According to one reviewer, a fanfic advent calendar is even better than a chocolate advent calandar. That is high praise indeed...
Hyoma
The wood was warm and almost soft in his hands, melting away under the knife. In the light from the small fire burning next to him (mostly fuelled by previous attempts) the golden-brown wood seemed almost alive, the tiny carved feathers flickering with shadows.
The bill was always going to be the hardest bit, but he was certain he'd picked the right piece of wood this time. Carefully, he shaved millimetres of wood from the rough shape, paring it down to something more recognisable.
It was tradition. One wooden toy for each child under the age of twelve in the village, carved in the two weeks leading up to the Winter Solstice celebration by a member of his family. Before him, it had been his father; before him, his grandfather. Hyoma hadn't always enjoyed this extra responsibility, but the older he got the more he appreciated the nights of quiet carving up on the rocky ledges around the village, keeping watch over his peaceful home whilst he carved.
At first, it had simply been a way to introduce the children of the village to beys, carving the small traditional wooden tops that had given their general shape to the modern metal beys. But slowly, more elaborate gifts and carvings had been introduced, until only the children who were turning five in the coming year were given the wooden beys.
Koma Village didn't have too many children any more. After he and Gingka had left the village, there were only a few youngsters left. Most of the young adults had moved away to the towns lower down the mountain for work, raising their own children there and leaving Koma to the elders and the few remaining families who wanted to keep the traditions alive.
Hyoma brushed a curl of wood off his lap and tilted the small model he was holding. Well, at least this one looked more like a duck than the previous few attempts. Just three more to make, and then he would be done.
"Why am I not surprised to find you out here?"
If Hyoma had been anyone but who he was, he would have jumped and probably cut himself badly on the knife at the impossible voice. As it was, he dropped the slowly-forming duck onto the ground as he spun around. "Gingka?"
Behind him, silhouetted against the full moon and face lit by Hyoma's small fire, stood none other than Gingka Hagane, the best blader in the world – and also the most elusive. "Hello, Hyoma. It's been a while."
"You can say that again," Hyoma said, picking up the toy and brushing it off gently. "You're more difficult to find than Ryuga used to be, and that's saying something. Where have you been? Hokuto's been asking about you for months."
"Here and there," Gingka shrugged. "And I can't stay long even now, only a day or so at most." He pointed at the duck. "Who's getting that?"
Hyoma smiled, indicating to Gingka to sit down. "Riku. Her mother tells me she's obsessed with ducks right now. This fellow's going to have wheels and a pull-string, she'll love it."
Gingka's eyes widened. "You've definitely got better," he said, dropping down to sit on Hyoma's left. "I remember when you couldn't even carve a pencil."
"I have been doing this for nearly fifteen years, Gingka. If I wasn't better by now I'd be concerned."
"Yeah, but you only do it for the Winter Solstice. Fifteen times isn't anything at all, you know that."
Hyoma laughed. "It's a bit more than fifteen," he said, pointing to his fire. "This is Duck Number 7. And don't even talk to me about the cat."
"Cat? Who's that for?"
"Takamine. You haven't met him, he's only two."
Gingka looked almost sad. "Yeah… guess it's been a while since I managed to get back here." He forced a smile. "So, who are the lucky ones getting beys this year?"
Hyoma pointed at the four wooden tops lying by the paint pots. "Lili, Shiro, Dai and Momo. They're all old enough now."
"I remember Lili being born," Gingka grumbled. "How is she five already?"
"She's going to be good," Hyoma told him. "She's already been playing with her brother's top for months. Wouldn't surprise me if she got a real bey pretty soon."
"She'll be the next one to step into the world circuits, you think?"
"Her, or maybe Hitomi. They're both good, almost as good as we were." Hyoma shook his head fondly, thinking of the two young girls and their fierce rivalry-friendship. "The next generation is growing up fast."
Gingka lay back in the grass, staring up at the sky. Hyoma hesitated for a moment, then decided that if both of them were there, it would be pretty tricky for any threats to approach, and joined him.
"There's a special sort of stillness here," Gingka said after a long moment. "I don't know if it's because it's so quiet or because the air's so clear or just because that's what Koma Village is like, but… it's so peaceful here. Not just on the outside. It's like my soul goes still here."
Hyoma smiled, despite knowing that Gingka couldn't see it. "That's Koma," he said. "I've been to dozens of other places that are quiet and clear, none of them are like Koma. You could have a full market day here and my soul would still be at peace."
"If everyone could feel like this, maybe they'd stop fighting all the time," Gingka sighed. He was silent for a while, then said, "I'm so tired of fighting."
Hyoma looked over at him, concerned. "You love blading, Gingka. What's wrong?"
"Oh, no, I love blading. Having battles isn't the same as fighting. You know that. We had battles all the time when we were young, but we never fought. But that's changed now. With everything that's going on in the world, I've been fighting so long now I don't really know how to stop."
Now Hyoma understood. More to the point, he understood a little of why Gingka had come back so unexpectedly at this time of year, and for such a short time. "Koma will always be here for you," he said, a promise more than a statement. "Whatever peace you can find here, carry it with you. Of everyone I know, you deserve it the most."
Gingka made no answer, but Hyoma heard him sigh.
For a long time, they lay there in silence, like they had when they were children. Above them, thousands of stars sparkled in the night sky, constellations of fire so far away and yet somehow seeming so close. Aries and Pegasus shone clearly, close to each other but not quite together.
Hyoma closed his eyes, thinking back to the days when he and Gingka had been young enough to get the wooden Solstice toys. He still had most of his, but he knew all but two of Gingka's had been destroyed or lost. The only ones left were the precious wooden bey and the one-winged pegasus Hyoma had made for him on the first year he had been tasked with bringing the wooden gifts to the children and – well, he wasn't much more than a child himself then. The poor pegasus had been played with a lot, hence the single wing, and it was definitely not Hyoma's best work, but it was much loved and treasured by its owner. Gingka had been beyond delighted when Hyoma had given it back to him just after the Nemesis Crisis, having found it in the ruins of what had once been L-Drago's sanctuary-prison. It was a reminder of simper times, when wooden beys were all that was needed to battle, and even a one-winged pegasus could hold all the imagination of a child.
It was a reminder of peaceful days, before the real fighting had begun.
Sometimes Hyoma wondered if they could ever go back to those days completely. That was why he had chosen to remain in Koma Village, protecting the last bastion of peace and safety he knew of from those that sought to wield its power for evil purposes. And it was also why Gingka was never there, wandering the earth to seek out threats to the future of the world and the sport he loved so much, and eliminating them before they could become shadows on the sun.
It was hard work, but it was worth it to see the next generation smiling. That was the reason they did it. It was the reason he stayed up on guard every night. It was the reason Gingka never came home. It was the reason he sat in the dark by his little fire and carved tiny wooden animals. That was their legacy, what they had to pass on, what they had to protect.
When he opened his eyes, Gingka was nowhere to be seen, gone as silently as he had arrived. The only hint that Koma Village's most famous inhabitant had really been there was the flattened grass to Hyoma's left, and a small wooden ram that was not Hyoma's handiwork, carved of white ash wood and painted in Aries' colours, standing on top of the paint pots.
