Not Real

Zayn stood amidst the crowd, his senses heightened, his mind racing. The slow, rhythmic tremor beneath his feet seemed impossible to ignore—yet, 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—anyone—might 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—the 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—no 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—none 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—it 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—a 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—it 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—or 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—then, 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—the 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—something 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—" 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!"

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—still laughing, still oblivious to the tremors—and 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—not just physically but mentally—and 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—everything'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—normal. But then… something changed. Slowly, the villagers began to act differently. At first, it seemed harmless—an 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—children and teens—and 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—something 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—refusing 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—a 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—something 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—one of the only two who hadn't been affected—noticed 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—he could serve to match his father's spirit."

The woman gave a small, weary smile in return and nodded. "Thank you, Chief. And you"—she turned to Zayn, her eyes lingering on him for a moment too long, her gaze flickering again with that unsettling red hue—"stay safe, my son."

Without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, her movements as graceful as they were empty.