The Pinnacle of Human Creation: Having Fun!

The third floor'Peb'—wind of the central pagoda was desolate. The erum floor creaked faintly of a whistling breeze and not by the erratic steps of the student. Korou sat flushed underneath the winter sun's glimmering amber haze, his head tilted over the scattered sheaf of carta, reading the final act of the tragic Ballad—Nongpok Sepia Sheireng—The saga of Nongpok and Sepia.

"And then she was blue, her steps a verdant flower, smile a drifting bloom on an autumn night, eyes gleaming in lunar ephemerality, and then she closed her eyes." Korou recited in a glimmering whisper. He was alone; there was no audience. But the resolve behind those words echoed from aeons ago, compelling him to acknowledge a dying love of a mortal and divine. "If I could, this realm would be hers; the Primordium and Eschaton would kneel, but that night, draped in lunar argent, she looked tranquil. Sepia was Goddess no more, but a mortal, and she would live in the eternal yonder of mine." The act ended there. Korou huffed and turned the page. It was the original Codice. After reading Iromi's translation, he felt a tepid need to experience the original work. He had found the copy in the classical section of the Sanctorum.

Korou's brow knitted as he traced the final line from the author.

'The course of true love never did run smooth'

Dusk approached the Monastery in a twilight gale, and the melody from the valley flowed in sonorous chords. It was the eve of Mewaric Sufi, the Saints from the Imperial province had set up their mellifluous stage—Rangmandap, and now they enchanted the festive week in a tranquil, romantic and introspective canticle. Korou swayed his head in its faint reverberation. The music was enticing, each note stepped into the realm of the divine.

Korou heaved a long breath and glanced at his half-filled scroll. He was jotting down the Lamphi Shamans' genealogy and their connection with the last Shaman King. It was an arduous process, requiring the initiative to skim through primary text and a dozen classics. And although this wasn't an individualistic project, Korou had undertaken it upon himself to conclude it. He couldn't bother Iromi, Ibo and Atla. They were entranced with the festival and the elation it brought.

He tapped the sturdy low table and hummed the Sufi tune. Despite being an alien euphony, his heart felt serene. He wanted to be with them, but the incapacity of his bleak soul chained him.

Korou was convinced that this joyous occasion wasn't for him. And even if he yearned for it somewhere, his presence would sully the ambience. Thus, the choice of drowning under the guise of studies brought comfort. No one would hurt that way.

"Korou Kshetriba Kouburu!" The sliding door creaked open. Athongba Leina, the acting head-priestess, and his nemesis stood there with their arms crossed and lips curled into a scowl. "What are you doing here?"

Korou winced, but held back his tongue. He wasn't fond of engaging with Leina, but she was his master. And that called for respect.

"Trying to study, until your rude intervention..." Korou internally grimaced. His witting tongue would one day be the end of him.

Athongba Leina released a stifled laugh and sat cross-legged before him. Her scowl despite the mirth was intimidating. She leaned over his side, her charteruse eyes gazing at his unfurled parchment. There was a strictness in them softened by warmth.

"The tale of Sepia and Nongpok," She mumbled, pulling the Codice from under the scroll. Korou, who was expecting a lecture on the shortcomings of his assignment, glanced at her with a frozen gaze. "This is..." Leina shuffled through its rustic pages with awe. "Could you understand the prose?"

Korou shot her the side-eye and tapped over his notes. "I even cited them in your assignment; their saga was the trend a few hundred years ago, and also the last Shaman King's favourite."

"Pakhangba's wings, you have gotten better." She closed the book with a thump. "But we still need to work on that tone of yours. Now, please tell, Kshetriba, why are you still here?"

He exhaled a breath. "The village is too loud, and master's enumeration of manuscripts is never-ending." He felt his lips upturped in a slight quiver. It made him gulp and thankful, for Atla wasn't here. "It demands from me utmost focus and scant sacrifices. Thus, the solitude of the studiolum and, by extension, the Monastery greatly helps with my studies."

"Your extended vocabulary duly shows your sincerity," Leina stroked her choppy forest-green hair, they were grown out now. "But the arrogance gives away the facade. Vacation by the Monastery is given to unwind from the stress of the bygone year, and, although I accept your predicaments." She pointed at the girthy tomes with a sheaf of parchments and a feathered pen arranged over the floor. "I can't overlook the reluctance to participate in a festival celebrating the culture of your land."

"But that will hinder my progress..." Korou laughed at his own words; they came out in a weak protest. "There is also your assignment," He profusely tapped over the half-lidded scroll. "I would miss the deadline if-"

Athongba Leina snatched it away in a sweep, her eyes sparkling with mirth. It was the first time Korou had seen the woman without a scowl. It reminded him of his guide from post-grad.

"The assignment is hereby accepted, and the entire group receives full grades."

"But that's an undue advantage of your position as an educator..."

"If you feel that," Her lips crinkled into a smirk. "Then I change my grounds of evaluation. Oh, and mind you, this will be your end-of-term examination. Failure would lead to expulsion or repeat from the first year."

"Sure..." Korou bit his lips. He didn't want to run his mouth. It would only lead to further disaster. And this new arrangement was acceptable to him as long as he used the Monastery's facilities.

"A practical evaluation," She hummed and gestured towards the gold-hued valley. "I want you to participate in the Cherouba every day until the first dawn. Converse with others, help someone, or enjoy the offerings, but keep out of the confines of your home or here."

Korou drew on the sleeves of his Chuba. His gaze was downcast. This was not what he wanted. "How would you know?" He asked in a last attempt at rebellion.

"I am the acting head-priestess Korou; the Cherouba carnival is under my jurisdiction. I will know." Athonba Leina brought out an empty scroll from her sleeves. "And you will also be writing a report on your experiences."

"And that is how I got most of my readings confiscated." Korou's lips were curled into a pout recounting his tragic tale. Meanwhile, Atla rolled uncontrollably beside him, giggling before resting her head over his lap.

"She cares about you a lot," Atla tried, her eyes gazing at his.

"I don't think our definition of caring is the same, dork warrior."

"It is just a matter of perspective, dumb brat." She pinched his nose. "And we both know how rigid you can be."

He sighed. A day had passed since his new evaluation grounds were made official. Korou, perplexed by the acting head-priestess's orders, rolled underneath the Merusheep's blanket in a delusional avoidance. He was smart; he knew what had to be done. But he couldn't. For most of his life, Korou had drowned himself in pursuing knowledge. Whether it be Ydalba or Earth, studies were always a priority; thus, the concept of vacation was a fleeting notion. And by that account, a report made him tremble.

His finger quavered, his eyes bulged, whenever he tried to incept the outline for his report. The deadline wasn't an issue; conversely, it was ample, but the desolation within his heart and the creeping chains of a bygone past whispered in pessimism. He hadn't changed at all.

"Drowning yourself in stress is something Gradmna does a lot," Atla tugged at his cheek with a toothy smile. "But even she believes festivities are good for matters of the heart."

Korou's mouth parted in awe, but he quickly shook it off. The sensation of imminent doom still drew at him.

"Anyways, what should I do for the report?" He queried. Korou needed help; he was lost. His past experience couldn't make up for this disparity; he required the genesis of a new system. A framework that could help him experience this Cherouba.

"Enjoy the carnival," Atla shrugged, poking his sides. "What else?"

"Surely it can't be that simple." He yanked her wrist away. "There needs to be some theories, or maybe a handbook-"

Atla pressed her palms over his lips, shutting him up. "Leave it to you, dumb brat, and even enjoying would become boring."

"It is supposed to be fun?"

"May the east winds bless you with brains!" Atla pushed him and poked him on the neck. "For all the smarts, Pakhangba, took away simplicity."

"But..."

She pressed a finger to his lips and winked. "Let the great Atla be your guide, young one. I shall bestow upon you the pinnacle of human creation: having fun!"