Bhun Uyi rubbed the lone leaf of the Youmlay berry and sat on his chair.

"Alright," he said. "Let's get started." The sun was barely up in the sky, and only a few rays of light peeked through the windows. But Bhun Uyi was ready to work.

He grabbed some clay and a knife as he began. Bhun Uyi was an artist. He loved to create things. He made statues and sculptures of hand-held sizes. They were elaborate, people told him. They were vibrantly painted and handled well. Every centimeter and inch was decorated with care, and each was shaped and molded meticulously.

This time around, he was in the mood to make trees. Lots and lots of trees. Big ones, little ones, ones clustered in forests. He wanted to make trees. He wanted to create trees.

Bhun Uyi squished the clay between his fingers and twisted it. The small clump, so fragile and squishy, and yet he treated it with care. As he had all his creations and artworks before. He ripped out a small piece and placed it on the rest of the creation. The creation twisted on the ground with a cylinder-like base, though much wider at the bottom with its roots.

It was another tree.

Bhun Uyi picked up the sculpture with a smile. It was a very intricate tree. Each leaf was distinct from the rest, with its slight point at the end for an overall round leaf. And they all were on the tree like a beautiful, massive bush that sat on the trunk. But some were more pointed than others. Some were more round and flat. Others stood up like glochidia. Bhun Uyi gazed at the creation with a smile.

"It's beautiful." He whispered. But it was missing one part; the words. Bhun Uyi didn't only create for his personal happiness–though that in itself was enough to make his heart full and flickering. Outside of his little home, there was Oceanuris.

And dangers lurked within its stone walls and borders. Or perhaps, sleeping in the Manor on the hill.

Bhun Uyi hoped his creations would bring hope to others for change.

Of course, it wasn't the only reason that people might create. But it was his. To create a better world. Maybe even lead people to a better world–he had much experience with that before in his previous jobs. He could manage if he wanted and if he willed it.

And he picked up the knife, writing slowly on the base. The clay wasn't exactly dry, so he had to be careful–and hopefully not smush it. After that he would paint it bronze, making his own paint with crushed colors of chalk, dye, and other hue-bleeding items–fruit, perhaps. And plants. Oceanuris had a lot of those.

The final part of the process was to sit outside in the afternoon sun and sell his creations. Or hope that people would be willing to give a Pesing Pebble to him. Before, he had these two customers, consistent in buying his sculptures. But he hadn't seen the couple in a while.

But nevermind that. He'd still keep creating. He didn't want to float around and subsist on eating, breathing, and sleeping.

He wrote carefully with the knife that acted as a Graphie stem.

FOR WE'LL CREATE A BETTER WORLD. WE'LL CREATE BETTER, NEW WORLD.

#

That night, Bhun Uyi slept peacefully in his bed. He didn't make much Pesing Pebbles out of his creations. But a few people bought his creations, and a few gave the Pesing Pebbles that he needed.

And so he was comfortable in his home, lying peacefully in the warm sheets. The blanket wrapped him like a large dog that loved its human friend, or a polar bear resting atop his body. It felt good, though a little hot–considering it wasn't exactly cold in Oceanuris.

And Bhun Uyi rolled in that bed. He felt his body heat up. He wiped his forehead and frowned. He felt heat radiate from all around him. Bhun Uyi pushed himself up from the bed and glanced around.

And there, there was red.

And there, there was orange and yellow and a smoky smell up his nose.

Fire.

Bhun Uyi coughed and pushed himself from the sheets. He launched himself out of the sheets. He glanced around in the pitch darkness and waved his hand. He darted his eyes left and right to every silhouette in the room. It was still dark, in the pockets of the room where the fire did not reach.

Round. Tall. Wide. Rectangular.

Bhun Uyi stood up and ran to the kitchen, and his hands scrambled for an object.

Cold. Heavy. Wet.

He picked up a wooden jug of water. He ran to the fire, his steps flashed to the flame.

And he dumped the water in the fire.

PSHHHHHH!

The smoke blew and flew into the air in gray wisps. He closed his eyes as the smoke poked his eyes. He blinked his eyes open and wiped his face, his eyes wet from the smoke.

And he ran to the kitchen for another jug. With fast hands, he planted his hands. Left and right. He searched for another water jug.

Bhun Uyi coughed as the smoke wrapped him. He waved his arms frantically, before glancing around and running out the door.

#

Bhun Uyi's feet quickly traveled as he raced! out the door. He waved his hand in his face once again and coughed. Aha, aham.

He wiped his face and turned around to his tiny home. There it was, in the ashes. The house crumbled in gray and coal and burnt edges. Some of the foundation of the house broke and burnt to the ground. And the roof slumped slowly before crashing on the ground, making a cackle, cackle, as the fire reached out for it.

Bhun Uyi glanced around the area. He couldn't let the house burn and touch the other nearby houses. But he knew that the house would no longer be his home.

With a heavy sigh, Bhun Uyi ran on his feet.

And searched for another water jug to extinguish the flames, before the fire ate up the neighborhood and his wishes of a better world would be in flames.