The village was quieter than usual, as if even the wind had stopped to listen for something. Morning had barely cracked when Kanan stirred from his sleep, the sharp scent of soot and sickness clinging to the air. Nilo was already up, crouched near the window, poking at a wrinkled beetle with a stick.
"Breakfast," Nilo whispered with a grin.
Kanan made a face, too tired to scold him.
The world blurred as he sat up — a haze of shape and motion. The aching in his body was growing sharper by the day. His breath came shallow, but he refused to let it show.
"Let's get air," he muttered.
Nilo scrambled up. "Race you!"
Outside, the earth was cracked, thirsty. They walked toward the edge of the village, where no one really went. Past the ruined well, past the bones of a temple long collapsed.
That's when they saw him.
A figure sitting cross-legged beneath the corpse of a tree. Cloaked in torn cloth, beard overgrown, a battered kettle steaming beside him.
Nilo squinted. "Hey... is that—"
"The Elder," Kanan whispered.
He hadn't been seen in weeks. Rumor said he wandered into the ashlands to die.
"Is he dead?" Nilo whispered.
The old man's eyes snapped open.
"You two are louder than flies on dung," he said.
Nilo jumped. "He's alive!"
The Elder stared at Kanan. "Come. Sit. Not you, bug boy."
"Awww," Nilo pouted. "Why does he get to hear the doomy wisdom?"
The Elder rolled his eyes. "Because he's rotting from the inside and pretending he isn't."
Kanan stiffened. He sat down anyway. The ground felt colder here, heavier.
The Elder poured something into two chipped cups. It wasn't tea. It wasn't anything. Just clear steam and silence.
"You feel it, don't you?" he asked. "The tremble in the soil when your heart goes quiet. The whisper behind your ribs."
Kanan said nothing, but his hand curled into the dirt.
"That's Oorja," the Elder said. "Life's breath. Yours has dimmed — because your body's starving. You don't even remember what fullness feels like."
Behind them, Nilo picked up a burnt twig and started making antennae on his head. "I am Beetle King. Bow, mortals."
"Leave him," the Elder muttered. "That foolish joy is what you're trying to protect, isn't it?"
Kanan looked up.
"You think it's food you need," the Elder continued. "You're wrong. You need meaning. Food is only the key."
He reached into a worn pouch and pulled out a flat stone. Smooth, warm, etched with ancient, spiraled grooves. It shimmered faintly in Kanan's blurred vision, like a light breathing beneath skin.
"This," the Elder said, placing it in Kanan's hand, "guides those who are willing to feel. It does not glow for everyone."
Kanan frowned. "What is it?"
"A rock," the Elder replied. "Until you learn to listen. Then it becomes more."
He stood, his kettle swinging by his side. "It's called a Vilakku-stone. Carried by those who've walked the path."
Nilo leaned over Kanan's shoulder. "Does it explode?"
"No."
"Lame."
The Elder turned, his voice rasping.
"This world is built on hunger. Yours will decide whether it eats itself… or begins again."
Then he disappeared into the ashlight, cloak trailing behind.
Nilo waited a few seconds before speaking.
"…That guy's super weird. I like him."
[To Be Continued...]