Rice Before Wife

They found it just past a ridge, hidden beneath a belly of sand and wind. A cracked ruin, half-submerged, like the desert had tried to bury it and forgot to finish the job.

It wasn't large. A few arched stone ribs curved from the ground like the remains of something once alive. Faded carvings clung to the surface, just visible under layers of dust and time.

Nilo stared at it. "That's either a house or a very unsuccessful temple to rocks."

Kanan didn't laugh. The Vilakku-stone in his pouch had gone warm again — not hot, just present. Like it was listening.

Without a word, he stepped inside.

The ruin opened into a half-collapsed chamber. Light bled in through the gaps, painting shadows that stretched across the floor like old scars. The air was dry but held a stillness that felt... recent.

The walls inside were covered in carved shapes — figures in motion, circles within spirals, postures that seemed to mimic the earth itself.

Nilo wandered over to one carving. "Okay, this guy's squatting. That one's doing what I can only describe as the winded mosquito stance."

He stepped back and folded his arms. "You know, the old elder used to do poses like this when the weather changed."

Kanan glanced over. "The Elder?"

"Yeah. Said it helped him 'keep the winds out his bones.'" Nilo took a stance from the wall — legs wide, arms pulled in, head tilted low. "He also claimed ghosts followed him around until he got his hips loose."

The pose looked ridiculous.

Then the Vilakku-stone glowed.

Just faintly.

A pulse of amber light flickered beneath Kanan's pouch.

They both froze.

"…Did I just summon a desert ghost?" Nilo asked, not moving.

Kanan's fingers wrapped instinctively around the stone. "Do it again."

Nilo adjusted his feet, holding the pose properly this time.

The glow came again. Subtle. Steady. Like something in the stone was recognising him.

Then the wind shifted through the chamber. Dust rose and curled at his feet in a spiral, echoing the wall's carvings.

"Oh," Nilo whispered. "Old man wasn't full of crap."

Kanan stepped forward. He touched one of the spirals etched into the wall. It was smooth — unnaturally so. And the moment his fingers grazed it, a second breath of wind passed through the room.

"You feel that?" he said.

"Yup. Confirmed: haunted yoga."

They looked around again, slower this time. It wasn't just decoration. The carvings had a rhythm. A sequence. One figure flowed into the next, like a story told without words. One near the bottom was curled into the earth. Another stood tall, arms stretched like a tree.

They weren't just drawings.

They were instructions.

Nilo scratched his head. "So either this is the oldest dance school on the continent… or these people knew something."

"I think it's Oorja," Kanan said under his breath.

"Wait — like that old stuff the elder mumbles about when he forgets where he put his sandals?"

Kanan nodded.

"They used to say it lived in the wind. In the body. In movement."

"Well," Nilo said, returning to his dramatic squat, "I think I just activated mine with my butt."

The stone flickered again in response.

"I am a natural," Nilo grinned. "Udu, write that down."

He held up the beetle in his pouch. It was very still. Possibly dead.

"…Never mind. Udu's meditating."

They left the ruin before sunset fully dipped. The air outside felt a little lighter. Or maybe they just did.

As they walked, the wind carried dust in soft spirals behind them — not random, not chaotic, but gently deliberate.

"You think this is a sign?" Kanan asked.

Nilo shrugged. "Maybe. Or maybe I'm just that good."

He paused.

"…Do you think it's bad if the stone only glowed for me when I squatted? What if that's my thing?"

Kanan didn't answer, but he was smiling.

Behind them, the ruin stood in silence, half-buried and waiting — no longer forgotten, just seen.

[To Be Continued...]