Brittany. It was not for nothing that tourists flocked there in quite large numbers at the height of summer. To be precise, they headed in two opposite directions during the summer holidays. While some sought warmth and sunshine in the south of France while having the opportunity to go hiking in the mountains, others went to Brittany in search of coolness.

Indeed, it was the coolest region of France in summer. The opposite happened in winter, as it was in Brittany that the mildest temperatures were recorded. Locals would proudly say that this was why they didn't seek to leave and why foreigners sought to settle there.

However, despite the influence of ocean currents and westerly winds, Brittany suffered from the heat. Old thermometers that did not require electricity to function all indicated temperatures above 30 degrees Celsius (86 degrees Fahrenheit). If in the south it was habit, they could even endure 40 degrees Celsius (104 degrees Fahrenheit) for short periods, here it was rare enough, a bit like snowy episodes.

I can't take it anymore! My God, make it stop!

Pierre had long since acquired a tan from working outdoors. He had never been so tan. However, it wasn't a uniform tan. Here, one could perfectly see the traces of tanning due to his clothes and hat. At his waist, it went from bright red to white.

"Damn, I feel more tired when I wake up than when I go to bed. I barely slept!"

While Pierre grumbled in his small house, he was already closing the windows. Although the sun had barely risen, the air had already begun to warm up. The former trader felt like he had barely had time to cool off. It had taken nearly two hours the previous evening for the temperature to start dropping. It was only then that he had opened all the windows of the house wide.

However, he had carefully avoided opening the shutters to prevent mosquitoes from entering.

"Ah! I've been bitten again!"

The man scratched frantically at his thigh before realizing there was another red mark on his calf. There was even one under his foot.

"Why are they targeting me?! Damn it!"

Scratching relieved him greatly, unfortunately it only lasted for a moment, sometimes not even a few seconds.

Damn mosquitoes! They should all die! Nobody will miss them!

This spectacle and discourse occurred practically every morning for several weeks already. He had gone around his property to find any objects containing stagnant water, ideal for these insects, and went hunting every evening before going to bed.

Even wrapping himself in a sheet, he couldn't escape them. Sometimes, he was pulled from his sleep by a small noise, one that everyone knew and that drove them mad. When the noise was too loud, he rubbed his ear like a dog hoping to squash the bug that dared to wake him up.

If the noise persisted, he would light one or two candles and search in the darkness for the cursed insect. He then focused on the walls and ceiling.

And when he found one, a wicked smile formed on his face as he approached stealthily, armed with a slipper. Their corpses dotted the walls of his room as if to warn their kin.

Pierre passed by the thermostat in the living room on which no indication could be read. He did not know what the temperature was like at his place nor did he know what time it was. It didn't really matter anyway, because today was Sunday.

The mayor of Saint-Pabu had made or remade this day a day off. Thus, despite the circumstances, everyone could rest at least once a week.

She had emphasized the need for bodies and minds to rest and replenish their strength. She rightly feared that spirits would erode and eventually collapse from working to live one more day. This decision had been unanimously accepted. Thanks to this day off, the inhabitants of the small town had an expectation. They eagerly awaited Sunday. It meant a lot.

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Come on, let's go!

Pierre was no different. He had prepared his things the day before to go to the beach in the early hours. The only downside was that he didn't have swim trunks or shorts suitable for swimming. So he took regular boxers.

There were many charming spots near Saint-Pabu. One could say there was something for everyone. What Pierre was looking for was a peaceful place where he could refresh and relax. If he had to walk through the rocks to get there, he was ready to do it.

To the north of Saint-Pabu was a moderate-sized beach called Erleac'h. If at high tide it was limited to a thin strip of white sand, at low tide it was wide enough to accommodate all of Saint-Pabu and more.

It was separated to the west from Koulouarn beach by a pile of dark rocks covered with algae and mollusks, much larger than the other beach, and to the east from Corn ar Gazel beach by another pile of rocks extending into the sea.

Due to the early hour, very few people were present. That's what Pierre was looking for.

He laid a towel on the sand, put his things on it, and began to take off his clothes except for his boxers. His body, thinner than before the blackout, seemed nevertheless stronger. His muscles were more visible than before, whether on his arms, chest, or abdomen. Despite his reserves built up in Paris and on the road to Saint-Pabu, he had quickly felt the effects of hunger and thirst. It was only by depriving himself and eating canned food once a week that he had lasted so long.

His last can, red beans, had been devoured the night before with a modest fried egg that he hadn't even been able to season.

Ah, it feels good. It's cool, but not too much.

The waves splashed his ankles, and slowly the water level rose around him as he progressed into the sea.

A rare thing in his memories, he could see a few fish swimming between his feet. Certainly, they were no longer used to seeing them after all this time. They were small, too small to eat.

Anyway, I couldn't catch them...

The waves weren't too big, but he knew the current could be dangerous. He didn't know these waters and didn't want to take any risks. The last thing he wanted was to be swept away by the current offshore.

So Pierre stayed near the coast, always where he could touch the ground. He swam like this for two hours before deciding to head back to the beach.

While he was swimming, a few dozen people had settled in by deploying umbrellas. It was much hotter than when he had left, and soon the air would be unbearable. It would then be impossible to go out unless you wanted to sizzle like a sausage on a grill.

The seawater slid over his skin, and for the first time in a long time, he felt clean. His dark hair formed long strands on his neck and forehead. As he walked back to his towel, he did his best not to get too much sand on his feet.

He only noticed then a young girl with blond hair whom he immediately recognized as the one he had met once at the dentist's office. For some strange reason, he hadn't been able to forget her face.

Like him, she had come to the beach to cool off and swim. He didn't know her name and had seen that she had seen him. This time, he was sure she had smiled at him.

Pierre, who was over thirty years old, did not approach the young girl, a child in his eyes. He simply nodded gently before lying down on his towel to enjoy the sun one last time before going home.

He didn't stay long because of the heat. It must have been close to noon. This was what his half-empty stomach seemed to be telling him anyway.

The sea had started to rise, and children had gathered to build a huge sandcastle together. There were six or seven of them working together. One made towers while others built walls and a moat. Meanwhile, another built a tunnel, being careful not to let it collapse.

It would take at least an hour and a half for the water to reach them.

Despite all their efforts, their beautiful castle would be destroyed. Whether they knew it or not, it didn't matter. They were having fun.

It reminds me of memories, thought Pierre as he plunged back into his childhood memories. I wish I could go back to that time. Everything was so simple.

An agitation caught his attention as he packed up his things. Turning around, he saw a very beautiful sailboat with a black hull appear behind the rocks. It seemed to be in perfect condition, its sails out and inflated by the westerly winds, and was heading north along the coast.

What... what is he doing here?

Pierre and the others saw it pass by, unfortunately it did not stop at Saint-Pabu. It continued on its way, ignoring everyone on that beach. It disappeared into the distance without anyone knowing where it came from or where it was going.

Shortly after, Pierre left too, avoiding looking at the young girl with blond hair who had spread her towel with her family about twenty meters away from him.

He returned to his small house plunged into darkness and settled on his couch. Half of his day off had passed, and he didn't know what he was going to do for the rest of the day.

He decided on a whim to equip Dakota and go for a horseback ride with her.