Chapter 11

“…….”

I was standing in the workshop.

“…….”

What I was looking at were the numerous drawers covering all four walls.

What I was recalling were the paint ingredients that would be sleeping quietly in those drawers.

“…….”

Soon, I moved.

“…Let's use what I used last time.”

I brought out the ingredients I had used in the past when creating the water birds.

That wasn't all.

Not only gems resembling aquamarine and emerald, but also white and transparent pebbles like marble from a stream.

A piece of an obsidian branch that had been hiding among the forest, pretending to be a burnt tree.

A light green tree bark, so vibrant it looked like juice would come out if pressed firmly….

When I felt it was enough, I stopped taking ingredients out of the drawer.

“It's tiring to put them back if there are leftovers, so if I run short, I'll just get more later….”

Clack, clatter.

I placed the ingredients on the workbench.

“…Today's content.”

Making my own paint.

“Nice.”

Basically, the materials needed to make oil paint were pigment to create color, oil to mix it with, and a glass plate and a pestle to gather and mix them into a fine paint.

If you wanted to mix it well, a palette knife of a suitable size was also needed.

Among them, what I was trying to make now was the pigment that would provide the color.

“First, shall I try breaking them a bit.”

In the state they were in, just taken out of the drawer, the ingredients couldn't be made into proper paint.

They all had to be made into the form of colored powder and to do that, it seemed they had to be broken first.

I prepared a sharp nail and a hammer.

Staring intently at a transparent gem, I soon placed the nail on a certain point and tap! hit it.

“…….”

Even though it wasn't a strong force, the gem, struck precisely on its fissure, split into two pieces.

I thought.

‘As expected, I'm a cool potato.’

This mountain village idol knows the splitting point of minerals just by looking at them.

‘I should have been a miner.’

I continued my work.

Clatter.

“…….”

Tap, crack.

Craaack…!

“…….”

Snap.

“…Yes.”

Perhaps because I identified and struck only the weakest grain, the gem was soon broken into pieces smaller than my pinky nail.

“This much should be enough.”

I smashed the finely fragmented gem with the hammer, then swept the smaller pieces into a ceramic pestle and ground them with force.

At some point, the grinding sound that hit the ears changed smoothly as if glass beads were rolling, and the gem became all powder.

“…What kind of principle is this….”

A pigment with an exquisite mix of blue and light green was completed.

“This is troublesome. I hope I don't get captured and taken to a research lab because everything that constitutes me is so special.”

The ingredients in this workshop were all unique.

Originally, if you grind gems, you only get stone powder.

The reason most gems have a transparent and beautiful color is due to their molecular structure and if you grind them, the transparency of the gem can no longer be found.

But the gems here were different.

‘Even when ground, their color and transparency remain intact.’

For their original colors to remain whole even after going through my amateur process, it was truly a case of benefiting from excellent materials.

The finely ground gems, when clumped together, would shine with a unique, refreshing transparency.

Having silently made all the ingredients into pigments, I slowly mixed them with the prepared oil.

“…….”

Even though it was raw stone powder that had been ground up, the oil and pigment did not separate.

Normally, I would have had to prepare an oil that matched the characteristics of the pigment, but the wax in my workshop showed excellent viscosity and compatibility.

“…Mix in the scent too….”

Moving beyond simply creating color, I even added a well-matching scent.

The scented oil, infused with things like flowers or fruits, strangely blended excellently with the pigment.

“Grind it, and add it….”

I added the pigment and scented oil and ground it finely on the glass plate.

“…….”

So that it feels like silk brushing against the hand.

Very finely.

***

The water birds I made were more playful than I thought.

“Kids.”

Clatter.

“The back of Dad's neck feels chilly.”

They were squirming inside my collar and making nests.

Inside the collar of my shirt, inside the slightly open gap of my sleeves, in my pants and my top, wherever there was space, the water birds were wedged in.

‘Isn't it uncomfortable.’

To compare them to small water balloons, the appearance of the guys who had settled inside my clothes, even crumpling their own shapes, could hardly be called balloons or birds.

Seeing them crumpled up while maintaining a minimal round shape, I looked at the ceiling for a moment.

“…….”

I'll let it slide because it's funny.

“…Perhaps it's because they're doing it to me, their parent, but they seem to like being wedged in somewhere. Or do they like hiding.”

The water birds had a habit of flocking together in groups. If not that, they preferred to pool somewhere.

Sometimes when I went outside the cabin, I was often surprised by puddles that appeared even though it hadn't rained.

‘They’re definitely different from ordinary puddles, so I can notice them right away.’

The puddles they gathered in had a faint bluish light, were strangely transparent, and had various trinkets rolling around inside them.

It was ironic, considering that when I recalled them usually clumped together in the shape of round birds, I couldn't feel any viscosity at all.

“They look just like water on the outside.”

Rustle.

“If you keep making a fuss, I might just stick a straw in and slurp you up.”

Rustle, rustle.

“It was a joke, I won't drink you. That was a scary thing to say, even for me.”

Living water, how could I possibly drink such a thing.

“Eating something alive, drinking paint, and consuming the children I birthed from paint are all physiologically difficult for me.”

Clatter?

“Before I can be moved by your filial piety, suggesting you could offer your bodies if your father is thirsty, I feel terror. It would be best to refrain.”

Exchanging a meaningless conversation with my children, who had grown to nearly several hundred, I was now sitting in the workshop.

“I need to build you a house.”

I didn't think much of it at first, but having living water roaming around the house was getting on my nerves.

If they just gathered quietly, it would be fine, but they sometimes came into the house and caused trouble or stole things.

If that was all, I would have found it cute and let it go, but because they sometimes hide in the stream as well….

“I've been saying this, but I don't really mean to drink you. I misspoke, kids.”

Squish.

“No, I refuse. Don't brand your dad with some weird taste. I just wanted to drink some water.”

I had almost really drunk the water birds.

“Do you know how surprised I was when you popped out of my mouth? Yes, you, the one with nothing in your stomach right now.”

The only way to distinguish the water birds was by their faint light and the trinkets inside them, but when one completely assimilated with the stream water without any of its own items, it was impossible to tell.

When I felt the water squirming in my mouth, my heart sank.

The bird itself didn't seem to mind, and surprisingly even seemed to like it, but I had no such merciless tastes.

“You guys need a home too.”

Clatter, clack?

“You need your own habitat.”

It's not like we don't have money, or time, or land.

In this abundant and wide world, what's this about living as dependents.

“And….”

There was also a personal interest.

“I'm thinking of decorating this place a little.”

Tap-tap, clack!

“It's too plain right now.”

A single cabin, a vast forest, and a beautiful spring.

That alone was insufficient.

“I should make a fishing spot.”

There's a reason for the immense popularity of open-world RPGs.

In any content, a map isn't good just because it's big; it must be rich with elements to enjoy.

“I’m not saying this place is really a game, but it’s true that it needs to be developed. In the end, it’s the same context.”

The outdoor activities I did now were, at best, gathering and farming. I had to increase the content I could enjoy one by one so I wouldn't get bored without even leaving the painting.

“For some reason, I just don't feel attached to the outside world right now.”

Rip.

“Maybe it's because it's not the world I remember from back then….”

Rip.

“I don't want to live there.”

I liked it here inside the painting now.

“And living the life of a bum is good too.”

Actually, this was the best part.

“…Come out now.”

Click! Clack!

“I don't mind you watching me paint, but it's distracting if you stay inside my clothes. My shirt is about to burst right now, poor thing.”

Clatter….

“Do you think this dad is doing this for my own good, kids? Remember that this is all to build a house for you.”

Fortunately, the water birds obediently came out of my clothes.

“…….”

Thanks to my children who knew how to listen, I could finally hold the brush.

I opened my mouth.

“If I'm going to fish….”

A large lake would be nice.

“Let's make it a lake.”

Let's make it a lake where the trees and water are in direct contact.

Fish will live beneath it.

There will be small minnows that flowed in from the stream and flatfish hiding their bodies buried in the sand at the bottom.

“Nice.”

Let's also build a bridge to fish from.

There's a wooden bridge connecting the middle of the large lake.

Is the color a bit light?

A light and soft color like a freshly baked loaf of bread would be nice.

If the lake water can be glimpsed through the gaps in the wooden planks, it would sparkle in the sunlight during the day.

What would the evening scenery be like?

“…….”

Every time it sways in the wind, the water's surface will glow like a gentle lantern.

When night falls and it gets dark, I hope the inside can be seen clearly.

I hope the entirety of that deep lake's interior can be seen.

It would be a bright but gentle light, like the fluorescent bracelet I used to cherish and watch by myself as a child, hidden under a thick blanket in a dark room.

“…It would be nice if the color changes according to your mood.”

Rustle.

“Golden on a good day, red on a bad day, blue on a sad or depressing day… and green on an ordinarily peaceful day.”

Rustle, rustle.

“Because you don't have vocal cords, so you can't cry.”

If I can't hear you, I'll make it so I can see you.

“That's how I can talk with you too.”

Although I was the creator of the water birds, I couldn't control them as I pleased.

So I don't know what the water birds are thinking, their forms are hazy, and without vocal cords, they're quiet, so if I don't listen carefully, I don't even know where they are.

‘It's not for nothing that I almost ate one. Such a catastrophe must not happen again.’

If not for their playful and chatty personalities, I would surely not be able to find them.

“…….”

That seemed a little sad.

“I'll come visit at night. We can talk then.”

Squish.

“If you shine such a light on a dark evening, I'll be able to see it even if I'm in the cabin. Yes, that would work. I'll be watching you from the veranda, so you can tell me what you want to say then.”

Squish, squish.

“Yes.”

I moved the brush again.

“Let's do that.”

The lake I painted held the night.

“…I like it.”

The lake's color was not just one.

Water birds like to gather together, but the treasures they keep inside their bodies are all different.

Their personalities are different. What they say, what they think, what they do, all have to be different.

‘So the complaints or boasts they whisper each night will all be different.’

So with my brush, I placed their halos of light one by one.

“It looks just like pointillism.”

Up close, I will be able to tell which of you is struggling and hurting and which is joyful and happy.

From afar, I will be able to tell what you as a whole want to say to me, and when I should come to comfort you and talk.

“Nice.”

It also looked like a flower garden blooming on the surface of the water.

Perhaps because it was painted with paint I made myself, I could feel an unidentifiable freshness, even though it was clearly water.

“Good.”

Or like fireflies, or the forest butterflies that resemble the sunlight and moonlight wandering this place.

Perhaps it resembled the sparkle of a transparent light reflected on a glass window.

“…….”

When I had painted all of their emotions, the lake was tinged with a golden light.

“…I think it’s good.”

The pleasure of pulling something from my imagination into reality was beyond words.

This lake will be located a little far from the cabin, and also clearly separate from the spring.

The trees bordering the edge of the lake will still maintain their greenery.

“During the day, it will be blue.”

When you scoop up the water, it will be as clear as if it holds the sky, its inside a chilling blue like the sea, and the glistening ripples that sparkle when the sunlight hits will look almost white.

I wonder if all these water birds will hide and move there, and sometimes, when bored, pop their heads out to play pranks.

“At night, you'll sparkle as you please….”

Sparkle like water made of mist.

“You’ll be spawning light.”

Like newborn babies who giggle at the slightest breeze, you will all shine brightly.

Imagining that made me feel very good.

“…….”

Tap.

When I tapped the canvas, the painting soon disappeared.

Maybe it was my imagination, but the scent of water flowed from afar.

It was a scent so gentle that just smelling it made me want to lie down on the moss and fall asleep immediately.

‘For a scent to come from plain water, is it a similar feeling to the white wood spring.’

The bird on my shoulder flinched upon smelling that scent and the bird sitting on the canvas fluttered.

Flutter—!

Flit, flit!

Swoooosh—.

Click, clack!

Splash…!

The many birds that had been hanging from the light fixture flew out through the open window.

Their energetic wing beats were like those of migratory birds returning to their homeland, so cool like a breeze blowing from the seaside that….

“…….”

I really liked it.

The water birds probably would too.

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