Boom—
A flash of lightning split the sky like a blade, followed by a thunderclap that shook the walls.
Mino's eyes flew open. For a few heartbeats, she couldn't tell whether the tremor that ran through her body came from fear or from the echoing roar outside. She lay there still, dazed and half tangled in her blanket, until another blinding flash illuminated the windowpane.
Then came the rumble—deep, resonant, like the growl of something ancient awakening beyond the clouds.
"Thunder?" she murmured, voice small in the dim light.
She pushed herself up, the chill of the floor biting at her bare feet, and tiptoed to the window.
Outside, dawn had arrived, but the morning was dark and restless. Thick clouds churned over the horizon, black and bruised, their undersides heavy with rain. The first drops pattered against the roof like fingers drumming a warning.
Mino pressed her hand to the windowpane. Her reflection stared back—pale and faint in the ghostly light. She had always loved storms, but this one carried a wildness that made her feel both insignificant and alive. The sky was so vast, so untamable, that for a moment she simply stood there, humbled.
"The night's really over," she whispered, half to herself.
Turning back, her gaze landed on the painting hanging along the far wall. It caught her every time—the soft hues, the careful lines, the quiet warmth it radiated. She stepped closer, her fingertips brushing the frame.
It was Hometown, the piece Luciel had finished the night before.
Even after staring at it for hours, she still couldn't fully believe it existed. The brushwork was impossibly real, the light within it alive. There was a tenderness in every stroke that she couldn't imitate no matter how hard she tried.
"Every time I see it, it feels… impossible," she murmured.
Her own attempt at painting yesterday had been nothing short of a disaster. Just thinking about it made her groan. She covered her face with both hands, muffling a laugh. "So embarrassing…"
Another burst of thunder rolled overhead, shaking the timbers of the little house. The storm was coming fast.
Mino glanced once more at the painting, reluctant to turn away, before stepping into the hallway.
The fire in the hearth was already awake, crackling warmly against the cold air, though the room itself felt strangely empty.
"Luciel?" she called softly.
No answer.
She pushed open the door and found him outside in the yard. His figure stood firm against the wind, the faint silver of his hair glistening under the swelling clouds.
"Luciel! What are you doing?" she shouted over the rising wind.
He looked up briefly, rain already beginning to dot his shoulders. "Preparing for rainwater collection," he said, his tone calm as if the storm's fury were nothing more than background noise.
Beside him, the massive rock tortoise rumbled softly, its broad shell gleaming as it worked the soil. Luciel was reshaping the yard, adjusting the slope of the ground so that the rain would channel neatly toward a wide wooden tub set at the center.
Mino jogged closer, dodging stray drops. "Then what should I do?"
Luciel paused to think, hand braced against his knee. "You can handle breakfast," he said. "And prepare extra charcoal. We'll need it later."
"Okay!" She grinned and ran back toward the kitchen, her steps light despite the thunder overhead.
Luciel straightened, glancing at the shifting sky. The air was thick, the scent of ozone sharp and electric. "Funny," he said to no one in particular. "I was just thinking last night that we needed rain."
Now it had arrived—violent, relentless.
Through his connection with the tricolor lizard, he could sense movement at the edges of the forest: the Bloodbeard gang was on the move again. He exhaled slowly. At this pace, we'll cross paths by noon… good. That means no confrontation.
For now, his priorities were simple—secure the house, collect water, and endure the storm.
He set to work.
Wood creaked and sawdust scattered as he shaped plank after plank into watertight tubs. The rhythmic rasp of the saw cut through the growing roar of wind. When the joints were fitted, he sealed each seam with strands of spider silk, stretching and layering them until no water could possibly leak through.
By the time he finished the third tub, the clouds had sunk so low they seemed to brush the treetops. A faint shimmer ran through the air—and then the heavens split open.
The rain fell in sheets, hammering the ground until it frothed. Each drop hit with the force of a thrown stone. Within moments, the yard was awash, rivulets forming and racing toward the tubs exactly as planned.
The rock tortoise, unimpressed, retracted into its shell and sat unmoving by the small hill like a boulder in meditation.
"Luciel, what do we do now?"
Mino's voice came from the doorway, tinged with both curiosity and awe. Her eyes sparkled as she gazed out at the storm—an expression of wonder only someone long confined to quiet days could wear.
Luciel followed her gaze, and understanding dawned. Of course—after days of hard labor and dirt, the downpour must have looked to her like a divine bath.
He arched a brow. "You planning to shower with your clothes on?"
Her ears twitched. "How else am I supposed to wash?" she asked, entirely serious.
He sighed, half amused. "Go to the bathroom. I'll remove the roof for you so the rain can fall in."
Her face flamed as she realized what he meant. "O-oh! Right." She nodded quickly and dashed off, nearly tripping over her own feet.
With a small smile, Luciel manipulated the wooden beams above the bathing room. The panels shifted aside, creating an open skylight that let the storm cascade straight through.
"Don't stay too long," he called after her.
"Got it!" came her muffled reply.
Luciel shook his head, watching the sheets of rain blur the edges of the world. "Didn't think taking a shower would turn into a full operation," he muttered.
He glanced around once more to ensure the barrels were filling properly. Satisfied, he stripped off his soaked shirt and stepped out into the storm himself.
The cold hit him instantly—sharp, cleansing. Rain coursed down his back, washing away the dust and sweat of long days. For a few rare moments, he allowed himself to stand still, eyes closed, listening to the rhythm of water and thunder. Out here, beneath the sky's fury, everything else fell away.
When he finally went back inside, his hair was plastered to his forehead, and his clothes clung to him in heavy folds. Steam rose from the fire as he crouched beside it, tending the simmering pot of broth.
"It'd be nice to have something dry to change into," he murmured.
Then he remembered the rolls of fabric stacked near the wall.
Luciel pulled one free—a length of coarse but clean cloth—and measured it with quick, practiced gestures. He cut a strip about three meters long, folded it neatly, and sliced a slit at the center for his head.
"No thread," he mused, "but spider silk will do."
With deft precision, he spun fine strands from his fingertips, using them to stitch the sides together. The result was simple but functional: a sleeveless round-neck robe, light enough to dry quickly and sturdy enough to endure travel.
A soft gasp sounded behind him.
"Hiss… it's cold," Mino said, shivering as she stepped into the hall. Her long blue hair was darkened by water, clinging to her shoulders, and her rabbit ears drooped heavily against her head. Despite her discomfort, there was a peaceful glow about her—the kind born from rare comfort.
Luciel stood and handed her the robe. "Here. Put this on before you catch a chill."
She blinked at it, turning the garment over in her hands. "How do I wear it?"
He chuckled. "Head through the middle, arms through the sides. Go change in your room—quickly. I don't have medicine if you fall sick."
Her cheeks colored at his gentle scolding. "Alright…" she murmured, and hurried off.
Luciel sat back down, feeding another log into the fire. The rain outside had deepened into a steady roar, but within the hall, the warmth grew, the scent of broth mingling with the clean, earthy air drifting through the cracks.
When Mino finally returned, she hesitated by the doorway.
The robe hung loosely on her small frame, the hem brushing her knees. She tugged at it uncertainly. "Luciel… this outfit feels kind of strange."
He turned to answer—and froze.
Gone was the scruffy, dirt-streaked girl who had stumbled into his camp days ago. Her skin seemed to glow softly in the firelight, pale as moonlit milk. Her long aqua hair shimmered like wet silk, framing a face both shy and luminous. And her eyes—those wide, searching eyes—held the reflection of the flame's gentle dance.
For the briefest moment, Luciel forgot to breathe.
"It suits you," he said finally, voice calm though his chest felt oddly tight.
Mino ducked her head, tugging the robe closer. "Th-thank you," she mumbled, moving toward the hearth. "Luciel, come drink the soup too."
"You go ahead," he said, returning to his half-finished robe. "I'll join you soon."
She nodded and crouched beside the fire, warming her hands as the storm's roar filled the silence between them.
Outside, the rain fell without mercy, drenching the world in silver. Inside, the little hall glowed with life—firelight flickering across wood and fabric, the sound of rain a rhythm against the roof.
For the first time in a long while, Luciel allowed himself to breathe. The chaos of the world could rage on beyond the storm, but here, in this fragile pocket of warmth, everything felt steady.
Peaceful.