The Madman's Guide to Miracles

My eyes opened.

Pale morning light filtered through the curtains, washing the room in a dull gray glow.

For a moment, I simply lay there, staring at the unfamiliar wooden ceiling.

".Right."

It hadn’t been a dream.

I pushed myself upright, rubbed the sleep from my eyes, and let out a slow breath before swinging my legs over the side of the bed. The floorboards creaked beneath my feet as another day in this strange village began.

I stretched, a quiet groan escaping me as the stiffness in my back eased. My gaze drifted around the room before settling on a small mirror resting atop the dresser.

"...?"

I walked over and stared into it.

The face looking back wasn’t unfamiliar; it was my own, just younger.

I reached up and touched my cheek.

My skin felt smoother than I remembered. My jaw had lost the sharper definition it used to have, and even the faint stubble I usually had was gone.

"No wonder Eliza kept calling me a boy."

I leaned in a little closer, studying my reflection from different angles.

"The hell..."

"Did my age regress back to seventeen?"

I opened the bedroom door and stepped into the common room. The smell of something warm drifted through the house. Eliza was already up, standing by the stove with a wooden spoon in one hand. She glanced over at the sound of the door, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips as she brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"Oh." She paused for a moment before giving a faint nod. "You’re awake?"

Yeah, I had a good rest. I rubbed the back of my neck, still shaking off the last traces of sleep.

"I’m glad you managed to get some rest." Eliza smiled softly, stirring the pot before setting the spoon aside. She pulled out a chair with one hand and gestured toward it. "Come, sit. Breakfast’s almost ready."

She glanced back over her shoulder.

"Willard stopped by earlier. He brought the morning rations and made sure your name was added."

A faint smile crossed her face.

"So don’t worry. You’ve got your share too."

"...I see."

I took a seat, my thoughts lingering on Willard. Giving me shelter was one thing. Putting my name down for the rations was another.

Foolish.

In a place where every meal could decide whether someone saw another week, taking in a complete stranger was the kind of decision that slowly hollowed a settlement from the inside. One act of goodwill became two. Two became expectation. Before long, people stopped asking whether they could afford compassion and started blaming whoever offered it.

Still, he’d done it anyway.

Eliza stood, ladled the stew into two wooden bowls, then set one down in front of me before taking the seat opposite. Steam drifted lazily between us.

"Careful," she said with a small smile. "It’s hot."

I looked down. A simple vegetable stew with a thick slice of bread resting beside it. Plain, but after yesterday, I wasn’t about to complain.

"Thanks."

"Of course."

We ate in silence for a while. The room was quiet except for the occasional crackle from the stove and the soft clink of wooden spoons against the bowls. It wasn’t uncomfortable. Just... quiet.

"Oh." Eliza looked up as if she’d just remembered something. "Are you coming to the morning prayer?"

My spoon slowed.

"Prayer?"

"Mhm." She nodded. "Everyone gathers before work starts. It doesn’t take long."

The book.

My mind wandered to the worn leather cover and the pages within. Those weren’t traditional hymns; instead, they resembled instructions passed down through generations, with their original purpose long forgotten. However, seeing how casually Eliza mentioned it, it was clear that this belief wasn’t held by just a few individuals—it was embraced by the entire village.

"...I’d probably stand out if I didn’t go, wouldn’t I?"

A faint laugh escaped her.

"I don’t understand... why wouldn’t you go?" Her voice carried a strange disbelief, as if the answer was obvious.

Her eyes suddenly went dull. The faint warmth vanished in an instant, as if something inside her had been snuffed out without warning. The spoon froze halfway to her mouth, trembling slightly between her fingers, but she didn’t seem to notice. For a brief moment, she sat completely still, her empty gaze fixed ahead, as though something unseen had reached inside and stolen away the person she had been a second ago.

Then, just as suddenly, she returned to normal. The emptiness vanished from her eyes as she calmly resumed eating, as if nothing had happened. The sudden change was deeply unsettling.

"...Then I guess I’ll be there." I gulped.

We finished eating, and I helped her prepare to go outside. I let her lean against me as we walked, her steps slower than they should have been. Then, without warning—

Eliza stopped.

A violent cough escaped her.

"Kheuk... cough, cough."

I immediately tightened my grip around her. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah... I’m fine. Just a little sick." She forced out a reply, but her voice was rougher than before, a deep hoarseness that I somehow hadn’t noticed until now. Her breathing sounded strained, and the color had drained slightly from her face, leaving her skin unnaturally pale.

Something about it didn’t seem right. It didn’t feel like a typical illness.

"Okay," I said, sounding unconvinced.

This was still deeply unsettling. I was risking myself by staying in this village, but what other choice did I have? There was nowhere else to go.

Was there?

Was this why her husband had wanted to go out? To find medicine... or a doctor?

The pieces were starting to fit together now. Maybe I had been wrong about him. Maybe he wasn’t abandoning her... maybe he was desperately trying to save her.

Soon enough, we were outside. I was still supporting Eliza, but she was struggling more now. Her steps had grown heavier, and her breathing sounded weaker with each step.

I followed the villagers toward the edge of the settlement, where the old shrine stood beneath the towering pines. The atmosphere around it felt different from the rest of the village. Conversations lowered into whispers, and even the children seemed to understand that this place demanded silence.

I stopped near the back of the gathering, watching as Willard approached the weathered stone.

"Another evening prayer?" someone murmured.

A woman holding a small bowl of water nodded. "The Forest Lord watches over us. We should never forget to offer our thanks."

An older man beside them quietly added, "A day without his blessing is a day we walk blind beneath the trees."

It was simply part of their lives.

Willard lowered his head, and one by one, the villagers followed.

The shrine had long since surrendered to time. Moss crawled over the ancient stone, covering most of the faded carvings that decorated its surface. Cracks ran along the altar, and a pair of blackened antlers rested above it, worn down by countless winters. Despite its age, the shrine still stood quietly at the edge of the village.

The square gradually fell silent. Conversations faded away until only the crackle of lanterns and the distant rustling of pine needles remained. One by one, the villagers brought their palms together and closed their eyes in reverence. The movement was so natural that it almost looked instinctive, like they had done it their entire lives. I hesitated for a moment before copying them. My hands pressed together, my eyes closing. Not out of faith, but because being the only person standing differently felt like a mistake I couldn’t afford to make.

Willard stepped toward the weathered stone shrine at the village’s edge. Time had worn away whatever had once been carved into it, leaving only faint marks beneath the moss covering its surface. A pair of ancient antlers rested above the stone, blackened by countless winters. The villagers gathered around it in quiet rows, placing what little they had before it. Loaves of bread. Bundles of herbs. Small wooden carvings. Bowls of clean water. Nothing extravagant. Nothing they couldn’t afford to lose.

Willard lowered his head, and everyone followed. I did the same, though my movements felt forced compared to theirs. Then Willard spoke.

"Keeper of the Pines..."

His voice was low and weathered, carrying through the square with a strange familiarity. It wasn’t the voice of someone reciting words from memory. It was the voice of someone who had carried those words for years.

"We thank you for this day."

The villagers repeated after him, their voices quieter but filled with the same devotion.

"For the roofs above us."

"For the fields that still bear grain."

"For those who returned home."

A cold breeze passed through the square, causing the pine branches above us to sway. A few dry needles drifted onto the altar, yet no one moved to brush them away.

"Keep your gaze upon these walls."

Willard’s tone deepened slightly, his grip tightening around his hands.

"Turn your antlers toward the dark."

"Guide the wandering."

"Shelter the lost."

"Leave our children untouched."

"Leave our homes standing."

The words were gentle, but they carried a weight that didn’t belong. Every phrase sounded less like worship and more like a reminder.

A reminder that they existed.

A reminder that they were still under its protection

"We offer what little we have."

"We ask for one more dawn."

Willard’s voice grew quieter, almost like a whisper meant only for the shrine.

"As our forebears once knelt..."

"So do we."

"As they entrusted themselves to your watch..."

"So do we."

"Until the seventh bell..."

The entire village seemed to hold its breath.

"Remain with us..."

A pause.

"...Old Father."

Silence followed.

I remained still, my palms pressed together as I glanced around. Every face was calm, every head bowed without hesitation. Yet the longer I watched, the more it felt rehearsed—not out of habit, but necessity. Whatever they were praying to, this wasn’t simple faith.

Fear.

A fear so ingrained they had learned to hide it behind prayer. Standing there among them, acting as if I understood, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was witnessing something I shouldn’t have.

***

By the time the square had emptied, only Willard and I were left standing near the shrine.

He jerked his head toward the road.

"Walk with me."

We left the shrine behind and wandered between the houses. For a while, all I heard were our footsteps crunching against the packed dirt.

It was then that I noticed it.

Willard slowed for half a step.

His eyes lost focus.

Just for an instant.

The same vacant look I’d seen on Eliza yesterday.

Empty.

Then he blinked, rubbed the side of his neck with a rough hand, and kept walking as if nothing had happened.

...

It wasn’t normal.

"You alright?" I asked.

"Hm?" He looked over, then gave a small shrug. "Didn’t sleep much."

I didn’t believe that.

My eyes lingered on him for another second before I looked ahead again.

"How’s Eliza been?"

His question came quietly.

I muttered, "She’s ill, isn’t she?"

"She coughs quite a bit".

Willard lowered his head.

Willard wasn’t looking at me when he spoke.

"Figured you’d notice sooner or later." He let out a weary breath. "Eliza’s sick."

His thumb absentmindedly traced the worn leather sling of the rifle hanging from his shoulder.

After a moment I spoke again.

"Liam."

He stopped walking.

"You knew him?"

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before fading almost immediately.

"Since we were boys."

"Then why did he leave?" I asked, keeping my gaze ahead. "Why didn’t he stay with his wife?" My fingers idly brushed a loose splinter from the wooden fence beside us before I added, almost as an afterthought, "Wasn’t it just an ordinary illness? I’m sure there’s medicine for something like that here..."

I watched him from the corner of my eye. I already had my suspicions. I just needed to see how he reacted.

Willard nodded once.

Willard’s shoulders sagged. He looked away, rubbing a tired hand across his beard before answering. When he finally spoke, the words came out low, worn thin by repeating the same truth too many times.

"There wasn’t any medicine for it." His fingers tightened around the rifle strap. "Truth be told... we didn’t even know what we were fighting." He swallowed, the muscles in his jaw tensing. "People got sick... then they just kept getting worse. Fever, coughing... weakness. Nothing we tried made a damn bit of difference." His voice faltered for the briefest moment. "Liam left because he refused to sit there and watch his wife die."

He let out a slow breath.

"He figured if there was even the smallest chance of finding a doctor... or another settlement... it was worth taking."

I stayed quiet.

"People like calling him brave." Willard gave a dry laugh, though there wasn’t any humor behind it. "Liam would’ve hated that."

He looked toward the distant tree line.

"He wasn’t trying to save the village."

"He was trying to save his wife."

Willard let out a quiet sigh and rubbed the back of his neck.

"...That’s all there is to it."

He looked at me for a moment before giving a small nod.

"Take care of Eliza while I’m out. She won’t ask for help even when she needs it."

No she will she is a shameless woman.

"..."

"I will."

"Good."

Without another word, he adjusted the rifle on his shoulder and walked off, leaving me alone in the middle of the road. I watched him disappear between the houses before quietly looking away.

***

I returned to Eliza. Her condition had worsened.

The days slipped by quietly after that.

Before I knew it, two had already passed.

I’d fallen into a routine without realizing it. Hauling water from the well. Splitting firewood. Helping around the house. Sitting across from Eliza while we shared simple meals. Somewhere along the way, the distance between us had faded. It wasn’t enough to call us family... but it was close enough that leaving without a word no longer felt easy.

That only made the thought gnawing at me worse.

I couldn’t stay here.

Whatever was happening to the villagers wasn’t ordinary. The illness. The prayers. The way their eyes occasionally emptied before returning as though nothing had happened. None of it was normal, and every extra day I spent here felt like another step toward something I couldn’t yet see.

I’d rather die searching for answers than wake up one morning and realize I’d become another face in this village.

I jolted awake.

DOOOONG.

The first bell crashed through the house hard enough to shake the walls...

DOOOONG.

The first bell crashed through the house hard enough to shake the walls. It wasn’t just loud—I felt it. The vibration climbed through the bedframe, into my spine, settling somewhere deep in my chest.

Before I could even catch my breath—

DOOOONG.

Another.

Then another.

DOOOONG. DOOOONG. DOOOONG.

Each toll landed heavier than the last, refusing to fade. The sound lingered inside my skull, grinding against my thoughts until all I could hear was the bell itself. My heartbeat sped up without my permission. Every instinct I had screamed that something was wrong.

By the sixth bell, I could barely hear my own breathing.

DOOOOOOOOOONG.

The seventh.

It seemed to go on forever.

The village trembled beneath it.

The windows rattled.

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