The next night the rain had passed by evening, leaving the countryside smelling of damp earth and the pale sweetness of spring flowers. Roset stood at the kitchen window, watching the last of the light settle over the fields in soft golds and pinks. Hino was outside gathering eggs from the coop, and Lea's delighted squeals echoed faintly as she ran between the garden beds, trailing Eliot like a determined little shadow.
It felt peaceful. Not silent, not anymore, but full. Steady.
She turned to the stove and stirred the pot one last time. Something simple tonight: grilled fish, rice, miso soup—though she'd let Hino make that part after the recent incident—and a sweet red bean dessert to finish.
By the time they all gathered at the table, the sky was deep blue, the lights inside glowing warm and low.
Lea was already chattering about her bear drawing. Eliot, now sun-tanned and relaxed in a way she hadn't seen since before the bombs, was finishing a story about one of the farmers he'd helped that morning. Hino slipped into his chair beside Roset and gave her a soft, knowing smile as he poured her tea.
When the meal was over and the dishes cleared, they all settled in the living room. The fire crackled in the hearth, and a gentle instrumental melody played on the old speaker Hino had restored from the town's lost-and-found shed.
Roset sat with her legs curled beneath her, sipping warm tea as Lea nestled against her side. The little girl was already starting to drift off, thumb tucked in her palm and eyelids heavy.
Eliot was paging through a book of local folklore he'd borrowed from the town hall's tiny library. "Some of these stories are wild," he said softly. "Did you know there's a local legend about a fox who watches over lost travellers?"
"Maybe that fox was watching you," Roset murmured with a teasing glance.
Eliot chuckled. "If it was, I owe it my life."
They all grew quiet again after that. Not awkward, just peaceful. The kind of quiet that came after surviving something impossible, and somehow still finding laughter on the other side.
Hino reached for Roset's hand and gently intertwined their fingers. She gave his hand a squeeze, then rested it over her belly. She could already feel subtle changes, nothing big yet, just a fullness that whispered of what was coming.
A new life.
Another beginning.
"I think," Roset said softly, "we're going to be okay."
No one disagreed.
They sat together like that, in the soft, safe dark of their wooden house, surrounded by old wood, growing things, and the muffled sounds of a quiet town full of gentle, aging neighbours.
Outside, the breeze stirred the trees. Inside, the family they'd chosen. Built from the ashes of loss and the roots of kindness, sat warm and whole