Morning arrived slowly in Shoreward Vale, as it always did.
The sky was pale, brushed with soft blue and silver. The sea breathed in and out against the shore, steady and patient. Fisher boats bobbed gently, their ropes creaking like old men stretching their joints. Gulls cried overhead, arguing about breakfast.
The village was awake—but unhurried.
Some signs of yesterday's trouble remained.
A fence near the cliff path had been repaired with fresh wood. A broken crate had been replaced. Nets that had been tangled were now neatly folded and drying in the sun. Nothing dramatic. Just small marks of disturbance, already being absorbed back into daily life.
That was how the village worked.
Life moved on.
At the edge of the main road, the Verdant Hollow family prepared their departure.
Their carriage stood out sharply against the simple village homes—dark polished wood, silver fittings, thick wheels made for long travel. Two guards checked the harness while servants packed boxes with quiet efficiency.
Everything about them spoke of order.
Control.
Lucien Verdant Hollow stood several steps away from the carriage.
His hands were shoved deep into his pockets. His shoulders were stiff. His gaze was fixed on the dirt road ahead, but his thoughts were clearly somewhere else.
He had not slept well.
The words from last night still echoed in his head.
"You embarrassed this family.""Your actions endangered others.""You will be grounded for one full month."
Lucien kicked a pebble with his boot. It bounced once and disappeared into the grass.
He deserved it.
That thought stung more than the punishment itself.
Across the village, near the shore, Euryale worked quietly with Pa.
They were loading fish crates onto a small cart. Pa gave instructions in short, practical sentences. Euryale listened, lifted, adjusted. His movements were smooth—not fast, not slow. Just right.
People passed by and greeted him casually.
"Morning."
"Did the nets dry well?"
"Tell your Ma thank you for the bread."
Euryale answered simply. No pride. No hesitation.
Lucien watched from afar.
He didn't know why his eyes kept drifting there.
Maybe it was because Euryale looked… steady.
Lucien inhaled, then walked over.
His boots crunched against sand and shell.
Euryale noticed him before he spoke.
"You're leaving soon," Euryale said, not turning.
Lucien stopped beside him. "Tomorrow morning."
Pa gave Lucien a brief nod, then walked away to check another crate, clearly sensing the moment.
The sea filled the silence.
Lucien folded and unfolded his fingers. "My parents paid the village."
"I heard," Euryale replied.
"They didn't have to."
"They chose to."
Lucien swallowed. "They said responsibility isn't something you avoid just because you can afford it."
Euryale paused, then nodded. "That's true."
Lucien laughed quietly. "You say things like an old man."
Euryale glanced at him. "So do you."
That surprised a smile out of Lucien before he could stop it.
They walked toward the shoreline without saying it aloud. Their steps matched naturally.
The water reached their feet. Cool. Clear.
Lucien stared at the horizon. "I didn't mean for any of it to happen."
"I know."
Lucien turned, startled. "How?"
Euryale's eyes stayed on the water. "Because you look angry at yourself, not at others."
Lucien exhaled slowly. "You're strange."
"So I've been told."
Another quiet laugh.
Lucien crouched and picked up a shell, rolling it between his fingers. "Back home, everyone watches what I do. What I say. How I stand."
Euryale listened.
"They expect confidence," Lucien continued. "Power. Control."
He tossed the shell back into the water.
"And I keep pretending I have all of it."
The sea rippled gently.
Euryale spoke softly. "Pretending takes more effort than being."
Lucien frowned. "You make it sound easy."
"It isn't."
Lucien looked at him then—really looked.
"You don't act like someone trying to impress anyone."
Euryale shrugged. "No one here needs that."
Lucien nodded slowly. "I think… I envy that."
They stood in silence again.
Somewhere behind them, Ma laughed with a villager. A dog barked. Life continued.
Lucien broke the quiet. "If I make it into the academy one day…"
Euryale didn't interrupt.
"…and if you're there too…"
Lucien hesitated, then forced himself to continue.
"…I'd like to talk again."
Euryale turned toward him. "Then remember this place."
Lucien smiled faintly. "I will."
Later that evening, the village gathered near the square.
Not for celebration—just closure.
The Marquis Verdant Hollow stepped forward. His voice was calm, firm.
"My son acted recklessly," he said. "We thank this village for preventing greater harm."
He bowed deeply.
Lucien stepped forward after him.
"I was careless," he said clearly. "I won't repeat it."
No excuses. No arrogance.
The villagers accepted it simply. Some nodded. Some smiled.
That was enough.
That night, Lucien packed quietly.
No servants helped.
He paused often, staring at the small window, listening to waves in the distance.
He didn't want to forget this place.
At dawn, the carriage rolled out.
Mist clung to the road.
Lucien leaned out once.
"Hey."
Euryale looked up from the shore.
Lucien grinned. "Don't let this place get boring."
Euryale smiled. "That won't happen."
The carriage disappeared.
The road swallowed it.
Euryale stayed by the water long after.
Some roads ended.
Others waited.
And somewhere ahead, paths would cross again.