The morning sun peeked through the slats of Old Ren's hut, illuminating the empty cot like a spotlight on a crime scene. Ren squinted, scratched his armpit, and stared at the absence of Le Wei like it had personally insulted him.
"Le Wei?" he shouted, peering under the cot as if the boy had shrunk and gone feral.
No answer.
He checked the root baskets, the latrine (twice), and even the chicken coop.
"Gone," he muttered. "That boy actually went to the Synagogue. May the spirits protect his sanity....what's left of it."
He returned to the hut, eyeing the still-steaming bowl of herbal goo on the table. It gurgled ominously.
"Didn't even drink the soup," he grumbled. "Would've put hair on his chest. Or taken some off. Hard to tell with these herbal types."
He sniffed it. It smelled like boiled moss and bad decisions. But curiosity is a terrible disease, and Ren had a powerful case.
"Bah," he said, grabbing the spoon. "How bad could it be?"
He took a sip.
His face scrunched. His soul left his body, slapped him, and went back in.
"Yukk."
He shoved the bowl away like it had betrayed him. "Tastes like someone chewed a toad, sneezed in it, and added regret."
He glared at the bowl. "You're lucky the boy ran off. This is attempted murder."
Meanwhile…
Le Wei was already deep in the beating heart of the Island , the Central Market.
The market wasn't just bustling. It was full-on chaos with flair. A living, wheezing beast composed of shouts, smells, color, and motion ... like someone had cast a spell on a fruit stand and dared it to raise a family.
Brick buildings loomed on either side, their balconies overflowing with drying laundry, gossiping aunties, and one man aggressively brushing his teeth while yelling stock advice to a bird.
The cobbled street below? A rainbow war zone of vendors, children, goats, and the occasional rogue wheelbarrow.
"Get your thunder melons! Guaranteed to make your hair stand up .... permanently!"
"Crystal beetles! Still crawling!"
"Pineapple perfume! Smell like a fruit salad married a lightning bolt!"
Le Wei weaved through the madness, sidestepping a boy chasing an escaped chicken with a spoon, when he was stopped by a merchant with the desperate energy of a man who hadn't slept in three days and had bet everything on charisma.
"Ah, young master!" the trader shouted, blocking his path with a dramatic flourish. "You have the look of someone destined for greatness .... and mild skin irritation. May I interest you in this genuine dragon scale?"
Le Wei looked down. The "dragon scale" was clearly a piece of fried fish, laminated and stuck to a keychain.
"That's a fish."
"It's a rare aquatic sky dragon scale."
"It's still warm."
"It was recently shed."
"It smells like lunch."
"You insult both me and the noble fish dragon."
"I didn't know fish dragons existed."
"They don't," the merchant said, leaning in conspiratorially. "That's what makes it extra rare."
Le Wei blinked. "You know what? Keep the scale. Keep the dream."
He tried to move past, but the merchant shoved a new item into his hands. "At least take this. Anti-dream-rot charms. Buy two, get three nightmares free."
"Pass."
The merchant groaned dramatically and collapsed onto a nearby crate like he had been betrayed by the universe. "You'll be back! They always come back!"
Le Wei didn't.
He finally sidestepped a goat wearing sunglasses and a vest labeled "Management" and reached his destination: the most disappointing tower he had ever seen.
It looked like someone had tried to build a lighthouse using leftover bricks, beer, and zero architectural knowledge. The four-story tower leaned slightly to the left, like it was tired of being vertical. Some windows were shattered. Others were just painted on.
A rotting wooden sign swung lazily on one nail:
'THE SYNAGOGUE'
The letters were jagged and uneven, painted like the artist had been bitten mid-brushstroke.
Le Wei muttered, "Well. That's promising."
He approached the door. It was old, cracked, and very likely held together by spit, spite, and curses.
He knocked once and waited.
A raspy whisper emerged from behind the door.
"Password."
Le Wei blinked. "Seriously?"
"Password," the voice repeated.
"This is the least secret group on the island. You sell pamphlets."
"Password."
"…Synagogue?"
A long pause. Then...
Click.
The door creaked open slowly, releasing a smell so foul it physically shoved Le Wei back a step. Sweat, mold, old cabbage, and what might've once been cheese had formed a team and declared war on nostrils.
A man stood in the doorway. Or something resembling one. He wore a black, oversized, tattered cloak that covered everything but his eyes and a truly regrettable mustache. The cloak swayed gently, possibly of its own free will.
"Enter, young man," he intoned dramatically.
Le Wei hesitated. "…The password is literally the name on the door?"
The man said nothing, stepping aside with flair, as if expecting applause.
Le Wei sighed. "Okay. I've come this far. Might as well get cursed up close."
He stepped in.
The inside of the tower betrayed the outside. From the exterior, it looked like a cramped four-story building. Inside, it was just one massive vertical chamber ... no floors, no stairs, just pure regret and cobwebs.
Light streamed in through shattered windows, illuminating layers of dust floating like ancestral shame. The echoes of strange whispers tickled the edges of hearing.
In the center sat a ramshackle altar ... a long stool bearing a thick, leather-bound tome that looked like it had eaten several smaller books and still hungered for more. Behind it, a black sheet was nailed to the wall. In flaking white paint, it declared:
'THE SYNAGOGUE'
Surrounding the altar were about twenty figures in identical cloaks. Some sat on broken chairs. Others squatted, stretched, or dozed. A few appeared to be playing a silent game of charades involving despair.
The smell inside was somehow worse than the outside. It smelled like wet socks, dusty incense, and a fear of responsibility.
Le Wei whispered, "This is what happens when a library mates with a sock drawer."
Before he could turn and bolt already regretting why he came, a voice echoed from the center of the group.
"It's you."
Le Wei froze.
All heads turned .. slowly and dramatically, like synchronized owls.
The doorman pointed at him as if declaring the arrival of doom or the pizza guy.
"You've come," he whispered.
"Yeah, I came," Le Wei said. "Starting to regret it, though."
"You're the boy that lives with that old man at the eastern part of the island"
"Yes"
Le Wei raised a hand. "Quick poll ..
how many of you smell colors?"
The man stepped forward reverently, placing a hand on the tome.
"You do not seek the book. The book has sought you."
Le Wei stared at him. "Did it also seek mildew? Because it's growing something."
"You must read. Only the chosen can awaken the truths within."
Le Wei folded his arms. "If this thing bites me, I'm suing."
And with that, he stepped toward the altar.
Truth or madness… it all started here.