Kyle held back a pained flinch, feeling the bored toe of the fateri behind him yet again smashing his wing against the carved bench. His eyes tried to remain forward, vaguely hearing the mother murmuring under her breath yet again in distraction to tell her child to settle. Not that it mattered, fateri were always going to be restless during hanail. It was too long for them to care to pay attention more than a few minutes at a time. It wasn't relevant enough to them yet for more than a respectful quietness to go alongside their boredom and the tendency to find anything to distract them from the drawn-out lessons of the kiantri.
Unfortunately, in Kyle's case, his neighbor's fateri just happened to pick his wings as their source of amusement.
He made a disgruntled face, interlaced fingers in his lap with his palms facing upwards towards Tav'nokana's beaming figure, giving a subtle twitch at yet another toeing. A sharp jab of an elbow to his arm grabbed his attention, gaze fleeting over to his mother sitting next to him giving him a warning look to drop the frustrated expression. He pouted, eyes falling back to the kiantri pacing before rows of faterianea. Figures he'd be getting more of a lecture than the child abusing his poor wings. It certainly wasn't unusual, Sheila had spent all his and Ike's lives demanding her sons be the prime example of solemn faith in the kana'fale, the envy of all her friends.
Kyle often wondered if the fateri like the one seated behind him endured the same level of lectures he used to get for his wandering attention span when he was younger. If they also got sent to bed without supper or had their sketchbooks or whatever kept their attention snatched away for a week if they so much as stretched their wings loud enough for a seated neighbor to hear. It'd been a long time since he'd considered such punishments unfair, knowing well enough by now just how important the weekly hanail was, but that didn't stop him from wishing some of the more disruptive members of the audience would have their own forms of suffering.
This was the one place he had in the burrow, the one place he felt connected to his people and filled with solace. No one shoved him here, no one made faces or wondered aloud just what it was he was trying to accomplish. No, here, they were linked in quiet contemplation on their lessons. Kyle considered it the one time everyone else shared his nederi, that they all came out of the kana'fale with a newfound knowledge and understanding, even when touching upon the same stories some of them had heard countless times throughout their lives. It was, perhaps, the only time that Kyle could possibly stand being cooped up.
Today, however, he was not so fortunate to find a sense of inner peace.
He'd been antsy for days, limiting his time on the outside to gathering his nimikal'e and plant studies before hurrying back inside to avoid too much suspicion. It was driving him crazy, spending the last four days mostly huddled up in the toli'fale hiding away from a certain other faterian that was bent on either engaging him or antagonizing him, Kyle couldn't be all that sure either way. Tweek and Becca had, albeit timidly, all but banished Grego'ri from their space when Kyle was present, not willing to risk their limited materials being damaged in the event of another fight. That more than worked for Kyle, able to relax himself at least a tad when in their secluded little hideaway without the ever-looming threat of Grego'ri's fat mouth.
It certainly didn't stop him from hating his self-inflicted punishment, though. He wanted to spend his time back among the trees that weren't kept alive through magic, the ones that, like him, just wanted to keep stretching towards the sky. He wanted to finally get back to compiling his sketchbook of taken trinkets. He wanted to talk to Kenny again, to get some more notes and hear more of his stories. He wanted, he wanted, he wanted.
'It's for the best,' he thought to himself once again, a constant mantra he'd forced himself to adapt. 'One more day. Just one more.'
A strong voice once more caught his attention from his anxious self-pity, eyes drawn back to the kiantri pacing along the front of the kana'fale, the glimmer of glass walls sparking and catching against his pale, wrinkled face as he moved. Kyle often wondered how it was his voice rose so easily among the rows of spectators, how a soft-spoken man boomed with authority and glittering eyes of excitement upon retelling the same old stories. He wondered, why didn't everyone looked so stimulated with their tasks in life? Why Stan went about his training dutifully, but tiredly. Why Tweek and Becca ducked into themselves with such uncertainty as to their success. Why he himself questioned why he was put where he was. It would be such a better world, Kyle thought, if they all could share the enthusiasm their kiantri had for their separate nederis.
"Mellicia tells us," the kiantri's timbre rose as he gestured to Her figure standing on the far-left end of the towering figures, "to mind what you own." Kyle's sight followed his gesture, a long breath expanding his lungs at the woman with the shower of curls falling down Her waist and a bracelet of daisies crawling up Her left wrist. The stem sprung from Her skin, weaving between thin fingers and petals reaching towards the skin of Her cheek. "What you have in your home, and what you have in yourself," the man continued. "What nature gives and what it will take if you do not heed its warnings."
Kyle could feel his mother's eyes flickering towards him, ignoring the emphasis she tried so desperately to shove into him every instance Mellicia was mentioned. Not that it mattered, she did that with each figure, hoping one of them would be good enough for Kyle to relate to and heed the lessons of his people.
He couldn't exactly say he didn't, just not as narrowly as she may have wished. Mellicia, after all, taught them to appreciate nature. The kiantri insisted this applied to merely what kept them alive and the nature of their magics that kept them a thriving species, but Kyle couldn't find it in himself to see it so plainly. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one of their tribe attempting any true appreciation of Her blessings by not receiving its benefits under only false, magical doings. She was reverence, the reminder that life is in one's own hands. And that was the goal, to take his talents in the direction he felt best suited his people, find what She'd left to be discovered and to relish in it.
Kyle heaved a quiet sigh. He could tell himself that all he wanted, wouldn't exactly sway any opinion but his own. He doubted even the restless fateri behind him would buy into his reasoning.
"-to share with us the tale of our pa'lose, our fater'kopiavisitor would like to speak," the kiantri's voice echoed back into Kyle's attention span. The word sent a roar of bitterness down his spine, keen eye catching movement from the edge of the glass walls and seeing Grego'ri strutting to the center of the floor by the kiantri's side. He suppressed a long groan of derision, hating seeing him in so coveted a position in his kana'fale.
Grego'ri gave a soft smile and a nod to the kiantri, "Thank you, Mal'tene."
Kyle could feel a silent tension resonating throughout the kana'fale, a small smirk landing on his lips. He couldn't say he was disappointed that everyone took issue with the outsider standing in front of them as though he had the divine right to do so. Why he was the only one to his knowledge that'd been lectured on respecting the fater'kopia, however, he wondered if he'd ever know.
"When the long cold had finally ceased," Grego'ri started, "and the foragers could again fill your home with the seeds you needed, so ended the pa'lose of Beina."
Kyle rolled his eyes, catching glances with Ike next to him sharing the same expression. Far too pretentious sounding for someone so apparently ignorant of their social standing.
"With Beina's time coming to a close with the final thaw, the time has come to denote this pa'lose's star," Grego'ri said. A ripple of excitement swept through the rows of benches, Ike and Kyle looking around to see their people sitting up at attention with such an anticipated mention.
"Took him long enough," Ike muttered, getting an agreeing nod from his brother. The last thaw had been nearly a month and a half before, their new pa'lose was already in full swing without their designated tav'deri. With their tribe's own resident star seeker, their own tav'ia, passing nearly ten pa'loses before Kyle's birth, the kiantri and his naveaichi council had taken on the intricate burden of tav'deri declaration. None of them knew quite how it was done, but the fater'talei had made do with the few records the tav'ia had left for them, still paying respects to whomever had been chosen until the next thaw. Apparently, it seemed, with Grego'ri's impromptu appearance before the choosing had begun, the duty, no, the honor had been bestowed onto him.
Kyle's wings stiffened in frustration at the notion, not registering any more of the fateri's impatient toe-touches as they looked around, wondering what had their parents and neighbors so excited all of a sudden.
Grego'ri walked back off the center of the floor, grasping a large scroll standing just over half his height, and strutting back into place. Hazel eyes swept across the crowd before him, an almost relieved breath leaving his nose at how the tension seemed to die down with his announcement. He'd half-expected a riot of sorts, to be chased out for daring to take on a role so very special to their people. Apparently, such wasn't the case, he figured they were far too busy imagining the festivities to take place upon the new tav'deri naming to worry too much about the schematics. He clicked his tongue, wings flitting behind him in thought as he scanned around the hall, finding the faces he was looking for and grinning widely.
"Kylenove'ia! Stante'ri! Maybe you could both assist me?" he offered, gaze darting between them both. Stan jerked into attention at his name, half-awoken from his utter boredom of hanail and standing up, ignoring the beaming grin of his father next to him with a barely concealed eye roll. Kyle couldn't be bothered to follow suit so soon, too shocked hearing his name being so loudly called in the kana'fale by anyone but the kiantri. Called by him of all faterian.
"Kylenove'ia!" his mother hissed, placing another well-executed elbow into his arm and breaking him from his stupefied trance.
He glanced at her, flinching at the pure death seeping from her stare for daring to risk embarrassing her in front of the entire village. Kyle groaned under his breath, managing a stealthy kick to Ike's shin at his stifled cackles as he moved past. Stan stopped by his bench to wait for him, and Kyle could catch the mix of warning and worry on his face at the possibility of having to stop a full-out brawl in the middle of their damn temple. Kyle forced a reassuring grin at him for a fraction of a moment before unable to keep up the charade, but it was enough for Stan's shoulders to sink with slight ease. If there was one thing Kyle had always been, it was respectful of these customs. As far as Stan figured, the last thing Kyle wanted was to no longer receive the privileges of the kiantri. Going head-to-head with the fater'kopia here was a definite possible reason for taking those from him.
They made way down the middle of the row together, both of them fighting to keep an aggravated glare from their faces at Grego'ri's smug appearance amid their people excitedly mumbling with one another.
'A half-assed attempt at a truce,' Stan thought.
'He's just doing this to embarrass me further,' Kyle's own mind screamed in utter frustration. 'He's gonna do something. He's gonna make them hate me even more and then someone will fucking hit me and I'll break a statue and I'll be banned from the kana'fale and I won't have any fucking hope of the kiantri letting me keep going outside and I'll never hear another hanail again and-' he was stopped abruptly with Stan subtly hitting his arm with the back of his hand, glancing up at him and cringing. Stan knew well enough when he was launching into anxiety-riddled inner quandaries, he knew by now he really should stop questioning Stan's ability to do so.
Stan leaned down towards him as they stepped further, "Deep breath," he said softly. "We'll do whatever this is, get out of here, then go draw his face on one of the walls and pelt it with rocks."
"I'd rather shoot it," Kyle murmured with a small smirk.
Stan snorted and nodded, "Sounds good."
Grego'ri's grin kept strong as they stepped up in front of him, gesturing to his scroll. "Would you two kindly hold this up for me?"
They glanced at each other before heaving quick sighs and moving to do as told, Grego'ri stopping them with a quick "bup bup bup!" They paused, frowning and he cleared his throat. "Kylenov-" he stopped short with a dark glare from the shorter and held up his hand in a half-assed sorry expression. "Kyle," he corrected. "Would you please be the one to unfurl it? I just don't-"
"Want my dirty treagi hands to rip it, yeah, I get it," Stan scoffed, Kyle shooting him a look of surprise as they slowly traded places. Stan gave him a small shrug. He supposed he couldn't help it. If Kyle hated him, he had somewhat of an obligation to hate him, too. Or at least that's what he was going with.
Grego'ri frowned as they hefted the scroll between them off the ground. "No, Kyle just has far more experience handling ancient texts than you do, Stante'ri."
"Stan," Kyle corrected with a huff, fingers delicately tracing along the edges of the scroll, stepping backwards as he carefully unraveled the parchment. A sick part of him wanted to "trip" over himself, rip it in half and hopefully watch Grego'ri collapse onto the floor in the broken sobs of a traumatized scholar.
He bit his cheek, knowing that that's exactly how he'd react if anyone found his stash of buried aikopia texts and destroyed them. He supposed he couldn't do that to another being, tempting as it was.
Kyle tilted his head and glanced at the image he was unrolling, listening to the crisp crinkle of the material as the kana'fale fell quiet, all of them awestruck staring at a large, inked scroll speckled with different colored dots and interweaving lines between them with names and numbers. Large circles encompassed clusters of them, Kyle blinking at the names of the last four centuries appearing along the edge of four orbs as his fingers finally came to the edge of the roll.
Grego'ri caught his enraptured gaze, shoulders bobbing in a small laugh. He probably looked the damn same the first time he'd been permitted to gaze upon the scroll. It was highly irregular for those outside of their circle to be able to gaze at the hard work of their ancestors; not banned, just not typical, as they so rarely handled the texts with the trained care needed for the fragile material. But, he figured, there was no better way to earn some line of respect among the fater'talei than with a coveted glimpse of their past, and their future.
He stepped up in front of Kyle, gracefully swooping his arm up to gesture to a section outlined in blueberry purple, keeping his fingerprint from the parchment as he followed the length of the orbital arc. "This," he started, voice rising back to echo among the kana'fale, "is our galein, the one of Ta'nue. Ta'nue is the largest tav in this galein." He pointed to a star encompassed in a bold red diamond. He brought his hands back, folding them in front of him and smiling. "Ta'nue is the fateri of loneliness, strengthened by the personal guidance of Naverie," he gestured to Her statue standing above them all, arms tucked close against Her body and head tilting down just slightly below Her brethren and Her face partially concealed through carved loose strands of shoulder-length hair. "Through Naverie's light, Ta'nue found not loneliness as her mother did with the loss of her father, but self-assuredness," he clenched his fist in emphasis. "Naverie showed Ta'nue the way to happiness, that bettering herself on her own made her stronger for her own people, and she led her tribe through the depths of the galein prior and the bitter cold that stretched for so long, the time of three pa'loses."
Kyle grimaced with the story, as he always did, shoulders sinking. He couldn't imagine a winter lasting so long, how his people could ever fare if they were faced with such a horrid stretch of time.
Grego'ri stepped back beside of him, placing a hand on Kyle's shoulder that tensed him immediately, looking back with a mix of bewilderment and disgust at so casual a touch from the vagrant. "In the time of Ta'nue, her people learned one thing…," he said slowly. "To trust independence. To value it," he stressed, squeezing Kyle's shoulder lightly before releasing him and stepping back in front of his scroll. Kyle blinked, confused and wanting to shout for clarification as to what he was even doing. "In our galein, with her as our brightest tav in our time, we also must learn from her bravery and strength. We mustn't forget her lessons, lest we forget the faterian who made us all who we are."
Kyle and Stan exchanged another glance, Kyle feeling a strange wave of relief seeing his naichi just as utterly baffled as he was with that brief interaction. He tilted his head back to look at Grego'ri, eyes narrowing the slightest in suspicion. What was he up to?
"As such," he continued prattling on, "each tav'deri of this galein falls in line with Ta'nue and her journey. We have passed the time of Beina, who taught us all the value of benevolence, of learning to put those in your community before yourself and trust in your own abilities to do what's best for them and yourself."
Kyle couldn't help the subtle scoff falling from his lips. He'd be hard-pressed to point out too many people in his tribe who he could say without a doubt exhibited Beina's lessons drilled into them throughout the duration of last pa'lose, at least towards him.
"This pa'lose, we've moved three from Beina towards the North, on the edge of our galein as we have been for most of our lifetimes," he gestured towards the crowd watching him intently. His finger moved to point towards his destination, landing on a small spatter halfway between North and East on the chart. The tav'deri of this time is On'naleka," he announced, bringing his hand back down. "Does anyone know just who On'naleka is?"
There was silence, a few parents pinching the wings of their children to try to get them to attempt an answer. Kyle raised his brow, looking at his tribe in a rush of confusion and a slight anger. Did none of them listen to the kiantri's stories? Did only a select few resonate with them and deserve keeping in mind? He looked back at the chart, picking out what names he could read from his awkwardly angled position and twisting his lips. Okay, he didn't remember all of them right away either, but he had enough stories and knowledge that he had to stow away for an excuse. He was usually overloaded with information, few in the crowd could tout the same tune.
"Kyle?" Grego'ri asked, Kyle's head snapping over to look at him and see that smug little grin right back and plastered on his face. "Do you?"
Kyle frowned, straightening up and taking a long breath. Was this a challenge? Was it a chance of humiliation if he had names and stories mixed up? Green eyes flittered to the kiantri standing off to the side, goading him on with his soft smile and a simple nod of permission to proceed. He gulped, feeling two feet tall with his people's attention turned on him, the mere damn scroll holder. "Uh. He… led his tribe in the wrong direction of their usual path," he started, trying to stop his fingers from tensing anxiously around the parchment between them. "He told them he sensed there was something better on the other side of the mountains. The tribe split into two groups. The one who went their usual way were killed in a storm, while those who trusted him found fertile land and a place hidden from the storm travelling their way."
Grego'ri nodded, tapping his index and middle fingers together towards him encouragingly, "Go on…"
He cringed, trying to piece together a thousand mixed messages of their history without overwhelming himself. "Um... They lived and… and the storm passed many nights later. When they came out of hiding, the land was filled with fruit. On'naleka was declared a faterian of the gods for leading them off their path to a new and better home."
Grego'ri smirked, "What god?"
And there it was.
He took a long breath and tensed his shoulders, wings bristling. "Tetima."
"Exactly!" he clapped his hands together and gave him an approving nod before turning back to the crowd. "On'naleka showed his people something important: Intuitiveness. Sometimes, you have to do what you feel right if it's for the benefit of your tribe, even when not everyone agrees with you."
Kyle blinked, looking from him to the kiantri, who grinned and shrugged, gesturing for him to continue listening to Grego'ri.
"We all know the importance of Gameral, how He presents us each with choices, with two paths to follow. More often than not, we steer in Kilpae's path, yes?" he asked, looking to a sea of nodding heads. "But, She is not the only option, is She? She keeps us safe as a community, keeps us bound in Tav'nokana's thread that keeps us woven together. We consider Her the default, don't we?" He paused, giving another glance towards Kyle's increasingly marred expression. "But Kilpae doesn't always have the answers," he said softly, turning back to the group. "Sometimes, someone has to make the harder choice, someone has to follow instinct like On'naleka for the good of not only the tribe, but knowing that it betters themselves as it did Ta'nue.
"We worry about those choices, we think they're foolish and dangerous. But are they? Long ago, did not one kiantri used their intuitiveness to make this mountain your home? Or the treagi," he motioned towards Stan staring at him with wide eyes, "do they not rely on their instincts and rush towards danger for your betterment? Your safety? On'naleka followed the guidance of Tetima and Her bravery, Her rash nature. He followed Her firethorn towards the other side of the mountains and kept his followers alive and thriving. We consider Tetima to be our last resort, our option for when times are harder. But, it does not need to be this way," he said, pointing towards Her proud figure.
The hair on the back of Kyle's neck prickled, feeling Her firethorn directed at his head. This felt terrifying, other-worldly, like the glass walls were closing in around him and caging him in for the tribe to jeer at. He wanted to leave, needed to get out in the open air and take a breath of fresh pine to remind himself that the smell of burning lavender and musty cave walls weren't all he had. That there was more than the eight eyes staring down at him from their altar and the hundreds in front of him. 'Tav'nokana, is he doing this to torture me?!' he thought.
"Tetima is there when we need Her," Grego'ri continued, apparently ignorant to Kyle's inner turmoil. "And we do need Her. Not all the time, no. Not every moment of every day. But we do need Her to remind us of how brilliant we can all be if we step just a tad to the side, if we ask questions and try to find new ways to help one another. I believe this is a virtue that… many, many tribes have neglected," he said, a somberness seeping into his timbre. "Contentedness is good for a while, but intuition and risk takes tribes beyond what they once thought possible. It takes inner strength, it takes both Tetima and Naverie to get there, but it's worth it. And because of that, On'naleka, as this pa'lose's tav'deri, will guide you to bettering the fater'talei."
Excited and confused murmurs spurned at once at the prospect of lessons and the festival to be had. Kyle stood in his place, shaking, wondering just what kind of fallout he was going to walk into if long-held group mentality took hold and not only was On'naleka dismissed as someone who just got lucky once, but he would find himself deeper in trouble. He looked back at the kiantri, desperate for him to give him some kind of reprieve. A kind word, a pat on the head, anything.
The kiantri stared back, biting his lip at how nerve-wracked the young faterian looked, even from afar. He'd figured Grego'ri's announcement would get to him on some level, but he hadn't expected fear. He'd expected Kyle would relish in such a celebration of the things he excelled at. He took a deep breath, knowing Kyle couldn't leave the kana'fale to go outside without arousing more questions than need-be. That was the absolute last thing he needed. Quietly, he stepped forward towards the three at the front of the room, back straight and sorrow on his face for encouraging Grego'ri to so directly involve Kyle in this announcement.
"Kylenove'ia," he said under the noise of their people and gently grabbing his side of the parchment, "go to my study and calm down."
Kyle nodded in silent thanks and turned immediately, heading towards the western side of the hall and out of sight of a few eyes of the crowd. He was sure his family was part of that equation and the three he'd left behind, but he couldn't be bothered. He just kept hurrying, wings behind him snapping in impatience to try to get him to his seclusion quicker.
Why did he feel so awful? He couldn't pinpoint it. It felt surreal, like Grego'ri had deliberately chosen On'naleka, or just randomly picked one of the other fateri of Tetima to get under his skin.
Finally, he made it down the stretch of hall, all-but-bursting into the kiantri's study and taking loud, gasping breaths, legs wobbling as he made way into the room he was oh-so-familiar with. His fingers raked up through his hair, heart pounding and breathing obnoxiously vocal. He felt dizzy, his eyes blurring. Was it tears? He didn't think so, but he couldn't tell. He just wanted to run or lie down or something. His wings kept twitching, nails delving into his scalp.
He opted to find the corner between one of the kiantri's shelves and the wall, sliding down into the tight angle and curling up, continuing to hold his head and fight for air. Of all places for this to happen, of all the things he'd done in his life that should've provoked this kind of reaction… it had to be here. It had to be in his fucking temple, surrounded by gods that watched him every step of the way and a mass of people that loved to spend their time after hanail gossiping. He could only imagine what they would be saying if they saw him run off, if they also made an immediate connection with that fucking speech.
Groaning, he ducked down deeper, forehead against his knees and his breath rebounding off his legs in hot bursts. He just wanted to sneak out of here, fly out of this fucking burrow, and stay outside until it was dark and he could come back in with no one stopping him. He wanted his books and his pen, he wanted to catalogue. The word brought another groan from his aching chest. He wanted to just talk to Kenny, get lost in his world and forget about his own for a while. He felt so fucking trapped.
A soft knock at the door made him flinch, curling in tighter. If it was the kiantri, he was stuck having another lesson about being strong. If it was Stan, he'd be dealing with poking and prodding about what was wrong and shitty jokes trying and failing to lighten the tension.
If it was his mother, he was screwed.
The door creaked open, Kyle managing only a peeking glance and letting out a loud sound of derision at Grego'ri stepping in and closing the door, his scroll held lightly to his side. "Get out," he managed to say, voice cracking.
Grego'ri frowned, eyes drooping with something of sympathy. "Kyle, are you all right?" he asked.
"Great. Now leave!" he demanded.
"You're shaking," he observed, cautiously stepping towards him. He wasn't willing to deal with another punch to the jaw, but he couldn't deny that this plan had backfired beyond what he'd believed. There was too much responsibility he had in this to just saunter out and go about his day. Grego'ri took a long breath, running his fingers up through his hair. "I know exactly what you're thinking," he began. "And no. On'naleka was not chosen because of you."
Kyle bit his lip, lifting his head only enough to blearily see him over the fine hairs of his arm. "I don't believe you."
"Believe what you want, Kyle, but it was tradition that chose him, not you," he said, shaking his head. "Don't think yourself so important I would completely violate my duties just to make you feel special."
"Then why did you make me tell the story?" Kyle bit.
He shrugged, "I was tired of talking."
"I find that hard to believe," he scoffed.
Grego'ri couldn't help but let out a small chuckle. "All right, fine. It was because I figured hearing the full story from one of their own would make your people believe in it more fully."
Kyle frowned, still shaking but managing to lift his head at last. "Really? You think they give a fuck what I spout out?"
He shrugged once more, "If it's about something they all find important, like their tav'deri, then yes. When you're ranting on your plant samples or what it's like outside? No. They don't care. Which, that's their loss." His foot slid forward, watching Kyle carefully for a sign of aggression and finding none, just frustration and isolation. Taking a long breath, he kept moving forward, turning and sliding down to sit with him on the floor, ignoring Kyle backing away from any contact as though he were made of tankeri. "I'm sorry for the… inconvenience of the stars," he said.
"They aren't the inconvenience, you are," he muttered. "Why'd they let you pick our tav'deri anyway?"
He snorted, "It's my nederi, Kyle. And your poor kiantri didn't know how to do it, that's the whole reason I've stayed here this long."
"To insult my leader?" he frowned.
"No, to teach someone how to do the job properly," he smirked. "Your kiantri asked if I could stay until the birth of the next tav'ia, or at least make records for only them to see upon their nederi training. I told him I'll stay until whichever is done first. Not many new fateri popping about, that's for sure."
Kyle shrugged, "Most families already have their two fateri, so they can't."
"Ugh, horrid practice," Grego'ri shuddered, getting a sharp glare from Kyle. He frowned back, "What?"
"We have limited range of the mountain, Asshole," he scoffed. "We have to have enough room in all the homes, and they fit four faterian apiece. If we stretch our land farther, we'd lose food fields or we'd be too close to the tribe down the way and they hate us. Last thing we need is a territory conflict."
He nodded softly, "Makes sense. Doesn't make it a good practice, though, Kyle."
"It's… how we do things," he said, shoulders slumping. "Same as we always have."
"Like… everything else," Grego'ri finished, getting a small shrug out of him. "Then what better timing than to have On'naleka to look towards? You've all spent years wallowing in the same pits of compassion and generosity for your pa'loses, Kyle. It's about time you all switched up, it's why you got skipped to his tav."
Kyle squinted, looking at him suspiciously. "Whaddya mean 'skipped'?"
Grego'ri smirked, taking his scroll and delicately unrolling it on the floor in front of them. He pointed back towards the curve where Beina rested, Kyle watching curiously. "Well, you finished Beina's time. The next three are Ha'ren, Unam, and Pa'lemska. You know what they are?" Kyle shook his head, too worn out from his mini-breakdown to bother even trying. "Reflection, complacency, and practicality." He paused, taking a deep breath. "A tav'ia's job is to observe not only the stars, but the people they're with as well. If the tav'ia sees a trait being strong within a tribe, they find little need in revisiting the same lessons the tribe obviously knows and holds so dear. So, sometimes, tav'deri's get skipped throughout a galein until that trait seems to be slipping, and so we backtrack to declare them."
Kyle looked at the chart, observing the multiple thin scratch marks through multitudes of stars. He gestured towards one, "So, these are ones used already so they don't get used again by mistake?"
He nodded, "Precisely. A hundred years per tav cluster is sometimes hard to keep track of and keep straight, so we cross out names. Lazy method I suppose but you of all faterian know that you do what you can to stay efficient."
Glancing at the galein prior to their own, Kyle cocked his head. "And the ones left alone?" he pointed.
"Didn't seem needed to be used. We still tell their stories, make sure that who they are never gets lost. It seems simple, but it's honestly difficult to pinpoint just what it is a tribe needs. Well… usually. Your tribe… not so much."
"And what does that mean?" he looked at him wryly.
He looked back and sighed, "It means your people are so stuck in their ways, they'll never change unless someone does something."
"They like it like that," Kyle said quietly, sitting back against the wall and leaning his head against the shelf beside him. "They're comfortable. They're happy. Trying to change them won't work, and shouldn't be tried. It'd be like robbing them of their home and dropping them outside the burrow."
"Your dream then?" he said with a somber smile, working on rolling his scroll back into form.
Kyle paused, heaving a heavy sigh. "I don't know. Yes. No. I love my people, regardless of how much they hate me."
Grego'ri shook his head. "They don't hate you, they fear what you can do."
He rolled his eyes, "The fuck is the difference?"
"Hate means they want you gone. Fearing you means they want you to do what's best for them, regardless of what they think you might do." He sat back with him and scratched at his hair. "This sounds like I'm passing off blame, but I'm not, I'm telling the truth," he started cautiously. "I didn't want you up there during the announcement. Your kiantri asked me to call you up there… and Stante'ri so you would feel more comfortable."
Kyle groaned, "Why?"
"Because, he wants your people to see you as one of them and not just… the oddball who kind of hangs around," he shrugged. "Getting you up there where the revered stand could make you respected."
"Or loathed as the kiantri's favorite or something," he muttered.
Snorting, he replied, "Well, that is a bit of the truth, isn't it?"
"Not if he put me through that," Kyle mumbled.
Grego'ri nodded solemnly. "Well… he had the best of intentions I'm more than sure. He's far too fond of your… let's call it a relationship to want to upset you so much."
Kyle scoffed, "Fond? We occasionally talk about nothing and he lets me practice some magics with him, but most of what he does is lecture me."
He titled his head, looking down at him with a cocked brow. "And why is it you think he does that?"
"Sadistic pleasure?" he said dryly.
He smirked, "No, and I think you know that, too, Kyle. He's taken you as a pupil, it's rare for a kiantri to do that, trust me. I've seen enough. Most of the time they're there for support, but not often do they hand out privileges. And they especially don't teach those who aren't next in line for their role their magic."
Kyle paused, looking at him suspiciously. "Wait. You don't think I'm.."
He shrugged, "I wouldn't know. Could be. Or it could be he just finds your skills could be more productive than you tend to make them. Or perhaps he's lonely and bored, I can't say. You know him far better than I do…" he looked towards the door and took a deep breath. "There's another reason I came in here, besides making sure you weren't bashing your head into the glass."
He narrowed his eyes, cautious. "What?"
"We can't talk about it here. But I wish to venture outside the burrow with you and discuss it out there. Where they can't hear us."
"I'd rather you didn't-"
He dropped his voice into a harsh whisper. "Kyle, either you and I talk about your little aidarkeri obsession in private or I tell the kiantri what you've been up to."
Kyle's face paled, heart beginning to pound all over again. "You wouldn't."
"This isn't a threat of blackmail, Kylenove'ia," he said sternly, getting to his feet and taking his scroll with him. "This is me making damn sure you know what you're doing. Because you're already in this too deep with the outside reading you've been doing, far worse than I think you know."
Kyle followed him onto shaking legs, staring at him with confused anger. "I haven't even done that for months and-"
"And when did I get here?" he hissed, keeping his voice low. "Months ago. I wasn't going to stop here… but then I had to."
"What are you talking about-" he paused, both of them looking towards the door at the sound of loud, unified murmuring echoing down the hall into the room.
Grego'ri sighed irritably. "Hanail is ending, I have to go back and help with the Nai'lan no tav talks. It'll take me a few days of being hounded I'm sure, but then we need to discuss it."
"Why? Why did you stop here?! At least tell me that!" he demanded, trying but failing to keep his voice at Grego'ri's level as he turned to walk out the door.
Grego'ri paused, hand flexing on the wooden handle before looking at him, Kyle taken aback by the somber tone in his gaze. "They know who you are, and they're looking for you," he said before leaving as the concluding prayer came to a close outside.
Kyle stood in staggered silence, trembling as the door closed behind him. A heavy gulp fell down his throat as his head automatically turned to look out the glass walls, towards the open chasm resting against the upper wall of the burrow that he'd been so desperate to fly out of just moments before.
Never before had it seemed so terrifying.
A/N: Awkward waving
Sorry it's been since uh... June. Started college (for the third goddamn time), got and lost a job, this story is just a big ol' mythos mess so it's complicated to work out, it's just been a ride. You guys all confused by all the new lore and words I threw in your face? No worries so am I we're all suffering together!
Thanks for your continued support of this story and hopefully I can go back to better update increments!
