Chapter Eight: Seeds of Doubt
The night following the fire was unlike any night before.
The village, which a few days ago had been teeming with life and laughter, now resembled a body with a hidden wound that would never heal.
People spoke in low voices, eyes avoided each other, but everything eventually converged on one name: Lian.
He was no longer the boy who had run along the riverbanks.
His shadow hung heavy over the alleys, and his steps, however innocent, now threatened others with an incomprehensible threat.
Even the children, who had played with him the day before, began to back away whenever they saw him.
They whispered in inexplicable fear:
"You saw him in the fire... and you didn't burn him!"
"You're saying something silver came out of his body? He must be cursed!"
The adults, however, were more cautious.
They didn't point their fingers directly at him, but their glances were enough; A mixture of suspicion and disgust, as if Lian had become a foreign body forcibly placed among them.
… … …
In the elders' house, the older men gathered.
The room was closed behind thick doors, and whispers remained behind the walls, but the entire village sensed the decision before it was announced.
"The boy carries a power we don't understand."
"It could be a bad omen... or a curse."
"We must keep an eye on him... until we find a way to deal with him."
Lian didn't need to hear them.
He knew it from the eyes that followed him wherever he went, and the shoulders that turned their backs on him along the way.
… … …
The next morning, he went out toward the river.
The water had always been his refuge, the only place that offered him some reassurance, but today it felt different.
He sat on the bank, looked at his reflection in the water, and saw something in his eyes that hadn't been there before... something strange, heavy, as if it were a reflection that didn't belong to him.
He slowly raised his hand.
A silver thread emerged from his palm, a quick flash, as if the river itself trembled, before disappearing.
He felt his heart tremble with it.
"Why... are they running away from me?"
The question weighed heavily on his chest.
But the answer didn't come from within, but from that mysterious voice that had permeated his being since the fire.
"The path isn't open yet... the seed is thirsty... trust no one."
His heart trembled.
The voice was clearer than before, closer, as if something was trying to reach out from within his body.
He clenched his fist so hard that blood flowed from his palm, but he couldn't silence the whisper.
"I... am not like them?"
… … …
At sunset, he walked back home, ignoring the stares of the village that pierced his skin like knives.
But when he entered his narrow room, he didn't find the comfort he'd hoped for. He sat on his wooden bed, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts intertwining like wisps of smoke.
Everything had changed.
Friends had become strangers.
Mother tried to smile, but trembled inside.
And mysterious voices crept deeper into his soul.
… … …
Before he fell asleep, he glimpsed a shadow standing outside his window at the edge of the forest.
It was tall, still, and motionless, as if time had stopped for him.
His blood froze; he felt he wasn't from the village.
He jumped up and rushed outside, but when he arrived, he found nothing.
The forest was silent, and only the wind blew coldly.
Yet his heart didn't rest, for he swore his eyes hadn't made a mistake.
Someone was watching him.
It wasn't just the village that had begun to doubt him... but something else, from beyond its borders.
Something waiting for a moment, or anticipating the opening of a seed it didn't yet understand.