Mother's announcement of their upcoming plans had left Yellow jittery with anticipation. On one hand, the lemur could not be more eager to take part in the heroic strike that would finally rid these caves of the monsters of chaos. Together, they could make the chaos pay for everything it had done--and even more importantly, spread the influence of Order and the magic-connection-fungus to create a more beautiful world, where no family would ever be torn apart again. On the other hand... it was almost impossible not to be nervous about something as big as this, although Mother's confident reassurance helped immensely, of course.

They wished they knew how to find Khloros, the nice horse in whose mane they'd tied Mother's golden ribbon. He'd seemed... wise, they supposed. He'd spoken of things that had seemed vaguely bad and scary, but that the lemur hadn't really understood or thought much about at the time. Even now, they barely remembered any detail about what exactly the bad things were. If only they could speak again--! Yellow was sure that Khloros would have something helpful to say about Mother's future campaign, if he was here. What a shame that they had not known about the fungus back then, the fungus that could keep them all connected and not-lost!

With that in mind, they passed along the memory of the horse's tall black form to Mother. Perhaps she could keep an eye out; they were sure that Khloros would take the Hive's side on this issue.

That wasn't what they were here for today, though, even if this was coincidentally the place where they'd met Khloros cycles ago.

Yellow was here with their brothers.

A pouch of scarlet fabric was clutched in their hands, a ruby and chrysoberyl tucked away inside. Yellow opened it carefully now as they sat by the magic rift, holding the gems together in their palms. They remembered Sebastian telling them about rooms beyond Eridanus when they'd been young, and how they might visit those rooms later on. Although the exact details of any conversation with their brother had slipped away--all of it had been so long ago--they were sure that Sebastian must have liked to see the (relatively) newly-opened rooms.

(Had he seen them as the lemur slept unaware in their chrysalis? Had the rooms opened before or after? ... They weren't sure. But they were here anyway.)

"Look," the lemur whispered to the gemstones. "Isn't it pretty? As sparkly as Orion, but in a different way! This--this magic section of the rock here, I don't know what to call it--it gave me a big red blanket with a gold lion on it once. I think it might be... benevolent, I don't know. I don't know if it's magic enough to have thoughts or anything. But it might be!"

After a moment of thought, they tried to summon a banana, like Sebby used to do sometimes. Wouldn't it be nice to once again eat a sparkling banana beside their brothers' gems? A reminder of old times, and what they would be fighting to protect for others. But the magic wouldn't come, and quiet disappointment flickered in their chest. They would have to practice their spells more before it was time.

Yellow turned to face the rift, and said in a very serious and quiet voice: "Me and my family are about to do something very important! And very brave and good. I remember how you gave me a blanket once, when I was sad. I think you're good magic! So wish us luck?" They smiled, holding their brothers' gems close to their chest.

They hoped Sebby and Rift would be proud of them.

[Origin Cave]

While the rift was not sentient, Yellow was lucky enough to believe it just might be. As they clutched the gems of their brothers, the rift swelled with glimmering light, hummed, and spat out two things: a colorful garland of orange and yellow flowers, seemingly magically infused as the flowers never seem to wilt; and a tiny bookmark, pressed and sealed to contain several colorful dried yellow, red, and orange flowers sprinkled with spices of the same hues. Stamped into the bookmark in fancy hand-lettered script reads: The Festival of Colour.

***

Somewhere on the surface, an old witch was lamenting the loss of her beloved trinkets, wailing to the deaf ears of her sour companion. What did he have against color?! He'd tell her that winged good-for-nothing didn't deserve a festival, and she'd retort it was for the people, and they'd repeat this tiresome loop throughout the night...

@Yellow

It was as if the rift had agreed to their question.

Beautiful, shimmering magic announced the arrival of a garland of flowers and a small bookmark, both in the vibrant colors they loved so much. To the lemur, it was as if this sentient (for they were absolutely convinced it was sentient, and benevolent too, now!) rift had specifically sent the flowers to match their own color.

Blinking rapidly, Yellow found to their astonishment that their eyes were wet. "Thank you," they gasped past the sudden rise of emotion in their chest, and after a moment's hesitation, tried to repeat the rift's own whirling murmur back to it. Perhaps it would appreciate hearing its own 'language', or at least appreciate their attempt, since Yellow had no idea what the rushing sound actually meant, or if it even had a meaning.

The magic failed them, and after their initial disappointment Yellow reflected that maybe it hadn't been such a good idea anyway. If they were some kind of mysterious benevolent entity and someone suddenly imitated the sound of their breathing or their stomach rumbling, they'd be pretty weirded out.

Yellow returned their attention to the gifts the rift had given them. The garland of flowers they slipped around their neck; it had probably been meant to fit on the head of a human, but it made for a good lemur's necklace. Then they examined the bookmark, admiring the flowers and the patterns embossed into it. A thread of curiosity wove along their connection to Mother: did these pretty lines mean something? or were they simply decorative?

Regardless, the flowers made them think of Eridanus and plentiful fruit and bananas again, and they tried once more to summon a banana into their hands.

For a moment, it would feel as though a friend were peering over Yellow's shoulder, eyeing up the thing that they were questioning. Then came her voice, rippling through their mind:

"It says, 'Festival of Color.'" There was a pause, as if thoughtful, as she considered. "I believe a Festival is like... a celebration."

Then the presence receded, some, present and comforting but no longer at the forefront of Yellow's mind. There was a faint additional thought: a question as to where the writing had initially come from. But Mother knew that Yellow could not know, and she did not know where the Rift originated. So for now, it was only a lingering curiosity.

@Yellow