Chapter Text
Since that fateful morning when the Dye Shop opened its doors for the first time, Kurio found himself drawn towards its colorful splendors.
Either it was a byproduct of living with the aesthetically conscious Elders of the Valley or a trait carried by all who called themselves citizens of the golden heights, Kurio cared precious little; He had always been an admirer of beautiful textiles and those who labor around them, proudly draping himself with the subdued, elegant grays and blues once favored by the monks of the Valley when it was called Tranquility.
In a way, he figured he had become a tapestry himself-- Telling the rich history of the late Kingdom through his presence amongst his youthful kith, if not by his preaching and the prayers he teaches.
His cape, a sacred and tattered yellow worn only by religious leaders, aided in making the deceptively old Sky child look more like his temporal age, as he made his way through the Dye Shop for his morning routine of bothering his new friend the Radiance guide. They had become friends almost immediately, and Kurio had made it a habit to hang around with them after Saturn and Chayil left for… Whatever they fancied to do for the day. He’s certain that those two had jobs, but never thought of asking them what exactly that they do for a living and figured that might just be for the best.
And yet, the day that started just like any other was special to him. A promise was made, after all, and the time for Kijang to fulfill it had finally come.
----
“Okay, finished!”
With a proud flourish befitting a citizen of the Valley’s Floating City, Kijang placed their canting away and displayed the tapestry that they had skillfully written upon with dyed wax; Mountains stretched along the sides of the cloth, alternating between tall and short forms, yet fused together as they were all but one single, intricate line. Mantas, signified by tailed chevrons of varying sizes and direction, flew between the clouds and abstract stars, the whole scenery seeming as though a drowned mosaic thanks to the dappled patterns the fabric was imbued with.
Not only was it an art form that Kurio admired, it was one that was resurrecting itself-- Starting from that very day.
“Wowzers!” He chirped, eyes sparkling in admiration, “This is amazing! I haven’t seen such masterful Gilded Stain work since the Wasteland was still called Golden Valley!”
Kijang laughed in amusement at the monk’s awe. “Heh, it’ll only become prettier once the wax dries and flakes off. And it lasts forever, too! How did you think the Belonging Family got such rich, golden lines for their capes?”
As Kurio peered past the little circular window above the workshop desk, he could spot Yumegai, the guide of Dreams, working diligently to restore the white-gold Feast cape of a child recently caught in a Shard event. Kijang wasn’t lying, the way the fabric practically gleamed as she mended the tears and holes captivated him.
And the fact that they’re about to teach him how to write into fabric like that? It was enough for him to forgo having breakfast, if only to learn it sooner.
“Soon, you’ll be able to make those yourself,” Kijang said, tapping the nose of Kurio’s Turtle Goat mask to steal his attention back, “Are you ready to resurrect a form of art, my buddy?”
Kurio nodded readily, but he couldn’t deny the swirling feeling that pooled in his hollowed insides. For the first time in ages, he was about to learn something new and ancient at the same time-- The prospect of being at the forefront of an extinct craft’s revival made him deeply nervous. What if his methods were improper to the ways of the old masters? What if new movements that spawned from his ways deviated from--
“Hey, hey, it’s okay! No pressure, okay?” The Radiance guide patted his shoulders. “It’s okay to be nervous, but don’t let it stop you. You’re my first student in ages after all, so we’ll both be learning something here today.”
Feeling the monk's shoulders relax at their assurance, Kijang stealthily peered behind his shoulder to meet eyes with the beautifully stoic Passage guide. Arzu, who they had pestered for weeks to help them become a decent enough mentor for the rambunctious flying children, gave a thumbs up in approval, and Kijang couldn’t help but smile nervously beneath their antelope mask.
Thankfully, Kurio was none the wiser.
“You just sit tight lad, I’ll get you ready to learn!” They ruffled Kurio’s fluffy ‘hawk as they stood from their stool. “Just gimme a minute or two to prepare.”
“Yippee!”
----
After a few moments to allow the shimmering, molten wax to absorb the mix of yellow, green, and red dyes, the gold-like writing ‘ink’ was ready.
Kurio could barely contain his excitement as he sat on the chair Kijang had graciously borrowed from Tyto, gleefully ignoring the Rhythm guide’s insistence to return the chair in one piece just to watch the wax in the melting pot glimmer much like luster dust in liquor-- Eager to learn from the Radiance guide, just as they were to teach their very first apprentice in ages.
“Alright buddy, here you go!” Kijang said, as they placed a canting in his hand and a sketched cloth before him. “We’ll start small with Laborer’s Mounts. This is the first step taken by everyone who walks down my path.”
Kurio eyed the pattern with his namesake curiosity; He had always seen the triangular patterns all over the Ancestor spirits’ attire and even the remaining architecture of the late Kingdom, but never exactly knew what they were called. It does sound inexplicably familiar, though, and he found himself to be less nervous as his hand re-accustomed itself to the feel of a canting in his grasp.
…Re-accustomed?
“Alright, let’s start,” Kijang said gently, as they guided the monk’s hand, “First off, fill the little vessel of your canting with the wax. Each fill should be enough to--”
Before they could explain more, the Radiance guide found themself silenced with awe as Kurio moved on his own-- With near-perfect technique, no less; His filling of the vessel and the way he blew on the bronze tip to ease the flow of wax were flawless, his every act already leaps and jumps ahead from the average neophyte. They had forgotten all the meticulous plans they spent sleepless nights forming, and instead watched as the young monk traced the pencilled lines-- Mesmerized by his calculated movements.
A serene scenery outwardly, but inside him was the thunder of a brewing storm.
Kurio’s brow furrowed slightly as he turned to fill the triangles one by one. A strange feeling, a tumultuous mix between meeting an old friend and the ache of an old injury, churned within his insides with such intensity, that he found himself unwilling-- Perhaps even unable to stop.
“How can this be?” He thought, “This is definitely the first time I’ve done this. So why does it feel so--”
“Ack!”
Kurio grimaced at his mistake-- It only took the slight shake of his hand to turn steady, skinny lines into blots of wax worthy of those “raw shark” tests he’d often see at his school’s infirmary. Such a shame, he found it, as he only had to fill out a single triangle left before completing the practice sheet.
Another err in his embarrassingly high pile of ruined practice sheets.
“Oh nooo…” He groaned, “I messed up big time…”
But before his shame could brew in his flushed cheeks, the little boy felt a comforting hand patting his back. That never ceased to ease his distress.
“Aw c’mon, don’t sweat it!” Said a voice beside him, “There’s an easy fix to this, lemme show you.”
Another hand guided his own, gently gliding the canting over the practice sheet to connect the Laborers’ Mounts to the base line normally disembodied from it. Kurio had seen this motif before; All those who served the Elders directly garbed themselves with it, and even the Elders themselves seemed to favor the pattern upon their casual clothing.
“You can just connect the mounts to the base to create the Monk’s Hemline!”
The voice, ever enthusiastic in their display of a quick save, dispelled all doubt and shame from Kurio’s face , and sparked awe within the young boy. Who knew such simple patterns could be so elegant?
“So don’t you worry about messing up, lad.” Their hand turned to ruffle his fluffy hair. “With practice, you’ll be a pro in no time!”
With a wide smile behind his mask, Kurio leaned back and rested his head on the figure’s belly as they praised him. He couldn’t catch a glimpse of their face, though his flames somehow knew that they were his place of safety-- Someone he could turn to whenever doubts begin to brew like rainclouds.
“Eheh, thanks--”
--“Kurio? Are you okay, lad?”--
Like an arrow speeding through the frigid air of the Forest, Kurio was sobered by the sound of Kijang’s concern.
He blinked as though dazed, abruptly freed from the magic of purple Light as the view of the Dyeing Workshop rebuilt itself in his sight-- A blurry view to begin with, thanks to the tears that welled up in his eyes.
“Huh…?” The monk whispered as he blinked away the tears, watching it fall upon a perfectly completed practice sheet and dilute the brilliant sheen of the wax. “W-what happened to me…? Why am I crying?”
“I’m just as puzzled as you are. You were so focused at first, and then the waterworks suddenly started!” Kijang tried hard to control the volume of their voice, as they watched Kurio remove his mask to clean his face. “Maybe you should go home and rest a bit, kid--”
“Ngh--!”
As if the string of surprises wasn’t already agonizingly long, Kijang felt their unbeating heart drop to their belly at the sight of Kurio doubling over in pain. He held his head in his hands, groaning and whimpering in a way that threatened to cut the Ancestor Spirit’s tender heart to ribbons, and his complexion became pale-- The wordless sign they took to halt the lessons for the day.
“Oookay, you’re clearly not doing well, Kurio.” The Radiance Guide said, as they helped the monk to his feet “Go home and rest up, we can continue at a later time.”
But Kurio, perplexed as he was with their behavior, was hesitant to even walk. “K-Kijang wait-- I can still--”
“No buts, young man! You can’t learn properly if you’re not at your best!”
Though their scolding finally made the monk cease his protests, Kijang was thankful that their mask obscured the pensive gaze they had for him. In an instant, the vibrant and knowledgeable boy before them had a somber air to him-- Seeming lifetimes older from troubles even he was unaware of.
They could spot their fellow Guides staring on in curious concern even as Kurio stepped out of the apparel studio and halfheartedly bid the Radiance guide farewell, and soon they found themself face to face with the woman he called Yumegai.
“Ki, what happened back there?” She asked, worried for the boy who shared a birthday with her child, “I’ve never seen Kurio looking so… Pale before. Not since--”
“That might be it, I’m afraid…” Kijang answered, their voice hushed. “He-- Didn’t seem to remember me, the first time he stepped into the workshop… But now, I think he’s…”
----
Confused, dazed, and weighed down by the inexplicable pain that fell upon him like a rain of feathers.
That was how Kurio felt as he stood before the door he had just left from. His mask felt heavy and coarse in his hands as his eyes seemingly refused to register the view of the Aviary Village around him, his attention almost completely enraptured by the vision he had suffered.
“Who was that?” He wondered, “I know that voice, but why can’t I see their face?”
Every attempt he made to recall the figure’s face, all that appeared were distortions-- Moth holes within the fabric of his memory, and peering past them only revealed empty void.
Kurio found it strange, to once again feel a deep sense of loss when he had believed himself to have recovered every single bit of sealed away memories--
“Yo, brother!”
A voice, shrill like the call of seabirds, pierced through his deep contemplation. Kurio couldn’t be more glad to hear her again.
“Hey Saturn, g’morning.” The monk smiled as his sister approached him for a hug. “I thought you had work all day today?”
Patting at her brother’s back, Saturn clarified, “Nah, it was just a dispute between Soren and a Tiji-Zii gang member. Can you believe that there’s in-fighting in their group about whether or not it’s frowned upon to use Shared Spaces to break into hidden areas?”
“Heheh, I can believe it. They’re the type to make a fuss about anything.” Kurio smiled outwardly, but he wouldn’t deny that eerie feeling he had while being lectured by one of their numbers about teaching his Moths about redirecting the force of their wing flaps.
“Tell me about it! The other day, they even tried to put Alef in the slammer for--”
Kurio blinked in embarrassment, Saturn slowly pulled away with a look of nonchalant judgement (which is her usual), and with only the blind glare of her blank eyes, the black-caped explorer scolded her brother for yet again missing breakfast.
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry, I’m a hypocrite.” Kurio shrugged. “But I couldn’t help it, Kijang finally agreed to teach me to write on fabric but…”
“But, what?”
Kurio wanted to answer so badly, but even the thought of the vision threatened to send waves of pain over his head. Thankfully, it seemed that Saturn understood; Her expression had softened, as though she felt in his flames the words he couldn’t bring himself to say. Or perhaps she felt his pain, which was all too familiar to her?
Regardless, the black-caped explorer took her brother’s hand and gently dragged him along. “We can talk more at Grandma’s. Now move it twinkletoes, I don’t wanna make Chayil wait too long for us-- And you need to eat something!”
“Ah-- Right, um. Thanks…”
With a gentle squeeze to her hand, Kurio thanked Mother Bird for giving him such a caring, if somewhat mean little sister. Though apprehensive at the thought of discussing his recent ailment, no true fear managed to take form-- As he figured Saturn with her reinforced torch had burned them away before they even had a chance to take root.
“And I’m hungry, too. That’s the most important part.”
“I know, Atty, I know.”
[TO BE CONTINUED]