The Dork Warrior And Bonfire

Winter came early that year. Lamphi, after the end of a month-long celebration, Chakkhouba: the festival of lights, marking the victory of good over evil, was glowering with silvery petals and frozen lattices. The trees, except the evergreen, all entered a slumber. While Ennoa was glacial enough for Atla to shift Korou's training over its freezing surface.

"Did you have a fallout with your acquaintances?" Atla abruptly asked, while correcting Korou's sixth form Thang-ta stance.

"No," He groaned from under the weight of rocks over his bare shoulder. "And they are friends, not acquaintances."

"Wow." Atla dropped another stack of weights, making Korou shudder as he glared at her.

"What?!"

"You have grown."

"Have I?" Korou raised his brow, sizing Atla's height and then comparing it with his own. "I still think you are taller."

"May the East wind bless you with brains," Atla sighed, and increased the weight again. "And no, I meant you have started to accept others."

"I always have." Korou slightly leaned forward, his sandaled feet sunk into the snow. His teeth clattered. "Also, would you stop already, Atla? I agreed that my core needs work, but this is exploitation of power."

"Please contact the Head-priestess for complaints~" She replied in a sing-a-song tone.

"Great." He groaned and took another step. He was supposed to walk downstream with his current weight and extra, depending on Atla's whim, until they reached the first rice field. Failure to do so would lead to expulsion from the monastery, as this was the special examination devised by his father, Atla and Naobi.

"See, you can still move." Atla gave him a pat.

"How did you figure it out?" Korou asked after an hour. They were still a few miles away from the finish line.

"Your fallout?"

Korou nodded.

He knew Atla was remarkably perceptive when it came to him, but even then, he had been very particular about covering his tracks. Ever since Naobi's declaration, Korou had drowned himself in martial arts training. It was a penalty he hated, but a great cover to stage a play of repentance. He filled his hours of thoughtless musings, loitering with callisthenics, and practising the stances. His readings changed from the history of this world to the origins of the School in Martial arts and their subsequent branches—Sangha. Even his conversation over the dinner table was about arm movement and the happenings of the Pakhangba Lampak, not current affairs.

"It was written all over your face," Atla gave a knowing grin. "And also, you were suddenly passionate about Martial arts, which was very uncharacteristic of you, not to mention fake."

Korou decided to keep his mouth shut for the remainder of his evaluation.

Later that night, when Atla had dragged him to the Umang for stargazing, the topic was brought up again.

Korou raised his palms against the cackling bonfire, while Atla draped an indigo blanket over them. Her shoulders touched his shivering ones, sharing her warmth.

"Thanks," Korou mumbled, accepting her gesture.

"Here," She gently pulled him onto her lap. "This way we can both be warmer."

Korou lowered his gaze, hiding his blush. The posture was nostalgic. Atla would read him the picture book of Nostos, like this. But he was young then, an infant.

"Atla..." He replied in a misty breath. "I think... I am too old for this."

"What does age have to do with me keeping you warm?" Atla brought him close, her palms resting over his tousled hair.

"That's not what I..." Korou pursed his lips. A silence descended. The noises drowned out until he heard a beating heart over his back. It wasn't racing, unlike his own. "I don't mind."

"I know." She ruffled his hair. "And I also know you have been working hard."

"That's hardly an observation." He smiled from under her gaze. "Everyone knows it."

"Not the late-night practice. They don't." Atla offered, her tone laced with comfort and genuineness. She was honest to the core.

"When did you even..." Korou paused. "You know what, don't answer that."

"It was only once," She replied, either way. Her eyes were sparkling in fond remembrance. "During autumn, the last night of Chakkhouba."

"I believe I had told everyone I was sick."

"I believe I told you I can see through your bullshit."

"Language."

"Adults are not around, are they?" Atla giggled.

"Thank you." He rested his chin over her heated palms. "I mean it."

"I know and I mean it too." She tightened her embrace. "You miss them, your friends."

That topic again, Korou shifted his gaze. He didn't want to talk about them. It was a forgotten past. An event long gone. He had dealt with it. Accepted the consequences. And now live those choices. And so did the other two. Ibo was happy with maths, and Iromi progressed steadily with a curriculum geared towards Pariksha. They were all content.

"I don't..." Atla's finger traced his quivering lips.

"Yep, lying." She finished.

"Maybe a little..." He muttered after a pause.

"Then tell them that." Atla offered.

"I don't think they want to talk to me ever again."

"Because of the incident at Santorum?"

"Maybe, I don't know." He accepted, as he glanced at the dimming bonfire. It was that cold again. His bones clattered, and his skin tingled, but he was covered in layers. There was no coffee, but his mother's Crownbill soup swam in his abdomen. Yet, he was freezing.

"Then tell me." Atla drew him even closer, her head resting over his head. "All of it, don't leave a thing."

"You already know..."

"No, I don't," She added after a pause. At least not from you."

"What difference would that make?" Korou wanted the topic to end. He didn't want to relive what he had closed. He had reached his conclusion. There was no requirement to pry further.

"It does," Her breath tickled over his neck. She was smiling. "Because then I would know what's bothering you. I would be able to help." She paused again, her words were clear, syllables pristine. She meant all that she said. And again with the gentle embrace, she whispered:

"So let me help you, dumb brat."

The fire flickered; his shoulders tensed. The words, her words, were a distant echo. A memory that preceded others. A prayer: another chance.

"Korou?" Atla tried again.

"I was the one who planned it out..." Gently into the night, Korou reaccounted the tale. His arrogance, the venom in his remarks, the violation of a past, and finally, the honesty in his final decision.

After he ended, Atla didn't utter a word. Her palms gently played with his hair. Korou had his eyes shut. He hoped for a scolding, even a silent treatment. He was used to them.

"Did you know of Iromi's childhood?" Atla asked softly.

"She is still a child..." He wittingly remarked but stopped. This wasn't what he wanted. "No...I don't."

"Figures." She whispered.

"Her father, the chief," Atla started, slowly. "He never wanted his daughter to fight. He was content with her remaining home, learning domestic work and keeping everyone together. Honestly, he wanted her to be the ideal Lamphi woman."

"Very patriarchal." He snickered.

"Hardly." Atla pinched his cheeks. "But that was how he treated her. Studies were a distant dream, and exploring the world an impossible notion. She was taught to take care of others, put their needs forward, and in the end live for them. A life of self-sacrifice. But..." He heard her raspy laughter. It was quiet, but joyous. "She was different. A burning curiosity and zeal to learn were seated deep within her. She hid under her brother's bed, listening to the tutor's teachings, and she sneaked into her father's chambers and observed the village affairs. She was relentless."

"Sounds like Iromi." Koru smiled at Atla's narration. "And then? Did the father accept her? At this point, he should."

"He disowned her," Atla replied with a strained voice.

Korou expected himself to scream, argue the father's folly, maybe even defend Iromi, but all he could muster was.

"I see."

A carefully crafted answer. It wasn't a hollow declaration to save or a promise to solve the discrimination. Just a simple acknowledgement. The problem was rooted deep, a generational framework, strengthened by society. But things were changing, like they always do. So what could he do? Acknowledge and support.

He felt Atla nod her head. She was happy with his answer.

"Is that why she could enter the monastery?"

"No." She shook her head. "It was Yaiphabi, she found her. And forced the village chief to let her study. I don't know much, but apparently, he was adamant that no woman of his household would study beyond what was ideal for our gender. But Grandma intervened, a deal was struck, and she was allowed. Though she is still not permitted to enter her home, she lives in the servant quarters."

"What about monastery lodging?"

"Only for Shamans."

"They can make an exception." Korou was irritated, not by the lack of help but by his incompetence from months ago. But he needed something, or someone to blame. The anger directed at himself required to flow the other way.

"Korou, they have tried, and Iromi declined," Atla replied sternly. "Yaiphabi offered a stay at her home, but Iromi is stubborn. She said she wants to fight and change her father. That's why she will stay and defy him."

"Why?" The flame from the bonfire whithered and stopped. The cackling subsided as Cyan trails, fewer in number, sailed in.

"Her choice? Or why did I tell you this?"

"Both." He blurted out.

"You already know."

He gave her a nod.

"But, Korou, it wasn't your fault," Atla added and fell behind. Korou's vision blurred as it changed position from snowfields to stars above.

"But it was." Korou finally accepted. "I was only ever thinking of myself."

"That you were." Atla laughed. "But that's what you always do. However, this time you knew. And now you are accepting your mistakes."

"Doesn't change what I did."

"It's not about changing the past." Atla pressed her lips to his forehead. "It's about accepting. And that you did, right now. All that's left is for you to apologise."

"I can?"

"You should."

"And you call me the smart one."

"But you are!" Atla argued her arms entwined with his.

"Not as much as you."

"I just know stuff," She shook her head. "That's all there is to it."