The sun burns against my eyelids. When I force them open, something's wrong—my shoulder is empty. Someone should be leaning on it.
Rose.
I push myself up from the pile of bags, my body stiff after the long night. Before I can stand fully, her voice comes from behind me.
"You're awake."
She's kneeling beside a small layout of food. Two cans, two bottles—everything arranged neatly between us. She gestures for me to sit, and I sit without thinking.
Then she hands me bread. And milk.
It hits me at once—familiar. Too familiar. My mother used to do this. The exact same morning ritual.
My chest tightens.
"Eat this first," she says.
"We used to start meals like this," I answer before realizing I'm speaking.
Always.
I take the bread. The memory stabs through me—my mother's hand, the same motion. Warm. Painful.
Rose eats beside me.
"I learned this from my father," she says. "Before we lived in the village, we lived in the great Kingdom of Zepharia."
Zepharia. My mother's homeland.
"Was it… nice?" I ask.
"It was. Until the day he disappeared."
Her voice softens.
I give the reply I'm supposed to. "You'll find him."
She lifts her head and looks at me.
"Thank you, Hiro." Her smile is warm. Too warm.
Then she claps her hands lightly. "Alright, let's have lunch first. The trip takes three days and three nights!"
"WHAT?!"
---
Three days, three nights.
First night: long conversations, dinner, staring at the moon, and one of us falling asleep first. A weird routine that somehow feels familiar now.
Next day: breakfast, walking around the ship, talking to the captain, lunch, meeting sociable passengers. Nothing special—except the exhaustion that clings like a curse.
Second night: dinner again. More stories. More laughter. More fatigue.
By the next dawn, exhaustion crushes me. The sea, the quiet, her closeness—everything squeezes the air out of my lungs. I lean against the ship's railing as my vision blurs.
Then I see it.
Land.
A laugh escapes me—relief, almost disbelief.
Rose rushes over, smiling.
The ship approaches the coast.
"We need to hurry. I want to touch land already, Rose," I tell her.
But her expression… why does she look like that?
"Hiro?" she asks, worried.
"Hm?"
She looks at me with the face of someone about to ruin my life.
"The trip to my uncle's place on land… is two days and two nights."
"WHAT?! AGAIN?!"
We board the carriage. Both tired for different reasons.
She—tired from the sea.
Me—tired from her.
The driver breaks the heavy silence.
"You two look sick of the ocean, huh?"
Rose replies softly, "Yes, sir."
He laughs loudly. "Everyone complains at sea. But on land? No one keeps complaining."
Then the view opens up.
Rose's eyes glow.
"I forgot landscapes like this… I kept trying to remember where I'd seen something like this before. Turns out it was here."
The driver nods calmly. "Paradise isn't just one place, miss. This is another paradise."
Mountains stretch across the horizon. A river winds like silver, ending in a waterfall spilling from a high cliff. The carriage moves slowly along the packed dirt road that connects several small settlements.
Below us, the valley is swallowed by thick forest. A few open patches show farmland. From one tiny hut, a thin stream of smoke rises into the sky.
The driver glances back with pride. "I travel this road every week. With scenery like this… how could I ever get bored?"