Bora was exactly how Yumé had imagined it.
Alive. Colorful. Generous.
The streets were lined with small food stalls whose aromas mingled in the warm afternoon air. Children weaved between passersby, vendors called out to customers with wide genuine smiles, and somewhere in the distance, soft music drifted by like a warm breeze.
Chloé walked beside him, eyes bright.
— You have to try this, she said, handing him a small steaming skewer.
Yumé took it without hesitation and bit in.
His eyes went wide.
— This is… incredible!
— I knew you'd love it! It's a local specialty. Marinated meat in a sauce made from desert fruits.
— Desert? But there's no desert here…
— There used to be, she said, laughing. People built over it. But the recipes stayed.
Yumé finished the skewer in three bites, which pulled another burst of laughter from Chloé. She then led him to another stall, then another. Golden honey pastries that melted on the tongue. Juices in impossible colors. A spicy soup that brought tears to his eyes, but that he finished to the very last drop, wincing with delight the entire time.
Between bites, Chloé told him about herself.
She lived with her parents and her little brother in a house not far from the town center. Her father had run a bakery for twenty years, her mother taught at the neighborhood school. A simple life, rooted, happy. She spoke about her family with an easy warmth, the way people talk about the things they truly hold dear.
Yumé listened closely.
He found it beautiful. That kind of simplicity.
— Do you want to meet them? she offered.
— Your parents?
— Yes. Don't make that face.
— I'm not making a face.
— You're absolutely making that face.
Yumé straightened up and smiled bravely.
— Let's go.
Chloé's house was small but warm, with plants hanging in the windows and the smell of fresh bread drifting through the hallway as if it had always lived there. Her mother greeted them with a wide smile, an apron around her waist and a cup of tea in each hand, as though she had been expecting them for hours.
Her father was a tall man, slightly heavyset, with a firm handshake and a straightforward look in his eyes.
— So you're the boy Chloé's been telling us about, he said, sizing Yumé up with a half-smile. You look well-fed. Good sign.
— Dad… Chloé muttered, eyes to the ceiling.
— What? That's a compliment!
Her little brother, meanwhile, stared at Yumé for a solid minute, arms crossed, expression dead serious.
— Do you have superpowers?
— A few, Yumé admitted.
— How many?
— Hmm… several.
The boy gave a single nod, apparently satisfied with that answer, and went back to his seat without another word.
The evening stretched on naturally, built around an impromptu meal that Chloé's mother put together with effortless ease. There was a lot of laughter. Her father had a gift for turning the smallest anecdote into an epic tale. Yumé found himself sharing his own adventures without even realizing it, watching the little brother's eyes grow wider with every detail.
When the time came to leave, Chloé's father crossed his arms with an air of exaggerated seriousness.
— No way you're heading back to a hotel. We've got a guest room, that's what it's there for. Besides… it's a little early to be sharing a room with my daughter, don't you think?
— Dad! Chloé exclaimed, turning red.
— I'm joking! Mostly.
Yumé laughed out loud.
— I'd love to stay, sir. Thank you.
Later that evening, Yumé and Chloé settled on the small balcony at the back of the house. The sun was sinking slowly behind the rooftops, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The heat of the day was finally easing.
Yumé stayed quiet for a moment, eyes lost in the colors above.
— Chloé… you mentioned in your messages that there was a Sonka here who looked like me. Is that true?
— Yes, she said simply. He looks like you, but older. He hangs around the bar near the main square pretty often.
— Could we go tomorrow?
She nodded gently.
— Of course.
Yumé turned his eyes back toward the setting sun.
He didn't say anything else.
But Chloé noticed his hands tighten slightly on the railing.
The next morning, they found the bar without trouble. The place was quiet at that hour, a few regulars nursing their coffees, a bartender wiping down glasses behind the counter.
When they walked in, the bartender looked up and recognized Chloé straight away.
— Hey, Chloé! Been a while. What brings you in?
— We're looking for the blond guy who comes in pretty often, she said.
— Ah… you must mean Yuri. He's not in today. But he should swing by in a couple of days, he's pretty regular.
— Thanks, said Yumé.
They stepped back out into the morning light.
Two days later, they came back.
No Yuri.
The bartender gave an apologetic shrug.
— Nothing yet. Try again in a couple of days.
Two days after that, they tried again.
Still nothing.
On the fifth evening, Yumé stopped in front of the bar door and let out a slow breath.
— It's been five days, Chloé.
She looked at him.
— I need to head back tomorrow. Tomorrow's our last shot.
— Okay, she said without hesitating. We go back tomorrow morning.
Yumé nodded, but said nothing.
The sky above Bora was slowly turning violet.
The next morning, they pushed open the bar door one final time.
The bartender spotted them coming in.
He looked up.
Then, without a word, he raised his thumb and pointed toward the counter.
Yumé followed his gaze.
The man was there.
Slumped over the counter, a half-empty bottle in hand, blond hair falling in loose strands across his face.
Yumé's heart clenched.