THE LAST KEEPER

Chapter 3: Chapter 3: THE FESTIVAL

From the raised stone ledge overlooking the festival grounds, Sagiri stood alone. Exactly where he preferred to be. He was wrapped in a shadow black, long, layered cloak that clung to his form like smoke trapped in fabric. The heavy folds fell to his ankles, drifting silently behind him as though stirred by an unseen wind. Its surface is deep black, drinking in the moonlight instead of reflecting it. Across his shoulders lay an additional layer of a high-necked cloth that rose to cover the lower half of his face. It conceals his jaw and mouth completely, leaving only his eyes visible, sharp, restless, and unsettlingly bright.

His hair and head are hidden beneath a close-fitted, night-absorbing balaclava hooded cloak, crafted from tightly woven fibers that stretch smoothly across his skull. It shapes to him perfectly, revealing no stray locks, no exposed skin. Only the thin slits for his eyes break the darkness of his appearance. His hands are gloved in veil-gloved, soft but strong, and marked with faint drawings from her mother’s favorite flower. They flicker when exposed to light.

At his waist hangs his weapon small folding shadow-blade, forged from an ancient metal. When dormant, it shrinks into a compact shard no larger than a river stone, dark and dull. But when summoned, it unfurls in a ripple of black steel lengthening, sharpening, humming with stored power until it becomes a full weapon capable of cutting through spirit and matter alike. He hadn’t known it could lengthen, and it had surprised him the first time. it, however, never lengthened again, and he did not know how to use it. To the crowd below, he would look like nothing more than a tall silhouette carved from the night itself.

Below him, the Aru’Maya festival blazed to life.

(Aru means: new, Maya means: moon)

’The Moon Festival is held during the appearance of the new moon. It is said to be the night when ancestors, spirits, and all living tribes breathe as one. Aru ’Maya is the one night when all tribes of the state of the united tribes of Tagayia, all ages, and all walks of life come together to celebrate unity, destiny, and the blessings of the Ancients. They come together to celebrate the first man to settle in the lands of Tasaka. His name is Taliga. They were once separated, but they believe it is his wish for them to be united once again. It is a night when all of Tagayia comes together to heal old grudges, to strengthen the unity of the united tribes, bless newborns, and seal the promises made during the festival

They lit big fires and danced till morning, and when all the woods dissolved to ash, Aru’Maya ended.

Thousands of people moved as one, their footsteps sparking lines of light across the earth. The glowing artificial Vines curled through the air like magic strings, dipping low concessionary from the wind to brush the heads of laughing children. Drums thundered, echoing up the cliff face.

First, the Shor’vak drum (Shor’ means: first and Vak means: wake) its sound echoes first. Its drummers are skilled and energetic, sending their echoes across the valleys. It signifies the start of the celebration, followed by the Tah’runi drum (Tah’ means: second and Runi means:call), each beat of the ancient drum releases floating artificial silver rings when beat, which children chase. It is the younger kids’ favorite drum because they think it’s made from magic. Then the third drum and final drum, the Vor’maka drum sounds (Vol’ means: third and Maka means: invitation), it is the most powerful of the three. It makes the ground vibrate with its beat and the stomps of the dancers. The dance that awakens the sky, each beat pushing against his chest like a tide. The three festival drums finally take on a festive rhythm, sounding as one.

”Aru’na! (Aru: means Light and Na: rise!) The youths shouted with myrrh.

As the festival began, hundreds of youths rushed into the Great Circle to perform the Ritu’Kana: a dance of a thousand stumps. Drums thundered, shaking the very foundation of the earth. Growing patterns glowed beneath their feet, a reflection of the fire and their anklets. Their footsteps left trails of light behind, and their laughter was joyful. Young men wore flare ribbons attached to their wrists that burst into sparks when they clapped. Young women wore small bells that chimed with soft, celestial tones when they spun.

Sagiri inhaled slowly as he watched from his spot, unmoving for hours. He stood alone on the ledge, wrapped in his shadow garments, face hidden behind his hood, eyes glowing from beneath his night-swallowing cloak. The Oru-Seals clung to his ears, black as obsidian, their runes swallowing the roar of the festival below until only a soft hush remained.

The Oru-Seals are sacred ear-guards crafted mostly for older people to aid with their healing. His, however were the opposite, they were not made to absorb sound but reject it. Each one cups his ear like a curved shell of blackened stone, fitted with impossibly delicate precision. His Oru-seals are made from quietstone, a rare mineral said to be hard to come by. There jagged runes etched along the inner curve, each one trembling faintly with every touch of sound. Thin strands of metal wrap behind his ears and anchor the seals without straps or ties. When worn, they muffle the world, dimming the storm of voices, footsteps, breaths, and heartbeat echoes that would otherwise crush him.

To Sagiri, they felt like sinking into deep water, heavy, still, and merciful. The Oru-Seals do not simply block sound. They drink it, swallowing excess noise before it reaches his ears. They were a gift to him from his father for his sixteenth birthday, which was still two months away. He didn’t know what lengths he had gone to acquire the materials to make them, but he knew it must have been hard. He had left home six months ago to make them and find the materials. He returned after four months, which was two months ago, bearing the gift.

Back then, he couldn’t leave his room because of how much he was in distress. his hearing had grown so much that he could hear whispers and noises from miles away, even when he did not want to. He could only feel warmth from his father when he finally gifted them to him, and it had warmed his heart with gratitude. It was the first festival he had attended since activating the power inside him at twelve. His folding blades rested at his side, asleep. He looked like a figure forged from loneliness and darkness, and perhaps he was.

Even from here, the weight of so many hearts, so many emotions, pressed on him like a storm. His power stirred, a deep, ancient force inside him that absorbed emotions, sound, chaos, and life. It whispered, curled, wanted to rise. He gripped the stone railing until his knuckles whitened.

”This is close enough,” he murmured to himself. He hadn’t noticed he had taken two steps forward involuntarily. He took three steps back and remained submerged in the dark.

Far below, the Youth Dance erupted into a wildfire of motion, the Ritu’Kana creating swirling ribbons of gold around the dancers’ ankles. Families sat clustered in circles of warmth, warriors clashed in friendly tests of fire, and elders blessed children with glowing dust.

He watched it all with a strange ache of admiration, longing, and distance woven together. He had always been the outsider. The observer. The one who could not stand in the center of the light. No matter how much his parents loved him, his step-parents, he had always known they were not his real parents. He always felt deep emptiness inside, as if something big was missing from his life. Even so, he could still honour the night.

As the midnight drums struck, the sky cracked open, revealing the first appearance of the crescent moon. A roar rose from the crowd as thousands of Felxi Stones lifted into the air, streaking into the heavens like reverse falling stars. As it is custom, at midnight, everyone releases their Felxi Stones (wish stones), which streak into the sky. Felxi stones are light stones made of clay-like matter. When mixed with the shy flower portions, however, they become buoyant, and when they are thrown into the sky, they burst, releasing purple sparkling water. It explodes into waves of shimmering light like a living aurora, which people danced under until dawn.

Sagiri reached into his cloak to retrieve the small object. His own stone, darker than the others, heavier in his palm, pulsed as if recognizing the moment. No cheering voices surrounded him, no circle of family, no warm hands to hold. Only silence. Only wind.

He raised the Felxi Stone to the sky. Its inner galaxies swirled slowly, casting dim glimmers across his face.

”What do I even wish for?” he whispered. For power? For peace? For control? For a destiny that didn’t frighten him? None of those felt right. His desire was something deeper. Something he knew he might never have. So he took a breath, closed his eyes, and let the truth rise.

”I wish... I wish to stand among them one day. Without fear. Without harming anyone. Just... to belong.”

He opened his hand. The stone rose, hesitating, as though weighing the sincerity of his heart, before bursting into the air in a streak of deep violet and silver. It vanished into the light of the appearing moon with a shudder of light.

Below, the crowd shouted with joy at the beauty of the sky. They held onto each other tightly, heads lifted. He just watched quietly, expression unreadable. But for the first time in a long time... hope flickered in his chest. A small, stubborn flame. Just enough to keep him watching the world he longed to join.

(Remember the words above are not real and I just created them for my book world. If by chance they sound like a language you know just please know its just a coincidence and I did not borrow from any language. Its just part of worldbuilding.)