The path to the top of the hill was steep and winding, flanked by trees whose trunks curved like they had grown sideways in defiance of gravity. The leaves above rustled gently in the breeze, painting soft shadows across the mossy ground. Amukelo and Pao climbed steadily, their breath gradually growing heavier, their hands brushing against trunks and stones for balance. Though the hill wasn't terribly tall, its incline was unrelenting.
Pao exhaled sharply and stopped to lean against a rock. "This is harder than I thought," she said, brushing her forehead with her sleeve.
Amukelo smirked, his hand on his hip. "Maybe that's why people from the village don't come here. It's a little too much work." He gestured vaguely behind them. "They'd rather secure their future by selling... what did we pay, two gold coins for that blanket and snacks?"
Pao giggled between breaths. "I guess you're—whoa!" Her foot slipped out from under her, skidding on a muddy patch hidden beneath the grass.
But before she could fall, Amukelo caught her hand and steadied her with ease, his instincts sharp. She blinked up at him, slightly breathless.
"Careful," he said softly, not letting go right away.
Back at the cliffside, the crowd had grown completely still, and Bao sat cross-legged beside Bral on the blanket, her shoulders relaxed. Without her usual protective glare or sarcastic remarks, she looked more thoughtful—peaceful even. She tapped her fingers gently against her knee and glanced toward the darkening horizon.
"I wonder if any of them will come back," she said, her voice quiet, a little uncertain.
Bral smiled faintly. "Idin? Lost to tailoring forever. That old man's probably putting him through some crazy rite of passage with needles and thread."
Bao chuckled at that, but her smile faded slightly. "Amukelo and Pao though… I wonder what they thought of. I hope they're okay."
Bral shrugged, eyes still on the sky. "They'll be fine. Knowing them, they're off somewhere trying to make a private moment out of the festival. Can't blame them."
Bao sighed, hugging her knees. "I know, I just… without them here, something feels off. Like there's a piece missing."
Then suddenly, a streak of white light tore across the sky.
Bao's eyes widened, and her breath caught in her throat. Another streak followed it. Then another. A silent wave of awe rolled over the crowd as the meteor shower began. In the fading light, the sky came alive.
Hundreds of silver threads laced the heavens, crossing paths, some faint and fast, others slow and brilliant. Blues, golds, and faint purples streaked across the night, as if the stars themselves had decided to leave trails behind them just once for those lucky enough to see. Bao's eyes reflected the falling light, wide with wonder. She leaned closer to Bral and whispered, "I guess it's not that bad after all."
Bral didn't reply at first, but a soft smile curled at the edge of his lips. He turned slightly toward her, watching the sky, and let the moment speak for itself.
Far above the village, Amukelo and Pao crested the hill's peak, finally reaching the clearing. Their breath was short, but the sight before them wiped all fatigue away.
The clearing was ringed by a natural halo of trees, all bowing just slightly outward, as if making room for the view. In the center stood a single massive tree, its thick, winding trunk leaning slightly toward the sky.
Amukelo helped Pao up the last slope, then gently guided her to the base of the tree. Both of them collapsed there, their backs against the bark, shoulders touching. The world around them was silent except for their breathing—and the falling stars above.
Pao looked up and her lips parted in disbelief. "This is…"
"Beautiful," Amukelo finished, his voice reverent.
The sky wasn't just full of meteors. It was full of light. Like the sky itself was breaking apart to let heaven shine through.
Each meteor shimmered with its own hue. Some were gold, trailing fire like the tails of dragons. Others were icy blue, streaking so slowly it felt like they were swimming through water. Some flared and burned out in a flash, while others kept going, arcing over the hills and beyond.
The moon, now fully risen, cast a silvery glow over the clearing, and the light caught in Pao's eyes as she leaned slightly against Amukelo. Their hands found each other's, fingers intertwining, holding on like this moment would slip away if they didn't.
"I guess being selfish from time to time isn't that bad," Amukelo whispered, squeezing her hand.
Pao nodded slowly, never taking her eyes off the heavens. "Yeah…"
As the last meteors faded into the dark, and the sky returned to its quiet dotted stars, Amukelo and Pao made their way back down the hill. Their elegant clothes were now far from pristine—Amukelo's boots were caked in dried mud and grass, and Pao's light blue dress had clear smudges across the hem and sleeve from when she had slipped earlier.
They reached the main road just as the final stragglers of the crowd were dispersing. Lanterns still lit the cobbled path in a soft gold, and the faint sounds of late-night festival laughter drifted through the streets. When they approached the blanket where Bral and Bao still sat, watching the dimming horizon, Bral didn't even wait for a proper greeting. His arms crossed like an irritated parent, his foot tapping with theatrical impatience.
"So," he said flatly, raising one eyebrow. "Care to explain why you two disappeared like that?"
Amukelo opened his mouth, visibly trying to think of something believable, maybe even something clever—but then Pao gently stepped in front of him, clasping her hands behind her back, her smile sweet and entirely unapologetic.
"No," she said simply, "we won't."
Then she turned her warm smile toward Amukelo, and he gave her a confused glance followed by a half-hearted smirk. He shrugged, as if to say well, that works too.
Bral blinked, looking from one to the other like they had just spoken in code. "That's it? Just 'no'?"
Bao, however, had already noticed the dirt stains on Pao's once-elegant dress. Her lips pulled into a familiar frown. "Really, what have you two been doing?" she asked, arms crossing like a mirror of Bral, but with far more pointed judgment.
Pao gave her sister a sheepish shrug and gestured at the dark smudge across her sleeve. "I slipped on some mud."
Bao sighed with the weight of a thousand older-sibling frustrations. "Whatever. At least you're happy."
Pao's smile deepened, and she brightened. "So? How was the meteor shower?"
Bao's expression softened at that. "Well… can't complain for staying here." She looked toward the horizon where the last shimmer of a meteor trail hung like a glowing thread. "It was beautiful."
After their reunion, the group wandered the village for a while longer. The festival had entered its quieter phase—fewer crowds now, more laughter, soft music played by string instruments echoing from the center of the village. Some of the stalls still had sweets and dried fruits, and Pao dragged Amukelo to try a strange chewy honey root she found oddly delicious and he found disturbingly sticky.
Bral attempted to challenge a local boy to a dart game and got soundly beaten, while Bao berated him for risking gold coins on carnival games. They passed under paper lanterns shaped like falling stars, hung from threads between buildings and gently swaying in the night breeze.
Eventually, the late hour caught up to them, and they returned to the house they'd been staying in. Bral knocked on the door lightly and muttered, "I hope we don't wake him up."
But the door creaked open before they could knock again. The old man, lantern in hand, gave them a crooked smile. "Oh, you're back. How was the festival?"
Bral stretched with a groan and grinned. "Well... no wonder why so many people come here."
The group exchanged tired smiles, then shuffled in and immediately collapsed into whatever space they could find. They were asleep before their heads touched anything remotely soft.
The next morning sunlight streamed through the window, soft and golden. Amukelo stirred, blinking groggily and rubbing at his eyes. He yawned and sat up on the mat where he'd fallen asleep, stretching out his arms and trying to blink away the residual sleep.
He looked around the small room, half-expecting everyone to still be snoring. Bral was on his side, a thin strand of drool threatening to escape the corner of his mouth. But something was missing.
"Where's Idin?" Amukelo asked, his voice still thick with sleep.
Bral stirred with a grunt. "Hmm…?"
"I said, Idin's not here."
Bral rolled onto his back and pulled the blanket over his face. "He's probably still in that house. With his... sewing... mentor."
Amukelo's brow furrowed. "We forgot about him?"
"He's a grown man with a needle obsession," Bral muttered. "He can take care of himself."
"No, come on," Amukelo said, already pulling his shirt on. "We can't just leave him like that. What if he hasn't slept?"
"Then it's his fault," Bral said, but he groaned and pushed himself upright anyway. "Fine. I'm up."
Ten minutes later, they stood outside the small house where the old robe maker lived. Bral knocked on the door, muttering under his breath, "He better be dressed."
The door opened almost immediately. The old man grinned, looking far too energized for someone hosting a sewing hostage. "Oh, it's you. I have to say, your friend truly has passion."
They stepped in—and stopped.
There, hunched over a low table littered with threads, scissors, and pieces of cloth, was Idin. His hair was a mess. His eyes had deep, purple rings beneath them. He hadn't changed clothes, and the light of obsession glinted in his bloodshot eyes. His hands trembled slightly as he carefully adjusted the final fold on a nearly-finished robe.
"Is he... okay?" Bral asked, watching like he was approaching a wild animal.
The old man chuckled. "He didn't sleep a single minute. Said he had to finish before the sun came up."
"I did it," Idin said suddenly, his voice hoarse and ragged. He lifted the robe like it was a sacred artifact. "It's finished."
He looked at the garment with glazed eyes and a disturbing blush of satisfaction creeping across his cheeks.
"I've never loved something so much," he whispered.
There was a long silence.
Bral, deadpan, folded his arms and stared at him. "Okay… now this is really disturbing."
Bao looked mildly horrified.
Pao put a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle.
The old man just gave a proud, awkward smile and nodded. "A true tailor's soul."