Chapter 1: Encounter with the Dragon Girl, and the Beginning of the Journey

  Episode 6: Wandering Without a Destination

  We reached a village around sunset the same day we met Dechimo.

  It was small. Barely more than a cluster of buildings hugging the slope.

  Whatever Dechimo gave the villagers, it earned us a spot to sleep in the corner of a storage shed.

  He lit a lantern, handed it to us, and closed the door behind him.

  Inside, with the light casting long shadows across old crates and dust, I pulled out the map we’d taken from the underground room.

  I spread it out and showed it to him.

  Dechimo stared at it. Eyes wide.

  Then he glanced around, almost paranoid. When he spoke, his voice was low and fast.

  I caught none of it.

  He let out a sigh and pointed at the map—somewhere near a mountain range in the upper left, just off from one of the marked Xs.

  “Sono.”

  “Sono?”

  He nodded. “Koko ria kui sono desso.”

  I had no idea what that meant, but… context helped.

  Maybe he was pointing to where we were right now.

  Which would mean that the X nearby marked the underground room—the place where I found Sil.

  I looked at him. He looked at me. Then he said something else:

  “Wo du voiro tira dov ze.”

  Still no idea.

  I turned to Sil.

  “Any idea what he’s saying?”

  She tilted her head. Her silver hair slipped forward slightly as she shook it.

  “No idea.”

  Didn’t think so.

  Dechimo tapped the map again. This time, he pointed toward the bottom-right—somewhere southeast.

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  Two rivers merged there and flowed into the sea. He pointed right at the junction.

  “Koko tira sono.”

  I looked at him. He met my eyes. Then, with slow precision, he raised his hand and touched his chin with his thumb.

  A gesture I’d seen him use before—when introducing himself.

  He held the pose and said:

  “Koko.”

  It clicked.

  Koko = I. Or something close to “me.”

  I copied him, mimicking the gesture and tapping my own chin.

  “Koko.”

  He narrowed his eyes, like he was sizing me up. Then he repeated:

  “Koko.”

  Then he pointed again to the river junction.

  “Tira sono.”

  I didn’t know what “tira” meant yet, but he’d used “sono” earlier while pointing to our current location.

  Koko → Tira → Sono.

  “I go there”? “I travel to that place”?

  Curious, I pointed to one of the islands on the map.

  It had an X on it—same as the place Sil had been held.

  I said, mimicking him:

  “Koko tira sono.”

  He followed my finger. His expression tightened.

  He looked back at me. Then at Sil.

  Then he sighed.

  Smiled.

  And said, “Tuttu.”

  I didn’t know the word.

  But I think he got it. I think we were finally starting to understand each other.

  We traveled for days after that.

  Still no idea what Dechimo did for a living—or why he was headed to that river junction.

  I just knew we were going with him.

  The steep terrain slowly gave way to gentler slopes.

  Fields. Orchards. Grasslands.

  We followed one of the two rivers from the map as it snaked downhill through the valley.

  Dechimo talked a lot. I understood almost none of it.

  But bit by bit, a few words started to stick.

  Gida.

  The goat-like creatures grazing on the hills.

  The way Dechimo pointed, gestured, explained—it was obvious they were livestock.

  Zelé.

  The word I latched onto.

  It became my all-purpose “What’s that?” question.

  Anytime I didn’t know something, I’d point and ask, “Zelé?”

  Dechimo always answered. Patiently. Like a teacher. Or a very tolerant uncle.

  Sil couldn’t understand him either.

  Our strange communication—her musical, hum-like words and my Japanese—still worked just fine.

  She spoke in sound. I heard in meaning.

  And she understood me, even when I didn’t understand myself.

  She asked about everything.

  “What’s that?” she’d ask, pointing at a bird, a fence, a cloud, a cartwheel.

  Sometimes I knew. Sometimes I guessed.

  No matter what, she always smiled like she was delighted just to ask.

  When she pointed to something I didn’t recognize, I’d copy her gesture and ask Dechimo instead.

  “Zelé?”

  He’d give me the name. The meaning. The word.

  No frustration. No sarcasm. Just quiet kindness.

  I worried we were bothering him.

  But I didn’t have the words to ask.

  Not yet.