Chapter 7
The Rooster's Riddle
The Rooster leads Kito to an ancient part of the village, revealing clues about the fire's unusual source. It speaks of forgotten pacts and the balance of nature, hinting the fire isn't accidental.
The old rooster, with feathers the color of tarnished gold and eyes like polished obsidian, flapped his wings with a surprising vigor that belied his years. "Follow me, young Kito," he clucked, his voice a gravelly murmur that seemed to carry the weight of seasons past. "The answers you seek are not found in the frantic dance of flames, but in the quiet heart of memory."
Kito, his small chest still heaving from the panic of the fire, nodded eagerly. The Performer, his face streaked with soot but his spirit undimmed, gave Kito a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder. "Go with him, lad. He knows more than he lets on, this feathered philosopher." The Performer then turned back to the chaos, his vibrant silks now a dull testament to the struggle against the encroaching blaze, organizing villagers with a theatrical flourish that somehow cut through the fear.
The rooster led Kito away from the roaring inferno, not towards the river, but towards the oldest part of the village, a place Kito usually avoided. Here, the houses were built of darker wood, their roofs thatched with moss that seemed as ancient as the stones beneath. The air grew cooler, smelling of damp earth and something else… something faintly sweet, like forgotten blossoms. They passed the village well, its stones worn smooth by generations of hands, and then the rooster stopped before a gnarled oak tree, its branches reaching towards the sky like supplicating arms. At its base, half-hidden by tangled roots, was a small, moss-covered stone with faint carvings.
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