Kyle couldn't help but wonder just how long the clay pot brewing stew had been in his family's possession. He knew that at the very least his mother's mother had used it, but there was an air of mystery as to how far back it went. It certainly looked as though the last handful of generations had had their hands on it, stained with years' worth of broths steeping the sides, scorch marks crawling from the underside to rise like fingers clutching for a taste of their soup. He looked down to the sweet-smelling leaves in his fingers, a sharp rocked clutched delicately in his other hand as it slid through the plant fibers. He sighed to himself, glancing at his mother bustling about the kitchen, happily throwing Kyle's prepped vegetables into the pot to let them soak in flavors.

Kyle had a bit of a love-hate relationship working on food with her. It was something that kept him busy, something that took focus and dedication, something that wasn't just reading. But, it took him away from the things he truly wanted to be out doing, knowing that he was running out of time and needed to leave for the outside soon if he wanted to catch Kenny at their meeting spot. He still needed to go out and gather nimikal'e, Stan taking up more of his time than he'd realized. Not that he particularly minded, but drilling him on stratagems was not exactly Kyle's idea of a good time to be had. He'd only stopped by home to get his bow and notebooks, unable to sneak past his ritavi's ever-watchful eye. She'd dragged him into the kitchen to help her prepare their dinner, no doubt feeling that keeping him preoccupied would keep him out of trouble.

Little did she know.

He picked up his handful of greens and made way beside her, waiting for her permissive nod before letting them sprinkle down into the simmering broth. He brushed his palms together to rid himself of residuals, shrugging a bit. "Well, I gotta go, Ma," he claimed, moving back slowly before a firm hand caught his short sleeve, cringing at the firm look in his mother's eyes.

"Where are you going?" she demanded.

He sank, brushing off her hand and scratching up through his curls. "I gotta do my scavenging for the kiantri before dark."

"I'm sure he won't mind you spending one night at home with your family, Kylenove'ia."

He rolled his eyes, "Ma, it's important to me. And everyone else. I gotta go." He tore his hand back from her grip and made way to their table, snagging his bag and quiver, sliding both around his wings.

Sheila watched him with a miserable pout, "Kyle… please. Be careful."

"Always am, Ma," he shrugged, refusing to meet her gaze as he grabbed his bow and empty hunting bag, waving as he headed towards the door. "I'll try to be home before dark."

"Make sure you are!" she demanded, Kyle barely hearing the end of her sentence as he seeped out in front of their home. He sighed, running his fingers up through his hair. She was impossible. Simply impossible. He began walking forward, awkwardly adjusting his bags and bow around his shoulders to try to make his journey a touch less arduous. A part of him hated how much he needed to transport to and from the outside world, but everything he took was a necessity. He needed his notes. He needed his nimikal'e bag. And Stan damn well insisted he needed his weapon more than anything.

Kyle hummed quietly, eyes scanning about the colored glass splattering the sides of his home, noting the array of dusted cinnabar, taupe, and mauve dancing across them like a field of illuminated amnesia roses. He still had time, there was still daylight to be had, the barest hint of mulberry just beginning to creep along the shards' edges. He made a beeline towards his exit as he continued fumbling with his materials, bare feet hopping and wings flitting the slightest in frustration. He cursed under his breath at his mother for distracting him, for being so hypocritical of where she considered his time should be devoted towards. "Family or work, Ma," he muttered. "Can't have both."

"Kylenove'ia!" a voice called, a soft tone that made a chill of fear run down his spine. He turned on his heel, wings automatically lowering in respect as he found himself face to face with the kiantri. The old man smirked, hands clasped behind him under his wings as he took long, purposeful steps towards Kyle. "Going off awfully late, aren't we?"

Kyle gulped, fingers moving up to fiddle with a bag strap. "My mother kept me from my chores, Mal'tene. I haven't had time to gather any nimikal'e."

He nodded slowly, looking between the young man before him and the gaping chasm off in the distance lingering up above. The doorway that had been forged so many generations ago, but so few had crossed through when not deemed necessary. "I believe we can have one day where you don't find some, hm?"

Kyle's shoulders dropped, the notion of not getting outside in time absolutely devastating him. "I-I'd really feel more useful if I found-"

"Nonsense," the kiantri cut him off. "Come with me," he pivoted and began walking away. Kyle bit his lip, looking between his escape and back to the retreating elder and he sighed, head dropping as he begrudgingly followed the man's path. Green eyes flickered around as quiet murmurs began to spring forth, people outside their homes and shops bidding the kiantri well wishes before their sight landed on him and suspicion flickered through. Kyle cringed as faterian after faterian seemed to draw their own conclusion as to why he was trailing after the kiantri like a wandering mutt. He was in trouble, they surmised. He was in for a scolding. He'd hit someone again. He'd finally crossed that line where the kiantri's ever-caring patience ended. Didn't matter the reason, didn't matter how outlandish their imaginations painted him out to be walking in the man's shadow. Kyle could see it spelled on all their faces: No matter what they thought he was walking towards, they believed he deserved it.

His head fell further, only watching the kiantri's long robe in his peripheral, refusing to let himself make eye contact with anyone and read the judgement on their profiles. He'd had enough of that today from Grego'ri to last him a lifetime. The pressure seemed to grow with each step, wondering just what it was he was being led towards as the kiantri ducked between a collection of homes and guided him through the labyrinth of oaks and elms and evergreens filling their dungeon with hints of life.

"Kylenove'ia, you're being awfully quiet for you," the man teased.

He blushed, tucking hair back behind his ear. "I have nothing to say."

"That would be a first," he chuckled, slowing his pace. Kyle caught the shift and decelerated accordingly to stay his distance. The kiantri shook his head, waving him up. "Come here. No one is forbidding you from walking beside of me."

He gulped. Except, people were, silent as they may be on the matter. Fateri were taught to keep back from their elders, from their betters. Once they propelled forward in society as they aged, they were permitted to walk alongside any faterian, the kiantri included. But Kyle knew better. He held the same amount of respect as any beginning apprentice, viewed as just stepping out of the naivety of toddling days to try to better himself. He hadn't earned high regard yet. He was barely able to pass off walking beside Stan, let alone their leader. He shivered with nerves, glancing to see a few sparse members outside their homes watching as he made way to stand beside of the kiantri, keeping his head down, knowing that no matter how he tried to hide, no one would be fooled. His damn hair was a dead giveaway.

"You seem troubled," the kiantri commented, setting their pace yet again and leading him deeper into the cavalcade of trees.

"They're staring," he murmured, rubbing his arms and ducking his chin to his chest.

"Perhaps they're marveling at your bravery," he shrugged. "Making way towards the outside without so much as a flinch? Even the treagi can't manage that."

He scoffed out a small, sarcastic laugh. "Marveling at how stupid they think I am, maybe, Mal'tene."

The kiantri cocked his head, looking down at his sheltered form with a quiet sigh. He looked over Kyle's head to see a family watching them in a marred, but subtle mix of shock and horror at Kyle's placing. He gave them no more than a slightly furrowed brow, a silent dare for them to question his allowances. They snapped out of their confusion at the vague threat, the parents ushering their fateri back into their house with an apologetic glance given to the kiantri before they seeped through their wall. He looked back at Kyle's hunched position, "If you find their judgement so troubling, then why do you continue to venture out?"

Kyle bit his lip, knowing he had to tread very carefully with how he approached his answer. "I… believe that we cannot advance if someone doesn't see what else there is outside of home," he said slowly, choosing his words with the utmost care. "There's only so much tomes can teach us, Mal'tene. Our ancestors had to have gone outside to learn more, that trend shouldn't necessarily stop if there's a chance there's more to see."

He nodded, a soft hum coming through thin lips. "Perhaps. And what is it outside that you believe will advance us that your predecessors never found, Kylenove'ia?"

He gave a subtle cringe, knowing well enough he could've just waltzed himself right into a corner. "T-Tweek and Becca's work can only do so much with foragers," he elaborated. "And there are probably many more plants they can utilize that someone hasn't found yet. With the foragers cut down to only going out a few times a season, we're missing vital opportunities to discover more." He flickered his eyes up to grey ones staring down at him, trying to read with a quick glance if he bought a word of the ploy.

The kiantri clicked his tongue, looking from him to the branches splayed overtop their heads, leaves glowing in the tranquil, pink lighting. "If you believe such knowledge comes from the outside, then why are you so insistent on picking fights with the fater'kopia?"

Kyle's worried expression quickly fell into a scowl. That fucking tattler. "What? The vagrant?"

"Kylenove'ia," he warned, letting his tone subdue Kyle back into his place. "He's a man of the stars," he reminded him. "Which means he's a man of the gods. You must show him some form of respect, feigned as you may make it."

Kyle gritted his teeth. "If he's a man of the stars, then shouldn't he be outside where his filthy kind belongs?"

The kiantri looked at him with a superior tilt of his head, a cautionary glaze over his stare. "Oh? If filth belongs out there, then why are you so insistent on constantly going?"

He blinked, mouth fumbling as he stammered down an angry retort, trying to remind himself of just who it was he was talking to. "H-he in particular is filth. Not… not everyone on the outside. He's just a prick, Mal'tene. He doesn't belong here." His face was burning, plastered with visions of aikopia he'd observed throughout the years, the creatures he believed to be so blessed and fascinating. Shining lights to see before being forced back down into his acrid home surrounded by monochromatic faterian going about their routines without so much as a flap of their wings in change. Aikopia weren't something to turn away from, but Grego'ri was. That jealousy was rearing its ugly head yet again, his innards seething that the vagrant shared so much with the aikopia, from his freedom down to his tribe name. He hadn't earned it. He'd just been born into a grand fortune that Kyle would do anything to change the past and come into himself.

The kiantri sighed, looking around at the homes surrounding them before turning back to Kyle. "Many here say the same of you."

"I was born here," he placed a hand against his chest, teeth grinding. "They can say what they want but they're wrong. He is the outsider."

"An outsider who brought us tomes, and stories. He brought us drawings and tales of the gods," he reminded him, a slight, rare bite to his tone. "He has warned the treagi of dangers they never knew of, and our people as well. And he brings concern in particular for you."

Kyle blinked, face going pale and heart pounding erratically. "He… he came to you?" he asked, voice going meek and fear beginning to drag him down to drown. If Grego'ri spilled what he'd found out, if he let everything be known, Kyle was fucked. The kiantri would have him on permanent lockdown, stowed away in a claustrophobic tunnel dug into the mountainside and guarded by treagi. Every ounce of work he'd done would be destroyed, every word demanded to stay with him and only him as he suffered a long, solitarian death.

"He believes that you may be in over your head travelling outside so often," the kiantri said, inflection dropping back to its soothing normality. "He claimed you were… too ahead for your own good," he cocked his brow. "Any idea why he would say such a thing?"

Kyle finally let out a shaking breath, thanking Tav'nokana that Grego'ri at least had the sense to use subtlety in ratting out his attack. "I-I don't," he lied. "May… maybe he was just raised to um… to believe that no fater'talei could survive outside like his people can. He thinks very lowly of us, Mal'tene."

He nodded, "He really does, doesn't he? Perhaps he fears you," he gave a teasing smirk. "You're showing him up in how often you travel for your research."

Kyle forced a shaky smile onto his face, coughing out a pathetic laugh. "Maybe. Or perhaps he just doesn't understand how civilized society works and it frightens him."

The kiantri sighed and shook his head. "Kylenove'ia. You know nothing of his people. He may make judgement towards us, but we may not return the favor. You of all faterian should know that."

'Why can you say that of him but not the aikopia?' Kyle thought bitterly before subtly shaking off the notion, less he open his mouth on the subject. "He calls us dirt dwellers."

The kiantri shrugged, looking down at their feet and kicking a bit of dust from the mountain floor. "He isn't lying."

"He doesn't mean it to be so literal. He means it as an insult," he frowned. "He claims we're wrong in how we do things."

His lips curled into a knowing smile. "And you, who does nothing as your predecessors have done for generations, judges him as such?"

Kyle pouted, "Just because I stray doesn't mean I don't respect it, Mal'tene."

He chuckled lightly, bringing them to a stop and patting his curls. "I know," he said quietly. His hands folded in front of him, looking down at the young scholar with a burdened sigh. "Just because he is not your friend does not make him your enemy. There are far more dangerous things to be concerned about than his arrogance. Especially in your case." Kyle crossed his arms, shifting uncomfortably and staring at the ground until his chin was tilted back up, nearly wincing at the concern washing over the elder's face. "Gameral will be your undoing."

"Thought Tetima was my problem," he murmured.

"You have many problems, young one," he teased. "Gameral gives you a choice and you always choose Tetima's path without fail. They're dangerous to rely on, Kylenove'ia."

He looked off and away towards the shimmering nimikal'e, shoulders sinking at the dark blue stretching further and further up a multitude of shards. Kenny was probably already at the patch, just waiting for him, wondering if Kyle had abandoned their meetings entirely. "I don't rely on them," he finally answered. "They're just always there."

"All gods are always there," he reminded him. "But they can only lead us so far. It's up to us to choose whose path we follow."

He frowned, finally looking back at him and taking a deep breath. "If She's so bad to follow, why revere Her at all?"

"Because all of us have to make risky choices at some point. But we aren't supposed to make a habit of it."

Kyle scoffed to himself, shaking his head. "No one here takes risks, Mal'tene. They're all happy just pretending all that exists is here."

The kiantri nodded, "Preserving who we are is important. Because faterian like Grego'ri, or like you? They don't survive long enough for preservation."

He stiffened, "I've survived perfectly well." No one could take that away from him, no matter their standing above him. He'd perfected the art of discretion, had his sneaking about down to a science. When it came down to it, Kenny spotting him was a once-in-his-lifetime fluke. A very fortunate fluke, but one nonetheless. He'd found the way to drag the aikopia away from their posts, had diligently timed just how long it would take him to swoop in and scavenge through their wares. He'd learned to not be too picky regarding his finds, whether it was broken or something he'd already procured in the past, he didn't have the time to appraise his findings. It was a deadly game he was playing, always running the risk of not only someone spotting him, but becoming overwhelmed in his hurry and slamming his hand onto a stray piece of tankeri. Kyle thought of the makeshift, fraying fingerless gloves in his side pouch, wondering if maybe Kenny could make him something more viable, something that would keep him safer.

"For now, yes," the kiantri broke through his wonderings. "But the aidarkeri are always waiting for someone like you to cross their path," he warned.

Kyle cleared his throat, forcing a blush off his cheeks and brushing a wisp of stray hair back off his face. "I'm not afraid of them, Mal'tene."

"Afraid or not, they will still pursue you. And as far as you are from the treagi, you have no protection should they find you," he said somberly.

He shrugged, eyes dropping to the ground, "I don't need protected. And I can outfly them. There's nothing to be concerned about."

The man sighed, tilting Kyle's chin back up and shaking his head at the certainty glossing over his eyes. "We've all seen what they can do," he reminded him, voice tinged with helplessness. A shiver racked down Kyle's spine, radiating through his wings. He did know, he'd seen the aftermath of their brutality. When he was seventeen he had stumbled upon a forager in the woods. Well. What was left of her.

Kyle could never forget the sight of skin seeming to seep right off her bones, muscles frayed and melted behind scorched tears, her eyes wide and filled with an indescribable agony that echoed into the barren woods. It was one of the only times he flew back towards home to find the treagi, unsure of how to approach the situation himself. The smell was unmistakable, the staunch, bitter aroma of steel, blood, and singed flesh. Throughout his twenty-four years, Kyle had paid witness to six of his people being brought back into the burrow, wrapped in cloth to keep from fateri eyes. The ceremony was always the same, no matter if it was a hunter, forager, or treagi who met their fate at the hands of those lurking in the mountains out of their scope. They would be celebrated for who they were, but it would immediately shift into a warning. The kiantri and the rilaste taking a tragedy and turning it into another horror lesson for the people to stay put, to remind them that those fighting for them and getting their food supply were risking their lives being so out in the open and they should be revered for what they did.

Why they were heroes and Kyle was considered a dangerous fool, he'd never been quite sure.

It mattered little, however. Because as far as Kyle could tell, he could have all their answers. He could be the hero. He could get his people back into the open air with nary a care regarding the aidarkeri. He just had to be cautious about it. Had to keep it to himself. Well, now himself and Grego'ri at least. Kyle sighed, making a note to confront the vagrant on the situation later in private.

He looked into the kiantri's worrisome eyes, the kindly eyes that he saw family members giving one another, the ones that pled for them to keep themselves in one piece. "I'm being careful," he murmured. "I have my scent cover, I have my camouflage," he gestured to a wing. "Mal'tene, this is really important to me."

He nodded, "I know. That's why I don't stop you. But I wouldn't be doing my job if I didn't make sure it's always your priority to keep yourself safe from them or the aikopia."

Kyle managed to conceal a subtle flinch and cleared his throat. "The aikopia are of no concern to me. They stay in their homes; we stay in ours. They have nothing to gain from me."

The kiantri shook his head, "There's a reason we hide, Kylenove'ia. And it's not just the aidarkeri."

"Grego'ri's people don't hide," he muttered.

"They still don't go near aikopia. And even as such… their numbers are dwindling. While ours only grow stronger," he raised a wire-haired brow. "They will eventually die out from their recklessness, while we thrive. And they send off their own to other tribes, community means nothing to them."

He nodded, "I know. That's why we're better."

"Kylenove'ia," he warned, getting a sheepish shrug from the younger. The kiantri paused, looking off into the distance before turning back to Kyle and smiling a tad. "If you truly believe that, perhaps Grego'ri should be one of your next projects. Show him how important it is to stay with your own to strengthen yourself."

Kyle cringed, loathing the notion of having to spend any amount of time with the outsider. "Mal'tene, I really don't think he'd listen to me. He called me Kylenavie… He knows no one else respects me, so why should he?" he pouted, eyes falling back to the ground in shame.

The old man sighed and shook his head. Didn't matter how many of their people he caught calling him that and reprimanded, it was one of the few things in their village that didn't seem to want to die. One thing he didn't understand, however, is how Kyle found the moniker so insulting considering his nature. Kyle himself had admitted he occasionally had the tendency to let his feelings go out of control to where he could hardly reel them back in, it was one of the few things he'd come seeking guidance for before their meetings were a daily occurrence. "There's nothing wrong with being fire," he finally said, Kyle blinking at him. "Fire cleanses. It starts things anew."

Kyle couldn't help but smirk a bit, "Thought you said I needed less of Tetima."

"Her fire wasn't by choice, yours is," he returned the expression. "Use it for good. Use it to burn down what he's built of you and start over. You're both men of paper and, frankly, both too stubborn for your own good."

Kyle sighed through his nose, scratching through his hair. "I'm not making any promises. If he makes me angry enough, I may find a way to lock him out."

He chuckled, patting his curls paternally. "I'm sure you'd have good reason. Just try to make some peace. If not for him, for yourself. You have enough going on to want to leave and go outside, I'm sure you don't need him as something else to run from."

He blinked, cheeks blossoming, "I don't go out to run, Mal'tene."

He gave him a sad smile and another pat, Kyle nothing short of baffled at his declaration. "Just try to be careful."

"I always am," he lied. "I'm fine. I promise."

The kiantri sighed and nodded, "I need to get back to the kana'fale. Just remember, here, you have an authority that Grego'ri does not. No matter what anyone calls you. And please, behave."

"No promises there," he half-heartedly joked, nodding goodbye to him as he turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the mess of homes to heave a deep sigh. He still wasn't sure just where he stood, whether he was the kiantri's pet pupil or his most troublesome of followers. Either way, Kyle wondered if he'd ever be free of his watchful stare, if one day he wouldn't be enduring his impromptu lessons. He enjoyed talking with the kiantri when he wasn't being told to calm his temper, when they were merely spouting philosophies at one another or the kiantri would teach him some of his magics to sate his endless need for more to do with his abilities. In fact, it was the man himself who made his excuse for learning a new slue of power: There was nothing wrong with having a hobby.

It gave Kyle some degree of comfort, knowing that the kiantri found little wrong with Kyle expanding beyond his duties so long as his priorities remained steadfast as they should. But, he'd also noticed in his time at the kiantri's side that he seemed to be one of the only ones, if not the only, allotted this excuse, seeing others scolded for stepping outside of their nederi boundaries. It made him ponder just how far he could push the hobby story, if he truly held such favor in the kiantri's eyes he could get away with nearly anything. But, a fear his parents and society rooted within him kept him from questioning him directly, or even so much as considering making any of his other 'hobbies' known. There had to be a limit, and Kyle no doubt had breached that by breaking two of their most-strictly enforced laws.

He'd never seen more than a scolding for veering from a nederi, but he'd seen faterian punished for other crimes with far harsher sentences. Stealing and forceful assault led to a trip to the caverns, kept away from the rest of their society in the dark, damp caves to serve out their crimes. Kyle wondered just how long he'd be forced down there should he be caught, or if things would be far more severe than just solitary confinement. There was more in store for him than a talking to, that much was obvious. But just how much more, he never wanted to find out.

Kyle glanced back at the glass lining the walls, lips twisting at the dark hues taking over nearly half of the shards. It was getting awfully dark. Kenny was probably already gone…

He glanced back the way he came, looking towards the high-lying exit and frowning. He wasn't going to take a chance that he'd just missed him and opt to try again tomorrow. He wanted to be sure. His wings spread out, knees bending as he leapt upwards, dodging branches and leaves as he climbed his way to cleared airspace, rapidly making way for the mouth of the chasm. His chest twisted, wondering if it was truly just Grego'ri that had prompted the kiantri to seek him out, or if there was something more that the man knew. If he had an inkling that he needed to keep a tighter lock on Kyle's adventures up above.

Kyle gulped, looking below him at the sparse faterian remaining before they turned into their homes for the evening, seeing in the fading nimikal'e lighting as some of them looked up towards him. He could swear he saw more than one scowl, a few head shakes. It only pressed him faster towards his goal, knowing he was running the risk of the kiantri spotting him, but it didn't matter. What mattered was seeing if Kenny was out there, learning more about him. What mattered was the advancement of his people, hesitant as they may be to take the leap.

However, what mattered the most was what the kiantri himself had said: Running from his prison.