The village was larger than the last one.
That was Ren’s first thought.
There were too many people.
Too many houses.
Too many voices.
Too many smells.
The road leading into the village was wide enough for two carts to pass each other, and even that seemed barely sufficient.
Vendors had set up little stalls along both sides.
Farmers carried baskets of vegetables toward the market.
Children ran between adults without the slightest concern for getting in anyone’s way.
Ren stopped just outside the entrance and stared.
A proper market road ran through its center, and Ren could see several permanent stalls instead of the temporary tables and mats he had become accustomed to.
There were even two buildings with signs hanging above their entrances.
Ren stopped.
He stared.
“Those are actual signs.”
It was a stupid thing to be impressed by.
But after spending so much time in villages where most buildings looked like they had been constructed whenever someone happened to find enough wood, seeing proper signs felt almost luxurious.
He had spent the last several weeks in small villages where he could recognize most of the people simply by sight.
Here, he didn’t recognize anyone.
That was probably good — it meant nobody knew about him.
It also meant he needed somewhere to sleep.
He adjusted the cloth bag hanging from his shoulder.
It contained very little — some dried food, a spare piece of clothing, a few coins, his pendulum, several sticks, and the three coins that had been responsible for some of the most embarrassing failures of his early experiments.
He still kept them.
Not because they were useful.
Mostly because throwing them away felt like admitting defeat.
Ren entered the village.
Nobody paid much attention to him.
That suited him perfectly.
He found a small shrine near the edge of the village and asked the caretaker whether he could sleep there in exchange for helping with some work.
The old caretaker looked him up and down.
“You know how to work?”
“Somewhat.”
“Can you sweep?”
“Yes.”
“Carry water?”
“Yes.”
“Fix a broken fence?”
Ren hesitated.
“Probably.”
The old man stared at him.
“Probably?”
“I’ve learned it, but I’ve only done it once or twice.
And I don’t know how much I have to fix.”
The caretaker laughed.
“At least you’re honest.”
That was how Ren ended up staying.
At first, he had no intention of becoming a Seer for anyone.
He merely needed food, a place to sleep, and enough work to keep his stomach from complaining.
Unfortunately, people had other ideas.
The first person to discover his abilities was a child.
It happened three days after Ren arrived.
He was sitting beneath a tree near the market, repairing the string on his pendulum.
That was what Ren convinced himself that he was doing, though all he was doing was just replacing the worn-out string with a relatively newer one.
Three children were watching him.
Ren ignored them.
They continued watching.
Ren continued ignoring them.
One of them eventually approached.
“Are you a fortune teller?”
Ren looked up.
“No.”
The boy pointed at the pendulum.
“Then what’s that?”
“A stone.”
“Why is it hanging from a string?”
“Because it fell off a mountain and needed somewhere to stay.”
The boy stared at him.
Ren stared back.
The boy turned toward his friends.
“He is weird.”
“I heard you.”
“You’re supposed to be a fortune teller.”
“I just told you I’m not.”
The boy crouched in front of him.
“Can you tell me what I’m thinking?”
Ren paused.
This was dangerous territory.
He had Spirit Vision.
He had divination.
He could probably determine certain things.
But there was no reason to demonstrate it.
Then again…
Ren looked at the child.
The boy was staring at the pendulum.
Ren smiled.
“You’re thinking about stealing it.”
The boy’s eyes widened.
“I am not!”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t!”
“You were wondering whether you could grab it and run.”
The boy’s mouth opened, then closed.
His friends started laughing.
“I told you!”
Ren laughed as well.
The boy pointed accusingly.
“That’s cheating!”
“I didn’t use magic.”
“You did!”
“No.”
“Then how did you know?”
Ren tapped his temple.
“Eyes.” The boy looked suspicious.
Ren pointed toward a nearby stall.
“You’ve been staring at the candied fruit for the last five minutes too.”
The boy immediately looked away.
Ren grinned.
The other children began asking questions.
Could he tell them what they would eat tonight?
Yes.
Would one of them become a samurai?
Probably not.
Would another become a princess?
Definitely not.
Would the village chief die tomorrow?
Ren immediately stopped smiling.
“No.”
The children went quiet.
“Why?”
“Because that’s not a question you should ask for fun.”
The boy frowned.
“Why not?”
“Because sometimes you don’t want to know the answer.”
The children didn’t seem particularly impressed.
A moment later, they were arguing about who would become a samurai.
Ren watched them leave and shook his head.
His first clients.
Three children.
No payment.
No useful questions.
And one accusation that he was cheating.
Ren couldn’t help smiling.
Perhaps being a Seer wasn’t so bad.
*****
The second encounter happened a week later.
A young woman approached him while he was carrying water.
“You’re the fortune teller.”
Ren sighed.
“Apparently.”
“I heard you can answer questions.”
“Some.”
She looked embarrassed.
“My sister says I’m foolish for asking.”
“Then perhaps you should listen to your sister.”
She stared at him.
Ren smiled.
“I’m joking.”
She laughed nervously.
“What do you charge?”
Ren thought about it.
“Food.”
“That’s all?”
“I need food.”
She hesitated before nodding.
“Fine.”
Ren set down the water bucket.
“What do you want to know?”
The woman looked around.
“Is my husband hiding something from me?”
Ren became more serious.
That was not a question he wanted to answer casually.
He took out his pendulum.
“Do you want to know whether he’s hiding something, or whether he’s hiding something from you?”
She frowned.
“Is there a difference?”
“Yes.” Ren explained.
“Maybe he has a gift for your birthday.
Maybe he’s planning something for work.
Maybe he’s hiding money.
Maybe he’s having an affair.
Those are very different things.”
The woman looked uncomfortable.
“Then…
is he hiding something from me?”
Ren nodded.
He infused the pendulum with spirituality.
The pebble began turning — counterclockwise, slowly.
Ren frowned.
No.
But weak.
He repeated the question.
Again, counterclockwise.
Still weak.
Ren looked at her.
“There’s probably something.” Her expression fell.
“But I don’t think it’s what you’re afraid of.”
“How can you know?”
“I can’t.” He paused.
“I’m telling you what the answer says.
Not what you want it to say.”
She looked down.
“Can you find out what?”
Ren shook his head.
“That’s a different question.” He considered.
“Is he hiding something related to money?” Counterclockwise.
Weak.
“Something related to another woman?” Counterclockwise.
Strong.
The woman’s face changed.
Ren immediately felt uncomfortable.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean what you think.”
She looked at him.
“Then what does it mean?”
“It means the answer to the question I asked was no.” Ren put the pendulum away.
“That’s all.”
The woman stood there silently.
Then she asked quietly, “Should I confront him?”
Ren hesitated.
That was another question.
He used the pendulum.
Clockwise.
Weak.
Ren frowned.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“It’s not a strong answer.”
She nodded slowly.
“Thank you.” She left.
Ren watched her go.
He didn’t feel particularly good about the encounter.
He had wanted to help.
Instead, he had probably made someone’s evening miserable.
But perhaps that was part of being a Seer.
People didn’t come because they wanted comforting words.
They came because they wanted answers.
And answers weren’t always pleasant.
Yet, he felt the potion in him getting digested just a little more.
Ren frowned as he looked at his own hands.
“Did I do anything different from my previous divinations?”
*****
The third encounter was considerably less serious.
A group of men had heard about Ren.
They approached him one afternoon while he was eating.
“You’re the famous Seer.”
Ren nearly choked.
“Famous?”
“People say you’re accurate.”
“I’ve been here for two weeks.”
“That’s enough.”
One of the men sat down opposite him.
“Tell me.”
Ren sighed.
“About what?”
“Will I marry the most beautiful woman in the village?”
“Do you want me to answer honestly?”
“Of course.”
Ren looked around the market.
There were several women nearby.
He chose one.
“That woman.”
The man’s face fell.
“Her?”
“She’s beautiful.”
“She’s terrifying.”
“Then your definition of beautiful may be the problem.”
The other men laughed.
The man slapped the table.
“Fine.
Ask it.”
Ren held up the pendulum.
He didn’t actually use it.
Instead, he looked at the man.
“You haven’t even spoken to her.”
“So?”
“Then I doubt the pendulum can help you.”
The man frowned.
“Why?”
“Because you’re asking whether you’ll marry someone you haven’t even tried to meet.” Ren leaned back.
“Ask a better question.”
The men looked at each other.
Finally, the man sighed.
“Will she talk to me?”
Ren considered.
That was simple enough.
He infused the pendulum.
Clockwise.
Moderate.
Ren smiled.
“Yes.”
The man immediately stood.
“Today?”
Ren blinked.
“That’s a different question.”
The men laughed.
The man sat back down.
“Fine.” Ren asked, “Will she talk to you today?” The pendulum rotated clockwise.
Strong.
The man jumped up.
“Excellent!”
Ren grabbed his sleeve.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“Don’t tell her you asked a Seer whether she’d speak to you.”
The man’s expression slowly changed.
“…Why?”
“Because then she’ll think you’re strange.”
The men stared at Ren.
Then burst out laughing.
Even Ren laughed.
The man eventually went over.
He spoke to the woman.
They talked.
Then talked again the following day.
Ren never asked what happened afterward.
He didn’t need to.
The man’s expression told him enough.
*****
The first serious request came from a woman looking for her missing bracelet which had belonged to her mother.
She had searched her house twice.
Her children had searched it.
Her husband had searched it.
Nothing.
Ren asked whether she had moved it herself.
“No.”
Whether anyone else had entered the room.
“No.”
Whether she remembered the last time she had worn it.
“Three days ago.”
Ren considered the question.
He could try a direct divination but instead, he asked something simpler.
“Is it still inside your house?”
The pendulum swung clockwise.
Strongly.
Ren frowned.
He asked again.
Same result.
The woman looked surprised.
Ren stood.
“Show me where you keep your clothes.”
She led him inside her house.
Ren activated Spirit Vision briefly.
The colors around her were mostly healthy, though stress had darkened the white around her head and chest.
Nothing useful.
He shut Spirit Vision down.
Then he asked questions.
When had she last cleaned the room?
Where did she normally place jewelry?
Who had moved the bedding?
After ten minutes, Ren found a wooden chest.
The bracelet wasn’t inside.
He stared at it.
Then at the woman.
“Did you clean underneath this?”
She shook her head.
Ren lifted it.
The bracelet was underneath.
The woman stared.
Ren stared too.
He hadn’t actually divined its exact location.
He had divined that it remained inside the house.
Everything after that had been observation and deduction.
The woman thanked him repeatedly, and he accepted a small amount of food.
That night, he sat outside the house and stared at his pendulum.
“That wasn’t really divination.”
The pebble swung gently in the evening breeze.
Ren frowned.
“Don’t get smug.”
*****
Another person asked him about a journey.
A merchant wanted to know whether he should take the northern road.
Ren asked why.
“There’s a shortcut.”
“Is it dangerous?”
“I don’t know.”
Ren frowned.
That was a terrible question.
He took out the pendulum.
“Is the northern road safe?”
The pendulum barely moved.
Ren frowned.
He asked a slightly simpler question.
Same.
The merchant became impatient.
“Well?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re a Seer.”
“Yes.”
“Then tell me.”
Ren’s irritation rose.
He looked at the man.
“If I knew, I would tell you.”
The merchant snorted.
“You’re useless.”
He left.
Ren watched him go.
Then looked at his pendulum.
He didn’t understand.
He had asked the question correctly.
He had used Spirituality.
He had repeated the reading.
Nothing.
His thought was simple.
I’m not good enough.
That conclusion came easily.
Perhaps his Spirituality was too weak.
Perhaps his understanding was incomplete.
Perhaps he didn’t have enough information.
Perhaps someone interfered with his divination.
Perhaps he hadn’t properly interpreted the result.
*****
By the second month, Ren had acquired a reputation.
Not a particularly impressive one.
Nobody called him a great mystic.
Nobody bowed when he passed.
Most people simply referred to him as “that young Seer.”
Sometimes “the accurate one.”
Occasionally “the strange fortune teller.”
Ren preferred the second.
The encounter with the merchant had been followed by dozens of smaller ones.
A farmer wanted to know whether rain would come.
Ren asked.
Clockwise.
Weak.
The farmer planted only half his field.
Rain came that evening.
A shopkeeper wanted to know whether a supplier would arrive.
Clockwise.
Strong.
He did.
A child asked whether his father would bring home sweets.
Clockwise.
Weak.
His father did.
One elderly man asked whether his grandson would return before winter.
Ren hesitated before answering.
That question was harder.
He asked whether the boy was alive.
Clockwise.
Weak.
Whether he was nearby.
Counterclockwise.
Whether he would return within the month.
Counterclockwise.
The old man stared at the ground.
Ren didn’t know what to say.
So he simply sat beside him.
That was something he had learned too.
It had nothing to do with being a seer.
It was simply a human thing to do.
Not every question needed another question.
Sometimes people wanted an answer.
Sometimes they simply wanted someone to listen.
Ren was beginning to understand why the Seer potion had given him an enhanced intuition to observe people.
Divination wasn’t only about the pendulum.
It was about knowing what question to ask.
And sometimes the person asking the question didn’t know what they actually wanted to know.
Ren had started noticing patterns.
People rarely asked about what frightened them directly.
They asked about something adjacent to it.
“Will my husband come home?” Sometimes meant: Does he still love me?
“Will my business succeed?” Sometimes meant: Am I wasting my life?
“Will my son pass the examination?” Sometimes meant: Did I fail as a father?
Ren couldn’t answer those questions with a pendulum.
But he could listen.
He could observe.
He could use Spirit Vision when appropriate.
And slowly, he began to realize that the role of a Seer wasn’t simply to provide predictions.
It was to help people make sense of uncertainty.
That realization made the potion feel slightly less mysterious.
There were still people who didn’t believe him.
Some came simply to test him.
A man once asked, “Will I become rich?”
Ren used the pendulum.
Clockwise.
Weak.
The man laughed.
“Wrong.”
Ren looked at him.
“You haven’t become rich yet.”
“I never will.”
“Then why ask?”
The man had no answer.
Another person tried asking deliberately impossible questions.
“Will the moon fall tomorrow?” Counterclockwise.
Strong.
“Will the emperor visit this village?” Counterclockwise.
Strong.
“Will I become a dragon?” Counterclockwise.
Very strong.
Ren smiled.
“You seem to have particularly bad luck.”
The man laughed.
“You’re cheating.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then that’s a convincing argument.”
Most of them left amused.
Some returned later.
Others never did.
There were also people who genuinely believed.
One woman wanted Ren to tell her whether she should leave her family.
A farmer wanted to know whether his harvest would fail.
A young man wanted to know whether joining a group of wandering swordsmen would make him stronger.
Ren slowly learned to be careful with those people.
The pendulum could answer.
That didn’t mean he should blindly obey it.
He began saying something whenever a question was serious.
“The divination gives information.” He would pause.
“You still make the decision.”
That became another rule.
He wasn’t an oracle.
He wasn’t a god.
He was a young man with a string, a pebble, and a strange potion inside him.
That was all.
At least for now.
*****
Another person who came specifically because of Ren’s reputation was an elderly farmer.
He waited until the evening.
“You’re Ren?”
“Yes.”
“I was told you’re accurate.”
Ren shrugged.
“Sometimes.”
The farmer nodded.
“I need to know whether my northern field will survive the season.”
Ren looked at him.
“Why?”
The farmer hesitated, then sighed.
“Because if it doesn’t, I can’t feed my family.”
Ren became quiet.
That was the kind of question that mattered.
He took out the pendulum.
“Is the field itself unhealthy?” Counterclockwise.
Strong.
Ren frowned.
“Is the problem the soil?” Clockwise.
Moderate.
“The water?” Counterclockwise.
“The crops?” Clockwise.
Strong.
Ren continued asking questions.
Each answer narrowed the possibilities.
By the time he finished, he had a rough picture.
The soil had been damaged.
The farmer had been using too much of the same field.
Ren didn’t know much about farming.
So he didn’t pretend otherwise.
“You should ask someone who knows farming.”
The farmer looked disappointed.
Ren continued.
“But the field seems to be part of the problem.
Maybe you should ask whether rotating the crops would help.”
The farmer stared at him.
“That’s all?”
“That’s all I know.”
The farmer thought for a while, then nodded.
“Thank you.”
Ren watched him leave.
That night, Ren realized something.
His divination wasn’t omniscience.
It was closer to asking the world small questions.
And sometimes, small questions could build a useful answer.
By the third month, people had stopped laughing when they saw the pendulum.
They still teased him.
But they no longer treated him entirely as a joke.
Ren noticed the difference.
People began approaching him more quietly.
They waited until fewer people were around.
They lowered their voices.
They asked things they didn’t want their neighbors hearing.
Ren became more selective.
Not every question deserved an answer.
Not every answer should be given publicly.
And some questions were simply too dangerous.
He refused to divine whether someone was hiding money.
He refused to help people find valuables that might belong to someone else.
He refused questions about revenge.
He refused to tell people whether they should hurt someone.
Those were lines he had drawn for himself.
Not because the potion told him to.
Because he had decided they were necessary.
The more he acted like a Seer, the more Ren began to understand something.
A Seer needed judgment as much as divination.
Perhaps that was part of the acting method.
Sometimes the potion digested more than expected, while other times it didn’t even budge.
He still didn’t know the difference, but he was getting closer.
*****
There were less pleasant encounters.
A drunk man once asked Ren whether he would win a fight.
Ren answered, “Probably not.”
The man laughed.
Then asked whether Ren could divine the man’s future.
Ren declined.
The man became annoyed, but he wasn’t dangerous enough to matter.
Ren had learned something from the ronin.
Most people who wanted to hurt him needed a reason.
Ren gave them very few.
He owned little.
He spoke carefully.
He avoided gambling.
He didn’t interfere with local disputes.
He didn’t flaunt his abilities.
And he never claimed to know everything.
That last part mattered.
People trusted someone who admitted uncertainty more than someone who pretended otherwise.
At least, that was what Ren thought.
*****
Ren’s life settled into something resembling a routine.
Work during the day.
Divination when someone asked.
Practice when nobody did.
Sleep.
Eat.
Repeat.
His Spirit Vision improved.
He could maintain it longer.
His headaches came later.
His control became smoother.
He could activate it almost instantly with the rubbing of his right ring finger, and he could shut it down just as quickly.
His pendulum readings became more consistent.
His stick divination improved too.
He began keeping several different tools.
Different sizes of pebbles, different coins, rough paper, incense (which was surprisingly cheap, though it didn’t smell very good).
Not because they were inherently magical.
Because different questions benefited from different methods.
Not everything worked, but he was learning.
Slowly.
Painfully.
But genuinely.
And somewhere along the way, Ren stopped thinking about fate as something he needed to fight.
He didn’t forgive it.
He didn’t worship it.
And he didn’t believe it had some grand plan for him.
But he no longer hated it.
Fate was simply there.
A river.
A road.
A current.
Sometimes, if you were clever enough, you could tell which way it was moving.
And that was enough.
*****
Then came the chef.
It happened near the end of the third month.
Ren was eating dinner when the village’s head cook approached him.
Everyone knew the man — broad-shouldered, loud, and perpetually covered in flour.
He stopped beside Ren’s table.
“You’re Ren.”
Ren looked up.
“Yes.”
“I need to ask you something.”
Ren put down his chopsticks.
“About food?”
The chef stared.
Ren smiled.
“Sorry.”
The chef didn’t laugh.
That immediately made Ren sit straighter.
The man pulled out a stool and sat down.
“I heard you’ve been helping people.”
“I’ve tried.”
“I heard you’re accurate.”
“Sometimes.”
“I heard you’ve been refusing money.”
Ren shrugged.
“I need food more than coins.”
The chef stared at him for several seconds.
Then he said quietly, “I need to know something.”
Ren waited.
The chef’s hands tightened around his knees.
“My daughter disappeared.”
Ren’s expression changed.
The market noise seemed to fade around them.
“When?”
“Today.”
“How old?”
“Thirteen.”
“Did she leave voluntarily?”
The chef stared at him.
“She’s only thirteen.
Girls that age don’t just leave voluntarily.”
Ren stared back.
“I apologize.
Has she done this before?”
“No.”
“Did she say anything?”
The chef hesitated.
“She said she was going to meet someone.”
Ren felt a chill run down his spine.
“Who?”
“I don’t know.” The chef looked down.
“That’s why I’m here.”
Ren didn’t immediately reach for his pendulum.
Instead, he asked, “Have you reported it?”
The chef looked surprised.
“To whom?”
Ren thought about that.
This wasn’t his old village.
There were probably local officials.
Guards.
Someone responsible for disappearances.
The chef shook his head.
“I don’t know who to trust.”
Ren studied him.
Then he understood why the man had come to him.
It wasn’t because Ren was the most powerful person in the village.
He wasn’t.
It wasn’t because Ren was famous.
He wasn’t.
The chef had come because Ren was outside the ordinary structures of the village.
He was a strange young man with a reputation for answers.
Someone desperate could believe that was enough.
Ren looked at his pendulum, then at the chef.
“Tell me everything you know.”
The chef did.
And for the first time in three months, Ren found himself facing a question that wasn’t petty.
It wasn’t playful.
It wasn’t curiosity.
It wasn’t a lonely farmer wondering about his crops.
Someone was missing.
And someone was afraid.
Ren listened.
He asked questions.
He remembered every detail.
Only after the story was finished did he take out the pendulum.
His fingers tightened around the string.
He felt the familiar sensation.
Spirituality.
It flowed through him, into the string, into the pebble.
Ren looked at the chef.
“Before I ask anything…” He paused.
“Understand something.”
The chef nodded.
“I might not get an answer.”
Another nod.
“I might get the wrong answer.”
The chef looked surprised.
“You’re not always accurate?”
“No.” Ren looked at the pendulum.
“I’m a Seer.” He smiled faintly.
“Not a god.”
Then he asked the first question.
“Is your daughter still alive?”
The pebble began to turn.
Ren watched.
And for the first time since arriving in the village, he wished desperately that his pendulum would stay still.