The wind did not rest.

  Even after a full day of rain that had tried to drown the settlement, it still raged across southern Tanna like a beast that refused to die. Thatch roofs flapped and tore at their moorings; ropes and vines—twisted, doubled, tripled in frantic knots—groaned under the strain. Frayed ends lashed the air like war banners in full retreat. Wooden frames creaked and leaned. Puddles everywhere reflected an iron-gray sky. Broken oars, splintered baskets, cracked clay pots lay scattered like the wreckage of a battle no one had seen coming.

  Inside a low hut near the square, Toho with his eyes closed laid awake.

  The moments of yesterday clawed at him.

  The black wall of water rising.

  Chika vanishing beneath it.

  His own body diving after her without thought.

  Her father’s voice, cold as drawn steel: “If I see you near my daughter again—even in your sleep—you will not wake.”

  Fire posts toppling under the wind, as though the flames themselves bowed to something greater.

  All that in one day.

  He inhaled deeply.

  As the breath left his lungs, the world stopped.

  The wind froze mid-howl. Wood ceased groaning. Even the drip of water from the eaves halted. Toho’s exhale became a sharp gasp. His eyes flew open. He shot upright, heart slamming against his ribs like a war drum.

  Sawai sat across from him, cross-legged, jaw cradled in one hand, eyes fixed on him.

  “You sure are a strange guy, Toho,” —voice low, neither mocking nor gentle.

  From the corner came a rolling snore.

  “Fish… and fruit… all for me…” Imei muttered, one arm flopping through the air as though seizing invisible treasures.

  Toho scratched his scalp. His smile felt crooked. “Well. Good morning, Sawai.”

  Sawai unfolded himself, joints popping as he stretched. “Morning or not, there’s a mountain of work waiting.”

  Toho nodded. They stepped over Imei’s sprawled form and pushed through the flap.

  Outside, the village looked like a battlefield after the rain had washed the blood away. The central square had become a sea of churned mud. Fire pits were drowned black holes. Tools lay abandoned mid-task. Roof panels flapped like dying birds, some pinned down with stones, others already claimed by the wind.

  Haruto approached, cloak damp, eyes tired but kind. “Slept well, you three?”

  Toho gave a small nod. “Yeah,”

  Sawai reached into Haruto’s basket and lifted two orange-like fruits. “Eh, what are these?”

  “Oh, well, these—” Haruto began.

  He never finished.

  A blur crashed into Sawai’s side. Fruit flew. Sawai hit the mud with a wet slap.

  “Mine! Gimme!” Imei shouted, already scrambling up with both fruits clutched to his chest, laughing like a thief who’d won the day.

  “You sneaky—!” Sawai roared, spitting mud.

  “Early bird gets the fruit! Snooze, you lose!” Imei crowed, taking a huge, triumphant bite.

  Work swallowed them.

  They gathered roof fragments, wrestling wind-tossed thatch back into place. They rebuilt a collapsed hut—though Imei stacked mud so unevenly the wall promptly slumped and buried him to the waist. He emerged caked head to toe, cursing while Sawai facepalmed and laughed. Toho quietly pressed the mud firm, earning quiet nods from passing elders.

  Between tasks, his gaze flicked from face to face watching..

  He caught only glimpses of Chika—sleeves rolled, hair bound, helping elders salvage tools. When their gazes nearly met, he looked away fast, he felt the ghost of a spear at his back”.

  By midday they were assigned to haul the surviving ship inland with men of Bakaru’s clan.

  At the littoral bay the wreckage lay open to the sky. Hulls shattered like eggshells. Masts snapped like dry twigs. Ropes tangled uselessly in the surf. Only one vessel remained—scarred, listing, but breathing.

  Toho laid his hands on the frame.

  The wind surged.

  Time stopped.

  The sea turned to glass. On the horizon another ship cut the water—dark sails taut, moving impossibly fast against the wind.

  “I believe there will be sun after—” Imei began, walking up.

  He froze, mimicking Toho’s stare. “Eh, guy—”

  Sawai stiffened. “What are you two—”

  Imei squinted. “Uh… what is that?”

  The Bakaru men saw it next.

  Panic ripped through them. “Warn Bakaru!” they shouted, abandoning the ship and sprinting inland.

  Reality snapped back. Toho staggered, clutching his head. The image seared behind his eyes—the dark steed from his dream, Chika’s blood, the storm.

  “You really are a strange guy,” Sawai snorted.

  “Yeeeea,” Imei added. No laughter this time.

  Toho’s breath came ragged. His fists clenched until nails bit palms.

  Sawai laid a hand on his shoulder. “You still need to recover from the ordeal. Go rest. We’ll handle things here. Right, Imei?”

  Imei nodded far too quickly. “Very much yes.”

  “Thank you,” Toho said.

  He walked away.

  As he crossed the settlement, the thought returned like a blade between ribs.

  Why do I keep remembering that dream? Could it be more than a dream?

  “Toho.”

  He turned.”uh?”

  Osei stood there, calm as stone. “Good morning,” chucking lightly. “Do you have a moment?”

  Inside Osei’s tent the air smelled of dried herbs and old leather. Osei spoke plainly: “three clans now shape the settlement’s future. Bakaru—forceful, aggressive. N’Jali—cunning, patient. And mine—steady, disciplined. Those who join none would find themselves without protection when disputes turned to blades.”

  “I’m aware you like Chika,” Osei added, almost casually.

  The dream stabbed through Toho again—Chika falling, blood blooming, steel. He struck his own forehead with an open palm.

  Osei frowned. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Toho said too quickly.

  The tent flap burst open.

  “He napped!” Imei accused, jabbing a finger at Sawai. “Made me do all the work!”

  “That’s a lie,” Sawai snapped.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Osei raised one hand. Silence fell like a stone.

  He looked at Toho. “From now on, you are part of my clan.”

  His surprise etched through his face as hi shoulder eased–then tightened again.

  The wind rose again. It sounded almost like laughter.

  Exhausted but light-hearted, Toho, Sawai, and Imei returned to their mud hut.

  Outside, Kenji knelt near a barrel, carefully pouring water from a gourd into uneven clay cups. When he saw Toho, his face lit up like a signal fire.

  “Toho! You’re back!”

  He ran straight to him, ignoring the others completely, spilling water in his haste. Toho laughed softly and took the cup, ruffling Kenji’s hair. “Easy there.”

  Imei collapsed to all fours beside them, crawling dramatically. “Water… please… I’m dying here… cruel world…”

  Sawai snorted, grabbed another cup, and without warning poured it over Imei’s head. “There you go—refreshed.”

  “Gah!” Imei sputtered, wiping his face. “You brute! That’s not how you drink!”

  Laughter broke out. Sawai tossed a fruit toward Toho; Toho caught it and rolled it back. Imei retaliated by splashing water, missing completely. For a brief moment, the settlement sounded alive again—not with drums or commands, but with laughter.

  Then a shadow fell.

  It stretched long across the mud, swallowing the playfulness whole.

  Toho turned first.

  Bakaru stood there—tall, dark-skinned, spear resting easily in his hand. His eyes did not meet theirs directly; they slid sideways, cold and measuring, like a commander inspecting conscripts.

  The hut door creaked open. Haruto stepped out, smiling—then froze.

  “Oh… you’re back—” His voice caught. A chill ran through him. “Kenji. Go inside.”

  Kenji hesitated, clutching the cup he had given Toho, then obeyed without question, disappearing into the hut.

  Bakaru stepped forward. His presence pressed down on the space like armor.

  “You three,” tone levelled. “Carry some baskets. Gather anything edible.”

  Imei swallowed, then giggled nervously. “Y-yea! We have a lot here already! You could just… wait for us here…”

  'Why does this man sound like bad news?' he thought.

  Bakaru ignored him. He raised the spear and pointed eastward, toward the interior. “At your return. Report anything abnormal to the Eldership.”

  Toho followed the spear’s line.

  The forest loomed—dense canopy tangled like interlocked shields, shadows shifting as the wind moved through it. No birds stirred. No insects sang. It was the same direction the flock had fled from the day before.

  Bakaru turned and left without another word, the spearhead catching the light as he walked away.

  “What, just like that?” Toho muttered.

  Haruto exhaled slowly. “Yeah… even though Osei is the elected leader, Bakaru is the one factually in charge.”

  Sawai hissed under his breath, arms folding behind his head. “Well. He has the most able-bodied men.”

  They stood in silence.

  Imei wiped sweat from his brow, suddenly aware of every sound. Sawai’s jaw clenched. Toho stared at the forest, fragments of his dream stirring—the dark steed, the unnatural stillness, the wind that obeyed no law.

  They gathered supplies quickly. Tools. Waterskins. Baskets.

  Imei stuffed fruit into every available space. “If we’re going into that creepy forest, I’m not starving. One for energy, one for morale, one for… backup morale!”

  “You’ll slow us down with that gut,” Sawai said.

  “Better a full belly than an empty plan!” Imei shot back, jamming in another fruit as two rolled out onto the ground. "What you said makes no sense"retorted Sawai.

  Toho tightened the straps on his basket. “Ok. Let’s go.”

  Sawai and Imei exchanged a glance. Toho had been… off. Haunted. But neither questioned him. They fell in behind him without hesitation.

  As they headed eastward, the wind rose again, brushing through the trees. The forest seemed to lean toward them. Toho glanced back once.

  Beyond the huts, Chika’s tent stood visible, its entrance tied shut against the wind.

  He turned forward, resolve firm, unease coiled tight.

  At the forest’s edge, time flickered.

  Just for a heartbeat.

  A dark shape shifted between the trees.

  “You ok?” Sawai asked.

  Toho nodded.

  They stepped into the shades.

  The forest east of Higashihama closed around them like a living thing.

  Toho led the way, baskets and waterskins slung across his shoulders, knife tapping softly against his thigh with each step. Above them, tall bamboo groves clattered faintly as the wind threaded through their hollow stalks. Twisted pines leaned at odd angles, their roots clawing the soil like grasping fingers. The canopy filtered the afternoon sun into broken coins of light, dappling the humid ground where moss, fungi, and damp leaves layered the earth in soft decay.

  Unnamed fruit trees appeared in clusters—three kinds in particular. Red-berried bushes resembling wild lychee, tart and staining the fingers. Thorny vines bearing sour pods that snapped with a bitter scent when cracked. Broad-leafed trees that dropped fuzzy, pale pods, their interiors sweet but fibrous. Untamed, abundant, and strangely unguarded.

  Too unguarded.

  Imei ate as they walked, stuffing fruit into his mouth with both hands, juice streaking his chin. “Mmm—sweet! Better than ship rations. Way better.”

  Sawai shot him a look. “Slow down, glutton. Save some for the village.”

  Imei waved him off, chewing. “Survival first! One bite for energy, one for morale, one for… emergency morale.”

  Toho listened more than he spoke. The forest was alive with small sounds—leaves rustling, distant animal movement—but the sky above was empty. No birds. Not a single call.

  “You sure are a strange guy, Toho,” Sawai said at last, tone half-mocking, half-concerned. “Ever since you woke up, you’ve been acting like you’ve seen ghosts.”

  “If I knew why,” Toho replied evenly, “I’d tell you.”

  Sawai frowned. “You get hit during the tsunami? Head crack on a rock or something?”

  They stopped to rest on a mossy outcrop slick with moisture. Toho sat and exhaled. “Impossible. I’m like a rock.”

  Sawai flicked his hair away with a laugh. “Sure.”

  They rested in the thick air, the smell of earth and fungus heavy. Imei crunched another papaya loudly. “Mmm.”

  Toho stood and wandered a few steps off, placing his hand against the bark of a broad tree. Orange-tinged powder clung to his palm—fungus. He brushed it away.

  And froze.

  Beneath the dust, fresh carvings cut into the bark caught the light.

  Loops. Angled lines. Repeated marks—deliberate, patterned. Not natural.

  “Guys…” Toho said quietly.

  Imei jumped up first, papaya juice still on his chin. “What?”

  “Why are these here?” Toho asked. “They look like writings.”

  Imei stepped closer. His demeanor shifted. He traced the grooves with his fingers, sniffed the bark, even tasted a speck of residue before wiping his tongue. His eyes narrowed.

  “These are fresh,” he said. “Some days old.”

  Toho’s breath caught. “Some days?”

  “Yeah,” Imei replied. “Means there are other people besides us.”

  “Other people?” Toho echoed.

  Imei scoffed. “Who else? Ghosts? It’s all a plan of Bakaru…”

  “Do you have proof he writes in these signs, Imei?” Toho pressed.

  Silence stretched.

  “Not… yet,” Imei admitted.

  Sawai stared at the carvings, his face draining of color. “We have to get out of here. Now.”

  They ran.

  Sawai took the lead at a breakneck pace, branches whipping their faces, roots grabbing at their feet. Imei panted behind them. “Slow down! What’s got you spooked?”

  Sawai didn’t answer.

  Toho stumbled, time stopped he lifted his eyes—and the world stopped.

  The sun hung frozen mid-descent, the forest locked in amber. In his mind, hooves thundered. The dark steed from his dream surged forward.

  “Toho!” Sawai’s voice snapped reality back. He rushed back, hauling Toho upright. “Move!”

  In that moment.

  Drums sounded—distant, rhythmic, from somewhere beyond the trees. And rushed away frightened.

  They burst into the settlement square as dusk bled into evening. Villagers stared, murmurs rising. Toho’s eyes found Chika, worry etched on her face—then Bakaru, glaring sideways.

  The three coughing and gasping for breath.

  Imei dumped the baskets. “Here are the fruits!”

  Osei nodded. “These will be enough for some days.”

  Bakaru sneered. “Get out of our sight, pests. Disturbing the evening time—worthy of expulsion.”

  Sawai’s fist clenched. Imei stepped in fast. “My fault! I hurried them from the forest, scared them silly.”

  “Scare who?” Sawai hissed.

  Imei dragged them away. “You don’t want trouble, right…?”

  Toho slipped away toward the beach, the waves gentle now. Sawai followed.

  “What is going on with you?” Sawai demanded.

  Toho stepping on a rock, and breeze blowing at sunset, turning his head and looking at Sawai.

  “If I knew,” Toho said, staring away at the sea, “I’d have told you.”

  Then he smiled suddenly. “Come on. We need to catch up.”

  “With what?” asked Sawai as Toho jogged back.

  “With the grilled fish.” Toho said.

  Sawai sniffed the air. “That glutton—Imei!”

  They ran back.

  Inside the mud hut, the air hung thick with the scent of grilled fish—smoky, salty, laced with herbs Haruto had scavenged from the shore. Kenji slept peacefully in the corner, his small chest rising and falling under a woven blanket, oblivious to the day's chaos.

  Imei was already at it, hunched over a low table, tearing into a piece of fruit with the focus of a man who'd forgotten what full meant. Juice dripped from his chin as he chewed noisily, eyes half-closed in bliss.

  Haruto set the platter of fish down with a soft thud, his movements careful not to wake the boy. He straightened, but his gaze lingered on Kenji, a deep sigh escaping him. The lines around his eyes deepened, like cracks in weathered stone.

  Imei paused mid-bite, noticing the shift. "What's eating you, Haruto? You look like you swallowed the whole sea."

  Haruto hesitated, his hands clasping together as if holding onto something fragile. He sat slowly, voice low, almost a whisper. "It's Kenji. He… he reminds me so much of her. My wife." The words came haltingly, each one weighted like an anchor. "We were fleeing debtors back in the old lands. They caught up to us one night—swords drawn, no mercy. She stepped in front, shielded us both. Gave her life so we could run." His voice cracked, eyes glistening. "She was from a strong family, influential. Could have lived safe. But she chose hus. Chose love over everything."

  The hut fell quiet, save for the distant wind rattling the walls. Imei swallowed hard, the fruit suddenly tasteless in his mouth. He set it down, wiping his hands on his tunic. "That's… heavy. Nothing greater than a friend laying down their life for another. Moreover, she was your wife." His usual grin was gone, replaced by a rare solemnity. "She must have been something fierce."

  Haruto nodded, a single tear tracing his cheek. "She was. Every day without her feels like carrying a stone in my chest. But Kenji… he's all I have left of her smile."

  Imei leaned forward, his voice steady but soft. "Then don't let that stone crush you. We're in a new land now—fresh start. She gave her life so you could live yours. Honor that. Don't give up."

  Haruto looked up, eyes searching Imei's face. A small smile broke through the tears, fragile but real.

  Imei grinned suddenly, the shift like sunlight piercing clouds. "Say it. Out loud. 'I won’t give up!'"

  Haruto blinked. "What?"

  "Louder!" Imei stood, lifting Haruto's arms high. "Shout it! 'I won’t give up!'"

  Haruto chuckled weakly, but obliged: "I won’t give up."

  "Again! Louder—make the wind hear you!"

  "I won’t give up!"

  "One more—roar it!"

  "I WON’T GIVE UP!"

  The third shout echoed out the door, drawing bursts of laughter from passersby outside. Someone clapped; a child mimicked the yell. The gravity lifted like mist in the morning sun, replaced by the absurd, infectious energy Imei always carried—like a spark turning grief to fire.

  Haruto wiped his eyes, laughing now too. "You’re a fool, Imei. But… thank you."

  Imei slapped his back. "Anytime. Now pass that fish before it gets cold."

  The laughter in Haruto’s hut was still warm when the smell of grilled fish finally reached its peak—crispy skin, herbs, a faint char from the fire. Imei’s eyes widened like a child spotting treasure.

  “That’s it. That’s the prize,” he declared, already half-standing.

  Toho and Sawai burst through the door at the same moment, breathless from the run, faces flushed.

  “Move!” Sawai barked, lunging for the platter.

  Imei was faster. He snatched the biggest piece right out of Sawai’s reach, twisting away with a triumphant cackle. “First come, first served!”

  “You little—” Sawai grabbed for it, missed, and ended up tackling Imei sideways onto the mat. The fish flew upward in a perfect arc. Toho caught it one-handed mid-air without breaking stride, then dropped onto the bench beside Haruto, biting into it with exaggerated calm.

  “Thief,” Sawai growled, pinning Imei’s arm while Imei wriggled and laughed hysterically.

  “Possession is nine-tenths of the law!” Imei wheezed, still clutching a second stolen piece.

  Sawai finally relented, shoving Imei off and snatching his own share. “You’re lucky I’m hungry.”

  They ate together—greedily, messily, elbows bumping, grease on chins, passing the platter back and forth. Haruto watched with a quiet smile, Kenji still asleep in the corner. For a few minutes the hut felt small, safe, ordinary.

  As they laughed—mouths full, voices overlapping—Toho glanced out into the dark beyond the open flap.

  The wind whispered.

  Far away, the drums answered.