The road started became narrow as they marched forward.
Trees thinned, stone gave way to packed earth road, and the familiar smell of spread across in the wind- salt, wet wood, distant smoke.
Naval.
It came into view slowly, as it always had.
Low houses clustered near the bend of the river, roofs layered with tile and pathched clothes. Beta hung from wooden frames, drying in the sun. Smoke curled lazily from hearth chimneys. The bell tower near the docks stood crooked as ever, leaning just enough to look like it might fall of someone breathed on it too hard.
Nothing was wrong.
And that was what unsettled Limbo.
"Home," Gaja said grinning. "Still standing."
Rin stopped walking.
"...it quiter," she said.
Gaja frowned. "It's afternoon. People will be resting on break."
"No," rin replied softly. "Not like this."
Limbo felt it too.
Not absence.
Restraint, they continued to walked forward.
The first villager noticed them near the outer path.
An old fisherman, skin darkened by years of sun and salt, looked up from repairing a net.
His eyes widened slightly.
"Gaja?"
Gaja raised a hand. "Hey, uncle."
The man stood slowly, net forgotten. "You're back early."
Rin exchanged a glance with Limbo.
"We were away longer than planned," she said carefully.
The man nodded — but his gazed flicked past them, lingering half a heartbeat longer than normal. Not suspicion.
Counting.
"Good," he said. "That's good."
He didn't ask where they'd been.
That was new.
As they moved deeper into the village, more faces appeared.
Surprise.
Relief.
And something else beneath it.
Murmures followed them—not gossip, but confirmation.
"They're back "
"So soon?"
"Did they see anything?"
Limbo kept looking while walking, posture relaxed, senses stretch thin and wide.
He felt every glance.
Every hesitation.
Limbo's house stood near the edge of the village, close enough to hear the river at night.
The door was open.
Someone was inside.
He didn't rush, he didn't need to.
"Limbo?"
His mother's voice came first —sharp with disbelief, then relief.
She stepped into the doorway, hands still dusted with flour, eyes wide.
"You—"
She didn't finish.
Limbo set his bag down before she reached him. She pulled him into an embrace so tight it knocked the beneath from his lungs.
"You left without warning," she said into his shoulders. "And came back looking like you fought the world."
"I didn't," he replied quietly. Just accepted with smile, he miss all this.
She pulled back just enough to look at his face.
"...you did."
"Behind her, his father stood silently, arms crossed, eyes sharp. He studied Limbo for a long moment before nodding once.
"You're taller," he said.
Gaja snorted. "That's what you say after he disappears?"
His father's lips twitched. "It's important information."
Rin smiled faintly.
They stepped inside.
That evening the village gathered, not formally, nor by announced. People drifted closer under the excuse of checking nets, borrowing tools, returning items long overdue.
Food appeared.
Questions did not.
That was the second wrong thing.
Limbo sat on the steps, watching shadows stretch as the sun dipped.
Children played nearby — but not as wildly as before.
They stayed closer to adults. Laughter rose and fell quickly, like something that wasn't meant to linger.
Rin leaned beside him. "They know something," she whispered.
"Yes," Limbo replied. "But they don't know how to say it."
Gaja cracked a but between his fingers. "Then someone should."
As if summoned, elder chaya approached.
She looked the same as always, wrapped in layered cloth, walking stick tapping softly against stone.
But her eyes, they were lingered on Limbo.
Longer than they ever had.
"You returned," she said.
"Yes."
"And you brought the road with you."
Limbo met her gaze steadily. "I didn't mean to."
"I know," she replied.
She looked around once, then gestured subtly. "Later not here."
Limbo nodded.
The stars above naval were unchanged.
That was comforting.
Limbo lay awake, listening to the river, the wind, the subtle sounds of people breathing nearby.
The Fragment remained silent.
The system remained quite.
And yet—
He could feel it.
The village was still safe.
But it was no longer unseen.
Someone, or something had marked it.
Not today.
Not Tommorow, but eventually.
Limbo exhaled slowly.
He did not regret coming back.
But he understood now—
Leaving again would not be simple.
Outside, the river continued it endless movement.
And far away, beyond road and gates, something adjusted it's attention.
Naval had been noticed.
Night settled fully over naval.
Laterns were lit one by one, their warm glow reflecting off damp stone and wooden beams. The river whispered as it always had had, but Limbo noticed how people closed their shutters a little earlier than usual.
Not in fear.
In habit learned recently.
He stood near the edge of the village, staring towards the dark outline of the forest beyond the riverbank, the trees swayed gently, leaves rustling like distant conversation.
"You feel it too, don't you?"
Rin's voice came quietly from behind him.
Limbo nodded without turning, "yes."
She folded her arms, eyes following his gaze. "It's not danger. Not yet but something changed."
Gaja joined them moment later, chewing on dried fruit. "You both look like you're expecting the forest to walk up and introduce itself."
"It already did," Rin replied. "Just not with words."
Gaja scoffed, but his hand drifted unconsciously to the restraint on his wrist.
"Figures. We have for a few days and and come back with invisible problems."
Limbo finally turned towards them. "If anything happens," he said calmly, "we don't react fast. We react correctly."
That silenced Gaja.
Rin studied Limbo closely. "You sound... different."
"I feel different," Limbo admitted. "But not stronger. Just -aware."
They stood together in silence.
Elsewhere, elder chaya sat alone near the shrine stones, her staff resting across her knees. She traced not symbols carved into the rock mark that predates the village itself.
"So it has begun to again," she murmured.
She did not pray.
She listened.
A faint breeze passed through the shrine, stirring ash that had not been disturbed in years.
Chay closed her eyes.
"Too early," she whispered. "Far too early."
Later that night Limbo return to his home.
His mother had left food covered for him. He ate slowly, methodically, thoughts drifting.
When he finally lay down, sleep came,but lightly.
His dream was brief, a road stretching forward.
A shadow walking beside it not following, not leading.
Waiting.
Limbo woke with taste of iron in his mouth and the certainty of one thing.
Naval would not remain untouched.
Not because of fate.
Because he had returned.
He sat up, eyes sharp in the darkness.
"If you're watching," he whispered, not knowing to whom, "then watch carefully."
Outside, the river flowed on.
And far beyond the forest, something acknowledge the sound of a name spoken too softly to be heard.