Unwritten Fate [BL]-Chapter 6: "Beneath The Lantern’s Glow"

The village buzzed with excitement as the festival preparations kicked into full swing. Colorful banners swayed in the crisp morning breeze, and the scent of freshly baked bread drifted through the air. Billy stood in the middle of it all, watching the villagers move with purpose, their laughter and chatter filling the streets. He clenched his hands, a strange sense of displacement creeping into his chest.

Artur strode past him, carrying a large bundle of firewood. His sharp features were tense, his shoulders tight with responsibility. The festival was an important tradition, and he bore the weight of making sure everything was perfect. Billy exhaled slowly and jogged to catch up with him.

"Let me help," Billy offered, reaching for some of the wood.

Artur shot him a glance, a flicker of hesitation crossing his face before he handed over a few logs. "Just don't drop them."

Billy smirked. "No promises."

They worked in silence, stacking wood for the bonfire at the village center. The pile grew taller, casting long shadows against the ground. Billy stole a glance at Artur, who was focused on his task, his fingers deftly arranging the logs with practiced ease. There was something grounding about watching him work—like he belonged here, in a way Billy wished he could understand.

"You seem distracted today," Artur noted, breaking the silence. "Something on your mind?"

Billy hesitated, his grip tightening around a piece of wood. "I guess... I still don't know who I am. Everyone here has something to hold on to—a history, a purpose. I'm just... floating."

Artur frowned, setting down the last log. "You're not floating. You're here, working with me. That counts for something."

Billy swallowed the lump in his throat. Artur's words carried a weight he hadn't expected. Maybe he wasn't just some nameless stranger anymore.

Nearby, a group of children ran past, waving ribbons and laughing. One of the older women called out to Billy, holding up a folded piece of cloth. "Billy! Can you help with this?"

Billy turned to Artur, who gave him a slight nod before heading off to his next task. He took the cloth and followed the woman toward the festival grounds, where others were setting up decorations. As he helped tie the fabric to a wooden beam, he felt the eyes of the villagers on him. Some were warm and welcoming, while others were wary, uncertain.

He couldn't blame them. He was still an outsider, no matter how much he wanted to fit in.

As the day stretched on, Billy found himself pulled into various tasks—hanging lanterns, moving supplies, even tasting a dish an elderly woman insisted needed "a fresh palate." With each small act, he felt the tension in his chest loosen, the unfamiliar beginning to feel... almost familiar.

But beneath the warmth of the festival preparations, something unsettled lingered in the air. He could feel it in the cautious glances exchanged between villagers, in the quiet murmurs when Artur passed by. There was more to this village than met the eye, and whether he liked it or not, he was becoming part of it.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of amber and violet, Billy stood at the edge of the bonfire pit. Artur approached, his expression unreadable. "Tomorrow's the festival. You ready?"

Billy inhaled the smoky air, watching the flames dance in the distance. "I don't know. But I guess I'll find out."

Artur smirked, the corner of his lips twitching upward. "Welcome to village life, Billy."

Billy couldn't help but smile. Maybe, just maybe, he was finding his place after all.

The village had never felt so alive. Colorful fabric swayed in the breeze as villagers strung banners across the town square, their laughter and chatter filling the air. Stalls were being set up, wooden tables groaning under the weight of fresh produce, handmade crafts, and fragrant spices. The festival was just days away, and the excitement was infectious. Yet, beneath the vibrant surface, Billy couldn't shake the tension simmering just out of sight.

He watched Artur from across the field, the young man giving orders to a group of workers carrying logs for the festival's central bonfire. Artur's face was set in a serious expression, his sleeves rolled up as he worked alongside them. Billy had come to learn that Artur wasn't the type to sit back and supervise—he got his hands dirty, working harder than anyone else. But today, there was something different about him. A stiffness in his movements. A flicker of something unreadable in his eyes.

Billy wiped the sweat from his brow and returned his focus to the task at hand. He was helping the village women prepare the flower garlands that would decorate the square. Their hands moved deftly, weaving bright petals into intricate patterns, and Billy mimicked their movements, determined to be useful. Yet his mind kept drifting.

It wasn't just Artur's tension that unsettled him. He had noticed it in others too. The way some villagers would pause mid-task, whispering in hushed voices before darting wary glances at him. The way their expressions would shift when they thought he wasn't looking. He wasn't blind to it.

They still didn't trust him.

Dand had assured him that the village had welcomed him, that he was one of them now. But Billy could feel the unspoken doubts lingering in the air. He was an outsider, a stranger washed up on their shore with no past, no memories. And no matter how hard he tried to immerse himself in their world, there would always be those who questioned his presence.

A sharp tug at his wrist startled him. He turned to find old Granny Mero watching him with her piercing gaze. "Your hands are too stiff, boy," she chided, loosening his fingers from the garland. "You're tying the flowers too tightly. They'll snap before the festival even begins."

Billy exhaled a laugh, grateful for the distraction. "Guess I'm not as good at this as I thought."

She narrowed her eyes, her wrinkled face unreadable. "You've got other skills. We all do." She patted his hand before going back to her work, but Billy could feel the weight of her words.

By evening, the preparations had transformed the village. Lanterns hung from every doorway, their soft glow illuminating the winding streets. The scent of freshly baked bread and roasted meat filled the air, making Billy's stomach growl. But despite the beauty around him, the weight in his chest only grew heavier.

As he walked toward the lake, hoping for a moment of solitude, he found Artur already there, standing at the edge of the water. The moon cast silver reflections on the surface, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.

Artur's voice was quiet when he finally broke the silence. "You feel it too, don't you?"

Billy hesitated. "The tension?"

A nod. Artur crossed his arms, his jaw tight. "Some people... they still see you as an outsider. It's not fair, but it's the way things are."

Billy clenched his fists. "I'm trying. I want to belong here."

Artur turned to face him then, his expression unreadable. "You don't have to prove anything, Billy. But... trust isn't given freely. It's earned."

Billy met his gaze, searching for any trace of hostility, but there was none. Only quiet understanding. And maybe, just maybe, something else. Something neither of them were quite ready to name.

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The festival would be a turning point. Billy could feel it. But whether it would bring him closer to the village—or push him further away—was still uncertain.

As the night deepened, the village buzzed with anticipation. And beneath the lantern-lit sky, Billy knew that the real challenge was only just beginning.

As the festival day crept closer, the village pulsed with anticipation. The air carried the scent of fresh-cut wood and drying herbs, mingling with the saltiness of the nearby sea. Billy found himself pulled deeper into the heart of the preparations, though an unshakable unease gnawed at him beneath the surface.

Artur had assigned him to help with the decorations, and Billy worked alongside the villagers, weaving long garlands of flowers and draping them over the wooden archways leading into the town square. His hands moved on instinct, but his mind remained restless. Every glance from a villager, every whispered exchange he wasn't part of, made him question his place here. Was he truly welcome? Or was he merely an outsider they tolerated out of politeness?

One afternoon, as Billy struggled to secure a series of lanterns along the main path, Artur approached, wiping sweat from his brow. "You're getting better at this."

Billy snorted, forcing a grin. "You mean tying knots and not falling off ladders? High praise."

Artur smirked, but his gaze lingered, as if trying to decipher something deeper. "You've been distracted."

Billy hesitated, fingers tightening around the twine. "Just... thinking."

"About?"

The words sat heavy on his tongue. "Where I belong."

Artur's expression shifted—something almost imperceptible, a flicker of understanding before his usual guardedness returned. "You don't have to figure everything out at once. Just do what's in front of you. The rest will come."

Billy wanted to believe that, but doubt still curled around his thoughts. He had no past, no certainty of a future—just this fleeting moment of belonging that felt as fragile as the lanterns swaying in the breeze.

That night, as the villagers gathered around a bonfire to celebrate the final night before the festival, Billy lingered at the edges of the crowd. He watched Artur laugh with a few others, the firelight flickering across his face, making him seem untouchable, grounded in a way Billy envied. The warmth of the flames reached him, but he still felt cold.

A soft voice pulled him from his thoughts. "You always stand on the outside."

Billy turned to see an elderly woman, her eyes sharp despite her age. She tilted her head, studying him in a way that made him squirm. "You're waiting for something, aren't you?"

He swallowed, unsure how to respond.

She smiled, a knowing curve of her lips. "Don't wait too long, boy. Life doesn't stop for the lost."

Her words clung to him long after she had disappeared into the night. As the festival loomed closer, Billy couldn't shake the feeling that something was about to change—that the delicate balance he had found in this village was teetering on the edge of something unknown.

The festival reached its peak as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold. Lanterns flickered to life, casting warm glows over the village square, where laughter and music intertwined in a lively rhythm. Billy moved through the crowd, absorbing the energy around him, yet a quiet storm brewed within. He had laughed, danced, and even joined in a few of the games, but beneath the surface, something gnawed at him—an unease he couldn't quite place.

Artur had been by his side for most of the evening, their interactions easy, natural, yet laced with an undercurrent of something more. Billy caught himself watching him more than he should, studying the way his eyes softened when he spoke to the elders, the way his laughter rang out when he let himself relax. It stirred something unfamiliar in Billy, a feeling he wasn't sure he had words for.

As the final event of the night approached—a traditional storytelling by the bonfire—Billy found himself drifting to the edge of the gathering. Dand was among the first to settle by the fire, his deep voice carrying through the night as he wove an old tale of love and loss, of fate's cruel hand and the power of perseverance. The words struck something in Billy, resonating in a way that made his chest tighten. He couldn't remember his past, yet the emotions felt achingly familiar, as if the story was whispering something he had once known but lost.

Artur sat beside him, his presence grounding yet unsettling. Billy turned to speak, but before he could, Artur's hand brushed his, a fleeting touch that sent an unexpected warmth coursing through him. Their eyes met in the firelight, something unspoken passing between them. It lasted only a breath before Artur looked away, his expression unreadable.

The final flames of the bonfire crackled as the festival came to an end. The villagers began dispersing, voices hushed, their joy settling into a comfortable afterglow. Billy lingered a moment longer, staring into the dying embers. He had come to this village as a nameless stranger, a man without a past. But now, as the festival closed, he realized he was no longer just a visitor. He was Billy, and maybe, just maybe, he was starting to belong.

As they made their way back home, the night air cool against his skin, Billy stole a glance at Artur. There were still questions left unanswered, uncertainties lingering in the quiet between them. But for the first time in weeks, Billy wasn't afraid of them. Perhaps, in time, he would find the answers he sought—not just about his past, but about the future that lay ahead.

The festival had ended, but its warmth still lingered in the village air. Lanterns swayed gently in the breeze, their soft glow casting long shadows as villagers laughed and talked in hushed voices, reluctant to let the night slip away completely.

Billy stretched his arms above his head, releasing a satisfied sigh. "That was... something else," he murmured, glancing at Artur beside him. The firelight played across Artur's face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the quiet intensity in his eyes.

Artur nodded, his gaze following the last flickers of fireworks in the sky. "Yeah, it was."

A comfortable silence stretched between them, punctuated only by the distant hum of the village settling down. Billy shifted on his feet before nudging Artur's shoulder lightly. "Come on, you don't have to be so serious all the time. Didn't you have fun?"

Artur smirked, but before he could reply, Billy grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the riverbank. The unexpected touch sent a jolt through Artur's spine, his pulse stuttering for a beat. Billy didn't seem to notice—his fingers warm against Artur's skin, his grip firm but unassuming.

Billy stopped at the water's edge and let out an appreciative whistle. "The reflection's even prettier than the real thing," he mused, staring at the way the lanterns shimmered across the surface.

Artur swallowed, his attention not on the water, but on the way the moonlight softened Billy's features. The way his hair, still slightly damp from the evening's festivities, curled at the edges. How his lips parted slightly in quiet awe.

"Yeah," Artur said, his voice quieter than he intended. "It is."

Billy turned toward him then, his face close enough that Artur could make out every detail—the slight upturn of his nose, the way his eyelashes fluttered as he blinked. Too close. Artur's breath hitched, and he took a half-step back, barely catching himself before it became obvious.

Billy tilted his head. "Something wrong?"

Artur cleared his throat, shaking his head. "Nothing. Just—let's head back soon. It's getting late."

Billy didn't push, only grinning as he turned back toward the river, his reflection rippling across the surface. Artur exhaled slowly, willing his heartbeat to settle.

For the first time in a long while, something was shifting inside him—something unfamiliar, unsettling.

And it had everything to do with Billy.