wasn''t just to shield himself. Zayn wasn''t foolish enough to rely on the goodwill of anybody, especially the creatures that seemed dead set on killing him. No, his real aim was to get them stuck¡ªrestrained, even for a moment. Their speed had been his greatest obstacle, and now, for the first time since this brutal fight began, he was the one with an advantage.


    His gaze glossed over the larger monkey, still screeching and clawing at its ruined eye sockets. Thick, dark blood leaked onto the floor, sizzling against the flames covering its body. Then, Zayn''s eyes fell on the smaller one, its crimson fire flickering and fading rapidly.


    What he saw beneath the diminishing flames nearly stopped him in his tracks.


    The monkey''s core body had been hidden by the intense blaze. Now, with its fire dwindling, Zayn saw a skeletal-like armor covering the mass of monkey-like flesh, but twisted and unnatural. Red veins pulsed weakly beneath the bone, running across exposed flesh that seemed fragile and sickly. A large, gaping hole in its torso leaked blood slowly onto the dirt.


    "So that''s what they look like under all that," Zayn muttered, stepping toward the creature. He swallowed the sharp ache rising in his throat, forcing his battered body forward. This was his only chance to level the playing field. He wasn''t going to die in this story. Not yet.


    Zayn soon reached the smaller monkey, adrenaline dulling the sharp pangs from his wounds. He threw himself atop its dying body, wrestling its long skeletal arms into his grasp as he stomped its face onto the ground. The monkey screeched, writhing beneath him, but Zayn had the upper hand. He gritted his teeth and pulled¡ªhard.


    The monkey thrashed violently, but Zayn anchored himself down, using his weight to pin it. He felt the joints straining beneath his grip, bone creaking under the pressure. The veins beneath its skin pulsed frantically as if resisting him, but Zayn poured every ounce of strength into his arms.


    Suddenly, a blur rushed at him from the side.


    The larger monkey.


    Zayn barely registered the impact before he was thrown, his body crashing into the dirt with a heavy thud. Pain erupted across his back as he skidded to a stop, gasping for breath.


    The larger monkey stood nearby, its head swiveling left and right. It couldn''t see. The damage to its eyes was too severe. But that didn''t stop it from prowling blindly, claws twitching.


    Although if it could see, it would definitely be shocked to witness its smaller comrade limb and armless.


    You have toppled your first...


    He heard a voice say in his head, although he was still too dazed to focus on it.


    Zayn slowly rose to his feet, breathing heavily. In his hands, he held the skeletal arms he had torn from the smaller monkey. Their long, sharp claws gleamed faintly, stained with his blood that dripped steadily onto the ground.


    Zayn tightened his grip, ignoring the deep cuts lining his body. His vision swam slightly from blood loss, but he pressed forward, eyes locked on the larger monkey.


    "Round two," he growled under his breath, lifting the severed arms like weapons.


    He wasn''t dead yet.

 Blood Claws [2]

    Zayn stood his ground, blood dripping from his numerous wounds, yet his grip on the skeletal arms remained firm. The jagged claws jutted between his fingers like deadly extensions of his own hands. He adjusted his hold, finding the awkward weight of the bones difficult to manage but workable.


    Across from him, the larger monkey snarled, swaying slightly as it clutched at the scorched sockets where its eyes once burned. Red flames danced all over its body, obscuring what Zayn expected to be a similar body to the smaller one.


    The creature wasn''t that much shorter than him, but its long limbs and deadly claws made up for the height difference. Zayn knew brute strength wouldn''t win him this fight, it''s not like he had the advantage on that. His body ached, and his vision swam from blood loss, but the monkey''s total blindness was his one edge. He needed to press it.


    The thought of running flickered in his mind, but he crushed it with a scoff. There was nowhere to go, and even if there was, fleeing wouldn''t complete this twisted Story. Whatever it was that he had to do here, this fight felt like it was necessary.


    Grinding his teeth, Zayn stepped forward.


    A sharp whistle tore through the air. His eyes caught up just in time to see the limp, armless body of the smaller monkey hurtling toward him. Zayn barely had time to dive aside, rolling across the dirt as the corpse smashed into the ground, splintering the earth where he had stood.


    He cursed under his breath. Even blind, the damn thing had ridiculous awareness.


    He watched the larger monkey tilt its head, listening for him. Zayn could hear the steady crackle and small cries it made. Silence wouldn''t save him now. Caution was pointless.


    Snarling, Zayn pushed off the ground and charged, adrenaline fueling his every step.


    The monkey roared in response, lashing out blindly. Zayn ducked beneath its swipe and retaliated, slashing across its midsection with one of the skeletal claws. The sharpened bone tore through the crimson flame and landed on an unprotected part of its flesh, leaving behind deep gouges that bled dark, viscous liquid. The creature shrieked, stumbling back.


    Zayn pressed forward into its flames, jabbing one claw upward, aiming for its throat. The monkey twisted at the last second, causing his attack to slice into its armored shoulder instead. He yanked the claw free from it, blood spraying across his face.


    Breathing hard, he circled to its side, slashing at its ribs. The monkey lashed out with its arm, narrowly missing Zayn''s head.


    "You''re getting predictable," he muttered.


    His confidence grew with each strike. Even though he was one good hit away from ending his short journey, he still attacked with as much ferocity as he could muster.


    If he was going to kill this thing and live, he had to put his back into it.


    He aimed carefully, keeping his steps light. The monkey''s flailing became slower, more erratic. Each cut weakened it further.


    But then, the monkey adapted.


    The next swipe came without hesitation, bypassing Zayn''s feint entirely. Claws raked across his side, shredding through fabric and skin. Zayn staggered and stumbled, gasping in pain. Before he could recover, the creature lashed out again, catching his arm and throwing him to the ground. His back slammed into the dirt with bone-rattling force.


    Groaning, Zayn rolled to his knees just as the monkey pounced, claws diving for his head. Zayn barely brought up the skeletal arms in time, blocking the attack. The impact sent shockwaves through his body as he felt his forearms fracture. His grip nearly faltered as the monkey pressed down, trying to crush him beneath its weight.


    Gritting his teeth, Zayn shoved back, sliding the monkey off to the side. He lunged forward, slashing as hard as his arms could endure, driving the claws into the creature''s legs. It stumbled, letting out a guttural snarl, but it did not fall.


    The fight turned brutal.


    Zayn''s strikes became desperate, his movements slower as blood poured from his wounds and his fractured bones rattled from his movement. The monkey, relentless despite its blindness, hammered him with devastating blows. Each clash sent him reeling, but Zayn endured, fueled by sheer spite.


    It wasn''t until the monkey''s many lunges forward, jaws snapping blindly, that Zayn saw his chance.


    He fell backward, the large monkey falling towards him. Raising his two impromptu weapons, he drove both skeletal arms into the monkey''s exposed neck, piercing deep into the gaps in the bone armor. The claws sunk in effortlessly, embedding into the creature''s throat and through its spine.


    The monkey howled, flames erupting violently around its body. But before Zayn could pull away, the creature''s arms snapped around him in a crushing bear hug.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    The air was ripped from his lungs as the monkey squeezed. Zayn felt his ribs groan and creak under the pressure. Blood bubbled at the corners of his mouth. He tried to pull free, but the monkey''s grip only tightened, trapping him against its burning chest.


    Zayn''s vision darkened at the edges. But through the haze of pain, he twisted the skeletal claws still lodged in the monkey''s throat. He drove them deeper, grinding them through bone and flesh.


    The monkey''s grip faltered for a split second. Zayn seized the moment.


    Roaring, he twisted with all his strength, tearing the claws sideways through the monkey''s neck. The exoskeleton cracked apart, and with a final thrust, Zayn severed the creature''s head completely.


    And at that moment once again he heard a slight voice.


    You have toppled another obstacle.


    The monkey collapsed, dragging Zayn to the ground with it. Gasping, he could not even find the strength to shove the corpse aside, thus he remained in place. Hugged by the corpse of the creature he just killed with his back to the ground.


    His chest heaved as he stared at the sky, the red glow of the flames around him flickering and fading.


    Victory tasted like blood and ash. It didn''t taste sweet, but he could live with that.


    Zayn felt bile rise in his throat as he could no longer hold, blood and what he believed to be his inner flesh gushed out of his mouth and onto his body. Staining both him and the carcass on top of him.


    "Fuck, this is absolutely disgusting." His breaths were shallow and ragged, every inhale accompanied by a sharp, searing pain. For a moment, the world spun, and he thought he might pass out, but the intensity of his injuries kept him cruelly conscious.


    His body was a battlefield of agony. Deep gashes crisscrossed his chest, some so wide he could feel the chill of the air against raw muscle. His two arms hung limply so fractured and damaged that he even wondered how the hell he had even fought. The numerous cuts on his legs had left them trembling and weak, while the large puncture wounds in his abdomen oozed blood at an alarming rate. His vision blurred from blood loss, but he forced himself to focus, to assess his broken form.


    Every little movement sent fresh waves of pain crashing over him. His ribs felt cracked, maybe even shattered, and his back was a raw, throbbing mess from being repeatedly slammed into hard surfaces. His hands, which had gripped the skeletal arms so tightly, were torn and bloody, his fingers trembling from overexertion. Even the adrenaline that had kept him fighting seemed to have abandoned him now, leaving only the sheer, unrelenting agony.


    A bitter laugh escaped his lips, low and hoarse. He couldn''t help but find the absurdity in it all.


    "This... This would be one hell of a way to go," he muttered, his voice barely audible over his labored breaths.


    "Bleeding out on dirty ground, in some emperor-forsaken island, in some random ass Story all with this heavy and ugly ass primate on top of me and covered in my own puke."


    He shook his head, wincing as the motion sent sharp spikes of pain through his neck. Despite the damage, he was still alive. That fact alone was a miracle, though he grimaced at how precarious his survival felt. His laughter grew louder, a desperate sound born of pain and disbelief.


    "After fighting the worst fight in my entire life, I''m just going to bleed out her and die. And to become a Character, which I ain''t even really sure is possible." he mocked himself.


    What if this was it? What if this brutal encounter was the climactic moment he was meant to face, and now his story was at its end? The thought was almost laughable¡ªa whole grand introduction from that Librarian dude to a mediocre Story brought to a close by two flaming monkeys.


    It was pitiful.


    He lay still for a few moments, letting his thoughts fade into the silence. Nothing remarkable happened. The world remained quiet save for his ragged breathing. It wasn''t over, not yet. Whatever this was, it wasn''t the conclusion he''d been waiting for.


    As his mind settled, his thoughts drifted back to the strange, whispering voice he''d heard when he killed the larger monkey. The words echoed faintly in his mind: You have toppled another obstacle. The memory brought with it the same unease and curiosity he''d felt earlier when the smaller monkey''s arms had been torn free. He hadn''t paid much attention then, but now since he had nowhere to go he couldn''t ignore it. What did it mean?


    A familiar sensation crept into his head¡ªa rush of energy followed by a sharp, pulsing headache. It was far less intense than the pain from his injuries, but it was enough to draw his attention. He blinked in surprise as his Outline appeared before him, the small notebook floating just above his face. The pages flipped open on their own, settling on a blank one.


    "Ah, this thing. I completely forgot about this."


    Zayn''s attention was then brought to the monkey''s corpse on top of him. The large creature''s body began to glow, a shimmering rainbow light emanating from its still form. The light separated and condensed, floating in the air before sinking into the open page of his Outline. He turned his head slightly and saw the same phenomenon happening with the smaller monkey''s remains. The lights merged into the book, and words began to appear on the previously blank page.


    [Mundane Obstacle, Bloody Claw, has been toppled]


    [Mundane Obstacle, Bloody Claw, has been toppled]


    Zayn couldn''t suppress a dry chuckle as he read the text. "Blood Claw? That''s what they were called?" he muttered. The name had nothing to do with the fire that had cloaked their forms. It felt almost underwhelming, considering the ordeal he''d just endured.


    More text materialized beneath the first line


    [Character has not been realized]


    [Liberation has not occurred]


    [Lore has been stored and not absorbed]


    He frowned. Lore? What did that mean? He had no time to dwell on it as another glow drew his attention. From the smaller monkey''s body, a rune-like symbol, also glowing in rainbow hues, floated upward and entered the Outline. As it settled on the page, new words appeared:


    [Your first Will has been obtained.]


    Zayn''s eyes narrowed. A Will? He had no idea what that was, but the seemed rather familiar. He would need to figure it out later. Right now, his body screamed for attention, every nerve alight with pain.


    Out of the corner of his eye, Zayn spotted movement. The tall, sickly man who had started all of this stood nearby, watching him with an inscrutable expression. Zayn''s lips curled into a weak snarl. The urge to march over and punch the man in his gaunt face was strong, though he doubted he had the strength to move, let alone throw a punch. Still, a part of him blamed the man for this chaos, even if another part of him hesitated to lay the full responsibility at his feet.


    For now, Zayn could only stay where he was, sprawled on the ground, his bloodied body crushed under the weight. He could only watch as the man slowly approached.

 Remember What You Saw

    Zayn watched through heavy-lidded eyes as the sickly man began to approach him. His body screamed in pain, every nerve aflame from the brutal ordeal he''d endured. He wanted to glare at the man, to channel even a shred of anger, but he couldn''t muster so much as a fart.


    Besides, what would it accomplish? Instead, he sighed, his voice barely above a strained rasp, "If you''re going to kill me, at least let me die without puke all over myself. Give me that much dignity."


    The man didn''t respond, didn''t even acknowledge Zayn''s plea. He simply knelt beside the corpse of the larger monkey, its massive, lifeless body still pinning Zayn to the ground. With a slow, deliberate motion, the man placed his hands on the monkey''s limp arms and began to pry them away. Zayn blinked in confusion, unsure of what he was witnessing. What was this man doing?


    "Uh... what are even trying to do?" he asked.


    The struggle was almost comical¡ªthe sickly figure, all skin and bones, tugging at the creature''s massive, flaming limbs. Zayn almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it, but even that required more energy than he had. But to his surprise, the man succeeded after a few moments of silent effort, freeing one of the arms and pushing the heavy corpse off Zayn with a final strained shove. The weight lifted, Zayn gasped, his ribs protesting as he finally took a full breath.


    Still, he couldn''t move. His body felt like a shattered husk, and he could only lie there, staring up at the man who now stood motionless, gazing down at him.


    For a moment, Zayn wondered if the man was admiring his Outline, which still floated above his head, its pages faintly glowing with the strange inscriptions. Worry grew briefly in Zayn''s mind, but then he noticed something peculiar. The man''s eyes weren''t on the book¡ªthey were locked on Zayn himself.


    "You can''t see it, can you?" Zayn muttered, a grim chuckle escaping his lips. He cursed inwardly at the wasted effort of trying to hide the Outline earlier. If the man couldn''t see it, then all the secrecy had been pointless. The thought was both frustrating and oddly comforting.


    The man broke his silence, his voice strained and halting, as though every word cost him dearly. "Remember... what you saw."


    Zayn frowned, the phrase striking an uneasy chord within him. It was the same thing the man had said right before the flaming monkeys descended upon him. Despite his frustration, curiosity gnawed at him, and he forced his battered mind to focus. "What the hell does that mean?" he croaked.


    "Remember...what...you...saw..."


    The man repeated the phrase, slower this time, as if the words held a weight Zayn couldn''t yet comprehend. Zayn gritted his teeth, frustration bubbling to the surface despite his condition. "Telling someone to remember doesn''t actually help them remember," he snapped, his voice barely above a whisper. "If you want me to understand, maybe try saying something useful."


    The man paused, his emaciated frame eerily still as if even breathing taxed him beyond measure. His lips trembled faintly before parting, each syllable forced out with an almost agonizing slowness. "The... Red... Flame... is a false... god," he said, his voice breaking as though the words were shards cutting through his throat. "It... never... brought us... to the island."


    Zayn''s breath hitched. The words echoed in his mind, resonating with a truth he couldn''t ignore. At first, the statement seemed absurd. The Red Flame was the cornerstone of the villagers'' faith, their guiding light, and their protector. But then, a memory surfaced¡ªone he''d forgotten.


    When he first arrived in this Story, he''d witnessed a strange, rapid sequence of events. The villagers'' arrival on the island, their struggles, their eventual settlement¡ªall of it had been shown to him in a historical fast-forward. And now, as he replayed those images in his mind, something stood out: there had been no sign of the Red Flame. No divine intervention, no miraculous guidance, no god lighting their path. They had simply¡­ survived. On their own.


    He had ignored this and kept it at the back of his mind as he simply chalked it up to them building up superstition as time went on. In the empire''s history, things like that were very common, people would come up with strange obscure reasons as to how they had survived perilous situations in the past when in fact they were pretty simple.


    But from the intent he was getting from the sickly man, he could tell that it was a lot more than that.


    "What the hell?" Zayn muttered, his voice thick with disbelief. His mind raced, connecting dots he hadn''t even realized were there. The villagers'' belief in the Red Flame was a lie, or at least a carefully constructed myth. But why? And who had constructed it?


    The man''s words had shaken something loose within him, a realization that felt both profound and deeply unsettling. Whatever this Story was, it was far more complex than he''d first assumed. If the Red Flame wasn''t truly a god, it didn''t erase the fact that something bearing its name clearly existed¡ªthose flaming monkeys were proof enough of something serious going on.


    And if that "something" wasn''t divine, what did that mean for the island, for the people who lived here, and especially for him, who was here for a reason?The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    ''Fuck, I really don''t know what I''ve gotten myself into. Should I have just stayed in that Libraros or whatever place? Seems like it would have been a much better choice than this shit.''


    Zayn''s thoughts were interrupted by the man''s voice, quiet but insistent.


    "Do... not let the... troubles...ahead blind you, though your story is...short, and there...is much that confuses you. You still have a goal to reach. A purpose to fulfill."


    "Huh?" Zayn said confused by why the man was saying so much now.


    "What purpose are..."


    Before Zayn could interrogate him further, he noticed something strange¡ªthe man seemed to hesitate, his frail body trembling slightly. Zayn''s confusion deepened as the light seemed to drain from the man''s eyes.


    Without another word, the man crumpled to the ground, lifeless, his body collapsing like a puppet with its strings cut. The sight was so sudden and jarring that Zayn could only stare, his battered mind struggling to process what had just happened. Was he truly dead? And if so, how had he known what Zayn had seen? What did it mean by purpose to fulfill? The questions swirled in Zayn''s mind, unanswered and haunting.


    "Hey you aren''t really dead right?" he asked, but the empty eyes of the sickly man''s body did not answer. With a sigh of dissatisfaction from being left with more questions than he wanted, he decided to focus on something else.


    Zayn''s mind churned as he began piecing together the revelations he had just received. From what he got, the Red Flame definitely did not bring the people to the island but whether it was a god or not was something Zayn felt apprehensive about, this was mostly for the reason that the monkey existed.


    All of Zayn''s life, he had never even heard of creatures like those monkeys existing. He couldn''t even keep calling them monkeys as the only thing they had in common with those wild animals where the general body proportions. Those kinds of creatures were considered mythical and rumors of the likes of dragons and phoenixes.


    So even though he expected to see wild shit when he entered the Story, this was not one of them.


    The next thing he really needed to think about was how everything odd he saw since getting to the village started to make a bit of sense. Everyone wanted to prioritize the village, not calling each other by names or even acknowledging that they had names, and most important for him was how even he was affected.


    He knew the Blood Claws had something to do with it as the moment he wore it was when his thought process took a drastic turn. This frightened him a bit as the thought of becoming like them rose, he would have preferred dying than that.


    Each thought clicked into place like puzzle pieces, creating a picture that was still incomplete but disturbingly clear in its intent. He finally understood¡ªor at least thought he did¡ªwhat his purpose in this Story was. It had to deal with whatever this Red Flame entity was doing. It explained why he was brought here on the day of the festival and not any other time.


    His thoughts turned sharply to his Qualities, specifically the one he''d seen in his Outline: [Blessed by Red]. He hadn''t given it much thought before, dismissing it as another piece of flavor text in this twisted narrative that he could look at later, but now he realized it was far more integral to his role than he had assumed.


    Turning his gaze upward, Zayn focused on the Outline still floating above him, its faint glow casting eerie shadows over the dead body of the sickly man. He chose to ignore the corpse for now. His attention locked onto his status display, which appeared before him in a clean, novel-like system format:


    Character: Zayn


    Rank: Mundane


    Role: None


    Core Purpose: Mundane


    Qualities: [Blessed by Red], [Unfortunate]


    Abilities: None


    Story Purpose: [Village Boy]


    Fragments: None


    Wills: [Blood Fever]


    Zayn''s eyes were drawn to the newest addition: the Wills section. He stared at the phrase [Blood Fever], his brows furrowing as he finally recognized where he had seen the mention of Wills before¡ªit was here, in his Outline, waiting for him to discover it. He felt a strong temptation to delve into what this Will did but decided against it, at least for now. There was something else he''d been avoiding for far too long: the descriptions of his Qualities.


    With a deep, pained breath, Zayn focused on the [Blessed by Red] Quality. As he concentrated, the description expanded before him, written in stark, elegant script:


    [Blessed by Red]


    You are one blessed and chosen by the Red Flame to be a beacon to the village. Your fate is to carry this banner among your people and burn bright as a symbol to all from afar.


    Zayn''s eyes widened at the words. A beacon? A symbol? What the hell was that supposed to mean? He reread the description several times, hoping for clarity that didn''t come. Instead, it only raised more questions. Why was he supposed to serve as a beacon? What exactly was the Red Flame trying to accomplish?


    He mulled over the phrasing, focusing on the idea of being a source of light. Slowly, an unsettling realization formed in his mind. If the story about the Red Flame leading the villagers to the island as their god was false, then it stood to reason that the accompanying tale of there being four gods was also fabricated¡ªor at least not entirely true.


    But why would the Red Flame¡ªor whoever propagated this story¡ªinclude that detail? Was it an attempt to appear more benevolent, to give the entity the feeling of a parent who stayed with their child when the other left? Or was there some truth buried within the lie?


    Then came a chilling thought. What if he was the beacon in a literal sense¡ªnot to the people of the village, but to those other gods? Entities similar to the Red Flame. What if his role was to draw their attention, to light the way for them to find the village, the island, or even him?


    The implications made his stomach churn. If the Red Flame was a "false god," as the sickly man had said, then its intentions for the village¡ªand for him¡ªwere likely anything but benevolent. Was he a pawn in a larger game? A lure for something far more dangerous? The thought of what might come when those "other gods" noticed him sent a shiver down his spine.


    Zayn clenched his fists, his nails trying to move and dig into his palms despite the pain that shot through his arms. He had come to this Story expecting to play a role, to do what was needed and survive. But this? This was something else entirely.


    Whatever the Red Flame''s plan was, Zayn was determined to uncover and hopefully stop it. And if that meant playing along for now, he would. But he would not be anyone''s pawn¡ªnot without a fight.

 Blood Fever

    Zayn sighed, his body aching as if every muscle had been ripped apart and stitched back together wrong. His gaze remained fixed on his Outline as it floated steadily above him, its faint glow casting flickering shadows around his battered form.


    Since he was already inspecting his Qualities, he figured he might as well look at the other one [Unfortunate]


    The moment he focused on it, the description appeared before him in stark, unfeeling text:


    [Unfortunate]


    You are a disliked existence. Misfortune will cling to you like a second skin, weaving misery into every corner of your life.


    Zayn stared at the words, his chest tightening. It felt like some kind of sick joke, a cosmic punchline delivered at his expense. He let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow and dry. "Really?" he muttered to himself, his voice tinged with sarcastic amusement. "The damn book''s insulting me now? What''s next¡ªyou''re pathetic, try harder''?"


    But the momentary levity didn''t last. His thoughts turned back to the Qualities themselves, particularly why [Unfortunate] was even listed here. It didn''t seem to serve any purpose like the [Blessed by Red] Quality. That one, at least, hinted at some kind of role or significance. This one just¡­ mocked him. It stated the obvious.


    Zayn already knew he was unlucky. His entire life in the empire had been a miserable string of misfortunes and pitiful circumstances. He didn''t like thinking about it, didn''t like how those memories clawed their way back into his mind. Yet he couldn''t help but wonder why this Quality would appear here, in a Story. Was it tied to the body he was inhabiting, like [Blessed by Red]? Or was it because of him, Zayn the one from engaging the Story?


    He shook his head, shoving the thought aside. Dwelling on it wouldn''t help, and he had more pressing matters to deal with. His eyes returned to the Outline, lingering on the newest addition to his status: the Wills section.


    Wills: [Blood Fever]


    The name alone made him uneasy. It sounded ominous, dangerous¡ªlike something that had no business being tied to him. With a deep breath, Zayn focused on it. The description unfolded before him, but unlike the cold, structured tone of the Qualities, this one appeared almost poetic, its words etched in bold, crimson script:


    Will: [Blood Fever]


    Rank: Mundane


    Type: Artifact


    The First Will of a young aspiring Character. Born from his need to live merging with the murderous will of his first obstacle. He shall never fall as long as his bloodlust remains.


    Zayn blinked, rereading the description several times. This¡­ was different. The phrasing, the tone, even the way it presented itself¡ªit felt more alive, more visceral as if the words themselves carried weight.


    "Never fall as long as his bloodlust still remains¡­" he muttered, the words chilling him to the core.


    It didn''t take long for him to piece together its meaning. The [Blood Fever] was tied to his fight with the flaming monkeys, born from his desperate desire to survive and the bloodlust of the Blood Claws.


    Zayn couldn''t decide whether to feel horrified or relieved. On one hand, this Will might be the only reason he was still alive. On the other hand, it terrified him to think that his survival now depended on something so dark, so vicious.


    "This Story just keeps getting better and better," he muttered sarcastically, his voice tinged with bitter amusement.


    He gazed turned upwards, his body still too weak to move much more. For now, all he could do was process everything he had learned. The Red Flame, his Qualities, this new Will¡ªthey were all pieces of a larger puzzle, one he was determined to solve. But first, he had to figure out how to survive the next step.


    Zayn let out a heavy sigh, his breath shaky as he stared at the dim glow of his Outline above him. His body felt like a broken shell, every muscle torn and screaming in protest. "How the hell am I supposed to even move?" he muttered. It wasn''t just a question; it was a bitter lament. He lay there, his mind racing as he tried to think of some way to pull himself off the ground, but no solution came to him.


    Then, out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something strange. The runes marking [Blood Fever] in his Outline began to glow¡ªa deep, menacing blood-red hue that sent a chill down his spine. He didn''t even have time to react before the glow intensified, and what appeared next nearly gave him a heart attack.


    A transparent visage of the smaller monkey he''d killed earlier materialized in front of him. It looked just as it had when alive, its spirit-like form faintly shimmering with a ghostly aura. For a moment, Zayn thought the monkey had come back to exact its revenge, and panic surged through him.


    "You''ve got to be kidding me," he muttered, his voice strained. His heart pounded as he braced himself for the worst.


    But the monkey didn''t attack. Instead, it stood there, lifeless but aggressive in its posture, its glowing eyes fixed on his Outline. Zayn watched, bewildered, as the monkey''s form wrapped his Outline in a blood-red glow. Then, in one swift motion, the light shot into his chest.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    He winced, expecting searing pain or some other horrifying consequence, but what he felt instead was¡­ warmth. It spread through his body, soothing yet disconcerting. He lay there, waiting for something else to happen, but nothing did.


    "What the hell?" Zayn muttered, his initial panic giving way to confusion. After a few more moments of nothing, frustration boiled over. "Oh, come on!" he shouted, his voice hoarse. "You ruin my body, nearly kill me, and then give me nothing? If I''d known this would happen, I''d have made your deaths even more painful, you useless flaming bastards!"


    His angry tirade was cut short as his eyes caught something odd on his chest. Angling his head with difficulty, he spotted it: a necklace made of bone with the same monkey symbol he''d seen earlier.


    "What in the¡­" Zayn trailed off, utterly dumbfounded. The necklace was identical to the one he''d received during the festival¡ªthe same one that had turned into the monsters he''d just fought. "You''ve got to be kidding me," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. "Now it''s back? What are you, cursed jewelry or some crap?"


    Before he could make sense of it, a surge of anger erupted within him, sudden and overwhelming. His irritation sharpened into a fiery rage, and his focus shifted entirely. Why was he lying here, next to a stinking corpse, covered in bloody puke? The sheer indignity of it all ignited something primal within him.


    With a guttural growl, Zayn found himself moving. Against all logic, his battered limbs pushed through the agony, and he ripped off the tribal outfit stained with his own blood and vomit. His hands found strength as they shoved the corpse away from him, and his body lifted off the ground.


    He stood there, trembling but upright, his mind struggling to process what was happening. His injuries hadn''t disappeared¡ªhe could still feel the sharp pain in his ribs, the throbbing ache in his limbs¡ªbut somehow, he was standing.


    "How¡­" Zayn began, but before he could finish the thought, the strength drained from his body, and he collapsed face-first onto the ground.


    The pattern repeated itself a few more times. Each time anger flared within him, he would find the strength to stand, only for his body to betray him moments later. As he lay there after yet another failed attempt, realization dawned on him. His thoughts drifted back to the description of [Blood Fervor], and it all began to make sense.


    "''Never fall as long as my bloodlust remains,'' huh?" Zayn muttered, a small, grim smile tugging at his lips. He looked down at the bone necklace on his chest, finally understanding its purpose. The thought amused him. "You know, I might be unlucky as hell, but this¡­ this is some twisted kind of luck. Figures."


    He even slightly wondered if he read it wrong but he knew he didn''t.


    With that, Zayn steadied his mind, forcing himself to push back the sudden surges of murderous thoughts that the [Blood Fever] seemed to amplify. His anger subsided, replaced with grim determination. Slowly but surely, he managed to stand again, his movements awkward and strained but deliberate.


    "Alright," he said, his voice low. "Let''s see just how far I can push this."


    Zayn flexed his fingers and moved around his limbs, testing the extent of movement he had in this strange state brought on by [Blood Fervor]. His muscles felt stiff, his movements sluggish, but he was upright and alive, which was more than he could have said a short while ago.


    His blood had dried into a crusty film over his skin, and the jagged hole in his stomach was still there, though he noticed something peculiar: the bleeding had slowed to a near halt. He couldn''t explain it, but the feverish state seemed to suppress the worst of his injuries.


    Turning his gaze to the dead body of the sickly man nearby, Zayn felt a pang of unease. The man''s pale, lifeless face stared at nothing, confirming what Zayn already knew¡ªhe was well and truly gone. He still didn''t understand the man''s resemblance with him as it seemed to tuck at something within him but he didn''t know what.


    Still, Zayn knelt beside the corpse, giving the dusty, threadbare clothing a closer inspection.


    The clothes were worn, dusty, and smelled faintly of earth and sweat, but they were functional¡ªand more importantly, not covered in blood and puke. Zayn grimaced as he tugged the clothing free, working quickly to strip the corpse without looking too closely at its gaunt features.


    He tore some unnecessary strips from the cloth and tied them tightly around his most serious wounds, the makeshift bandages stemming what little bleeding remained.


    Sliding the rest of the clothing on, Zayn took a moment to adjust it. It hung loosely on his frame, barely enough to cover the extent of his injuries, but it made him feel a little more human. He pulled the ragged collar into place and gave the sickly man a half-hearted nod.


    "Thanks for the outfit," Zayn muttered, his voice dry. "And¡­ I guess for everything else. Even if you did almost get me killed."


    Zayn rose to his feet, his movements slow and deliberate. As his gaze drifted toward the horizon, he found himself wondering what would happen if he failed to complete the Story.


    He knew the consequences of an Unconcluded Story were dangerous for the surrounding world¡ªtales and rumors of corruption and chaos spreading like wildfire¡ªbut he had no idea what would happen to him. He wasn''t sure he wanted to find out.


    With a resigned sigh, Zayn shook his head and muttered under his breath, "Not gonna happen. I''ll finish this thing, one way or another."


    The thought steadied him, and he glanced up at the sky. To his surprise, the sun was still setting, painting the horizon in a deep crimson. Despite everything feeling like it had lasted hours, only a short amount of time had passed. He could even hear distant cheers¡ªmuffled but unmistakable¡ªcoming from the direction of the village.


    "Festival''s starting, huh?" Zayn said to himself, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips. "How nice of them to wait for me." The timing felt too coincidental, almost as if the Story itself were pulling the strings.


    An ominous sense of foreboding settled in his chest, but he steeled his nerves. The worst of this was still ahead, and there was no turning back now.


    He tapped the necklace around his neck, the bone pendant warm against his chest, as if responding to his touch. The pain from his injuries lingered, sharp and unrelenting, but Zayn used it to ground himself, to keep his thoughts focused on what lay ahead.


    Before leaving, Zayn turned back to where his two improvised weapons¡ªthe clawed bone claws of the smaller dead Blood Claw¡ªlay discarded near the battlefield. A faint smile tugged at his lips.


    He even entertained the idea of using the bigger claws of the larger monkey but how he would use them was a problem thus he tossed that idea out.


    "No way I''m going empty-handed," he murmured, walking over and scooping them up. He tested the weight of the claws in his hand, luckily the forearm part had broken off in the struggle so he could hold them better like claws between his fingers. He messed with them for a bit before puncturing them on the edges of his bottom wear to hold them. It wasn''t much, but it was better than nothing.


    As he stood there, silhouetted against the blood-red sky, Zayn tightened his grip on the weapons and set his jaw. The festival was calling, and so was the Story.


    "Let''s get this over with," he said quietly, turning toward the sound of the distant cheers and beginning his slow, determined march forward.

 Beneath the Bonfires Glow

    The village center was ablaze with color and light, a vivid display of red and orange hues dominating every corner. The decorations were simple yet striking, befitting the humble island village.


    Brightly painted wooden totems of fire motifs stood tall in the middle of the square, each topped with a carved flame symbol. Strings of red and orange fabric crisscrossed above, fluttering in the evening breeze, creating a canopy that glowed with the flickering light of dozens of torches planted around the area.


    At the heart of the square was a towering bonfire, its flames crackling with life, sending embers spiraling into the dimming sky. Around it, villagers were gathering, their chatter a harmonious blend of excitement and laughter. The scent of roasted meat and fragrant herbs wafted through the air from makeshift stalls lining the square, where older women cooked and served food to eager children and adults alike.


    Everyone was dressed for the occasion. Even the youngest of infants, cradled in their mothers'' arms or carried on their fathers'' backs, wore colorful garb adorned with small bone necklaces. Each necklace bore the same red monkey symbol etched in its center, a mark of who the festival was for. The children wore bright tunics embroidered with flames, and the adults donned similar attire, though theirs were more muted in tone, as if to allow the younger generation to shine.


    On one side of the square, a group of young teens stood together, beaming with pride as they watched the festival unfold. Their energy was palpable, a mixture of relief and exhilaration after the long hours they had spent helping set up the decorations and preparing for the festivities.


    "Looks amazing, doesn''t it?" one of them said, a girl with her hair braided tightly, her face glowing with pride.


    "Better than last time," said another, leaning back with his hands behind his head. "Not that any of us were alive then, but you can just tell this one''s special."


    Among the group, one boy stood apart. His bald head caught the firelight as he scanned the crowd anxiously, his eyes darting from face to face.


    "What''s wrong?" the braided girl asked, noticing his unease. "You look like you''re searching for something."


    "I''m looking for my friend," the bald boy replied, his tone a mix of concern and frustration. "We split up to change into festival clothes, but I haven''t seen him since."


    The girl gave a light laugh and patted his shoulder. "Don''t worry. He''ll show up. Why would he miss this? It''s the most important night for the village."


    The boy nodded reluctantly, but as he turned to look elsewhere, his gaze landed on a couple standing near one of the food stalls. A man with broad shoulders stood protectively beside a pregnant woman, his arm draped gently around her as she rubbed her swollen belly.


    Both wore the same bone necklaces as the others, though the woman wore two, one on her neck and a long one wrapped long one draped loosely over her rounded stomach.


    He recognized this couple. They were the parents of his best friend.


    The boy''s brow furrowed. He found it odd that the couple wasn''t best his friend. Seizing the opportunity, he excused himself from the group and began weaving through the crowd toward them.


    When he finally reached them, he bowed his head respectfully before speaking. "Hello. Um... Please have you seen my friend?"


    The couple turned to him, their expressions tinged with confusion. The mother tilted her head. "Why?" she asked, her voice soft but tinged with concern.


    The boy explained how they had parted ways earlier to change into proper attire but had yet to reunite. The woman''s face fell slightly, her hand still resting on her belly.


    "I haven''t seen him since I sent him off earlier today," she said, glancing at her husband for confirmation. "I was sure he would meet up with you and be playing or something."


    The man shook his head. "We haven''t seen him. I figured he''d already be here by now."The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    The boy''s concern deepened, but before he could offer to search for his friend, the man placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "Don''t worry about him," he said. "This is a night to celebrate. The festival only happens once every twenty years, and the first night is always the most memorable. He''ll show up."


    The boy hesitated but eventually nodded. The pregnant woman smiled faintly, her expression softening as she rubbed the necklace resting on her belly. "He''ll be fine," she said, her tone more for her benefit than the boy''s.


    With that, the bald boy took a step back and bowed again. "Thank you," he said before returning to his group. As he walked away, he couldn''t shake the unease settling in his chest. Something felt off, but he forced himself to focus on the festivities.


    The bonfire roared higher as more villagers gathered around it, and the cheer of the crowd grew louder, signaling the festival was truly underway.


    The joyous energy of the festival shifted as the sound of a drumbeat reverberated through the square. The villagers, one by one, began turning their heads toward the eastern path leading to the village center. A hush fell over the crowd as they parted, creating a clear path to the roaring bonfire. It was as though an unspoken command had been given, and every villager stood tall, their faces alight with pride and reverence.


    From the shadows of the path emerged the village chief, a figure of immense presence and authority. His steps were deliberate, each one echoing against the rhythmic beat of the drums. His attire was unlike anything worn by the others¡ªa long cloak of crimson fabric adorned with intricate patterns of orange patterns that shimmered as he moved. His necklace was grander than any other, made of polished bones that gleamed in the firelight. At its center was a carving of a monkey, but unlike the simple symbols the villagers wore, this one was mighty and powerful, its eyes hollow yet seeming to pierce through anyone who dared gaze upon it for too long.


    As he approached the bonfire, the chief raised his hand in acknowledgment of the villagers, his stern demeanor softening into a bright, welcoming smile. He turned to face the gathered crowd, the flames casting his features in sharp relief.


    "Welcome, my people, to the Festival of the Red Flame!" he began, his deep voice carrying easily across the square. A collective cheer rose from the villagers, their jubilation palpable.


    The chief raised his hands for silence, and the crowd instantly obeyed. His smile broadened as he continued. "How fortunate am I to stand before you on this day, just as my father did before me, and his father before him. To be the one to lead us in this glorious celebration of our god, the mighty Red Flame!"


    The crowd erupted into applause once more, their spirits rising with his every word.


    The chief''s voice grew more solemn as he spoke of their history. "Many, many years ago, long before even your great-great-grandparents were born, our people faced perilous times. The lands we once called home were consumed by chaos and destruction. Cataclysms beyond imagination drove us to the brink, and in our darkest hour, the gods we worshipped turned their backs on us."


    Gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd at the mention of betrayal.


    "But not all forsook us!" the chief thundered, his tone fierce with pride. "One god, the mightiest of them all, stood by our side. The Red Flame! It guided us across treacherous seas away from disaster, through the darkest nights and vilest beasts, and to the safety of this blessed island. Without the Red Flame, there would be no village, no family, no prosperity. We owe everything to this divine protector!"


    He paused, letting his words sink in. The villagers, many with tears in their eyes, erupted into jubilant cheers, their voices ringing in unison.


    When the noise finally subsided, the chief spoke again, his tone lighter but no less commanding. "Now, I know many of you, especially those experiencing this great day for the first time, are eager to see the festival in full swing. But as the sun bathes us in its final red light, we must honor our customs."


    The crowd let out a collective groan of disappointment, though it was laced with good-natured laughter. They knew the rituals were an essential part of their tradition, and they prepared themselves to wait patiently.


    The chief raised his hands and began reciting prayers to the Red Flame. His voice was low and rhythmic, each word imbued with reverence. He spoke of gratitude, of protection, and of the village rules¡ªreminders that crossing the sea was forbidden, for beyond its borders, the Red Flame''s light could not reach.


    While the crowd hung on his every word, one man''s attention wavered. The stepfather, his heart swelling with pride moments ago, now felt a subtle warmth on his chest. He instinctively touched the necklace around his neck, its familiar weight grounding him, but he couldn''t pinpoint the source of the heat.


    As he adjusted the necklace, movement at the edge of his vision caught his attention. He turned his head slightly and spotted a figure in the far back of the crowd¡ªhis stepson. The boy was quiet, standing apart from the others, his gaze shifting constantly as though searching for something.


    The stepfather watched with growing curiosity as the boy began moving, weaving through the edge of the gathering with careful steps. It became clear that he wasn''t merely restless; he was deliberately making his way toward the outskirts of the village center.


    The stepfather frowned. Something about the boy''s behavior unsettled him. Ignoring the chief''s ongoing prayers, he slipped away from his spot in the crowd and began following his stepson. His movements were careful, his eyes trained on the boy as he trailed him at a distance.


    The festival roared on behind him, the villagers oblivious to the quiet pursuit. Yet as the stepfather moved, the faint warmth in his chest seemed to grow, a subtle but persistent reminder that something unusual was unfolding.

 Fireworks

    A short while earlier, Zayn stood at the far edge of the bustling village square, his gaze fixed on the chief as he made his grand entrance. The split crowd, the respectful silence, and the awe-filled expressions made it clear how deeply beloved the chief was by these people. Yet, for Zayn, it wasn''t admiration that gripped him but a rising tide of anxiety.


    As his eyes scanned the villagers, he couldn''t ignore the chilling realization that every single person wore the same necklace¡ªthe one he now had around his neck. The very necklace from which those flaming monkeys had emerged earlier. His mind raced. If his deduction was correct, every necklace here had the potential to transform into those creatures. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as the weight of that thought pressed on him.


    Two of those shits nearly killed me. He glanced at the sea of people. If they all changed¡­ there''s no way I''d survive.


    His eyes shifted to the chief, drawn by the undeniable difference in his necklace. Larger, more intricate, with a carved monkey that seemed alive in its menacing presence.


    Just looking at it filled Zayn with unease, as if its very aura warned him of its deadly power. He inwardly prayed that whatever ordeal this Story was pushing him toward, it wouldn''t involve facing the chief.


    Still, his body didn''t let him rest. Thanks to the [Blood Fever] coursing through him from the necklace, he couldn''t help but feel a simmering desire to fight, to kill.


    It was the only reason he could even remain upright, but it also fueled a growing sense of unease. Definitely not now or here, he reminded himself, forcing the murderous thoughts to the back of his mind.


    What reassured him slightly was how the [Blood Fever]''s appearance was identical to the villagers'' necklaces. No one had noticed anything off about him, likely distracted by the chief''s commanding speech. Zayn''s focus briefly shifted back to the chief''s words.


    "Without the Red Flame, there would be no village, no family, no prosperity. We owe everything to this divine protector!"


    Zayn frowned at the statement, his lips curling into a faint sneer. Protector? Prosperity? What a load of crap. He didn''t know what was truly behind the worship of this "Red Flame," but he doubted it was as benevolent as the chief claimed.


    Feeling uneasy, Zayn began to move, carefully stepping through the outskirts of the crowd. His eyes searched for anything odd, anything that could help him piece together the bigger picture of what was going on. It was then that he spotted her¡ªthe carpenter woman he had helped earlier.


    She stood apart from the crowd, engaged in what appeared to be a heated argument with another woman. The other woman''s hands were stained black with some sort of powder, likely soot or ash. They were speaking in hushed but animated tones, their gestures sharp and deliberate.


    Zayn narrowed his eyes. What is she arguing about and why isn''t she watching the festival? He remembered how he had assisted her not more than an hour prior as she, frantically needed to complete the firework launcher the chief had ordered. The request itself had struck him as odd, since despite how simple it was, it was something he didn''t believe the people in the village could create.


    Now, as he watched her, his instincts flared. The chief gave her that task, and fireworks aren''t something this village should even know how to make. What''s the connection?


    The two women abruptly ended their argument and began walking away from the square, their movements purposeful. Zayn''s eyes followed them, his suspicions growing. If anyone''s involved in something shady, it''d be her.


    Without hesitation, he decided to follow. Staying low and keeping to the shadows, Zayn carefully tracked their movements, ensuring he didn''t lose their trail. His thoughts churned with possibilities. What are they planning? And how does the chief fit into this?


    But Zayn wasn''t as unnoticed as he believed. In the crowd, a pair of sharp eyes had caught sight of him moving. The stepfather, who had been idly observing the festival, noticed the boy weaving through the edges of the square, his behavior suspiciously deliberate.


    The man frowned, the subtle heat in his chest from the necklace growing slightly warmer. What is he up to? Without alerting anyone, the stepfather quietly slipped away from the crowd and began tailing Zayn, his own suspicions mounting.


    Unaware that he was being followed, Zayn pressed on, determined to uncover the truth before it was too late.


    Zayn trailed the two women, weaving through the dimly lit paths with the faint glow of the festival''s central flame in the background. As they moved closer to their destination, he came upon a structure that immediately stood out from the rest of the village''s modest homes.


    The chief''s house loomed grandly, a testament to his elevated status. Built from a combination of sturdy stone and intricately woven palm leaves, its walls were adorned with carvings depicting the Red Flame and various primal creatures, including the same menacing monkey figure featured on the necklaces.


    Thick wooden posts supported the structure, etched with patterns of fire spirals that glowed faintly in the flickering light of nearby torches. A roof of layered palm leaves extended into a sharp, triangular peak, giving the house a commanding presence over the surrounding area. Suspended from the eaves were ornaments of bone and polished coral, clinking softly in the evening breeze, adding an air of both authority and mysticism to the house.


    Zayn''s eyes narrowed. Of course, the chief''s house. If there''s anything shady going on, it would lead back here.


    The two women walked past the front of the house and disappeared behind it. Zayn quickened his pace, moving to the side of the building and keeping close to the shadows. He peeked around the corner just in time to see them approach a covered construct, hidden from casual view by a large thatched barrier.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.


    Making sure to stay out of sight, Zayn crouched low and strained to hear their conversation. The carpenter''s sharp voice carried through the air, cutting into the quieter tones of her companion.


    "How could you have messed up your part of the work? Everyone else was able to do theirs properly" the carpenter snapped.


    The other woman, her tone defensive but somewhat detached, responded, "I didn''t mess up. I just¡­ had some complications."


    "Complications?" The carpenter''s voice rose. "What kind of complications lead to losing half of the work? Half!"


    "It wasn''t my fault! Well¡­ at least I didn''t mean it," the woman replied, sounding exasperated. "There''s still enough to work with."


    The carpenter groaned audibly, her frustration palpable. "Let me see it."


    The other woman moved to a smaller pile near the construct. It was covered with a thick cloth, and as she pulled it back, Zayn adjusted his position, craning his neck to get a better view. Unfortunately, he still couldn''t see what they were looking at, but he could feel the tension from the carpenter''s reaction.


    "This isn''t half!" the carpenter yelled, pointing at whatever lay under the cloth.


    The other woman shrugged nonchalantly. "I said about half was left, not exactly half."


    The carpenter looked as though she was about to explode. "How can you be so careless about something so important? This isn''t just any festival¡ªit''s supposed to be unique! A new milestone for the village! And you¡ª"


    The woman held up her hands in mock surrender. "I already told you it''s not entirely my fault! I had never seen those materials before, the chief just gave them to me. I didn''t know they''d explode when I wrapped them too close to the fire."


    The carpenter''s jaw dropped, her voice filled with disbelief. "Didn''t you read the instructions? The chief gave us clear guidelines!"


    "I didn''t see that part," the woman muttered sheepishly.


    The carpenter narrowed her eyes, holding out her hand. "Bring me the instructions."


    The other woman retrieved a flat, stone-like tablet lying near the covered pile and handed it over. The carpenter examined it closely, her brow furrowing. Then she jabbed a finger at the bottom of the tablet, her glare directed at her companion.


    "There''s a warning right here," she said sharply.


    The woman leaned over, her face lighting up in sudden realization. Scratching her head with a sheepish grin, she said, "Oh¡­ whoops. I must''ve missed that."


    Zayn couldn''t help but raise a brow at her nonchalant attitude. Seriously?


    The carpenter groaned, clutching her head in frustration. "Your incompetence might ruin the entire festival! This was supposed to be our chance to do something groundbreaking for the village. A new chapter in the history of the village. Now it''s all a mess!"


    Despite her anger, Zayn could see the desperation in her body language. Whatever they were working on seemed critical¡ªnot just to the festival but possibly to the village''s standing with their god. His curiosity burned as he tried to make sense of what they were saying. What''s so important about this festival? I know that they have it every 20 years but they act like it''s a once-in-a-lifetime kind of deal.


    Zayn shifted in his crouched position, trying to catch every word the two women exchanged. The carpenter''s sister, her voice softer but tinged with determination, reassured her sibling.


    "Look," the sister began, "I know losing half of the material is bad, but it''s not like I haven''t done anything to make up for it. I''ve been studying what we had left, and I came up with something."


    The carpenter froze mid-complaint, narrowing her eyes. "What do you mean, came up with something? You didn''t mess with the chief''s instructions, did you?"


    The sister crossed her arms defensively. "Relax. I didn''t mess with the originals. But after working with them, I started to understand how they function¡ªwhat made them do what they do. So I improvised. I made my own version."


    The carpenter''s face twisted into a mix of worry and anger. "Do you have any idea how reckless that is? This isn''t a playground for your experiments! These materials aren''t toys¡ªthey have an important purpose!"


    The sister gave a lopsided grin, though her voice carried a rare note of sincerity. "I know that, okay? Believe it or not, I care about the village as much as you do. I wouldn''t risk something like this unless I thought it would work." She paused, her expression softening. "I just want the village to succeed."


    The carpenter hesitated, her anger ebbing into guilt. She looked away, sighing. "I''m sorry. I... I didn''t mean to question your dedication. It''s just... this festival is so important, and the thought of something going wrong¡ª"


    The sister cut her off with a laugh, waving a dismissive hand. "Don''t worry about it. I get it. Besides," she added with a smirk, "you''ll love what I made. It might even be better than the chief''s version."


    The carpenter groaned, running a hand through her hair. "I swear, if this turns into another one of your harebrained schemes¡ª"


    "Just come look at it," the sister interrupted, already walking off toward another part of the area.


    Reluctantly, the carpenter followed her, grumbling under her breath.


    Zayn waited until their voices had faded completely before stepping out of his hiding spot. His gaze immediately fell on the covered construct they had left behind. He glanced around to ensure no one else was nearby, then approached the structure.


    Pulling back the covering, he immediately recognized the firework launcher he had helped the carpenter build earlier. It was now adorned with vivid red and orange decorations, patterns mimicking flames licking up its sides.


    Zayn frowned, his curiosity unquenched. "It''s just the firework launcher," he muttered to himself. "What was I expecting? They modify it into a death machine?"


    Still, he moved closer to where the women had been standing earlier. There, arranged neatly, was a pile of wrapped fireworks, each one decorated similarly to the launcher. Zayn crouched to examine them, his fingers running over the intricate patterns painted on the surface.


    "Fireworks," he mused aloud. "Entertainment tools. Nothing threatening about that... right?"


    He looked back at the launcher, his unease deepening. The idea that these villagers could even create something like this clashed with everything he had observed so far. Their technology, or absence of it seemed far too primitive to accommodate such designs, let alone the explosives within.


    Zayn''s thoughts turned to the chief, and a cold knot formed in his stomach. Where did he even get these instructions? The Red Flame? But why would it need something like this?


    His gaze fell on the stone tablet the sister had handed to the carpenter earlier. Picking it up, he squinted at the symbols etched into its surface. Despite his best efforts, the markings were incomprehensible, more a series of jagged lines and curves than any language he recognized. Frustrated, he set it back down.


    Shaking his head, Zayn turned his attention to the fireworks themselves. He carefully unwrapped one of them, peeling back the decorative layers. What he found inside made his breath hitch.


    The core of the firework wasn''t just packed with standard explosive material¡ªit was embedded with shards of a dark, crystalline substance that pulsed faintly with a deep red glow.


    "What the hell..." he muttered, his instincts screaming that this was no ordinary firework.


    Before he could inspect it further, a voice rang out behind him, startling him enough to make him nearly drop the firework.


    "What are you doing?"


    Zayn spun around quickly, clutching the firework in his hands like a weapon. Standing there, looking both confused and suspicious, was the stepfather of the body he now inhabited.

 Transformation

    Zayn locked eyes with his stepfather or the stepfather of the body he was in, his cold gaze meeting the man''s confused expression. The man stood firm, his figure broad and slightly hunched, as if he carried a great weight on his shoulders.


    Zayn took quick stock of his stance, noticing the tightly clenched fists and the slight furrow in his brow. Inwardly, he cursed the poor timing of the man''s arrival.


    "What are you doing here?" the man asked again, his tone sharper this time.


    Zayn said nothing. He turned and carefully set the firework he had unwrapped back onto the pile, covering it with the same decorative material. His silence only seemed to frustrate the man further.


    "What''s that you''re putting down?" the stepfather pressed, stepping closer.


    Zayn straightened, his mind racing. Keeping his tone as neutral as possible, he replied, "Nothing. You should go back to the festival."


    The man''s eyes narrowed. "Why are you acting so strange today?" He began, a bit of annoyance in his voice. "It started when I found you staring out at the sea after you left your pregnant mother on her own. Then, when you were with your friend and the two of you were to go and change into the proper attire for the festival, you don''t even check on your friend or mother and are wearing this."


    ''And now, you''re sneaking around the chief''s home." he was clearly tired of dealing with all of this in one day.


    He took another step forward, his voice dropping to a warning tone. "I know that you are not the fondest of me but If you''re planning something that could bring trouble to the village just because of that, you''d better stop right now."


    Zayn felt his jaw tighten. He didn''t like the man''s condescending tone, but he knew getting into a confrontation would only complicate things. He took a step closer, meeting the man halfway, and held up a hand to stop him.


    "I''m not doing anything that would cause trouble," Zayn said calmly, though his voice carried a sharp edge. "Let''s just go back to the festival."


    The stepfather frowned, his suspicion growing. His eyes drifted lower, and his expression shifted when he noticed pieces of fabric wrapped around Zayn''s forearms. "What''s this?" he asked, pointing at the crude bandages. "Why are you wrapped up like that?"


    "It''s nothing," Zayn said curtly, shifting his arm out of view.


    But the man wasn''t deterred. He reached out, grabbing Zayn''s wrist to inspect it. Before Zayn could react, the fabric came loose, revealing the gruesome wounds beneath. The jagged cuts and deep gashes painted a grim picture as if Zayn had been through a battlefield.


    The man''s eyes widened in shock. "What in the gods'' names happened to you?" he demanded, his voice rising.


    Zayn''s response wasn''t verbal. He fixed the stepfather with a cold, unyielding stare, the weight of it so intense that the man instinctively recoiled. It was the same gaze Zayn had given him earlier in the day, when he''d held onto his shoulder. But this time, it was sharper, colder¡ªthe gaze of someone who was this close to committing murder.


    Zayn''s hand shot up, grabbing the man''s wrist in return. Despite the difference in their sizes, Zayn''s grip was shockingly strong, and the man''s face twisted in discomfort.


    "Let go," Zayn said evenly, his voice low and dangerous.


    The man hesitated, then released Zayn''s wrist, flexing his hand as if to ease the ache. "I''m sorry," he muttered, though his tone carried more confusion than remorse.


    Zayn ignored the apology. "Go back to the festival," he said again. "It''s about to begin properly. You don''t want to miss it."


    The man shook his head. "I can''t just leave you like this. Those wounds need treating, and you''re acting¡­" He trailed off, searching for the right word. "You''re not yourself."


    Zayn didn''t respond. He turned his back on the man, his mind already shifting to the pile of fireworks and the strange, glowing substance he''d uncovered. He couldn''t waste his time arguing with the man as he didn''t want to be met by the two sisters without at least getting a better understanding of these items.


    He barely registered the man fidgeting with his necklace, the gesture subtle but incessant. If Zayn had noticed, it might have set off alarm bells, but his focus was elsewhere.


    As Zayn studied the pile, he saw the dark crystalline material pulsing brighter than before. A growing sense of unease settled over him. Whatever this was, it wasn''t just an ordinary firework component. The glow seemed almost alive, and it sent a chill down his spine.


    The stepfather, noticing Zayn''s fixation, followed his gaze. He moved closer, his curiosity overriding his earlier hesitation. "What is this stuff?" he asked aloud, his hand reaching for a small shard of the glowing material.


    "Don''t touch it," Zayn snapped, but it was too late.


    The man picked up the shard, turning it over in his hand. The moment his fingers made contact, the crystalline substance flared with a sudden, intense light. Zayn''s heart sank.


    "No," Zayn muttered under his breath, knowing that whatever was about to happen, it wouldn''t be good.


    Zayn watched in growing horror as the necklace around the man''s neck began to glow with an eerie resonance, the same pulsating crimson light as the crystalline substance he held. Without warning, the necklace erupted into flames. Crimson fire engulfed the man in a sudden, ferocious blaze. Zayn instinctively leaped backward, his hands flying to the two bone claws hanging at his sides. He gripped them tightly, ready to wield them at a moment''s notice.


    The man''s agonized screams pierced the air, raw and unrelenting. Zayn felt his stomach churn as he witnessed the flames devour the man, charring his skin to an unnatural leathery black. His body twisted unnaturally as bones broke and flesh twisted as though being reshaped by an invisible hand. The scent of burning flesh filled the air, and Zayn''s every instinct screamed at him to run. But his legs refused to move as he watched the gruesome transformation unfold.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    The flames melted the necklace into the man''s chest, fusing it into his body. The skin around the area bubbled and cracked, forming a grotesque, veined scar that glowed faintly with a malicious light.


    Zayn''s eyes widened as he saw the man''s fingers elongate into sharp, white claws, with blood-red veins snaking through them like roots. The resemblance to the Blood Claws he had fought earlier was undeniable, though this transformation was far more grotesque. Unlike the monkeys'' lean and agile forms, the man''s new body seemed lankier and encased in a fiery aura.


    Zayn noted, with a growing sense of dread, that this was something far different, whether it was dangerous he would figure that out soon.


    The man''s screaming ceased abruptly as his transformation reached its conclusion. He now stood still, a creature of flame and bone, utterly unrecognizable. His head had deformed, taking on the grotesque shape of a monkey''s skull covered in blood-colored flame. Zayn saw no eyes within the fiery glow that consumed the head; it was as though the fire itself served as its vision.


    The sight of it sent a shiver down his spine, but Zayn forced himself to keep his composure, his fists tightening around the bone claws.


    For a moment, neither moved. The air between them crackled with tension, the only sounds were the faint hiss of flames and Zayn''s own measured breathing. Then, in a blur of motion, the creature charged.


    Its speed was terrifying. Zayn barely managed to sidestep the initial attack, the claws slashing through the air where his head had been just a moment before.


    The heat radiating from the creature''s body was overwhelming, like standing too close to a roaring inferno. It was much more intense than that of the Blood Claws but this one still caused him no damage.


    Zayn retaliated immediately, driving one of his bone claws into the creature''s side. The strike hit home, but the leathery black skin resisted more than he expected. Still, the force of the blow sent the creature staggering slightly, its balance momentarily disrupted.


    Zayn didn''t wait. He pressed his advantage, lunging forward with a flurry of strikes aimed at its torso. Each hit was as precise as he could make it, aimed at weak points he could identify, but the creature''s resilience was unlike anything he had faced before.


    It roared in fury, swiping wildly with its claws. Zayn ducked under one strike, feeling the searing heat pass just inches from his face, then rolled away from another.


    The fight moved rapidly across the space behind the chief''s house. Zayn kept himself hyper-aware of the pile of fireworks nearby, his mind racing with the potential devastation they could cause if ignited. He danced around the creature, using its mindless aggression against it, drawing it away from the volatile materials.


    Still, the creature''s strength was formidable. A sweeping blow caught Zayn''s side, sending him skidding across the dirt. He felt a sharp pain flare in his ribs, and for a moment, the Blood Fever that fueled him faltered as his mind went to the pain instead of the urge to kill. His vision blurred as weakness crept in, his body''s wounds and fatigue making themselves known. He bit down hard, forcing the Blood Fever back to the forefront as his mind clearly went to his murderous thoughts.


    The burning pain in his muscles became fuel for his bloodlust, his limbs responding to him once more.


    The creature charged again, its movements feral and relentless. Zayn ducked low, pivoting on his heel to avoid the onslaught, then retaliated with a sweeping strike that carved a deep gash into its back. The creature stumbled but quickly recovered, turning with an enraged roar. It swiped at Zayn''s legs, forcing him to leap backward.


    ''It''s definitely slower than both of them," Zayn thought, assessing its speed. "And not as strong too."


    The realization gave him a sliver of confidence. This thing was dangerous, but it wasn''t unbeatable. Its attacks were wild, lacking the precision or coordination of the Blood Claws he had fought earlier. Zayn used that to his advantage, staying just out of reach and striking back when openings presented themselves.


    The fight was brutal and relentless, each exchange leaving Zayn more exhausted as he found it harder to keep his thoughts on killing things while trying to keep awareness of his surroundings and prevent himself from getting gutted.


    Yet, he endured, fueled by the Blood Fervor and sheer determination. He knew he couldn''t let this creature win¡ªnot here, not now. His thoughts flickered briefly to the fireworks, the potential disaster they represented if the fight moved too close. He redoubled his efforts, pushing the creature further away from the pile with every calculated maneuver.


    The creature''s fiery aura began to flicker and waver as the fight wore on. Zayn could see it weakening, its movements growing slightly slower, less precise. He pressed the attack, delivering a powerful blow to its shoulder that sent it crashing to the ground. The creature let out a guttural growl, struggling to rise. Zayn didn''t hesitate. He drove both bone claws into its chest with all the strength he could muster.


    The creature let out a final, agonized scream as its fiery aura flared brightly, then began to dissipate. Its body collapsed, the flames extinguishing as it crumpled into a heap of charred flesh and ash. Zayn stood over it, panting heavily, his hands trembling from the effort.


    "Fuck... It wasn''t as bad as the monkeys but fuck I''m not some superhuman." he lamented.


    The air was still, the only sound was the distant murmur of the festival. Zayn''s eyes flicked to the pile of fireworks, relief washing over him when he saw they were untouched.


    He wiped sweat and blood from his brow, forcing himself to steady his breathing. Whatever that thing had been, it was gone now. But Zayn couldn''t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning.


    The charred, twisted figure of the stepfather lay motionless, his body twitching slightly as faint groans escaped his lips. Zayn approached cautiously, the bone claws still in his hands.


    He crouched down, observing the man''s burned and broken form. The flames had subsided, but the leathery blackened skin, the grotesque claws, and the smoldering remnants of the necklace fused into his chest told the story of his transformation.


    The man''s head shifted slightly, his voice rasping, barely audible over the sound of crackling embers. "W-what¡­ happened?"


    Zayn hesitated, unsure how to explain the truth to someone in their final moments. "You were... taken over by the necklace," he said flatly. "It wasn''t something you could fight."


    The man coughed weakly, his voice trembling as he tried to process Zayn''s words. "The necklace¡­? It''s for the festival¡­ nothing could be wrong with" His sentences broke apart as confusion clouded his tone. "I¡­ don''t understand. Why¡­?"


    Zayn exhaled sharply. "You don''t need to understand. You''re dying," he stated plainly, his voice devoid of emotion, though his grip tightened on his claws.


    The man''s breathing hitched as realization dawned. His clawed hand twitched toward his chest, but it dropped limply beside him. "Dying¡­" he murmured, his voice thick with disbelief. The pause was heavy, the air filled with the weight of mortality. Slowly, his gaze widened although a bit discreetly as he received some sort of revelation. "Listen... you¡­ have to look after her."


    Zayn frowned. "Who?"


    "My wife¡­ your mother," the man clarified, his voice barely above a whisper. His words came out labored, each one dragging the life from him. "I don''t¡­ know what happened. But¡­ I know it''s something bad¡­ something worse¡­ is coming."


    Zayn''s jaw tightened. He didn''t answer immediately, his mind racing. He barely knew this man¡ªthis family¡ªbut the raw sincerity in his words struck a chord, no matter how much he tried to ignore it. After a long moment, he gave a small, reluctant nod. "I''ll¡­ see what I can do."


    The stepfather''s lips trembled in what might have been a faint attempt at a smile. His head lolled to the side, his breathing slowing further. "Thank¡­ you¡­ and please... remember what you saw." His voice trailed off into silence as his chest rose once more before falling still.


    There again it was. That sentence, ''remember what you saw''. Didn''t he already remember? It was the flash forward of the village''s arrival, what else could it have been? And why did he just say it on his death bed instead of clarifying?


    Zayn remained crouched for a moment, studying the lifeless body. Though he felt no personal connection to the man, he was just some nameless person in a Story, not really anyone of significance.


    But looking at his dead form, he sighed and reached out, closing his eyes respectfully. As his fingers brushed against the burnt skin, the charred remains of the necklace flaked away into ash.


    But before Zayn could stand, a shrill scream split the air.

 Twilights Edge

    Zayn''s head snapped up, and his eyes locked onto two figures standing at the edge of the scene. It was the carpenter and her sister, their faces frozen in horror as they took in the grotesque scene. They were carrying some crates in their arms¡ªbut their attention was entirely on the lifeless man and Zayn crouched over him.


    Zayn groaned inwardly. "Just my luck," he muttered, standing and letting the claws slide into his grip once more.


    What would he even say to explain the situation to these two? He was standing over a completely burned corpse with two bloody bone weapons in his hand and all the wounds and injuries on the body could easily tell the story of what happened here. It wouldn''t be something he could explain.


    ''Should I kill them? It would stop them from exposing me and it''s not like they''re real right? They are all just from the Story so it shouldn''t matter'' he wondered inwardly.


    The carpenter opened her mouth, likely to demand an explanation, but Zayn''s attention shifted sharply to the pile of fireworks. His heart sank as he noticed the faint glow emanating from the dark crystalline substance within them. Worse still, the necklaces on the women''s necks were beginning to shimmer with an ominous light.


    "Shit," Zayn hissed, gripping his claws tightly.


    The carpenter and her sister barely had time to react before Zayn charged forward, his claws gleaming in the dim light of the smoldering battlefield.


    A short while later...


    Zayn stood in the silence of the aftermath, his breath uneven, beads of sweat mixing with the blood splattered across his face. His eyes were locked on the ground, where the half-charred bodies of the carpenter and her sister lay crumpled at his feet.


    Their twisted forms still bore traces of their incomplete transformations, the grotesque mutations halted mid-process by their deaths. For a moment, the world seemed muted, the air thick with the acrid stench of burnt flesh.


    Zayn stared at their corpses, his expression vacant, as if lost in the haze of his thoughts. The battle was over, yet an unfamiliar weight pressed on his chest.


    He let out a long sigh and muttered, "What the hell am I doing?"


    The question lingered in the air, unanswered. Zayn didn''t move, still gazing at the lifeless forms as doubt began to claw at him.


    Everything he''d done since entering this Story felt... wrong. Disjointed. Why did I opt to kill them so quickly? Why did I charge instead of retreating or coming up with a plan? The thoughts spiraled.


    He tried to trace back his steps, scrutinizing every decision. None of this makes sense, not even to me. His actions since arriving here felt impulsive, alien to his nature. He''d been reckless, just following random people who said they knew him. Ignoring blatantly troublesome tells like the bald boy''s behavior and the villager''s lack of names and now acting without a plan.


    That wasn''t him. He wasn''t someone who rushed into things blindly. He was a planner, meticulous, and careful. He''d always prided himself on that.


    Back then¡ªwhen he decided to shoot up the school and kill those bastards who fucked his chance at life¡ªhe''d planned it all. Every step, every move. He made sure his targets were at school, he studied the floor maps, and teacher-student routes to classes to prevent the more annoying teachers from stopping him. He didn''t kill everyone indiscriminately.


    The specific ones who survived had been left for a reason. But here? Here he''d been... careless. Sloppy. Or was he always like this? The doubt gnawed at him, twisting his memories.


    He knew who he was but how easily he did all of these things in the Story without doubling back bothered him.


    Shaking his head, Zayn dismissed the thought. "It''s the damn Story," he muttered to himself. ''It had to be.'' There was so much he didn''t understand about this place, its rules, or its effects. Maybe it was the Story that was clouding his judgment, driving him to act out of character. That explanation was enough for now.


    He exhaled sharply, his focus shifting back to the bodies at his feet. The sight of them brought clarity, pushing the existential thoughts aside. Instead, he analyzed what he saw.


    The carpenter and her sister were different from the Blood Claws¡ªhe could see that clearly now. While the Blood Claws had been born directly from the necklaces, these transformations had been triggered by the strange glowing substance in the fireworks along with the necklace.


    He remembered how the smaller Blood Claw had emerged from his necklace in a burst of fire without transforming him. Same as the sickly man.


    "This is different," Zayn muttered, crouching near the bodies for a closer look. The connection was clear: the material in the fireworks. It had caused their necklaces to react differently compared to earlier, merging into their flesh instead of producing an external transformation.


    He figured the Blood Claws appearing from the necklaces was the norm as to his knowledge there wasn''t some sort of outer element involved like the substance.


    Physically, these transformed women had looked more menacing, with elongated claws and disfigured faces that seemed almost predatory. But in reality, they were weaker.


    The stepfather''s flames had been hotter than the two Blood Claws, but slower than both Blood Claws overall. His strength and intelligence were equally lacking¡ªhis movements had been wild and uncoordinated, unlike the Blood Claws'' agile and tactical attacks.


    "They''re inferior," Zayn concluded, his tone detached. Whatever purpose these transformations served, they weren''t comparable to the Blood Claws.


    They were easier to kill and less effective. He couldn''t fathom why they''d exist, much less how they fit into the bigger picture of the festival or the Red Flame.


    Rising to his feet, Zayn stood amidst the unsettling scene, the acrid scent of burnt flesh still hanging in the air. His eyes drifted back to the pile of fireworks, now imbued with an ominous presence thanks to the strange glowing substance.


    A single question dominated his mind, What was the Chief planning to do with this stuff?Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.


    He mulled over the possibilities, trying to piece together the fragments of this twisted puzzle. ''Is the Chief trying to transform the villagers?'' The thought crossed his mind, but it didn''t sit right.


    The version of the Blood Claws created by the glowing substance was, without a doubt, inferior to those born directly from the necklaces. The creatures were slower, weaker, and lacked even the rudimentary intelligence that the original Blood Claws displayed. Why would anyone want to use this material if the results were so subpar? Zayn scowled, the weight of the inconsistencies pressing on him.


    The method to even produce them from the few confrontations he had, where also convoluted. It was just bizarre.


    He could even imagine what the chief wanted to do with the fireworks and this substance. The fireworks would be launched into the air, exploding to rain down the substance across the villagers who wore necklaces. Transforming them into these things. While the process might technically work, it seemed overly theatrical for something so straightforward.


    He considered the idea he would want control of them but that too seemed stupid. ''The villagers are already pliable, docile, and blindly loyal to the village. The Chief wouldn''t need such an elaborate mechanism to control them.''


    Zayn frowned deeper, the dissonance gnawing at him. The purpose wasn''t control. It couldn''t be.


    Then another thought struck him¡ªsomething he''d noticed but hadn''t given much thought to until now. The Blood Claws he''d killed earlier had exuded a faint, golden light after their deaths. It wasn''t just light; it was energy, an almost ethereal force that seemed to flow into his Outline. Each time it happened, he received a message in his ears about toppling an obstacle, like the Story itself was acknowledging his actions.


    But these three¡ªthe stepfather, the carpenter, and her sister¡ªhad produced no such phenomenon. There was no golden light, no energy flowing into him. Even the familiar voice that echoed in his mind after defeating the Blood Claws had been silent this time.


    Frowning, Zayn called for his Outline, drawing it into view. The familiar web of glowing, translucent lines forming his notebook levitated before him, representing his progress within the Story. He scanned it intently but found no changes or messages. It was as if he hadn''t killed anyone at all. What the hell is going on?


    The realization left him uneasy. Something was missing, something crucial about the nature of these transformations and the Chief''s intentions.


    Zayn''s thoughts were interrupted when he noticed something odd at his feet. A thin trail of blood began to snake across the ground, moving unnaturally. His gaze followed the trail, noting that it didn''t flow outward as it should have. Instead, it was heading toward the village center, where the festival was being held.


    He turned to see where it originated, and his stomach twisted. The blood was seeping from the bodies of the stepfather, the carpenter, and her sister. It wasn''t pooling or dripping¡ªit was flowing, purposeful, as though guided by an unseen force.


    Zayn crouched, examining the phenomenon closely. This isn''t natural, he thought, his instincts flaring. Something about this screamed danger. He reached out, grabbing a handful of dirt and throwing it over the trail to block its path.


    For a moment, the blood seemed to stop, pooling around the dirt as if it were considering an alternative. Then, with a sudden fluid motion, it veered around the obstacle.


    "Dammit," Zayn muttered, trying again. He threw more dirt, rocks, and anything he could find, creating small barriers to impede the blood''s flow. He even tried using his bare hands to stop it but It adjusted each time, weaving through or around his attempts like a predator evading traps.


    He even thought of going to the bodies to stop it but then something changed.


    It shifted tactics.


    The blood sank into the ground, disappearing from view entirely.


    "No, no, no," Zayn muttered, frantically searching for where it might reemerge. But the ground remained silent, undisturbed. Whatever force was guiding it had taken it beyond his reach.


    Zayn straightened, his fists clenched around his bone claws. His instincts screamed at him that something was terribly wrong. Whatever the Chief was planning, this blood¡ªand the strange material in the fireworks¡ªwere critical to it. And now, the blood was heading straight for the heart of the village.


    He turned his gaze toward the festival, the flickering light of the bonfire visible in the distance. "I need to figure this out fast," he muttered under his breath, his grip tightening on his weapons.


    Zayn turned his focus back to the pile of fireworks, the glowing substance still faintly pulsating within them. The weight of the situation pressed on him; this moment felt pivotal, a critical point in the Story that could shift its trajectory depending on his next move.


    The pile sat precariously, its potential for chaos barely contained. He knew he couldn''t leave it here. If the Chief''s plan relied on these fireworks, then the best course of action was to dismantle or destroy them, disrupting whatever was in motion.


    Zayn knelt by the pile, inspecting the containers. He remembered how narrowly he had prevented them from igniting earlier during his fight with the stepfather and the two sisters. His jaw tightened. ''One wrong move, and this whole place would have been blown out of existence.''


    As he deliberated, his eyes drifted toward where the carpenter''s sister had fallen. Something clicked in his memory¡ªthe two of them had been carrying boxes when they arrived. He recalled the sister mentioning that she was working on her own version of fireworks.


    Curious, Zayn stood and approached the boxes. The first one was charred but intact. He crouched down and carefully pried it open. Inside were rows of cylindrical fireworks, crudely made but functional. The craftsmanship was amateur compared to the Chief''s elaborate designs, but it wasn''t the construction that caught Zayn''s attention.


    He grabbed one and twisted it open, spilling its contents into his palm. His lips curved into a small, wry smile. "Perfect. The problem just solved itself."


    Meanwhile...


    At the village square, the festival was nearing its climax. The crowd stood in hushed anticipation as the Chief neared the end of the rites. His deep voice carried across the square, his words laced with the authority of tradition.


    Those older members of the crowd, who had been present for previous festivals could tell that he was going extra slow today. Yet, the sky above refused to darken making them feel they were just imagining it since the sun hadn''t fallen yet. The red hues of the sunset lingered unnaturally, casting the village in a constant state of twilight.


    As the Chief chanted, his expression subtly shifted. A frown creased his brow as he felt something¡ªan unsettling presence. Glancing down, he saw his elaborate necklace glowing faintly, its crimson hue pulsating in sync with a strange sensation climbing his leg.


    He looked down and saw it: a thin, flowing trail of blood winding its way up his clothes. It crawled with purpose, spiraling toward the necklace.


    The Chief didn''t flinch. His face remained calm, though his eyes flickered with questions. He watched as the blood disappeared into the necklace, the glow intensifying for a brief moment before fading. Then, as if hearing a voice only he could perceive, he nodded slightly with a look on his face.


    The Chief turned to a group of strong men standing near the front of the crowd. They were muscular laborers, respected in the village for their strength and reliability. He beckoned them forward with a wave of his hand.


    "The carpenter and the village healer," the Chief began, his tone steady but carrying a faint edge of urgency, "have gone to my house to retrieve something vital for the festival. They are running late."


    The men listened intently, their expressions resolute.


    "I need you to go and assist them," the Chief continued. "It''s behind my house, and you''ll recognize it by its wooden crates and coverings. Bring it here as quickly as you can. The festival cannot proceed without it."


    The men nodded immediately. For the festival, and especially for the village, they would do whatever was necessary. Without hesitation, they set off toward the Chief''s house, their steps purposeful.


    The Chief turned back to the crowd, addressing their murmurs with a reassuring smile. "Do not worry. Everything is proceeding as it should. The full festival will commence soon."


    Yet as he spoke, his gaze shifted upward, lingering on the sunset-streaked sky. The unnatural redness had remained far too long, defying the natural cycle of day and night. He frowned inwardly as if straining to hold something.


    The Chief''s expression smoothed as he returned his attention to the villagers. His voice rang out with conviction, pulling their focus back to the festival preparations. But deep inside, he could feel it¡ªsomething was amiss, a disruption in the order of things.


    And as the village square remained bathed in the eerie red light of the sunset, Zayn moved closer to setting the stage for what would come next.

 Yawn

    The group of strong men walked with purpose through the quiet village paths, their conversation light yet filled with anticipation. The crimson hues of the unnaturally long sunset painted their surroundings, casting everything in a warm, surreal glow.


    "What do you think it is?" one of them asked, his tone carrying a mix of curiosity and excitement. "The thing the Chief wants us to bring for the festival?"


    Another man, taller and broader than the rest, scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Must be something unforgettable. The Chief wouldn''t make it this important otherwise."


    "Unforgettable, eh?" chuckled an older man, his voice tinged with nostalgia. "I remember the festival twenty years ago. Didn''t have all this fancy setup or these necklaces." He tapped the red pendant around his neck, causing it to sway slightly. "Just a bonfire and some storytelling back then. Still magical, though."


    "You''re lucky you can remember that," said another, a wiry man with sharp features. "I was at the one forty years ago. Things were simpler, and quieter. But this¡­" He gestured at the vibrant glow of the village center in the distance. "This feels¡­ bigger."


    The group nodded in agreement, their anticipation palpable. The necklaces around their necks seemed to thrum faintly as if feeding off their excitement.


    "Feels like I''m a boy again," the tall man said, grinning. "Ready for a festival that''s been building up for decades. This one''s gonna be the one we''ll all remember."


    As they approached the Chief''s house, a strange scent wafted through the air, faint but distinct. It was oddly familiar, though none of them could place it. They sniffed at the air curiously, exchanging puzzled glances.


    "Smells¡­ strange," said the wiry man, his nose wrinkling.


    "Can''t figure it out," replied another. "Maybe something from the healer''s supplies? She always has odd-smelling stuff."


    "Could be," the older man said dismissively. "Come on, let''s not waste time."


    They rounded the corner to the back of the Chief''s house, where they found several large items covered with cloth. For a moment, they hesitated, unsure which item was the one they were supposed to retrieve.


    "Let''s check under these," suggested the tall man, stepping forward.


    Pulling off the cover from the largest item, they revealed a strange contraption. It was a mix of wood and metal, intricately assembled but with a purpose none of them could immediately discern.


    "What in the world¡­?" the older man muttered, crouching to get a closer look.


    The wiry man whistled low. "Looks fancy. Never seen anything like it."


    "Must be for the festival," the tall man said confidently. "The Chief''s got something special planned, that''s for sure."


    They admired the contraption for a moment longer before one of them noticed a pile of fireworks nearby. Unlike the ornate device, the fireworks were plain, almost haphazardly stored.


    "Not much to look at compared to that thing," the wiry man remarked, pointing to the fireworks. "Doesn''t matter, though. The Chief said it''s important."


    As they moved to pick up the items, one of them noticed something odd¡ªa bloodstain on the cloth that had covered the contraption. He held it up for the others to see.


    "Blood?" he asked, frowning.


    "Maybe it''s the healer''s or carpenter''s doing," one of them joked with a sly grin. "You know, their lady troubles."


    For a moment, the others were confused, until he emphasized, "The blood, you fools!"


    That sent the group into fits of laughter, their voices echoing in the otherwise quiet surroundings. The man holding the cloth dropped it, shaking his head as he chuckled.


    "You''re a piece of work, you know that?" the older man said, wiping his eyes.


    "Yeah, yeah," the wiry man replied with a grin. "But seriously, where are the healer and the carpenter?"


    "They''re probably just late," the tall man said dismissively. "Let''s not delay the festival any further."


    Together, they hefted the contraption and fireworks, their strength making light work of the load. As they began the walk back to the village center, their conversation shifted to another topic.


    "Poor guy, though," one of them said, breaking the silence.


    "Who?" asked the older man.


    "The one looking after the son of the last Blessed by Red. What a burden to bear."


    "Hah, he''s got it better than most," another chimed in. "His wife''s a rare find. He should count himself lucky."


    "Still he must surely have it hard raising another man''s child. Especially the temporary successor for the blessing..."


    Their banter continued as they made their way to the festival, their voices growing fainter with each step.


    Unbeknownst to them, Zayn had been watching from the roof of a nearby hut, his body tense with effort. He had somehow managed to carry the dead bodies of the stepfather and the sisters up there, concealing them from view. His chest rose and fell as he observed the men leave with the Chief''s items.Stolen story; please report.


    He waited until they were far enough away before moving. Slowly, he slid down from the roof, his movements stiff but determined. Once on the ground, he glanced in the direction of the village center, his face set in grim resolve.


    "No turning back now."


    With a deep breath, Zayn steeled himself and followed the men toward the festival, the weight of the Story pressing heavily on his shoulders.


    A short while later...


    The men reached the village square, their heavy footsteps drawing the attention of the gathered crowd. Gasps rippled through the villagers as they saw the unfamiliar contraption and the bundles of fireworks the men carried. Whispers of awe and curiosity spread, and the excitement that had been bubbling all day swelled into a palpable hum.


    The Chief¡¯s face lit up as he saw the items, his smile broad but not without a flicker of concern when he noticed the absence of the carpenter and the healer. Still, he stepped forward to greet the men, clasping his hands together in thanks.


    ¡°You¡¯ve done well bringing these here,¡± he said, his voice calm but firm. ¡°But where are the healer and the carpenter?¡±


    The men exchanged uneasy glances before the wiry one spoke up. ¡°We didn¡¯t see them, Chief. But we found blood on the covering.¡± He gestured to the discarded cloth. ¡°We think¡­ maybe they hurt themselves working on this thing. It looks complicated enough to do some damage.¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± added the tall man. ¡°They probably went to deal with it before coming back.¡±


    The Chief nodded slowly, his expression betraying no emotion, though his mind churned. He knew their theory didn¡¯t align with the truth, but there was no sense in alarming the crowd now. ¡°That could be it,¡± he said neutrally, turning his attention to the items they had brought.


    He inspected the contraption first, running his hands over its surface. It was flawless¡ªprecisely what he had envisioned, even more so than he¡¯d dared to hope. The carpenter had clearly outdone herself. He felt a small surge of pride for her craftsmanship, though it was quickly tempered by a gnawing unease.


    Then he turned to the fireworks. His brows furrowed as he examined them more closely. They were... wrong. The design was markedly different from the specifications he had given. The colors were correct, a mix of red and orange, but the patterns and construction were haphazard, as though they had been made in haste.


    ¡°The healer wouldn¡¯t take this lightly,¡± he murmured to himself. He couldn¡¯t fathom why the fireworks were so far off the mark. Something felt¡­ missing. He reached out, intending to examine them further, but a loud groan from the crowd interrupted him.


    ¡°Ugh, when is this festival going to start?¡± a boy¡¯s voice complained.


    The Chief turned toward the sound, spotting a teenager being reprimanded by an elder for his impatience. Laughter bubbled in the Chief¡¯s throat, and he let it spill out, his voice light and teasing.


    ¡°The youth these days,¡± he said with a chuckle. ¡°Always so restless. But the boy is right¡ªwe¡¯ve kept you waiting long enough!¡±


    Unbeknownst to the Chief, standing just behind the boy was Zayn, his eyes sharp as he observed the scene. He smirked to himself, his carefully placed comment earlier having successfully baited the boy into his outburst. The distraction had worked perfectly.


    The Chief straightened, his voice booming as he addressed the villagers. ¡°People of the Red Flame! Tonight, we celebrate our unity, our strength, and our eternal bond with the fire that grants us life. Let the Red Flame bless us with prosperity and guide us to greatness!¡±


    The crowd cheered, their voices rising into the night as the Chief raised his arms, signaling the men to begin. They moved to the contraption, which had already been loaded with the modified fireworks, and lit the fuses using the bonfire behind the Chief.


    The first rocket soared into the night sky, leaving a trail of sparks behind it. Moments later, it exploded in a shower of red and orange light, eliciting gasps and cheers from the villagers. Firework after firework followed, painting the darkened sky with brilliant bursts of fiery color.


    To the villagers, this was something the likes of dreams, things that they wouldn''t ever believe to be real. Watching the fireworks explode in the sky ignited feelings of awe as it looked like stars exploding.


    To them it was beautiful. To them even if this was the only thing that happened at the festival, they would be happy.


    The Chief stood at the center of the square, arms outstretched, a triumphant smile on his face as the village erupted in celebration. But his expression shifted as the last firework burst, leaving the sky momentarily dark.


    His smile faltered. His arms dropped. His eyes widened in horror as he stared at the now-empty sky.


    Zayn, who had been watching intently, felt a pang of confusion. He had planned this out as best as he could. Everything had seemed so calculated in his mind. Yet, as he watched the Chief''s reaction, he couldn¡¯t help but question if he had underestimated something far greater at play.


    When Zayn first stumbled across the fireworks in the healer¡¯s crate, his mind had immediately leapt to opportunity. Could this be a way to disrupt the Chief¡¯s plan? He¡¯d opened the box with cautious optimism and was pleasantly surprised by what he found.


    Zayn wasn¡¯t exactly an expert in everything, but he had spent a great deal of his life absorbed in the study of Empirical Sciences. Among them was a dabbling in chemistry¡ªthough far less than his understanding of machines, thanks to the enthusiasm of a particularly eccentric teacher. Still, the basics stuck with him, and they were enough to make sense of what he saw.


    The fireworks crafted under the Chief¡¯s instructions had initially struck Zayn as strange. As he dissected one, he noticed an abundance of materials considered highly explosive¡ªfar beyond what was necessary for ordinary fireworks. Some of these chemicals weren¡¯t even remotely related to pyrotechnics. At the time, he¡¯d chalked it up to the Chief¡¯s intention of spreading the mysterious substance. The added explosive power would have ensured maximum dispersal.


    But then Zayn turned his attention to the healer¡¯s version. He had expected something similar¡ªperhaps a less refined but equally ominous mix. Instead, what he found was startlingly ordinary: a perfectly normal blend of the standard powders used for fireworks. It puzzled him. The differences between the two sets of fireworks were so stark that it felt almost deliberate, as though the healer had purposefully rejected the Chief¡¯s approach.


    Still, Zayn didn¡¯t dwell on her reasoning for long. He had a plan to set in motion.


    Working quickly, he swapped out the Chief¡¯s fireworks for the healer¡¯s. He didn¡¯t have time to meticulously rewrap them, so he did the best he could, hoping the hasty work wouldn¡¯t arouse suspicion. As for the Chief¡¯s original fireworks, Zayn stashed them on the same roof where he¡¯d hidden the bodies, ensuring they were out of reach.


    And now here he was, watching from the crowd as his plan unfolded¡ªor so he thought.


    Zayn had expected many outcomes: anger, frustration, confusion. But the look on the Chief¡¯s face was none of those. Instead, it was terror¡ªraw, unfiltered fear that seemed to grip the man like an iron vice.


    ¡°What the¡­?¡± Zayn muttered under his breath, his heart racing.


    Before he could piece it together, a sound split the night. It wasn¡¯t the crackle of fireworks or the cheers of the villagers. It was deep, resonant, and impossibly loud.


    It was a yawn.


    Zayn¡¯s blood ran cold as the sound reverberated through the square. It was unnaturally loud, the kind of sound that seemed to echo inside the bones. Yet, what truly sent chills down his spine was that no one else seemed to notice. The villagers carried on, oblivious, as though the sound didn¡¯t exist.


    The Chief staggered backward, clutching the glowing necklace around his neck, his hands trembling. The amulet¡¯s red light flared, pulsing erratically, as though struggling to contain some unseen force.


    The ground beneath their feet began to tremble, a subtle vibration that grew stronger with each passing second.

 Not Real

    Zayn stood amidst the crowd, his senses heightened, his mind racing. The slow, rhythmic tremor beneath his feet seemed impossible to ignore¡ªyet, somehow, none of the villagers reacted. The teens laughed excitedly, the adults cheered and marveled at the fireworks, and even the elderly, who should have been toppling from the vibrations, stood firm as if rooted to the ground.


    It was surreal.


    The only exception was the Chief. Zayn''s eyes flicked toward the man, who now looked like a shadow of his earlier commanding self. His complexion was pale, his hands trembled as he clutched his necklace, and his posture suggested he was fighting to remain upright. Yet, even as the Chief visibly deteriorated, the villagers didn''t notice.


    Zayn''s unease grew. He scanned the faces around him, searching for any sign that someone¡ªanyone¡ªmight share his awareness of the situation. But they were all blissfully unaware, their expressions filled with awe and joy.


    "Zayn!"


    The voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he turned to see a familiar figure. It was the bald boy¡ªthe supposed best friend of the body Zayn now inhabited. The boy approached with a wide grin, his demeanor as carefree as ever.


    "Where''ve you been, best pal?" the boy asked, his tone casual and light. "Did you see those magical sparks in the sky? Oh, wait, of course you did¡ªno way you could''ve missed that!"


    Zayn stared at him, struggling to reconcile the boy''s easygoing attitude with the chaos he felt brewing beneath the surface.


    "Hey, c''mon," the bald boy said, motioning for Zayn to follow. "The others are messing around over there. Let''s go hang out!"


    Zayn shook his head, grabbing the boy''s arm to stop him. "Wait. You don''t feel that?" he asked, his voice low and urgent.


    The boy frowned, tilting his head. "Feel what?"


    "The tremors," Zayn said, gesturing to the ground. "And the¡­ the yawn. You heard it, right? That loud, unnatural sound?"


    The bald boy blinked, his expression clouding with confusion. Then a small flash of red crossed his eyes and Zayn didn''t miss it.


    He glanced around briefly before turning back to Zayn, a faint smile on his face. "You''re acting weird. What are you talking about? Nothing''s going on. Just the festival. Now, come on!"


    Zayn''s grip tightened. "No, listen to me! There''s something wrong¡ªnone of this is normal!"


    But the boy only gave him the same response: a light shrug, a dismissive laugh whilst red flashed in his gaze, and another invitation to join the others. It was maddening.


    Each attempt to reason with him ended the same way as if the boy couldn''t even process Zayn''s words. It wasn''t denial¡ªit was like he genuinely couldn''t perceive the abnormalities Zayn was describing.


    Zayn stepped back, his heart pounding as frustration and confusion swirled in his chest. ''Why wasn''t anyone reacting?'' The villagers'' blissful ignorance felt more unsettling than the tremors or the strange sounds.


    He thought he had it all figured out. The Chief''s plan had seemed straightforward: use the fireworks to disperse a strange substance that would transform the villagers into monstrous minions, all while working with the Red Flame¡ªa false god manipulating them for its own malevolent agenda. It had all made sense.


    Until now.


    None of this fit the narrative he''d pieced together. The tremors, the eerie yawn, the villagers'' obliviousness¡ªit all defied explanation. His chest tightened as he felt himself spiraling, a growing sense of panic gnawing at the edges of his mind. ''What kind of Story is this? What am I missing?''


    And then, as if to compound his unease, Zayn noticed something¡ªor rather, someone noticed him.


    The Chief.


    From across the square, the man was staring directly at him, his eyes wide with a mixture of fear and intensity. For a moment, Zayn froze under the weight of that gaze, his confusion momentarily forgotten.


    Then the Chief moved.


    With surprising speed and determination, the man began making his way toward Zayn. His movements were deliberate, almost frantic, yet no one else seemed to notice. The villagers continued to mill about, their laughter and chatter undisturbed as the Chief closed the distance between them.


    Zayn''s breath caught in his throat. Why was the Chief looking at him like that? Why him?


    His mind raced as the man approached, his heart pounding in sync with the tremors that no one else seemed to feel.


    Something was about to happen.


    The Chief reached Zayn, stopping mere inches from him, his piercing gaze boring into Zayn''s confused expression. For a moment, the world seemed to narrow, the laughter and chatter of the villagers fading into a distant hum. The Chief''s necklace glowed brightly, casting a faint red hue onto his face as if it were alive, whispering secrets only he could hear.


    The Chief''s eyes narrowed, his tone sharp and demanding. "What''s wrong with your necklace?"


    Zayn blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question. His mind, already swirling with unanswered questions and growing panic, struggled to keep up. At first, he didn''t understand what the Chief meant¡ªthen, it hit him.


    The necklace around his neck wasn''t the same as the ones the villagers wore. Those necklaces were part of the Chief''s sinister plan, capable of transforming the wearers into flame monkeys or, worse, fusing with them to create those grotesque, monstrous forms.


    His necklace, however, was Blood Fever¡ªthe Will he received from killing the two monkeys not that long ago and that was barely keeping him upright. He could feel himself struggling to maintain the appropriate mental state, increasing his feeling of weakness.


    "I¡­" Zayn began, trying to find words, but his thoughts were a jumbled mess.


    The Chief didn''t wait. His voice grew more intense, almost accusatory. "What the hell did you do?"


    Zayn''s stomach churned. There was something in the Chief''s voice¡ªsomething heavy, like a hammer poised to drop. The sheer pressure the man radiated made Zayn feel like a cornered animal.


    He tried to muster his usual defiance, to push back with his characteristic sharp tongue, but the weight of the moment crushed his resolve.


    "I don''t¡ª" Zayn stammered, but the words died in his throat.


    Before he could gather himself, the tremor beneath their feet intensified. The Chief''s expression shifted, his features hardening with a mix of anger and desperation. His next words were biting, each syllable cutting through Zayn''s mounting anxiety.


    "Why did you betray the plan? What changed? Did you¡­ side with the village?"


    Zayn''s heart raced. Betray the plan? Side with the village? None of it made sense. His confusion deepened, and he blurted out the only thing he could manage. "I don''t know what you''re talking about!"The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Despite their escalating confrontation, the villagers remained oblivious. The bald boy who had approached Zayn earlier had wandered off, laughing and joining the other teens. Around them, the festival buzzed with excitement, the crowd enthralled by the lingering spectacle of the fireworks.


    The Chief''s eyes flickered with frustration, his voice rising. "What''s wrong with you? Why are you acting like you don''t understand?"


    "I don''t understand!" Zayn shot back, his voice tinged with panic.


    The Chief froze. His necklace pulsed again, its glow intensifying. His head tilted slightly as though listening to something only he could hear. Then, his eyes widened, and his gaze snapped back to Zayn.


    For a moment, the Chief simply stared at him, his expression shifting from anger to something closer to disbelief. Zayn didn''t know what to make of it, but he could feel the weight of the Chief''s realization pressing down on him.


    "You really don''t understand," the Chief muttered, his voice quiet but laced with astonishment.


    Zayn shook his head, his confusion evident. "No, I don''t! I don''t know what''s going on, and I don''t know what you''re talking about!"


    The Chief studied him, his jaw tightening as if struggling to process what he was hearing. His eyes darted to the villagers¡ªstill laughing, still oblivious to the tremors¡ªand then to the massive bonfire behind him. The flames flickered unnaturally, casting elongated shadows that seemed to move with a life of their own.


    Finally, the Chief spoke, his voice hollow and tinged with despair. "I knew I couldn''t trust a child¡­"


    Zayn flinched at the statement, his chest tightening as if the words struck something deep within him. A child? Trust a child with what?


    The Chief shook his head, his movements slow and disbelieving, as if the weight of the situation were finally crushing him. His eyes swept over the villagers once more, his gaze lingering on their joyful faces and unshaken composure.


    Zayn clenched his fists, the tremors beneath him now a steady reminder of the chaos brewing just out of reach. His mind screamed for answers, but all he could do was stand there, paralyzed.


    The Chief stared at Zayn with a dead, hollow gaze. He seemed to search Zayn''s face for any hint of understanding, but whatever he sought, he didn''t find it. Finally, he sighed and muttered, "I shouldn''t have sent you to do what your father could not."


    That was the last straw for Zayn. He was exhausted¡ªnot just physically but mentally¡ªand the Chief''s cryptic remarks were driving him insane. "If you''re going to keep rambling about my so-called father," Zayn snapped, "could you at least explain what the hell is going on?"


    The Chief''s gaze sharpened, his full attention falling on Zayn. For a moment, neither spoke. Then, the Chief sighed again, his hand gripping the glowing necklace tightly. He looked up at the sky, as if searching for some unseen answer, before finally speaking.


    "This village," he began, his voice steady but laden with resignation, "isn''t real."


    Zayn blinked, the words hitting him like a physical blow. "What?" he said, his voice rising. "What do you mean, not real? The people, the buildings¡ªeverything''s right here!"


    The Chief raised a hand to stop him. "Let me explain."


    He continued, his tone more deliberate now. "Several months ago, the village and its people were real¡ªnormal. But then¡­ something changed. Slowly, the villagers began to act differently. At first, it seemed harmless¡ªan odd devotion to the village. They would say things like, ''I''d do anything for this place,'' or, ''The village is all that matters.''"


    "Sounds like some weird loyalty cult," Zayn muttered, trying to wrap his head around it.


    "It was more than that," the Chief said sharply. "It started with the young ones¡ªchildren and teens¡ªand then spread to the adults and the elderly. They stopped eating, drinking, and even sleeping. But they suffered no ill effects."


    Zayn frowned. "Wait, so they just¡­ stopped needing food and water? That''s not possible."


    "That''s what I thought too," the Chief replied. "At first, I believed it to be some kind of blessing¡ªsomething good, even miraculous. But as time passed, it grew stranger. They stopped referring to each other by name, yet they always seemed to know exactly who they were talking about."


    "That doesn''t make any sense," Zayn said, shaking his head. Although he knew that this was very true. His experiences with the villagers so far proved that.


    The Chief didn''t answer immediately. His eyes darkened as he continued. "It wasn''t just their behavior. They began avoiding the sea¡ªrefusing to fish, which had been their livelihood for generations. And still, no one questioned it. It was as if the village itself had rewritten what they believed was normal."


    Zayn''s mind reeled as he tried to process it all. "But why? Why would they change like that? What''s causing it?"


    "That," the Chief said grimly, "is what I couldn''t figure out at first. I sought answers, but nothing made sense. Then I turned to the Red Flame."


    Zayn stiffened. "The Red Flame? You mean your so-called god?"


    The Chief''s jaw tightened. "The Red Flame is no god. It is a powerful beast¡ªa guardian we discovered centuries ago. For generations, it has helped us, and in return, we gave it offerings every twenty years. But when this¡­ thing began to affect the people, the Red Flame warned me. It said something was invading the village¡ªsomething that was slowly replacing the people."


    "Replacing?" Zayn echoed his voice barely a whisper.


    The Chief nodded. "Piece by piece, person by person. They were still there, but not. Their minds and spirits were being overwritten. And worse, whatever was doing this was erasing their individuality. It left them as hollow shells of who they used to be, driven by a single purpose: devotion to the village."


    "They may talk like they''re different, claim friendships, romances, and marriages but really there is nothing. They have no true connections for no connections matter to them apart from the village."


    Zayn felt a shiver run down his spine. "How do you even deal with something like that?"


    "At first, I thought we couldn''t," the Chief admitted. "But then, my closest friend¡ªone of the only two who hadn''t been affected¡ªnoticed something strange. The more people were replaced, the more¡­ gaps they had in their understanding. They were like children relearning things, yet still clinging to the basics of our traditions."


    "So you manipulated them," Zayn guessed.


    The Chief nodded. "We had no choice. We altered their perception of the Red Flame, elevating it from guardian to god. We created the Red Flame Festival, using it as a way to maintain control and buy ourselves time. The people were too far gone to question it, and the changes allowed us to study them without drawing attention."


    Zayn''s jaw tightened. "You lied to them."


    "To save them, or whatever is there." the Chief countered. "We thought if we could figure out what was replacing them, we could stop it. But now¡­" He trailed off, his gaze falling back to the glowing necklace around Zayn''s neck. "Now I realize even that was a mistake. I was too arrogant, too trusting."


    "Too trusting of what?" Zayn asked.


    The Chief looked at him, his eyes heavy with regret. "Of you."


    Zayn froze, his chest tightening. "What''s that supposed to mean?"


    The Chief didn''t answer right away. Instead, he turned his attention to the villagers, who were still laughing, still oblivious to the growing tremors beneath their feet. "You had your part to play but instead of playing it, you sabotaged it?" the Chief said, his voice hollow. "But you don''t even realize¡­ you''re playing on borrowed time."


    Zayn opened his mouth to respond, but the words caught in his throat as the tremors beneath him surged, rattling the ground with violent intensity.


    The tremors hadn''t stopped, but they had dulled to a low, almost rhythmic pulse beneath Zayn''s feet, like a heartbeat echoing through the earth. He and the Chief stood in uneasy silence until the approach of a woman caught their attention. She was walking toward them with measured steps, her hand resting lightly on her swollen belly.


    Zayn''s breath hitched when he recognized her. The mother of this body¡­ She was beautiful in a way that was both striking and unnerving, her face radiating warmth but her gait strangely deliberate.


    "Chief," she greeted with a soft voice, nodding to him before her eyes flicked to Zayn. A smile touched her lips, one that seemed genuine but faltered ever so slightly when she saw his battered condition.


    "My son," she said, her voice tinged with concern. "What happened to you?" Her gaze fell to the wounds on his body, which had been tightly bandaged but since he was caught off guard, he wasn''t able to hide them from her gaze. Her brows knitted together in alarm as her hand reached toward him. "Who did this to you? Are you all right?"


    Zayn froze. He didn''t know how to respond to her, his mind scrambling for an excuse that wouldn''t unravel the tenuous position he was in. But before he could muster a reply, the Chief spoke.


    "My condolences for your loss," the Chief said, his voice low and steady.


    The woman turned her attention to him sharply, and Zayn swore he saw her eyes flash red for the briefest moment. But just as quickly, her demeanor softened, her shoulders slumping as the weight of his words settled on her.


    "Thank you," she murmured, her voice heavy with sadness.


    The Chief continued, his tone oddly gentle. "He was a good man. A strong father and I am sure he was a loving husband. And I know he''d want you to find happiness. Your son can''t care for you forever. You''ll need someone by your side."


    She nodded slowly, her hand reflexively brushing against her belly. "I understand," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. "But¡­ I''ll need time to mourn."


    "Of course," the Chief said, inclining his head. "Take all the time you need. But for now, enjoy the festival. Keep your mind off things, even if just for a little while." He placed a hand on her shoulder, offering what Zayn could only assume was meant to be a reassuring smile. "I was just speaking to your son about the Red Flame''s blessing. You can rest easy¡ªhe could serve to match his father''s spirit."


    The woman gave a small, weary smile in return and nodded. "Thank you, Chief. And you"¡ªshe turned to Zayn, her eyes lingering on him for a moment too long, her gaze flickering again with that unsettling red hue¡ª"stay safe, my son."


    Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her movements as graceful as they were empty.