Dadan woke them before the horizon could argue with morning, her presence a steady force that stirred the air like the first breath of wind over calm waters. She did not call out with loud commands or shake them roughly; instead, she moved with the quiet authority of someone who had long ago mastered the art of rousing weary souls without breaking their fragile peace. The camp, nestled at the edge of the plain where the river whispered its secrets to the reeds, was still cloaked in the soft veil of predawn, the embers from the previous night's fire glowing like distant stars trapped in the earth. The air carried the faint, earthy scent of dew-kissed grass mingled with the lingering warmth of wood smoke, a comforting aroma that wrapped around the children like an invisible embrace.AO stirred first, his instincts honed by nights where sleep was a luxury rather than a right. He sat up with a fluid motion, his blue eyes scanning the dim surroundings as if mapping the transition from night to day. His fingers instinctively sought the bandage on his arm, tracing the edges where the scab had formed a sturdy barrier, the once-angry black blood now a subdued gray, a testament to the healing salves and the island's subtle mending. The ache had dulled to a whisper, a reminder rather than a torment, allowing him to flex his hand without the sharp protest that had plagued him. Dadan noticed his wakefulness and approached with a nod, her weathered hands offering a fresh strip of cloth soaked in herbal infusion. "Let it breathe a bit more today," she murmured, her voice rough like river stones tumbling, as she gently unwrapped the old binding and applied the new one with practiced care. The infusion's scent—sharp green notes blended with a hint of wild mint—filled the air, easing the tension in AO's shoulders as he felt the cool relief seep into his skin.Uta came awake next, her violet eyes fluttering open to the soft rustle of Dadan's movements. The rasp in her throat had softened overnight, the raw edges smoothed by the steam and salves, but she still tested it cautiously, humming a faint, tentative note that hung in the air like a delicate thread. The sound was clearer now, less fractured, carrying a warmth that made Arowsa lift its head from where it rested nearby. Dadan, ever observant, held out a cup of tea that steamed gently in the cool air, its aroma rich with honey and herbs gathered from the valley's hidden groves. Uta sipped deeply, closing her eyes as the liquid flowed down, a soothing river that quenched the lingering fire in her voice. The warmth spread through her chest, a gentle bloom that made her smile softly, her fingers curling around the cup as if holding a precious secret.Luffy sat up last—because Luffy always did, emerging from sleep like a force of nature uncoiling. The smell of food alone would have roused him, but it was Dadan's quiet efficiency that drew him fully into the day. He wriggled his injured ankle into the shade of a blanket, testing it with a series of small movements—a toe flex, a gentle rotation—feeling the swelling recede further, the pain now a distant echo rather than a roaring storm. The bandage, reinforced by Dadan's skilled hands the night before, felt secure yet flexible, allowing him to stand with only a slight wince. He grinned, that infectious expression lighting his face like sunlight breaking through clouds, and reached for the bowl of stew Dadan placed by his knee. The stew was hearty, chunks of root vegetables and flaked fish swimming in a broth that tasted of the earth's bounty, each bite a small restoration that fueled his unquenchable spirit.They ate quickly, the meal a bridge between rest and motion, because there was a rhythm to leaving that morning: people depart better when they leave fed and clean, their bodies fortified against the road's demands. Dadan bundled extra rations—dried fruits, hard bread, a small jar of honey—and a strip of her own cloth, folding a light blanket into a roll that she strapped to Arowsa's side. While she worked, she asked one small, practical question: "You good to go?" her eyes scanning each of them with the keen insight of someone who had patched together more broken journeys than she could count."Yeah," Luffy said, with the short, dangerous optimism that lived in him like a second pulse, his voice carrying the certainty of mountains unmoved by wind.AO nodded, his movements economical, while Uta whispered a soft "Yes," her voice gaining strength with each syllable. Dadan handed Uta another cup of tea, its steam curling like morning mist, and watched as the girl tucked a small sachet—moth-eggs and dried peppermint—into the lining of her scarf, tiny relics of the Hollow that they had agreed should not be wasted on mere sentiment.When the pack straps were cinched and the satchels arranged, Arowsa returned from its nocturnal wanderings, emerging from the river's low reeds with the awkward gait of an animal that had been hard at work through the dark hours. It moved with the iron-lunged steadiness of a beast built to carry burdens greater than its own, every step sending a little shimmer off the quicksilver pattern in its hide, but the sheen was broken now—there was a streak of dark red along one flank that dried the way salt dries on skin after a fierce swim, and the long, eel-like marks along its sides suggested the animal had fought something that did not fight like a mammal, perhaps a lurking predator from the valley's depths drawn by the resonance's lingering echo. Its eyes were the slow, steady watch of a creature that had seen a night-side struggle and returned to its people unbroken, its loyalty a quiet flame that burned brighter for the trial.Luffy ran to it, hand out, not asking how—just reaching with the instinctive trust that bound them. Arowsa snuffled and lowered its hips, allowing them to set satchels across its back, the depressions they had carved earlier fitting perfectly, as if the beast had been shaped for this purpose. One of the satchels nestled securely, and once loaded, Arowsa shifted its weight as if acknowledging the task and the honor both, its muscles rippling under the quicksilver hide like waves on a hidden sea.Dadan glanced at the blood and at the eel-like rakes that marred Arowsa's hide, her expression unchanging but her hands moving with purpose. She did not ask the animal for explanations, knowing that some battles were private even for beasts. "You'll want to wash that at the ford," she said, not unkindly, her voice carrying the weight of experience. AO nodded and fetched the water-dipper from the basin, dipping it into the river's cool flow and pouring it over the wounds with gentle precision. The water took the worst of it and ran red for a breath, then cleared, revealing the rips as shallow but clean, the quicksilver essence already weaving faint threads of healing across the gashes. AO worked with a small, sure tenderness: he rinsed, dressed with a bit of salve, and tied a loose cloth; the wound on Arowsa's hide—more a long rip than a puncture—closed enough that the animal seemed content to let them proceed, its broad head nuzzling Luffy's shoulder in a gesture of reassurance.A child—one of Dadan's square-eyed apprentices, cheeks streaked with the same dust that clung to the travelers—skipped out from behind the tarps with a water-skin full of clear river water, pressing it into Luffy's hand like an offering from a young guardian. "For the way," he said, knowing the exact smallness of the phrase, his eyes shining with the innocent admiration of someone witnessing adventurers. Luffy grinned and handed the skin to AO, who slotted it into a satchel, the gift holding the village's goodwill: a tiny battery of kindness to keep them moving, a thread of human connection that warmed their hearts amid the vastness.They moved out of the camp under the thin, buoyant light of morning, stepping onto the trail with a sense of renewal, the air crisp and filled with the chorus of awakening birds. The path went level at first; it skirted fields where people were already at work, their figures silhouetted against the rising sun like guardians of the land. Through a low stand of trees that kept them cool as the sun climbed, the leaves rustling in a gentle breeze that carried the scent of blooming wildflowers, a fragrance that evoked memories of simpler times. The country folded into itself: strip of ploughed soil where farmers turned the earth with steady hands, then a copse of ancient oaks whose branches arched like welcoming arms, then a yawning, shallow wetland where reeds thrummed like the strings of an invisible instrument, their tips swaying in harmony with the wind.The walking that day demanded less concentration on rocks and more on the rhythm of step and breath, the terrain a gentle undulation that allowed their bodies to find a natural cadence. Luffy kept a careful pace, the ankle braced by cloth and will, each step a small triumph that built his confidence. AO made practical decisions—water first, rest after, avoid the midday heat's heavy drag—his mind a map of efficiency honed by necessity. Uta hummed a thin thread now and then, not a song, only a rhythm that steadied the step, her voice weaving into the island's sounds like a thread in a vast tapestry.They passed other travelers—cart-wrights with wagons laden with goods, women carrying bundles of firewood balanced on their heads with graceful poise. No one bowed in the elaborate way of the beasts, and none needed to; the encounters were grounded in the everyday. A child came close to pat Arowsa's flank properly as if it were a field ox, his small hands tentative but brave, drawing a soft rumble from the beast that made the boy giggle with delight. People looked, asked simple questions, and offered small courtesies: "Tea'll be ready at noon," a farmer called from his field, his voice carrying over the rows of sprouting crops. "If you need stitches, my brother knows his needles," another added, pointing toward a distant cottage with smoke curling from its chimney. These were not formalities; they were the exchange of a town that held by habit more than by fear, a network of kindness that made the journey feel less solitary.Midday found them at the ford where AO had been told Arowsa should wash, the river's waters a sparkling ribbon that wound through the plain like a vein of liquid crystal. The animal waded into the shallow current and turned its flank so AO could rub at the dried blood, the flow carrying away the remnants of the night's battle in swirling eddies of crimson that faded into clarity. The water's touch was a balm, cooling the rips and revealing the quicksilver's innate healing, faint threads of silver weaving across the gashes like living sutures. AO worked with a small, sure tenderness: he rinsed with gentle splashes, applied a bit of salve from the jar, its bitter scent mingling with the river's fresh aroma, and tied a loose cloth to protect without constraining. The wound on Arowsa's hide—more a long rip than a puncture—closed enough that the animal seemed content to let them strap the last satchel on, its broad head turning to nuzzle Uta's hand in a gesture of gratitude, the touch warm and reassuring.The walk out of the wetland opened onto a low, rolling plain where Foosha sat like a tidy scrap sewn to the earth, its roofs a patchwork of thatch and tile that gleamed in the sunlight. Roofs clustered in neat groups, smoke rose in thin, purposeful plumes from chimneys, and the villagers moved in the kind of choreography that belongs to people who trust their geography, their actions a symphony of daily life—hammering nails, tending gardens, children chasing one another with laughter that echoed like bells. The town's scale was modest; the people practiced a steady kind of living, their homes nestled among groves of fruit trees heavy with ripening bounty, the air scented with the sweet tang of citrus and the earthy richness of turned soil. There were no stones carved with ancient tales at the gate, no banners flown to herald grand events; the world had a thousand ways to mark importance, and Foosha kept its own, grounded in the simple rhythms of community.As they came down the lane into the town, adult figures began to stir—men and women who had risen with the day and gone about chores with the quiet determination of those who built their lives from the land's gifts. There was the miller's wife carrying flax in woven baskets, her steps measured and strong; a fisherman shaking nets with rhythmic snaps that sent droplets flying like diamonds in the sun; a teacher sweeping steps with a broom that whispered against the wood. They went about their tasks with the unconcern of those who own their daylight, their movements a harmonious dance that wove the fabric of the town.Then, as the procession reached the length of the main road, the villagers faltered.It was not a sound so much as a change, a ripple through the air like a sudden breeze stirring still waters. People paused mid-sweep, closer to an action than a choice, their bodies freezing as if caught in a moment of profound realization. Old women stood still with a broom in their hands, the bristles hovering above the ground; a fishmonger held a cloth a hand-span from his nose, his eyes distant; a carpenter's hammer hovered above a stake, the tool trembling slightly in his grip. The pause spread like a shadow lifted from a lantern, a collective breath held as the town seemed to listen to an unspoken whisper. For a moment no one knew why they were pausing—just that they were, their hearts syncing to a rhythm deeper than the river's flow.Then the knowledge came.It arrived in the chest the way weather arrives: sudden and plain, a weight that settled like mist turning to rain. The adults of the village, in that paused, breath-held second, felt the memory of sleep slip clean from their minds—no lingering dreams, no residue of night, just a blank canvas where shadows had once danced. Where dream should have hung, there was only a blank: the night had been a blank slate, wiped clean by some unseen hand. Along with that disappearance came an unshakable certainty, bare and heavy as a stone carried from the depths: something vast and terrible and at last quiet had ended, its presence lifting like a storm cloud dissolving into clear sky.No one called it by name. There were no cries, no bells tolling in alarm. People simply stood straighter as if realigning their shoulders to carry a new fact, their postures shifting with the subtle grace of trees bending to the wind. A fisherwoman put her hand to her heart and let out an unsteady breath, the kind that follows a small miracle or a narrow escape, her eyes glistening with unshed tears of relief. A father at the dock, who had been bending to tie a child's shoe, looked up with eyes that for a moment were too wide for his face; inside them was a truth he did not have a language for: the island's wound had closed, or at least a great door had shut, the echo of its closing resonating in his bones. His fingers lost the knot, trembling as he pulled his child closer, the embrace a silent shield against the unknown.The sensation had no request and no instruction; it only stated itself and filled their ribs: something that had labored and moaned through ages had ceased to stir, and whatever replaced that motion was quiet and heavy and final, a peace that settled like snow on a battlefield. Each adult who felt it adjusted a thing within—the tilt of a head, the square of a jaw, a deep breath drawn to steady the soul. They turned at once to practical acts: one moved to check a child asleep in a doorway, her hands gentle as she tucked a blanket tighter; another hurried to feed a pig, the routine grounding her in the familiar; and yet another walked to a neighbor's door to say, with the brusque courtesy of people who share work, "Did you feel it?" the words hanging in the air like a shared secret.People who still slept—the children and some of the teenagers—remained untouched, their dreams undisturbed, the world keeping its usual seams for the innocent. The adults were the ones who bore the sudden knowledge; they had shoulders that carried years and therefore could feel shifts in the world like a weight placed against the ribcage, a burden that came with the wisdom of time. The effect was local and intimate: it rearranged how the town stood in its day, not the day itself, infusing the air with a quiet vigilance that made every glance more meaningful.Luffy, walking with Dadan's blanket wrapped about his shoulders like a cloak of protection, noticed the change in the way one notices a breeze shifting direction—subtle but undeniable. He looked up, then around, his gray eyes narrowing as he sensed the ripple through the town, the air thickening with unspoken understanding. AO slowed his step, the small, efficient muscle behind his eyes tightening, his hand instinctively moving to his bandaged arm as if to anchor himself. Uta, whose throat was softer now, felt a thin chord in her chest—like the aftertaste of a song resonating in an empty hall—and a memory she did not have shaped itself in the room between inhalation and sound, a fleeting whisper that made her hum a note of curiosity. The three stopped where the main lane broadened and the market spilled into the square, the heart of Foosha beating with the rhythm of its people.No one approached them with ceremony or fanfare; instead, a neighbor with a tray of milk and fresh bread offered it as a neighbor offers something—no question of awe, only gentle worry etched in her lined face. "You look like you've been in the Hollow," she said, because that was a phrase with precise meaning in Foosha, her voice carrying the weight of shared history. The words were practical, not accusatory, a bridge extended in the moment of change. Dadan answered for them: "We had a long walk." She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and kept the lean humor that made people trust her, her presence a steady anchor amid the shifting currents. Her voice offered no secrets; she did not need to pretend there were none, her eyes meeting the neighbor's with quiet solidarity.AO accepted the bread, broke it into rough halves with hands that spoke of careful strength, and handed pieces to Luffy and Uta, the gesture a silent communion that bound them tighter. The animal at his feet—a small pig with bristly fur—snuffled and nosed for a scrap; a boy grabbed it and laughed in a way that said he would not be kept back from small pleasures by omens, his joy a bright counterpoint to the adults' quiet reflection. Dadan watched the villagers while they tended the children and animals that had not felt anything at all, her gaze protective, ensuring the innocence remained untouched.As they moved through the square, neighbors offered useful kindnesses, each one a thread in the web of community: a healer's apprentice pressed a small jar of salve into AO's hand with a grim, understanding look, the jar's contents a blend of herbs that smelled of earth and renewal; a baker bundled bread into a linen for them with the urgency of someone who knows how hunger sharpens good judgment, the loaves still warm from the oven, their crust crackling like promises; someone else offered a pair of sturdy boots for Luffy that would ease his step for the short road to the quay, the leather soft and supple, molded by years of wear to fit like a second skin. These were not formalities. They were neighbors doing the work of neighbors: watchful, practical, ordinary, yet in that moment, infused with a depth that made each gesture feel like a blessing from the heart of the town.They paused by the well because Uta wanted water and because there is a town's rhythm to washing, a ritual that cleanses more than the body. A woman with flour on her hands handed Uta a cup, the cool liquid drawn from depths that tasted of the island's pure essence. When Uta drank, she made a small sound that might have been a laugh; the dryness in her throat took a step back and left a sliver of voice that said she could speak without splintering, the water a elixir that restored a piece of her melody. AO rinsed his arm in a basin that a boy had set out, the water's touch gentle as it washed away the last traces of grime, the bandage drinking the moisture like parched earth after rain. Luffy sat on the edge of a crate while Dadan argued quietly with a merchant about a strap and came away with a small pouch of oil, her negotiation a dance of words that ended in triumph.The world outside carried its new fact in other ways: gulls flew with a different tilt over the bay, their cries more melodious, less frantic, as if the air itself had lightened; and there was less of the restless noise that came from the deep channels, the waves lapping the shore with a serene rhythm. The quay itself looked ordinary: boats bobbed on gentle swells, nets mended with steady hands, a man smoked a pipe near a hawser, the smoke curling lazily into the air. Yet there was an almost invisible slackening, like ropes loosened a knot's width, as though whatever had been pulling at the edges had eased, allowing the town to breathe freely for the first time in memory.An older man with a salt-stiff beard met them by the pier, his figure weathered like driftwood shaped by endless tides. He had the look of someone who had read tides by smell and wind for fifty years, his eyes deep pools of experience that saw beyond the surface. He looked at the three with eyes that had long ago learned to recognize damage and the quiet that follows it, his gaze holding a depth of understanding. He did not bow in subservience. He held out a weathered hand and said, "You came back." The sentence was plain as a plank, carrying the weight of unspoken stories. Dadan answered with a nod and a grunt, and AO's lips formed words that meant everything and nothing: "We did." There was no ceremony in the exchange; it was a handshake for the world: you returned, and you are whole enough, a moment that sealed their journey's end with quiet affirmation.They spent the afternoon doing the business that closes a journey, each task a step toward reclaiming normalcy. AO visited the healer in a small hut scented with drying herbs, where the man inspected his arm's scab with skilled fingers; the healer, an old stitcher by trade, called it a good scab and told AO to keep it clean and lighter bandaging for the next two days, his advice grounded in years of mending what the island broke. Uta traded some of her small trinkets—a polished stone from the Hollow, a feather from a Nightglider—for a tin of throat-salve; the merchant gave it to her with a look that conveyed charity without pity, the salve a creamy blend that smelled of soothing mint and honey. Luffy was given a pair of sturdy boots for his ankle—not miraculous, but useful—the leather soft and supportive, easing his limp into a more confident stride.As evening pressed in, the adults of Foosha moved with a quiet deliberation, their actions a tapestry of preparation. The knowledge that had woken them in the square had not turned them into prophets; it had made them practical, their movements infused with a sense of purpose. They began to organize small acts that made the town ready for whatever might come next: a watch on the outer path, where lanterns were hung like vigilant eyes; extra rations set aside in communal stores, bundles of dried fish and grain stacked with care; a few elders gathering to speak in low voices about the old stories, their words weaving a net of wisdom to catch the unknown. The stories they told did not seek drama. They were stories to check against a map, shared in the glow of hearth fires that flickered like living memories.One of them, with the look of a storyteller who had lived close to too many storms, said softly, "The old beast sleeps," her voice a gentle murmur that carried the weight of ages. Another—more scientific in his speech, a former sailor turned scholar—said, "The undercurrent has stilled. We'll note it." Their words were different shadings of the same fact; between them the town built a frame of calm, a structure that held the community together like the beams of their homes.That night, the three slept in Dadan's small room above the storeroom, the space a cozy haven scented with flour and herbs. There was supper, not a feast—boiled greens that tasted of the earth's vitality, bread warm from the oven with a crust that crackled under teeth, a bowl of flaked fish seasoned with valley spices—but it filled, each bite a communion that nourished body and soul. They lay with boots removed and hands less clenched than when they had first left the Hollow, the simple act of resting under a roof a profound comfort. Luffy's ankle throbbed less, a quiet hum rather than a roar; AO's breathing was steady, the scab on his arm a badge of endurance; Uta's voice had the fragile strength of something coming back, her hum a soft melody that lulled them into peace.Outside, the town moved in its low ways: someone laughed at a joke about a stubborn goat, the sound carrying through the night like a beacon of normalcy; the miller reset the wheel with rhythmic clanks that echoed like a heartbeat; and a dog barked twice then settled, its vigilance a guardian's promise. The adults, newly relieved, kept vigil in small rotations at the outer posts—nothing ritualized, only watchful eyes scanning the horizon under the moon's pale glow.When the moon came, pale as a pearl that had dreamed it was stone, the adults in the town slept with that new fact at the back of their throats. The knowledge had not been articulated fully; there were no proclamations or gatherings to summon spirits. Instead, the town held itself with a slightly different weight and a relieved center, the air lighter as if a great burden had been lifted. Inside a dozen cottages, hands smoothed hair and checked the blankets; small movements, things that keep children safe from the night's whispers.In the last minutes before Luffy closed his eyes, he looked out across the quiet roofs, the town a constellation of lights twinkling like stars grounded on earth, and thought, with the narrow, stubborn wisdom of the very young, that the world felt larger and yet lighter. He did not know what that meant in the long run, only that tonight the trade-offs felt tolerable, the journey's end a gateway to new beginnings. AO, lying on a narrow pallet not far away, felt the ache in his arm and decided to sleep with the bandage looser than before, the freedom a small liberation. Uta pressed her palm to the salve at her throat and whispered a thank-you into the dark, not to unseen forces or to fate, but to a world that had, however briefly, granted them a practical mercy, her words a soft echo that faded into the night.Outside, the island breathed with a different rhythm, the winds gentler, the rivers flowing with renewed clarity. The quicksilver lines along Arowsa's flank glinted under the moon, and the animal shifted on its heap of straw and breathed like weather, its presence a silent sentinel. Somewhere beyond the rim of Foosha, an old thing in the deep made no sound, its silence a profound peace that blanketed the land. The adults of the village slept as if something enormous had, at last, come to a hush, their dreams untroubled for the first time in memory. For the three children—no longer only children of the Hollow but returning members of a town—their fourth day's journey had closed with food, bandages, neighbors, and that strange, sudden knowledge at the town's center. They were home. Tomorrow, other things would begin again: practice, questions, the slow, stubborn work of living. Tonight, there was only rest and the small, durable kindness of people who keep the world tidy for others, a kindness that wove them into the fabric of Foosha like threads in an endless tapestry.When dawn would come, it would bring with it the things already on course: errands to run, notes to be passed, the slow unraveling that follows any big night. But for the moment the world lay stilled and honest, the moon's light a soft veil over the sleeping town. The three slept under a roof that smelled of flour and salt and wood smoke, and in the quiet, Luffy turned his face into his palm and dreamed the small dream of boys who have left something large behind and come back with a new reason to keep moving, his breath steady as the island's pulse.The morning unfolded like a carefully opened scroll, the light spreading across the plain in golden waves that chased away the night's shadows. Dadan had roused the camp with her usual efficiency, but for the children, the departure was a gentle transition, marked by the scents of fresh-brewed tea and the soft rustle of packing. As they stepped away from the storeroom, the town of Foosha greeted them with the bustling energy of a new day, the air alive with the calls of vendors setting up stalls and the laughter of children scampering through the lanes. The square, with its well at the center, was a hub of activity, neighbors exchanging greetings and goods, the rhythm of life a soothing counterpoint to the epic trials they had endured.Luffy, his ankle now braced with the new boots, walked with a spring in his step that belied the lingering ache, his silver-gold hair catching the sun like strands of woven light. He paused at the well, drawing a bucket of water that sparkled like liquid diamonds, splashing it over his face to wash away the last traces of sleep. AO joined him, rinsing his hands and checking the scab once more, the gray tissue a badge of resilience that made him stand taller. Uta, her voice gaining clarity, hummed a light melody that danced on the breeze, drawing smiles from passersby who nodded in recognition.The villagers, still carrying the weight of the previous day's knowledge, moved with a renewed vigor, their actions infused with a quiet gratitude. A baker, his apron dusted with flour like fresh snow, pressed loaves into their hands, the bread warm and fragrant, each bite a burst of homey comfort. "For the road ahead," he said, his eyes holding a depth that spoke of unspoken thanks. A young mother with a baby on her hip offered fresh fruit, the oranges bursting with juice that ran down their chins like sweet rivers, the tartness a reminder of the island's abundant gifts.As they made their way to the quay, the path lined with blooming flowers that nodded in the breeze like approving spectators, the children felt the town's embrace. The quay itself was a lively scene, boats rocking gently on the water, fishermen mending nets with deft fingers, the air salted with the sea's eternal call. The older man with the salt-stiff beard was there again, his pipe puffing clouds that curled like stories untold. He clasped Luffy's shoulder with a firm grip, his voice gravelly but warm. "You've done more than you know," he said, his words a bridge between the ordinary and the extraordinary.They lingered at the quay, watching the waves lap against the docks, the water a mirror to the sky's vast blue. Arowsa stood nearby, its wounds now faint scars that gleamed in the light, a symbol of their shared trials. The beast nuzzled Uta's hand, its breath warm and reassuring, as if affirming their bond. Luffy, ever the adventurer, gazed out to the horizon, his gray eyes filled with the promise of future quests, while AO stood sentinel, his presence a steady anchor. Uta, her voice now a gentle melody, sang a soft tune that wove through the air, drawing the villagers closer, their faces lit with wonder.The day stretched before them, filled with the simple joys of homecoming—errands run with laughing companions, stories shared over meals, the slow mending of body and spirit. Foosha, with its tidy roofs and welcoming hearts, was more than a town; it was a haven where the epic and the everyday intertwined, a place where heroes could rest and dream of the adventures yet to come.
Chapter 15 - Day Four — 4118/7/2/9
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