Festival

Jesse

After Cayti and Kalla left, I offered my help and was enlisted immediately. Tyur’ma’s brute strength became the deciding factor in my first task: moving the wyvern bodies somewhere accessible. I retraced the places where they had fallen from the skies, and using a tow rope from Tyur’ma’s storage shelves, I hauled them back to the village walls one by one. The villagers pounced on them at once, desperate to strip what they could before nightfall and before hungry predators caught the scent. They still work even now, separating edible from useless, valuable from waste.

Once that job was done, Tyur’ma was turned to clearing rubble, shifting collapsed buildings already searched for belongings, and - less expected - providing entertainment for the village children. I took them on rides through the hills, the sort of reckless loops Cayti would have scolded me for. But it didn’t feel the same. Somewhere between the laughter and the bumping of Tyur’ma’s treads, I realised what was missing: this was the first time I had driven her without Cayti since we met. The thought lodged like a splinter. I found myself glancing at her empty hatch, half-expecting her to be perched there, clinging on with that fearless grin, hair whipping in the wind, laughing louder than all the children combined.

But she wasn’t there. The children’s joy rang hollow without her.

Even so, I tried. I gave them the sharp turns, the sudden halts, the kind of ride that makes your stomach drop. One boy slipped climbing down, dizzy from the spins I’d pulled before stopping. He was alright, more surprised than hurt, but I was still a bit shaken.

By the time the sky turned gold, I found myself without a purpose. So I wandered the village. Everywhere, hands moved in a blur - stalls sprouting from bare ground, firepits dug, butchered wyvern meat stacked into heaps. Streamers and flags flapped as they were strung from beams, lamps readied to push back the dark when the sun dipped. And always in the corner of my eye, Tyur’ma, slowly being claimed by the children’s mischief: lamps dangling from her cannon barrel, ribbons criss-crossing her hull in a half-hearted web of colour.

That’s where I am now.

Their ears and tails flick with excitement as they dart around, one of them shouting that they should build a tent over Tyur’ma’s body. The chaos that follows is almost impressive. I sigh, shove my hands into my pockets, and watch. The air is warm - summer warm, the kind that will cling to the night - and the sun is sliding lower, bleeding pink into the gold.

I’m not so much worried about Tyur’ma as I am about them. Tyur’ma can shrug off an autocannon. The kids? Not so much. But they treat her like a toy, because to them she’s a holy weapon, untouchable, safe simply because I haven’t declared otherwise. Which means the responsibility rests with me.

I’m watching one boy fail spectacularly at tossing a streamer over the barrel when a tap lands on my shoulder.

I turn. Cayti stands there, smiling.

I can’t help smiling back. She falls in beside me, and then her eyes flick to Tyur’ma.

“What’s going on?”

I shrug.
“I think they’re trying to build a tent.”

She nods slowly.
“Oh, I see.”

We both watch another streamer fall pitifully short. She giggles.
“They’re not making very much progress, are they?”

I grin faintly.
“No, not really.”

At last, one of the children has a spark of ingenuity and ties a rock to the end of a streamer. The weighted throw arcs cleanly over the barrel, caught neatly on the other side. Cayti slips her hand into my pocket, her fingers weaving into mine.

“Hey, now they’re getting it.”

I murmur agreement, squeezing her hand. For a moment it almost feels… normal.

Then her voice shifts, edged with concern.
“Jesse… Kalla told me some things that worry me. I think you should hear them.”

I look down at her, but she keeps her gaze on the children as she speaks.

“There are two things. First, a rumor. A rumor of a tank.”

I listen carefully.

“Apparently it’s been circulating for a little while. A mechanical beast that can kill a dragon from kilometers away. I thought it might be Tyur’ma at first, but the descriptions don’t line up.”

“What is it?”

She looks up at me.
“An upside-down frypan on top of a box.”

My heart thuds. That description hits me like a hammer. Cayti notices my hesitation.
“Do you know it?”

I smile faintly.
“So do you.”

Her eyes narrow in confusion for a second. Then it clicks.
“Ohhh. The other tank.”

I nod.
“Yeah. That’s what it looks like, if you’ve only glimpsed it briefly.”

She looks back at the children, still wrestling with streamers over Tyur’ma.
“Kalla also said they called it Elevi.”

I chuckle. She looks at me, startled.
“What’s so funny?”

“You know how we named Tyur’ma after her original name, just translated?”

She nods.

“Well, the original name of the T-72 was ‘Ural’, which translates to ‘elevation’. They’ve done exactly the same thing as we did.”

She smiles faintly.
“Oh… I see now. That is funny.”

But her expression darkens as her eyes return to the semi-formed tent of streamers.
“Kalla also said that during the monster surge their village was saved by an unknown force. When they inspected the carnage, they found empty tank shell casings.”

I exhale slowly, letting the information settle. She looks up at me again.
“What is it?”

I force calm into my voice.
“Oh, I’m just wondering how Elevi is running. If she was here during the monster surge, that means she’s been operational for at least seven years. And that means they’ve managed to keep her mostly hidden, and somehow replenish ammunition and fuel.”

I sigh, shaking my head.
“But the only way I know of to create those things in this world is creation magic, and you’re the only person who can use it, right?”

She nods slowly.
“As far as I know.”

I scratch my chin, considering.
“Then I don’t understand at all. I’d really like to get my hands on it, actually. I want to see how they replaced parts that normally fail after months.”

She considers this, a frown briefly darkening her features.
“Will Tyur’ma start to have that problem too?”

I nod.
“Yeah. I’m expecting something to fail within the next three weeks.”

She shivers slightly.
“That’s… not desirable.”

I smile reassuringly.
“No. But we’ll manage.”

She nods as a cry rises from the village. The feast is starting. I glance at her, and she smiles back. Then a mischievous spark flashes behind her eyes.

“Hey, let’s make this a date!”

I smile and nod, though my mind drifts back to Kaunis for a heartbeat.
“Sure. But I can’t guarantee it’ll go smoothly.”

She grins, then slips her hand out of mine.
“Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She hurries to Tyur’ma, clears the children, and drops inside the driver’s hatch. I watch, lingering in the warm, golden light as the village carries on. Minutes pass.

Then I hear her voice again.
“Hey, I’m back.”

I look up from a dispute over a yellow streamer between two kids. My head turns - and my heart stops.

She’s standing a few meters away, having somehow snuck out of the hatch without me noticing. But that’s not what shocks me.

She’s stunning.

The lavender summer dress I got her flows lightly around her, airy and perfect for the warm evening. Her legs are bare. She moves toward me as if floating, her ice-blonde hair bouncing gently, lavender bows perfectly in place. Her bright purple eyes shine, catching the last rays of sunlight. Every step highlights her natural grace.

My mouth opens slightly before I can stop it. She giggles.
“Go on. Take it all in. But this won’t be the last time you see it.”

I feel suddenly self-conscious in my commoner clothes, face heating. She giggles again, slipping her arm through mine, weaving her fingers with mine.

“Shall we go?”

I nod, forcing my senses back under control. Together we walk toward the village center, the warm evening wrapping around us, the festival coming alive in a blur of motion, light, and colour.

The sky fades from gold and pink to a faint blue, then slowly begins to go transparent, as if someone is sliding down the opacity of a giant painting. The stars gradually appear, soft and distant.

There’s no real structure to the feast. A group of beastmen tend the fire pit - a shallow, wide hole with a huge blaze roaring in the middle. Above it, a metal frame with a turning bar holds large chunks of wyvern meat. Once cooked, another team chops the meat into bite-sized pieces. Wooden plates are stacked nearby, and villagers grab food as they please, circulating around long tables laden with bread, vegetable sticks, and skewers. The area is alive with festival energy: streamers hang between buildings, lamps are strung up and lit one by one by two rabbit women on a ladder, and stalls line the edges of the village center, their voices drifting across the square like distant music. A raised wooden platform stands at the far end, its purpose unclear.

Cayti and I serve ourselves and stand near the edge, eating with our hands. Calling the wyvern meat better than doom tortoise is an understatement - it’s thousands of times better. Perfectly cooked over the open flames, it falls apart in the mouth, juicy but not greasy, tender but not dry. The flavor is indescribable. Cayti’s reaction after her first bite is all I need to see - pure ecstasy, euphoria, bliss. We’re too busy enjoying each mouthful to speak.

We go for seconds, then, deciding thirds is excessive, stack our plates - practically licked clean - on a nearby table. By now, the sun has vanished entirely. The last flecks of blue fade into an ever-expanding night, and the village is illuminated solely by the warm glow of hanging lamps, casting everything in sharp, vivid contrast.

My worries from Kaunis are misplaced. The Masuda villagers are surprisingly respectful. They occasionally approach to thank me, sometimes offering gifts. I try to refuse, insisting they owe me nothing, but often I am gently persuaded to accept. None attempt to drag me into more food, drink, or chaotic celebrations. I smile, thanking two cat people who came to express their gratitude, and watch them walk off hand in hand.

Cayti leans closer, her voice low so only I can hear.
“They seem to stick within their own sub-species, don’t they?”

I nod, noticing the same pattern. She smiles.
“That doesn’t keep us apart, though, does it?”

I shake my head.
“I don’t even think about it.”

She takes my hand, stepping closer so our shoulders brush and our fingers are hidden by our clothing. Above us, the stars twinkle like distant fireworks. Fireworks… That’s all that’s missing. Or so I think - until a call rises from the crowd.

“All proficient magic users, please come here! All proficient magic users, come here!”

A few people slip through the crowd toward the voice. For a few minutes, nothing happens. Cayti hums softly.
“I wonder what that’s about.”

I murmur an agreement. Then an excited murmur spreads like wildfire. Everyone directs their attention to one side of the village center. I try to peer over the crowd, but the tall beastmen block my view.

Then, suddenly, a bolt of flaming orange and yellow shoots into the sky, fizzling out about a hundred meters above. A cheer erupts from the villagers. My prayer for fireworks is answered.

A horde of magic bursts into the air - fire, water, air, and earth combined to create intricate displays. Fire and water provide color and light, air and earth shape the forms. Dragons materialize and explode in brilliant cascades, a host of knights storm across the sky, schools of fish leave trails of sparkling water droplets.

I glance at Cayti. She’s mesmerized, eyes wide, sparkling in the reflections of multicolored magic. I look up just in time to see a gigantic magical version of Tyur’ma rise into the air, her turret rotating purposefully. The tip of her barrel glows and erupts like a flamethrower, before she disintegrates into glittering particles that drift downward, fading into nothing.

A cheer rises from the villagers. I smile openly, feeling a warmth I haven’t felt in a long time.

Maybe… just maybe… we can call this place home.

As the cheering fades into general conversation, I notice a group of beastmen climbing onto the elevated platform - two rabbits, two dogs, and a cat. They take their positions, carrying instruments I’ve never seen before. Still, I recognize them as string, wind, and percussion instruments.

They murmur among themselves, easily drowned out by the crowd. Then one of the dogs sits on a large, circular barrel - like a Cajon, but round - and starts drumming a beat. The crowd hollers in approval and splits into partners. The rest of the instruments join in, weaving a lively, danceable tune.

The beastmen begin to dance, each in their own style. Tails flick, ears twitch, steps scatter across the village square. Those without partners form small groups or cheer from the sidelines. I watch, amazed.

Suddenly, Cayti grabs my hand and pulls me forward. I stumble.

“H-hey! What are you doing?”

She grins, eyes sparkling.
“Dancing!”

My mind races.
“Cayti, I-”

She just laughs, grabbing my other hand, spinning me around so we’re moving backward. She stops us, then leads me through a couples dance of her own creation. I’m unprepared, but I follow her effortlessly. She twirls under my arm, shifts her feet, pulls me closer.

The music is infectious, easy to follow, and wonderful. We spin beneath the lamps and streamers, the starry sky stretching endlessly above. The villagers move around us, all absorbed in their own dances and celebrations, their voices, laughter, and the faint scent of dinner filling the air.

But my eyes are locked on Cayti, and hers on me. Her lavender summer dress flows with her movements, her ice-blonde hair swings lightly with each spin, and her face is breathtaking in its warmth and natural beauty. Her smile - wide, genuine, perfect - outshines anything I’ve ever seen, more satisfying than even the exquisite wyvern meat we devoured.

Her hands in mine are soft but steady, guiding and supporting me, sharing control as we dance together. I feel a clarity I’ve never known. I’m not thinking about the church. I’m not thinking about Elevi. I’m not thinking about the future. The world and all its chaos feel impossibly distant.

It’s just me and Cayti.

Cayti and me.