The Morning Carries More Than Wind

The morning wind swept through the dirt roads of Ezzera Village like the whispers of forgotten spirits.It carried the scent of stale wheat, moisture, and something heavier…Dried blood.Still clinging to the guards' barracks yard.Still fresh in the minds of a few souls forced into silence.

Reno stood before the old well.His face calm, almost neutral. But his eyes—like a fogged mirror—reflected what the world refused to say.Since his conversation with Mira last night, something had shifted.Not just in Mira—who now seemed quieter, sharper, more wounded.But also in the way Reno looked at this village.It was no longer just a place to survive.It was a battlefield.The first stage.And this stage… was too rotten to be left untouched.

Reno's morning began like usual—at least to eyes that didn't know how to truly see.He hauled water from the well to the communal kitchen.Swept the back yard littered with dry leaves.Ground the wheat that had long surrendered to fate.Everything looked normal.Everything was wrong.Each step, each brief smile, each stolen glance from behind a window—everything was noted.No longer routine, but pattern.And patterns are the language of those who live behind the curtain.

In front of the barracks, Captain Korr laughed.A loud, crude sound—like a dog barking at a moonless night.He played dice with two other guards, filthy hands gripping coins as if holding someone else's fate.Every now and then, his eyes flicked toward Reno.A quick, suspicious glance.Korr wasn't smart, but he wasn't a fool either.He could sense when something started to slip from his control.Reno knew.It was time to move.

That night, Reno slipped into the old barn behind Tomas' house.Dusty and silent, the place stored broken tools and memories buried in quiet.Among brittle crates and moldy sacks of wheat, he hid something more dangerous than a sword:A worn book.Stolen from Korr's private quarters.Its pages were nearly crumbling, but the ink—though faded—was still legible.Seventeen names.Women. Children.The oldest: 29 years old.The youngest… 13.Some names were scratched out. Others, crossed in red.In the bottom corner, one name stood alone:"Rika – failed."

Reno remembered the little girl.Mute.Often sat at the village's edge, hugging a straw doll.The wound on her neck had yet to heal.Now everything was starting to fall into place.

The next day, Reno offered to help Mira in the infirmary.She was hesitant. Her body moved, but her eyes remained wary.There was fear there.Not of Reno.But of what was starting to unravel.Reno didn't speak much.He simply pointed to the shelf beneath the window.And silently slipped the book—wrapped in a rag—beneath a pile of herbal bottles.Mira didn't touch it.But Reno knew… by nightfall, she would read it.She had to.

That afternoon, Reno approached Rika.She sat near the broken fence.Silent.He didn't greet her. Just sat beside her.Then, from his pocket, he pulled out a small paper—drawn the night before.A wildflower. A large sun.A symbol of hope.False.But important.Rika took it. Her fingers trembled.Then, without a word, she tugged Reno toward the fence… and pointed toward the guards' barracks.Right beneath the window: dead grass. Hardened soil, marked. Two long, parallel trails.Like a body being dragged.Reno didn't ask.He just nodded.And his mind began to turn.

That night, Reno sat with Mother Yarra beside the kitchen hearth.Tomas was already asleep, and the world outside felt distant.Light conversation.Potato soup.Memories ground by time.Reno slipped in a single sentence:"Sometimes… villages hide things, don't they, Ma'am?"

Yarra fell silent.Her hand kept stirring the soup, as if looking for an answer in the broth.Finally, she spoke."When old folks stay quiet… it's not because they're scared.It's because they want the young to still believe."Reno didn't respond.But Yarra took his hand."But… if one child is strong enough…Maybe it's time someone knew everything."

At midnight, Reno crept behind the village office.There was a small room. Locked. Known as the logistics storeroom.But it was too small. Too well-hidden.Through the cracks in the wooden wall, he peeked inside.Dark. But a glint… metal reflecting light.The next morning, he stole an old key mold from Berond's desk.With a candle and clay, he made a crude duplicate.And hid it—inside the sole of his shoe.Not for tonight.But soon.

At dusk, Mira met him behind the infirmary.Her face was blank. But her cheeks were wet.In her hand: Reno's book."Rika wasn't the only one."Her voice broke.Like chains being forcibly snapped."I thought… I was the only one. I thought I was strong for staying silent.But they just moved on to the next victim."

Reno looked at her. Said nothing."Berond covered the reports.Korr… threatened the victims' families.Some… were never seen again."

"Why are you talking to me now?" Reno asked softly.His voice like the first frost of winter."Because you don't see me as a victim.You… just listened."

Reno nodded. Slowly."Mira. I'm going to bring them down.But I can't do it alone.I need someone who knows how they've been hiding everything."

Mira looked down.Silent. For a long time.Then, she nodded."Then… let's bring light to this place.Even if that light burns us both."

In the tiny attic Reno used as his sleeping space, he lit a candle.Before him:A hand-drawn map of Ezzera.Five red Xs.Five locations.Five rot.

Reno's nightly journal:

Rika is alive. But traumatized.

Suspicious storeroom.

Korr increased patrols.

Yarra knows, but waits.

Berond is silent. Which means: watching.

Reno smiled faintly.That night, the first ink was written.

"Truth doesn't need to be shouted.It just needs to be arranged.Pressed.Until it spills on its own."

Step one, complete.Step two begins.Draw attention.Redirect suspicion.Not to him.But to those who have sinned.