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—the 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] 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—the 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.

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—it's supposed to be unique! A new milestone for the village! And you—"

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—not 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—what 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—they 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—"

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—"

"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—it 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.