The path wound gently through the mist, Ho Lam Uyen walking ahead with Khanh and Le Vy following close behind. The sun had climbed higher, spilling light across fields that stretched into a village teeming with life.
Children ran barefoot through the dust, laughter ringing as they chased one another in games that seemed timeless. Their joy was untainted, their eyes bright and free of fear. Yet as the three travelers stepped deeper into the village, the atmosphere shifted.
Groups of elders sat on woven mats before their houses, speaking in hushed voices, their gazes sharp beneath wrinkled brows. Men and women in their thirties lingered around stalls, their expressions caught between weariness and vigilance.
Their garments drew the eye—woven robes dyed in hues of blue and violet, embroidered with twisting patterns that resembled vines entwined with flames. Strange beasts, half-domestic, half-wild, loitered between the dwellings: horned dogs, birds with scales glimmering under the sun, creatures at once familiar yet alien.
The children's gazes lingered upon the trio with innocent curiosity. But the eyes of the adults told another story—distance, doubt, the unspoken wall between villagers and outsiders.
Lam Uyen said nothing. She only smiled, a gentle curve of the lips, softening the air around them. Her silence was disarming; even the sternest eyes seemed to falter before it.
An old woman, back bent with years, stepped forward. Her voice trembled like brittle wood in the wind:
"This must be An Trach village you seek. You are strangers here, yet you ask of the shrine, do you not? Many from beyond our fields speak of its holiness."
"Yes," Lam Uyen inclined her head. "We came to offer incense, and perhaps seek guidance."
The old woman nodded, her tone suddenly bright, welcoming as though warmed by a hidden fire.
"Ah, travelers indeed. Then stay awhile. The rituals may take time, but our village holds flavors rare and dishes worth savoring. Walk, eat, rest—our gates are open."
The earlier chill in the air seemed, for a moment, to soften. Khanh glanced at Le Vy, almost ashamed of the suspicion he had felt moments before.
"The path lies yonder," the old woman added, raising a trembling hand toward a rising slope.
The three followed the road, a lane of stone that bent upward toward the foothills. Stalls lined the way—strange foods glistening in clay pots, skewers dripping with fragrant oil, soups bubbling thick with herbs unknown.
At one stall, a man burned yellow talismans in a blackened iron bowl, smoke curling into the sky. Another called out from behind painted signs: "Healing water! A cure for ailments, a blessing for the spirit!"
Khanh's gaze lingered, but Lam Uyen did not pause. She walked with steady steps, ignoring the enticements, her expression unreadable.
Le Vy, watching her master's calm, thought silently:
Perhaps this is the first lesson—when duty calls, the heart must not be swayed. Yet… for someone who delights so in food, she hides it well. I wonder what her true appetite is.
At last, the shrine appeared before them.
Its form mirrored that of the one Khanh and Vy had once stumbled upon, yet this was no ruin. The walls gleamed with fresh paint, colors bright against the sun, as though the whole edifice had been reborn only recently. Symbols curled across the beams, intricate as veins of light in stone.
Without hesitation, Lam Uyen stepped forward. She purchased sticks of incense and baskets of fruit from the keeper at the gate, her hands moving with reverence. She lit the offerings, smoke spiraling upward into the unseen.
Khanh and Le Vy knelt behind her. To Khanh—born of the lowest rung—these rites were bewildering, each motion of bow and offering alien. Yet Le Vy whispered beside him, her voice patient:
"This is a village shrine. They build it to honor those they believe ascended—saints, spirits, or nameless gods. In exchange for prayer, they ask for fortune, for harvest, for peace."
When the incense had burned low and the fruits laid upon the altar, the three departed quietly, leaving behind the flicker of smoke and the murmurs of unseen watchers.