Dio - Progress (3)

Dio himself tried a different task almost every day, though he was always drawn back to Des in his field, where the quiet hours felt as fresh as that very first day of work. Again and again, Dio noticed the faint smile Des sent in his direction when he thought himself unobserved, followed by a soft chuckle and a nod.

Unlike the others, even Des, Dio used neither hoe nor scythe for the fieldwork. He dug with his hands, cut with the flint he still carried, and watered the soil from noblecups rather than from the amphorae and buckets now found everywhere. His clothes never grew dirty or tore; they remained unspoiled, and Dio was glad for the care and ideas Avee had poured into making them.

“I never thought you’d refrain from using all the new tools, after you inspired so much of them yourself,” Des murmured one evening as they sat once more with Brela on their log.

“I’m not interested in how something is made; I’m interested in why. I work with my hands because it relaxes me. It lets my thoughts rest,” he said after some reflection.

“I see.” Des nodded.

“How is it for you in general, Dio? Meeting all those people, working and cooking with them?” Brela asked, her voice not quite as steady or as cheerful as it usually was.

“It’s better. It helps me a great deal to focus on what truly matters and to hold my thoughts back from racing off to other places. You know.”

He fell silent.

She exhaled in quiet relief and laid her head against his shoulder, her braids tickling his nose. Her other arm slipped around Des, who had edged a little closer. Above them, the stars glittered, and Dio had to smile as he realized they lacked the beauty of the connections he carried within himself.

As the net of stars within him blossomed, so too did the village itself with the passing days. When Dio wandered now through the lanes between the great timber cottages and the remaining tree-tents, he could scarcely imagine how uniform everything here had once been. The homesteads had all grown, though he could not quite say how or when it had happened. Each was rich with its own touches: fences carved with unique patterns, flowerbeds and verandas with swings and wooden chairs where people drank steaming tea or ate sweet-smelling cake, window frames of every color and shape, even here and there a stable with muldis, rabbits, chickens, or particularly fluffy pumpflings.

One especially striking building was Avee’s house, a place that seemed less built than woven into the village itself. Its façade was draped with bright fabrics that shifted and fluttered with every breath of wind, threads catching the light like streams of fire or water. Embroidered patterns danced across them — spirals, circles, and motifs Dio could not decipher — yet they gave the house an aura of mystery, as if it held secrets no one else could see.

The forecourt was crowded with looms, their wooden frames humming faintly with the rhythm of Avee’s tireless work. Half-finished garments hung on lines, sleeves swaying gently, almost as though they had bodies waiting to step into them. Cabinets and wardrobes stood open, spilling with folds of cloth in every hue Avee's imagination had to offer. The air was filled with the scent of dyes, of wool and leather, and of Avee’s quick movements as she bent to her work.

It was the only two-story building in the village, rising tall near the central square. Its wooden walls bore carvings Lot had made in close partnership with her — strange flowing lines that seemed to wind like rivers or roots, too intricate for Dio to dare make sense of. Curtains hung at every window, each embroidered with its own vision: beasts with eyes like stars, circles layered within circles, delicate wings, spirals that pulled the gaze inward until... Dio felt the blindness stir in him again.

He always turned away quickly, uneasy. For all its beauty, the weaving house unsettled him; it was as if the patterns themselves reached toward him, tugging faintly at the edges of his mind. He often avoided that place, though he could not help wondering what mysteries it hid.

For all its obvious beauty, it was perhaps the one location Dio soon avoided whenever he could. That is why he met Lot and Avee, who by now seemed to have moved in together, only in the evenings at the log, during shared meals, or when chance allowed it. Dio had long suspected the two had grown closer than the “professional partnership” they always described, but he had no wish to meddle in their affairs and was simply glad to see them whenever he could.

Each day Dio waited, hoping Ray would draw near again. It had been so long since he had let her walk her path, so long since they had been separated. Three hundred days? Four hundred? He did not remember. She remained distant, far beyond his reach.

“When do you think she’ll come back?” he asked Brela and Des, time and again.

Neither ever showed annoyance at the question; they always took the time to soothe him, to comfort him.

“She’s surely hurrying — well, as much as one can hurry at finding oneself, goofball,” Brela would say, and sometimes give him a gentle nudge.

“She wants to make certain she misses nothing in her training; she overlooks nothing!” Des would often add.

Then they would fall into silence together, gazing at the sunset.

“Do you remember when we weren’t sure if the Sun would return?” Brela asked one evening after Dio had once more murmured Ray’s name.

“Of course! I also remember it was you — you were the one afraid of that,” Dio teased, then fell quiet when he saw the thoughtful look in her eyes.

“Everything all right?” He turned fully toward her.

“Yes, I’m fine. I mean… I don’t know. I find myself wondering about things, lately,” she said, unusually downcast, her gaze sinking to the ground.

“What kind of things? You’ll have to explain more clearly than that.” Des nodded, encouraging her.

“Where do I even begin? Sometimes I’m afraid of the future. That things won’t stay as they are now. Of course things change, and the village is growing — I don’t mean that. I’m afraid that someday we’ll all drift apart. Dio, you’ll want to leave with Ray, won’t you? Someday?”

Dio felt a faint sickness as he met her gaze and saw her trembling slightly, her eyes moist with unshed tears.

“Yes, I… maybe. Or perhaps we’ll stay here instead...”

She shook her head. “You don’t need to deny it. Not to me, not to yourself. I know the only thing that truly keeps you here is your promise to wait. You said it the very first time we met, so long ago. Do you remember?”

Dio felt a lump rise in his throat as he saw her tears glimmer in the moonlight.

“No, it doesn’t have to be that way,” he began, but Des laid a hand on his shoulder and shook his head.

For a moment the laugh-lines on his face vanished, and a deep sadness crept into his voice.

Brela suddenly started sobbing.

“You’re always speaking of how you hope she’ll return soon... but you never really speak of what comes after, not with conviction — if you mention it at all. You never say the two of you will live here with us, that her light will brighten this village, that she will settle here as a Sage. And I know you, Dio! We both know you. Someday, once she’s here, you’ll feel something. Something creeping. Something that will turn your eyes toward the road leading into the forest,” she added, laughing through her tears.

“Or toward the fields,” Des said thickly.

“Something creeping? What do you mean by that?” Dio asked as innocently as he could.

Inside, he froze. Their words unsettled him because he could not deny them. And because the numb blindness was still within him, faint yet present, a subtle emptiness...

What if I can’t fill it one day? The thought shot through him, and he had to swallow hard.

“Boredom,” Des said, shoulders sagging.

“Boredom?” Dio echoed, bewildered.

“Yes. That’s how it started with the others, the ones who left before you. There weren’t many, and I hardly noticed at the time; I was still caught in my own routine, though it always began with boredom...”

Dio shook his head. “No, you can set your minds at ease. Boredom will never find me here. I cherish these moments; I could live them forever...”

“Some can, yes. But you? I have my doubts. Not our old goofball,” Brela teased with a watery smile.

Dio looked at them both.

“Even if I should leave with her, I will always come back — here, to Daw, to you, to all of you! That is my promise to you!” he cried, pulling them both into an embrace so tight Brela gasped and Des gave a startled chuckle.

“Brela, Des... you’re with me. I feel you, no matter where I am, and I will always find my way back! You’re beacons for me, as Ray is. As long as you remain here, I can always return to you! I love you both so much!” he declared, struggling at moments to find the words.

He knew they were true.

“We love you too, Dio.” Brela clung to him as tears shook her shoulders, and Des nodded eagerly, hugging him.

That night they lingered together, while Daw slowly fell silent and the last candles winked out. Yet even in the dark, Dio felt no fear of losing his way. The village itself was a constellation within him, each soul a star, each bond a beacon — and he knew he would always find the road back.