DYLAN pulled something out of his pocket. Two spherical pieces, about the size of a 50-cent coin, with a rough texture like lizard skin, gleamed in a yellowish-white hue, resembling shells. They were said to be snake scales with mystical powers. To this day, Dylan wasn't exactly sure what kind of powers, except for one so-called gift.

That gift had once been a source of pride for Dylan, but over time, it felt as if it was consuming him from the inside. He began to regret ever accepting those scales, made worse by the promise he had made to his late grandfather.

He looked at the river in front of him. Known locally as Bushes Holes, the water gleamed in a blue-green hue, clear and calm. Once a popular spot for visitors, it had fallen into eerie silence since being closed off years ago. Yet, the surrounding area remained well-kept and pristine, though locals rarely ventured into place anymore.

Dylan sighed softly. Over two months had passed, and his efforts still bore no fruit. For almost a month, he'd gone back and forth to Mr. Smith's house, but every lead hit a dead end. He still had no clue where his father had disappeared to.

A sudden thud on his right shoulder stunned him. Dylan spun around to see three men standing uncomfortably close. One of them was holding a wooden stick.

Dylan rubbed his shoulder. "Hey, what's the big idea, man? Hitting people for no reason."

"You're coming with us to the station. Now!" one of them snapped.

Dylan frowned. "Station? What for?"

"You killed that man, didn't you? Do you even realize what bad luck you've brought to this village? Now, come with us and turn yourself in!"

The second man grabbed Dylan's left arm firmly. Dylan glanced toward the spot where a man's body had been found by the river a few days earlier. Yellow caution tape marked the restricted area.

Dylan yanked his arm back. "I didn't kill anyone. You can't just accuse me."

"Don't give us excuses! We know it was you. He met you, and not long after that, someone found his body here. And today, you show up to destroy evidence? That's suspicious as hell!"

Dylan's forehead creased in disbelief at the baseless accusation. Before he could say another word, he was shoved from behind, landing hard on the ground. The three men wasted no time kicking and punching him.

Dylan, overwhelmed and unable to fight back, curled up defensively, trying to shield himself from the blows.

"Hey!"

DYLAN winced as he touched his bruised right shoulder. Who knows what would’ve happened if Mr. Smith hadn’t shown up in time. The three men who had attacked him still shot him sharp glares. Dylan rubbed the back of his neck, which was aching as well.

“How many times do I have to tell you that this kid, isn’t guilty? You went and beat someone’s child. If he files a report, you three are the ones in trouble,” Mr. Smith scolded.

“If he’s innocent, what was he doing there?”

“He must’ve gone back to clean up evidence, right? Scared the police might find something he dropped?”

“Yeah. We've been keeping an eye on him for a while. His behavior is suspicious. You’re trying to cover up your crime, aren’t you?”

Mr. Smith shook his head at the three men who refused to let Dylan go. “The police already ruled it as sudden death, not murder. Calm down, will you?”

The trio went silent, though dissatisfaction was written all over their faces.

“Go home. Stop trying to do the police’s job. They know how to investigate if anything’s off. Just leave.”

“He’s an outsider. Our village has its rules. If something bad happens, we all suffer. Now someone’s dead. We’re in trouble.”

“And another thing. That guesthouse of his and his friend’s should just shut down. Ridiculous. Our village can’t handle outsiders anymore.”

“Enough. He didn’t do anything wrong. I know this boy. Now go home and don’t go around hitting people anymore.”

The men exchanged glances before reluctantly walking away.

Mr. Smith turned to Dylan, shaking his head weakly.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Smith,” Dylan muttered awkwardly.

“What are you apologizing for? You’re the one who got beaten up.”

Dylan lowered his head, feeling embarrassed. Mr. Smith had already helped him out of trouble several times since he first arrived at the village.

“They roughed you up pretty bad.”

“It’s nothing. I’ll be fine in a few days.”

Mr. Smith sighed heavily. “Is this village really the only lead you have? Have you tried searching outside? Maybe even across the border?”

“I’ve checked. No leads at all about my dad, unless...” Dylan’s voice trailed off as he looked down. “Unless he changed his name.”

Mr. Smith nodded thoughtfully.

Dylan glanced at the older man, who looked to be in his late fifties. “I heard from the villagers that this place has a ‘guardian.’ Is that true, Mr. Smith?”

Mr. Smith laughed and shook his head. “What did you find by the river earlier?”

Dylan simply shook his head.

Mr. Smith paused before speaking again. “Even though the river is deep, it used to be a recreational spot for swimming. The water was clear and calm. Lots of people loved coming here. But there were many drowning cases. The last one was three years ago. After that, the place was completely shut down.”

As usual, Mr. Smith never got tired of recounting the village and river’s history. Even though some of it seemed hard to believe, Dylan never grew bored of listening.

“You already know the story,” Mr. Smith said.

Dylan just nodded. It was the same tale he had heard since first arriving at the village in search of his father.

“The government tried multiple times to develop the riverside area, but every project failed. Too many problems kept popping up. Some say it’s because of Master Headrick’s curse.”

“A curse? I only heard about the village having a ‘guardian.’ Never heard about a curse. Mr. Smith, who is Master Headrick?”

“I’m not sure either. It’s all hearsay. No idea if it’s true or not. That land by the river is vast. If developed, it could be worth millions.

“Apparently, the land originally belonged to Master Headrick. But since no one knows where his heirs are, the name on the land grant belongs to someone else now.”

Mr. Smith paused and pulled out a tobacco leaf, filling it with a twist of dried leaves before lighting it. Thin smoke curled into the air.

“That place is always clean, even though no one dares to go there. So you get what I mean, right? Something’s ‘watching over’ it,” Mr. Smith said.

“Master Headrick is an old story. His tale was popular around the late 1800s, so it’s probably been exaggerated over time. I’m supposedly a descendant of the original owner, but I don’t know much. My great-grandfather only told bits of the story. It was never complete,” Mr. Smith continued.

Dylan nodded. “That’s a long time ago. Has no one ever sought help from a powerful shaman or handler? Or maybe a sorcerer with knowledge of the unseen? You’re just going to leave it like that?”

“They’ve tried countless times. Nothing ever changed.”

Dylan fell silent for a moment. “Uh... are there any houses on the other side of the river, Mr. Smith?”

“There used to be. If I’m not mistaken, a family of foreigners lived there. But they moved out. Said they couldn’t sleep at night. Kept seeing strange figures. Well, it’s near the forest, so that’s normal. The villagers didn’t dare to go there either, but they built houses anyway.”

Mr. Smith chuckled and shook his head. “What made you think you could find your dad here?”

Dylan hesitated. “I heard the last place he was seen was in this village.”

Mr. Smith fell into thought. “As far as I remember, no one here knows anyone named Adam. Did your father go by another name?”

“I’m not sure. It’s been 15 years since he disappeared. I was just a kid then. Maybe he came here but didn’t know anyone.”

Mr. Smith let out a small sigh. “That makes things harder. Your search has hit a dead end.”

Dylan gave a faint smile. Sometimes he wondered if his father was truly dead.

“Be careful if you go back to the river. Don’t end up as the second body pulled out of there.”

Mr. Smith’s joke made Dylan uneasy. His hair stood on end as he thought about the river.

Bamboo Village was a mysterious place. Many strange events had occurred there. The most well-known belief was that the village was guarded and ruled by a group of snake spirits.

It sounded ridiculous, but that’s what people often said when Bamboo Village was mentioned. The village was said to have mystical stories no one could fully understand.

Mr. Smith, born and raised in the village, knew a lot about its history. But since the stories were passed down orally, many seemed far-fetched, with likely more embellishments than truth.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith. I understand.”

Remembering the scale he had dropped during the attack, Dylan touched his pocket. As usual, the scale was still there, having mysteriously returned to his side once again.

DYLAN stepped into the living room of Wester Villa.

The moment Kyle saw him, he frowned and scanned Dylan from head to toe. “What’s with your weird limping? Looks like you've got a bruise on your face.” He narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing Dylan’s face.

“Don’t ask. I'm just lucky to be alive.” Dylan slumped onto the sofa facing Kyle.

Kyle crossed his arms. “That's the danger of being a rider. I told you to get a different job, but you wouldn't listen.” He shook his head with a small grin.

“What are you rambling about? I wasn’t in an accident. I got beaten up.”

Kyle straightened up immediately. “Who beat you up?” His previously casual tone turned serious.

“Some guys from the village. I went to the river earlier and ran into them. They beat me up, accusing me of killing that guy.”

Kyle raised an eyebrow, falling silent for a moment. “But you did run into that guy, right?”

Dylan just nodded.

“When you met him, did you stare into his eyes? See anything?”

“Even if I did, what could I do to change his fate? You know my so-called ‘gift’ is just a useless talent. Yeah, I stared into his eyes, and yeah, I saw what was going to happen. I knew he was going to die and where it would happen. But I had no idea why or who was with him at that time. End of story.”

Kyle shook his head weakly. “Have you ever tried upgrading your gift? You know, so you can control it better and get more details?”

Dylan burst out laughing, clutching his stomach despite the pain. “You think this kind of gift can be upgraded like a video game? And besides, I don’t know any shamans who can help. Also, please don’t suggest weird stuff that’s beyond my understanding, okay?” He slowly got up from the sofa. “I’m gonna use your shower before I head home.”

“Why don’t you work here?”

Kyle’s suggestion stopped Dylan in his tracks. He turned to look at his friend.

Kyle nodded. “Be the manager of this place.”

Dylan looked around the guesthouse owned by Kyle. His gaze returned to his friend. “I have no experience. You sure you want me to manage this place? Won’t you lose money?”

Kyle stood up as well. “I won’t. I know you can handle it. I still have my gallery to manage, and I don’t have time to run both. Just be the manager, Dylan. I’m not asking you to paint landscapes or make a masterpiece like the Monalisa.”

Dylan chuckled.

“Wester Villa is still new. You can learn from scratch how to run this place. Managing a guesthouse isn’t hard. You don’t have to find customers; you just manage things when guests check in. That’s it.”

Dylan stayed silent, thinking about Kyle’s suggestion. That was just how Kyle was—never stingy when it came to helping his friends. He even offered Dylan a job without hesitation. Still, Dylan felt hesitant because they were already close, like brothers. Relationships like that often led to bigger issues when it came to formal work matters.

“I’m giving you an opportunity here. How many times have you come to Bamboo Village looking for your dad? It’s been two months of investigation, and you’ve found nothing except folklore about this place. Since you’re not giving up, why not stay here and dig deeper? I want to help make it easier for you.”

“You want me to quit being a rider?” Dylan muttered.

“Quit for now—or quit for good. While you’re looking for a job that matches your qualifications, be the manager of Wester Villa. Don’t worry about the pay. I’ll match it to your qualifications.”

“It’s not about the pay…”

“Stop making excuses, okay? I’m your friend. I also want to help you find your dad. I worked hard to get this land and build this place. It wasn’t easy getting the owner to agree. Now that I have this chance, let's find your dad together. Once we’re done, you can work wherever you want.”

Dylan nodded slightly. “Okay. I’ll go along with your plan, but let me finish up this month first. I don’t like leaving work halfway.”

Kyle nodded and smiled in relief.

THE melody of the flute echoed again, enchanting and lulling the mind into a deep, long dream. The music was serene, its rhythm slow and captivating.

Dylan raised his right hand, trying to touch the delicate swirling mist in front of him.

Same place. Same situation. Same music.

"Same dream," he muttered to himself.

His eyes darted around, searching for the same woman. He was certain she would appear again.

Dylan stopped searching when he saw a white figure moving like a wave across the water's surface. Gradually, the figure became clearer, revealing a woman standing right in front of him.

Her face resembled a human’s, but strange patterns covered her skin—patterns reminiscent of a snake’s scales. Her wavy hair was neatly combed, adorned with what looked like gems or crystals.

Her appearance was peculiar. She wore a complete garment that covered her entire body, with a cloak fastened at her shoulders and billowing down to the ground. In her right hand, she held a flute made of clear crystal.

Dylan was mesmerized as the woman smiled. He wanted to speak, but the words got stuck in his throat. He could only stare as her figure vanished. Looking around, he felt lost.

His movements froze when the flute's melody played again. A cold gust of wind made him shut his eyes tightly. He felt someone gently holding his right hand.

When he opened his eyes again, the scene had changed to the living room. Dylan realized he was lying on the sofa. He let out a small sigh. Yet, strangely, it felt like he was still holding someone's hand.

Turning to his right, he blinked in surprise at the sight of Eric standing stiffly beside him. Dylan immediately let go of Eric's hand. He sat up, leaning against the backrest.

Eric chuckled and shook his head. "Who were you dating in your dream, holding hands and all?" he teased while moving to sit on the adjacent sofa.

Dylan stretched to adjust his posture.

Kyle appeared with two glasses of water, setting them on the small table in the center. He sat next to Eric. "That dream again?" he asked.

Dylan simply nodded and grabbed one of the glasses. He sipped the hot black coffee, feeling his drowsiness lift.

"What dream? The two of you living together, must be something else—sharing dreams too now?" Eric quipped with a playful scowl.

"Even if I told you, it’s not like you could help me," Dylan retorted.

The second sip of Kyle’s brewed coffee revived Dylan a little. Sometimes, Kyle was just like a big brother, always looking after him attentively.

"Why does that woman only appear in my dreams? Kyle, I think I’ve fallen for her."

Kyle and Eric exchanged glances upon hearing Dylan’s words.

"Careful, Dylan. Dreams can mess with your head. Don’t lose the ability to distinguish dreams from reality," Eric warned, picking up his cup of coffee.

Dylan grinned sheepishly. "Maybe it’s just her face, but I bet if her skin wasn’t like that, she’d be really beautiful, right?"

Eric placed his half-empty cup back on the table. "Dreams are just illusions. Don’t get carried away. Remember that." He walked off to the kitchen after dropping the advice.

Dylan looked at Kyle. Kyle just shrugged.

THE woman's face lingered vividly in his mind. One thing was certain—she had been appearing in his dreams ever since he inherited the two enchanted scales from his late grandfather.

"Magic Charms."

That was the only name his grandfather had ever mentioned for the scales.

"Grandpa said these scales have an owner, and I have to find that person and return them. Could it be that woman?"

Dylan jolted as someone patted his shoulder. Kyle was suddenly standing beside him; Dylan hadn’t noticed his silent approach. His friend always moved stealthily, appearing out of nowhere.

Dylan walked over to the recliner on the balcony, their usual hangout spot, and sat down.

"You were spacing out. What's on your mind?" asked Kyle, leaning against the railings.

"Where's Eric?"

"He left after picking up his stuff earlier. What's with you? Daydreaming about that woman in your dreams again?"

Dylan shook his head and placed the scales, known as Magic Charms, on the small table next to the recliner. "I feel like someone’s been following me these past few days. But maybe it’s just my imagination."

"Following you?"

Dylan nodded.

"Are you sure?"

Dylan hesitated. "Not entirely sure. But for three or four days now, the same scooter has been tailing me. That can't be a coincidence."

Kyle fell silent.

"They follow me from the places where I pick up orders, all the way to customer drop-offs. I notice them appearing in crowded areas and the city center," Dylan added.

"Do you remember the license plate?"

Dylan nodded.

"Did you try stopping to ask them?"

"I wanted to see what they'd do, but they did nothing. When I reached the junction out of the city, they turned into another lane."

"Maybe it’s just a coincidence. They might just be using the same route," Kyle reasoned.

Dylan shook his head. "My instincts are rarely wrong. But as long as they don't do anything, I’m not too worried. What scares me is if they have other intentions. What if they want to groom me as a boy toy? That's a nightmare! Or worse, some sex-crazed psycho… ew!"

Kyle burst into laughter. "You don’t want to report it to the police, but you’re scared. If they kidnap you and harvest your organs, that’ll be even worse."

Dylan rubbed the back of his neck.

"Was it a man or a woman?" Kyle asked.

Dylan frowned. "Not sure. They wore a big sweater. Couldn't see their body shape."

"If it’s a woman, maybe she likes you. If it's a man… that’s dangerous, Dylan." Kyle laughed, shaking his head.

"What nonsense!" Dylan laughed along too.

"I told you to work with me, but you refused. Now you're being followed by a psycho. See, told you so."

"Ridiculous."

Kyle’s gaze shifted to the object Dylan had placed on the small table. Whenever Dylan faced any tense situation, he would examine that object—a flat, coin-like item about the size of a 50-cent coin, white with a yellowish hue and a rough, shell-like surface.

"What? What are you staring at?" Dylan asked when he noticed Kyle’s silence.

"I've wanted to ask for a long time, but it never came out. You always dodge the question."

"Ask what?"

"Since I’ve known you, I’ve realized you have some psychic ability, or as you call it, a gift. But you've never told me where it came from."

Dylan frowned. "Is there really such a thing as a psychic power that can come from anywhere?"

"Of course. Most shamans or mystics with supernatural knowledge either gain it through dreams or learn it from someone else—a guru, you could say. So where did you get yours? From the woman you keep dreaming about?" Kyle teased, chuckling.

Dylan fell silent. "You’ve got a point. But that’s unlikely." He shook his head. "It’s hard to explain to you. I don't think you'd understand. I started having these visions when I was a kid, around seven or eight years old. Not from dreams or anyone teaching me."

Kyle squinted. "You’re sure no one taught you?"

"As far as I remember, no."

Kyle just nodded. His eyes returned to the object on the small table. Whenever Dylan mentioned his father, he would gaze at that object, as if it held the key to finding his father, who had disappeared 15 years ago.

Kyle had asked about it before, but Dylan always dodged the question. After secretly observing the object for some time, Kyle was finally certain—that was the very thing he had been searching for all along.

DYLAN turned his motorcycle into the third junction. The scooter rider was still tailing him. This time, he was certain-he was being followed. Now, he just needed to figure out the best way to trap this mysterious person.

Noticing the road ahead, an idea popped into his head. He sped up, turning left at a junction leading toward the outskirts of the city.

After about a kilometer, Dylan veered into a commercial area with shop lots and a mini-mart. He stopped and parked his motorcycle in front of a hardware store. He noticed the scooter had followed him into the same area. Slowly, he walked toward the mini-mart entrance.

As soon as he reached the end of the building, Dylan turned quickly into a narrow alley between two buildings. He waited there, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious person.

Two minutes passed. Hiding behind the staircase at the back of the building, Dylan peeked toward the mini-mart sidewalk.

Less than 30 meters away, he saw the person approaching his hiding spot. Judging by the build, it looked like a man around his age. Half of the man's face was hidden by a cap pulled low over his head.

Dylan took a step back, his mind racing for a plan. He took a deep breath, deciding to confront the guy head-on.

As soon as Dylan stepped out, the man froze in shock before immediately turning to leave. Without hesitation, Dylan dashed after him. Even though he almost got hit by passing vehicles, he didn't let the guy out of his sight.

Reaching a busier road, Dylan had to stop. He watched as the guy skillfully weaved through fast-moving traffic.

A sudden blaring honk jolted Dylan. He glanced to his right, but before he could fully register what was happening, a force from the front shoved him backward.

He lost control of his body and landed hard on the roadside. The blaring honks continued, followed by the screeching of tires dangerously close to his ears.

Dylan quickly turned to his left, eyes wide in shock. He saw the man collapse onto the road after being hit by a truck, which dragged him about 15 meters toward a nearby traffic light.

Dylan's breath caught in his throat as he watched the man's body get completely crushed beneath the truck. Not even a shred of flesh remained, only thick, dark blood smeared across the road. The truck came to a halt in the right lane.

Dylan's brows furrowed when he noticed a reticulated python slithering rapidly out from under the truck, disappearing in the blink of an eye. He stood frozen, hands trembling uncontrollably.