On an ordinary day, the village of Sagyo hummed with a familiar rhythm: mornings were bustling with activity, while afternoons were reserved for retreating indoors during the hottest hours, napping, or relaxing in the shade. These idle hours were spent catching up on news and strengthening family bonds. 

As evening fell, the village centre came alive once more, with neighbours mingling and children playing together. It was a lively and vibrant community.

Today, however, the village followed a different tempo. The sun had just crested the mountains, its rays bathing the rooftops in gold and amber light. With the wet season drawing to a close, the rice paddies glimmered with a sheet of water, reflecting the clear sky. 

A steady stream of people made their way towards the village square, where a pavilion had been set up between two ancient camphor trees. 

The men cut sharp figures in crisp white shirts tucked into slim, tailored trousers, while women glided gracefully in ankle-length skirts, paired with delicate silk blouses trimmed with lace or embroidery, their hair swept up and pinned with fresh flowers. 

By mid-morning, a crowd had gathered, waiting with anticipation for the start of the Harvest Festival. Sein paused by the main road and observed a group of passerby. There appeared to be a family with two adults and three children, followed by a large band of young people. 

While the children eagerly anticipated the feast and the special sweet treats on offer, the adults were more focused on how they compared with their neighbours. 

Had they brought enough donations? Had they dressed appropriately to show off their wealth and status? 

The young people, on the other hand, were carefree and full of zest for life. They chatted and joked with each other. However, trailing behind this group was a solitary figure, a girl of about thirteen, walking quietly on her own.

Sein was instinctively drawn to the lone girl, understanding all too well the chill of isolation that numbs the soul. The lone girl, in contrast to the others, wore old, tatty clothes that were too small for her, revealing a great deal of her skinny legs. 

Around this awkward age, girls typically transition to wearing long skirts that covered their calves and ankles. Those who failed to conform to societal expectations of modest clothing, were not only frowned upon but also unfairly labelled as unrefined or, worse still, presumed to lack virtue or morality.

The lone girl was lost in her own thoughts as she ambled along, head downcast. Abruptly, she paused as she was passing Sein and turned towards her. She raised her gaze, dark eyes squinting against the glare of harsh sunlight, searching for something unseen. Finding nothing, she let out a soft breath and moved on.

A long-forgotten sensation awakened in Sein. Filled with compassion, she wished to alleviate the girl's suffering. 

But what could she do as Spirit of Cloth? What power did she have? 

Surely, I can manipulate fabric, Sein thought. Why not? Let me see what I can do. 

That notion planted itself in her mind, and with it came a flood of energy, fuelling her newfound sense of purpose.

Sein rushed after the lone girl, fixing her gaze on the silhouette as she pushed aside every other thought.

In her mind, she visualised mending the tears in the seams, lengthening the skirt, and renewing the fabric to a pristine state. She added a few tweaks to make the simple clothing more refined. 

Seeing the change she commanded, Sein was rewarded with a rush of satisfaction and fulfilment.  

A sixteen-year-old girl walking ahead, accidentally dropped an orange and chased after it as it rolled back towards the lone girl. When she glanced up, she was startled by the transformation she saw. She blinked several times to ensure her eyes weren’t deceiving her.

Before her stood a girl wearing a full-length skirt with a delicate floral pattern, its colour as bright as the sun. Her cream blouse was immaculate, with lace-edged sleeves and frog fastenings featuring elaborate loops and knots. The change had been so subtle that the girl herself hadn’t noticed, but she looked truly polished.

“What happened to you?” the older girl asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

The lone girl looked puzzled and repeated, “What? What happened?”

“I mean your clothes. You’ve changed your clothes. When did you do that? And where did you get those clothes from? They’re really nice.”

The lone girl looked down on her legs, and felt the silkiness of her long skirt flowing and caressing her ankles as the breeze picked up. She gasped in disbelief.

“I dunno. It’s… I dunno,” she stammered, then ventured uncertainly. “It must be Spirit of Clothes or something. I wished I’d had better clothes and I was praying for it this morning.”

Another girl from the group ahead, who was waiting for her friend, overheard this and spoke up, “Do you mean Spirit of Style? Wait, that doesn't sound right. I guess it must be Spirit of Clothes then.”

“No, there's no such spirit. There's probably one for cloth though. What do you reckon, Thuza?” Someone else joined in the discussion, as a few more young people retraced their steps towards the lone girl.

Thuza, having been asked for her opinion, nodded. 

“Yes, you’re right. My grandma is always telling me to never throw clothes on the floor or it’ll anger Spirit of Cloth. But she never told me this spirit can make your clothes look good.” 

She eyed the lone girl with keen interest before declaring, “I’m going to pray to Spirit of Cloth. I want pretty clothes too.” 

After the initial success of using her cloth power, Sein began receiving prayers from various people in the village. She granted the wishes generously. And with every joy and pleasure she brought to her devotees, a deep sense of accomplishment nourished her. 

As the weeks slipped away, Spirit of Cloth accumulated more and more followers. Within several months, the spirit’s growing popularity led to a small altar being erected, just outside the village square. 

A group of girls had initiated this, eager to provide the spirit a recognised ‘home’ for devotees to leave offerings. Though modest, a simple wooden shelf raised to chest height; it held a glass of water, smouldering sandalwood incense, and an assortment of fresh fruits. 

Sein was amused and touched to see her altar. She felt her power grow within her, like a water jug filling drip by drip, each drop, each devotee, steady and gratifying.

One late afternoon, cool air descended from the mountains, signalling a shift in the seasons. The fresh breeze tip-toed through the village, carrying with it the earthy scent of wood smoke from the cookers. 

After dinner time, several children came out to play in the streets. Sein noticed two young boys, who had the same wiry dark hair and bright, mischievous eyes, obviously brothers. They held wooden swords, crudely made out of branches, and engaged in an energetic pretend sword fight. Kicking up plumes of dust, the boys fiercely competed to knock the sword out of each other's hands.

“What on earth are you boys doing?” Sein exclaimed in frustration, after observing them for some time. “Your stance is all wrong, and your footwork is questionable. You don’t whack at each other like that!” 

Then realising mortals couldn’t hear her, she turned away, agitated. It was too annoying to watch their clumsy movements.

A thought occurred shortly afterwards. How do I know so much about sword fighting? Sein wondered. 

This question triggered her recollection of her eldest brother, Thura. 

***

It was early evening and the remaining light outside was fading fast. The shutters had been closed, and numerous ornate lanterns that hung throughout the family sitting room, were lit.

Sein heard footsteps breaking the silence, swift and certain, like someone on a mission. Her hands stilled over the embroidery she’d been diligently working on, and her eyes rose with expectation, anticipating her brother’s familiar figure to appear.

“You’re late today, Thura,” Sein called out, making her brother halt on his way to the dining room. 

Noticing her carelessly drop a small piece of cloth onto the polished wooden floor, he altered his course and approached her.

“Only a little. I guess I missed supper with the family.” 

Thura pulled off his military jacket, and draped it on the back of a low chair. He was like his father, tall and lean, with good looks and a pleasing presence. 

“You didn’t miss much. Just Mama making a huge fuss because cousin Htay announced his engagement today,” Sein said. “Mama was saying you should be settling down, since you’re practically ancient.”

Thura let out a sigh and crossed his arms, as he stated, “Twenty two is not ancient.” 

His eyes lingered on the object on the floor. “Don’t throw your work on the ground. You may anger the spirit of embroidery.”

Sein pulled a silly face at him.

Thura picked up the cloth and sat down next to Sein, propping the silk cushion behind his back. Then turning his attention to Sein, he asked, “What are you working on?”

“Oh it’s nothing important,” Sein replied. “Since I’m not allowed to do anything interesting like you. Mama seems to think if my hands are kept busy, then I won’t be so bored.”

“It looks like a gardenia, your favourite flower. You really have been working hard on it. This is good embroidery, Sein.” 

Sein shrugged off the comment. 

Stretching his arms and working out unseen knots, Thura continued, “Are you really that bored?”

“Totally,” Sein replied and leaned back in the chair, pulling her legs up and hugging her knees. “Tell me about your day.”

Thura scratched the back of his neck and yawned. Finally, he said, “It’s been a long one. I’ve been with the Crown Prince.” 

Sein glanced at him unimpressed. 

He continued, “Initially, I thought training the young prince was going to be a chore, but at fifteen, he’s rather impressive. He’s been learning martial arts with his uncle, so naturally he has poise, balance, and technique. But what really stood out was his ability to control his mind. He has excellent focus and self-discipline. His movements are decisive, smooth, and precise. I’m telling you, he’s on track to become an elite swordsman, probably even surpassing me one day. I suppose I completely lost track of the time. We’ve been at it all afternoon.”

“Sure,” Sein said flatly. “The Crown Prince is amazing. We can only have praises for him. An eternal light shines out of his ar–”

Thura flicked a stern look at Sein causing her to stop abruptly. 

He interjected, “I’m not like other people who praise him because he is the Crown Prince. I’m truly impressed. How fortunate can a young man be? Status, power, wealth, and even good looks.”

Sein shot up in her seat at this and said with disdain, “Oh please, he may be the perfect darling of this kingdom, dear brother, but I’ve seen him around at the Audience Hall last year. He lacks any personality or warmth. I fear he’s nothing more than an entitled young man. Another one to add to the pile of arrogant young lords of the court. You, on the other hand, are ten times more his worth…” 

Unexpectedly Thura burst into a fit of giggles, interrupting her. Sein crossed her arms to express her disapproval.

“Don’t be so hasty in your judgement of someone you don’t know personally. I see you’re trying to bolster my ego. Seriously though, Sein, don’t let anyone hear you speak harshly of the Crown Prince.”

“Why can’t I speak my mind,” Sein rolled her eyes again. “Fine, I get it. I shall hold my tongue and be generous with my words. It’s just, I suppose, I’m a bit envious that he gets to learn sword fighting and you’re the one teaching him.”

“He is the Crown Prince, after all. He gets to do a lot of things, some you may be envious of and others you’ll be glad you never have to encounter. Tell you what,” Thura said, a grin appearing. “If it’s in my power, and when you’re a bit older, maybe in a year’s time when you’re fifteen,” he patted her shoulder, “I will teach you sword fighting. You have my word.”

Before Sein could burst in excitement at her brother’s promise, their mother, Lady Marlar, walked into the room. Her figure was wonderfully ample, yet graceful. She was dressed in a coordinated top and long skirt, with a luxurious train gliding behind her. A serving girl followed, tray in hand, her steps careful to avoid the intricate lace and tulle trailing along the floor. 

“You will do no such thing, Thura,” Lady Marlar said, a matter of factly, observing the brother and sister briefly. 

She had fine features with dark eyes, though her face showed the trials of raising three sons and a daughter. “Playing around with a sword is not for a lady.”

Sein and Thura exchanged a glance, and Thura immediately objected, “Mama, swordsmanship is hardly playing around. I do not see why a lady should not learn to defend herself.”

Lady Marlar signalled for the serving girl to put the tray on the table, and dismissed her. 

Looking agitated, she rested her hands on her hips, and responded, “We have martial lords, like you, to protect us. Why would we, ladies, need to train in such physical pursuits. It will completely ruin our figures. Come, Thura, you can take your supper in this room.” 

Her attention now turned towards her daughter. 

“As for you, Sein, all this silly talk. What on spirits is going on in your head! I cannot help but think being constantly around your brothers has done you no good. Perhaps we should send you to a school for ladies since having your own teacher has not worked out.”

“No, Mama,” Sein quickly straightened her back, pulled her knees together, and rested her feet on the floor. “I promise I will behave in a lady-like manner. I will do my best to follow all the court etiquettes. Please do not send me away.”

Her mother wasn't listening. She was busy arranging a variety of dishes on the low table in front of her son. The air was saturated with the rich aroma of coconut chicken curry, mingling with the smokiness of charred meat and the comforting scent of freshly steamed rice, all blending into a tantalising medley. Thura picked up his cutlery and tucked into the papaya salad, the sharp lime dressing making him squint involuntarily.

“Really,” Lady Marlar muttered. “Surrounded by boys all your life. That will be why you are turning into a tom boy. Sword fighting and martial arts. Ludicrous. If only you had a sister but no, it was not meant to be. But why none of your cousins are girls is beyond me? There is simply not enough girls in our family.”

“Mama, please have faith,” Thura began after swallowing his food, then winked at Sein. “Your only daughter will turn out to be the picture perfect lady. She will have many suitable lords to choose to marry.” 

“I’m not just good for marrying off, you know,” Sein protested under her breath.