The morning came with stillness.
Not silence—but a kind of tension in the air, like the moment before a wave breaks. Mitsuki stood at the edge of the garden, barefoot in the dew-wet grass, her eyes fixed on the horizon. The wind was too calm, the birds too quiet. Something had shifted.
"They're coming," she said softly.
Ayume, brushing her fingers over the leaves of a nearby plant, paused. "What did you say?"
But Mitsuki didn't answer. Her gaze was locked on the sea.
By midday, they saw them—figures stumbling along the western shore, half-collapsed in the sand. Ten, maybe more. Mostly women. Two or three men. Their clothes were torn and sun-bleached. Their faces hollow with exhaustion and salt.
Kaito was the first to approach.
He moved with caution, one hand resting loosely on the hilt of a blade he hadn't needed in years. Ayume followed, holding a small jug of water and a basket of fruit. Mitsuki trailed behind them, her younger siblings watching from the garden wall.
The strangers flinched at first, unsure whether they had reached salvation or danger. But when Ayume knelt beside the smallest woman—no more than a girl, really—and offered her water, something shifted.
A sigh. A sob. A whispered word: "Thank you."
Later, they learned the truth: the group had been fleeing a conflict in the Land of Water. Their trade ship had been caught in a storm and split apart. Most had drowned. These were the ones who held on.
Mitsuki stood among them, eyes calm.
She felt no fear.
Only the sense that everything was about to change.
They brought the strangers into the outer courtyard, offering shade, food, and water.
The women sat in silence at first, clutching fruit with trembling hands. Some wept quietly. Others stared at the garden, the fields, the stone paths, as if they had stumbled into a dream.
One of the older women finally spoke, her voice hoarse. "You built all this? Just… the six of you?"
Kaito nodded. "It took time."
Ayume moved gently among them, checking wounds, offering herbs wrapped in soft leaves. Her presence, calm and warm, seemed to settle the group more than words ever could.
Mitsuki stood near the koi pond, her siblings clinging to her sides. Her eyes scanned the newcomers, lingering on a tall girl—maybe fifteen—whose chakra flickered weakly around her like a dim flame. Their eyes met, and for a moment, Mitsuki felt something ripple between them.
A memory? A warning?
She didn't know.
Not all reactions were peaceful. One of the men—a burly figure with scarred arms—watched Kaito closely.
"You're not from any village I know," he muttered. "What are you?"
Kaito didn't flinch. "Someone who chose a different path."
Ayume stepped between them before tension could rise. "You're safe now. That's all that matters."
The man grunted but said nothing more.
They stayed the night in the old storage hut, near the outer wall. Mats were brought, fire lit, and a silent agreement settled over both sides:
This was not yet trust.
But it was a beginning.