The morning sun cast dappled shadows across the bamboo groves that surrounded Tlangthar. It filtered the dust on the streets, as merchants cried out their wares, children running between stalls and the faint smell of spiced broth mixed with the earthy smell of fresh produce. A sense of quiet filled the air, and the two walked in tandem, not saying a word. A woven basket dangled from Larin's arm, already half-full of vegetables and herbs.

Ngieri adjusted the strap of her satchel, her braided hair swinging lightly as she walked. "You don't have to come with me, you know," she said, her tone half-joking. "I've done this before."

"I know you have," Larin replied, his voice steady. "But it's been a while since we've had time to talk. And besides, I could use some fresh air."

Ngieri smiled quietly, her eyes scanning the bright stalls they passed. "Fair enough. Just don't slow me down."

They stopped at a vendor's stall, where an old woman sold bundles of dried herbs and brightly colored spices. Ngieri picked up a bundle of mint leaves, turning them over thoughtfully before placing them in Larin's basket.

"Do you remember when we used to do this as kids?" Ngieri asked. "Back then, it was just gathering whatever looked interesting. No plans, no purpose. Now…." Her voice trailed off, and she glanced at Larin.

"Now it feels like everything has weight," Larin finished for her. "Every choice, every action."

"Like we're carrying something much bigger than ourselves."

Ngieri nodded, her face thoughtful. "That's exactly it. But sometimes I wish we could go back to those days, even just for a moment."

They continued on, stopping at a butcher's stall where the vendor greeted them with a toothy grin. Ngieri selected a cut of meat, her movements deliberate and precise. Larin watched her, noticing how her shoulders tensed slightly, as if bracing against an unseen weight.

You are very quiet today," Larin said as they leave the stall. "Something bothering you?"

Ngieri hesitated and shook her head in negation. "Not here. Let's first finish this.".

They continued walking, tossing more vegetables, roots, and spices into the basket. When the sun had achieved its hot zenith, it was glowingly cooled by a refreshing wind. Eventually, they had completed all their errands and walked back to a clearing near the edge of the outer rim of the village, which was shaded by bamboo stools and a small table.

It was brewed by Ngieri with a kind of practiced ease: her hands unmoving as she poured hot water over dried leaves. Minty and citrus filled the air with their scent, as they seated themselves. A while was passed in silent drinking, with sometimes a rustling of leaves or a far murmur from the village puncturing the silence.

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The Mogolo Islands changed me," Ngieri said finally, her voice low. "It wasn't just the battles or the creatures… it was everything. The constant threat, the sense that you could never truly rest. Even the ocean felt hostile, as if it resented our presence."

Larin leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady but gentle. "What was the hardest part?

Ngieri's fingers tightened around her cup. "Losing people. You train with them, fight with them, trust them with your life… and then they're gone. Sometimes it was quick, other times it wasn't. And you couldn't stop to grieve, because there was always another threat, another mission.".

She let out a ragged breath, her voice breaking. "I used to spend nights not being able to sleep. I would just sit on the shore and watch the water and wonder if I was ever going to get back home. The Sinlung Breathing Technique helped, but it wasn't a cure. It made me stronger, kept me alive, but it did not stop the nightmares."

Larin's face softened. "You're still here, Ngieri. That says a lot about your strength.".

"Strength," Ngieri said again, a bitter smile twisting her lips. "I do not feel strong most days. But I have learned to move forward. To concentrate on what I can do now, instead of what is lost."

Larin leaned over and touched her hand across the table. "You don't have to carry it alone. We are here for you—I am here for you. If there is anything you need just say the word."

Ngieri looked at him, her eyes shining. "Thanks, Larin. That means a lot more than you can imagine."

They sat there for a minute in silence, the weight of their shared understanding settling between them. Then Ngieri cocked her head, peering at him intently. "What about you? You've been. changed since you went away. More focused, more purposeful. But something else.".

Larin breathed slowly, his eyes falling to his hands. He flexed his fingers. The bioluminescent veins hummed faintly inside his skin. "When I lost my arm and leg, I thought that was it," he said. "I was prepared to die. And then the Auquans saved me. They gave me these," he added, gesturing toward his reattached limbs. "They're more than replacements. They're a part of me now, but they're not. me. It's hard to explain.".

Ngieri watched with an expression unreadable, her eyes glued on him. "Do they hurt?"

"Not exactly," Larin said slowly. "But they remind me of what happened, of what I lost. And sometimes I wonder if I'm still the same person. If I'm still… human."

"You are," Ngieri said firmly. "You've changed, sure, but we all have. That doesn't make you less. If anything, it makes you more.".

He looked into her eyes and felt thanks glow there. "Thanks, Ngieri. I needed to hear that."

She smiled faintly and relaxed, letting the stiffness go out of her posture. "Anytime. You're not getting rid of me that easily.".

They smiled quietly, and the weight of their conversation broke open into something lighter. Their tea went cold in their cups, but they didn't care. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, they let themselves just be there: two scarred friends standing, finding refuge in each other's presence.

As the sun set out behind them and long shadows covered the clearing, Larin and Ngieri stood up. The weight that had kept their heads bent still had not lifted, but a little of it seemed to have lightened; they went back toward the center of Tlangthar, having united across strife and quiet comradeship.