The valley did not remain quiet.
Lunaria sensed it first—not as danger, not as hostility, but as arrival. The air shifted in that subtle way it always did when powerful presences approached without intent to kill. Mana did not spike. It did not sharpen. It simply… leaned.
He was kneeling near the picnic cloth, carefully folding a spare blanket with delicate precision, when he lifted his head.
"…We're going to have company," Lunaria said softly.
Aurelion, sprawled comfortably against the tree trunk with his coat discarded and eyes half-lidded, cracked one eye open. "If it's another emergency, I'm pretending I didn't hear it."
Seraphine, sitting cross-legged and chewing on a piece of fruit, followed Lunaria's gaze. "Oh?"
Eidolon did not look up from the small stack of stones he was arranging with almost obsessive symmetry. "Three arrivals," he said calmly. "High rank. Familiar signatures."
The sky rippled.
Spatial folds opened like slow, careful breaths rather than violent tears.
Ash stepped out first.
He looked exactly as he always did—dark coat half-fastened, ash-gray hair slightly disheveled, sharp eyes already scanning for threats that did not exist. His body was coiled tension by habit alone.
He took one step forward.
Then stopped.
His gaze swept over the scene.
The wide green valley.
The scattered baskets.
Aurelion barefoot.
Seraphine laughing openly.
Eidolon seated on the grass like a philosopher rather than a calamity.
And at the center of it all—
Lunaria.
Silver hair glowing softly in the sunlight. Pink ribbon neat at his waist. Slim frame composed and elegant as he folded cloth with meticulous care.
Ash stared.
"…Why," he asked slowly, "does it look like you all retired?"
Behind him, two more figures emerged.
Kieran came through with a booming laugh already halfway out of his mouth, broad shoulders filling the space like he owned it. Valen followed more gracefully, tall and sharp-eyed, his expression carefully neutral until his gaze landed on Lunaria.
Valen paused.
"…Ah," he murmured. "So this is the variable."
Seraphine waved enthusiastically. "You're late! We already ate half the food."
Kieran blinked. "You're… having a picnic?"
"Yes," Aurelion replied easily. "Try not to scream."
Ash's eyes flicked back to Lunaria.
The boy looked up, sensing their attention, and rose smoothly to his feet. He inclined his head politely, hands folded in front of him.
"…Hello," Lunaria said gently. "Would you like to join us?"
There was no hesitation in his voice. No awe. No fear.
Just invitation.
For a brief, deeply unsettling moment, none of the S-ranked hunters responded.
Then Kieran laughed.
"Well," he said, clapping his hands together, "if the kid's asking, who am I to refuse?"
Ash exhaled sharply through his nose. "…This is surreal."
Valen smiled faintly. "Enjoy it. Moments like this tend to be brief."
They joined.
And with that, the fragile calm shattered into something louder, warmer, infinitely more human.
---
The games began chaotically.
Someone suggested rock-skipping. Someone else escalated it into a competition. Kieran loudly declared himself unbeatable. Ash scoffed. Valen placed quiet bets. Eidolon observed.
Lunaria watched from the riverbank, hands clasped lightly behind his back.
"…Would you like to try?" Seraphine asked him.
Lunaria hesitated. "…I'm not very competitive."
"That's fine," Kieran said. "Neither am I."
Ash snorted. "You absolutely are."
Lunaria accepted a stone anyway.
He stepped closer to the water, toes brushing the grass, posture relaxed. He studied the river not like an opponent—but like a conversation partner.
Then he threw.
The stone skipped.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Four.
Five.
Six.
It vanished with barely a ripple.
Silence followed.
Ash slowly turned his head. "…Again."
Lunaria tried again.
Seven skips.
Valen stared. "He's not using mana."
"He's listening," Eidolon corrected.
The competition ended immediately. No one could replicate it. Kieran accused Lunaria of cheating. Lunaria apologized, genuinely confused.
Games bled into other games.
Balance contests on fallen logs. A mock strategy game using stones and sticks that collapsed the moment Ash knocked over the entire formation out of spite. A card game Seraphine produced that no one could agree on the rules for.
Laughter echoed freely.
Real laughter. Loud. Unrestrained.
Lunaria moved through it all like a gentle tide.
He handed out water before thirst was acknowledged. Adjusted cloaks when the wind cooled. Wordlessly replaced burnt food with edible portions.
At one point, Ash reached for a piece of meat that was clearly charred beyond saving.
Lunaria intercepted his hand.
"…That one will upset your stomach," he said softly, exchanging it for another.
Ash stared at the replacement. "…Did you just scold me?"
Lunaria blinked. "…I'm sorry."
Kieran burst out laughing. "Oh, this is excellent."
Valen smirked. "He's already parenting us."
Ash grumbled—but ate the replacement without complaint.
As the sun dipped lower, the games grew sillier.
Kieran challenged Lunaria to a race across the field. Lunaria accepted seriously—and then stopped halfway to pick wildflowers growing unevenly along the path.
Kieran reached the end first, triumphant—only to turn and see Lunaria already there, having taken a shortcut after finishing his bouquet.
"…You let me win," Kieran accused.
Lunaria held out the flowers. "You looked happy running."
Kieran stared.
Then laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. "…You're dangerous."
Night arrived softly.
Stars emerged one by one, scattered like careful brushstrokes across the darkening sky. A controlled fire burned near the center of the clearing, its warmth gentle and contained.
They sat around it, quieter now.
Stories emerged.
Not legends.
Not conquests.
Just memories.
Ash spoke of a town that no longer existed. Valen admitted he once considered quitting after losing someone he couldn't protect. Aurelion confessed—quietly—that he missed being unknown.
Lunaria listened.
He always did.
When the cold deepened, Eidolon opened a spatial fold and revealed a large lodge nestled at the valley's edge—prepared long ago, rarely used.
Inside were multiple rooms.
Ash glanced at Lunaria. "…You can take one alone."
Lunaria shook his head gently. "That's alright."
"With whom?" Valen asked carefully.
"…All of you?" Lunaria suggested, uncertain but sincere.
The silence that followed was stunned.
Then Kieran laughed. "He's serious."
Ash sighed. "…This is going to be a mess."
It was.
They crowded into the largest shared room. Beds lined the walls. Belongings were tossed carelessly.
Complaints began immediately.
"This bed is uneven."
"You're hogging the blanket."
"I do not snore."
"Yes, you do."
Lunaria moved quietly among them.
He folded discarded coats. Adjusted pillows. Ensured windows were properly shut. Gently reminded Ash to remove his boots.
"…You sound like my mother," Ash muttered.
Lunaria paused. "…Is that upsetting?"
Ash hesitated. "…No."
Later, childishness erupted fully.
A pillow flew.
Another followed.
Someone knocked over a lamp.
Lunaria retrieved it, set it upright, and sighed softly.
"…Please behave," he said gently.
They did.
Eventually.
One by one, the S-ranked hunters fell asleep—deep, unguarded rest they had not allowed themselves in years.
Lunaria remained awake a little longer, seated at the edge of his bed, moonlight spilling across his silver hair.
[Emotional state: calm.]
[Attachment markers: reinforced.]
"…They're exhausting," he whispered.
[Statement acknowledged.]
"But they're trying," Lunaria added softly, pulling a blanket higher over Ash's shoulders.
Outside, the valley slept.
And inside that shared room, the world's strongest men rested—not as weapons, not as legends—but as children briefly allowed to forget.
Watched over by someone gentle enough to care.
And strong enough to stay awake.