Two days have passed since the collapse of Tatarasuna's depths.
The group remained in Inazuma City, letting the weight of what they'd experienced slowly settle. The city breathed around them—soft festival preparations, sea winds rolling through the alleys, and the gentle hum of peace not quite earned. But within the four who had faced that ancient abyss, something had shifted.
Something lingered.
At first, it was small. Subtle. Like catching someone's gaze a second before they looked up, or finishing a sentence that hadn't been spoken yet.
Noah felt it most of all.
Kiana would laugh at something, and he'd already know the punchline. Sometimes, before she even opened her mouth, he'd hear the shape of her joke in his mind. Once, during breakfast, she joked about the eggs being too philosophical—he'd already said, "They're over-easy on the existential crisis," at the same time.
Elysia would pause mid-step, and his hand would rise before she reached for balance. Once, she slipped near the harbor stairs, and he caught her elbow before her foot even tilted. She blinked at him and smiled—not her usual sparkle, but something softer, like trust blooming.
Lumine would glance toward a street vendor—and he'd already be holding out the item she was thinking about. The first time it happened, she blinked, hesitated, then smiled quietly and took the dango stick without a word. But later that day, he caught her peeking at another display, and before she said a word, he was already fishing mora from his pocket.
Sometimes, they spoke in near-perfect tandem. Other times, they reacted to emotions before they were expressed—when Kiana faltered mid-sentence, Noah was already reaching for her shoulder. When Elysia's laugh dimmed just a touch, Lumine handed her a small flower she didn't remember picking.
It wasn't just awareness. It was resonance. They noticed it too. Quietly.
No one said anything. But their glances lasted longer now. Smiles held a beat more warmth. And when they walked, they moved like pieces of the same pattern.
That morning, the group visited the Adventurers' Guild once more. Katherine, ever composed, greeted them with a polite nod.
"There's been an unusual request," she said. "From Watatsumi Island."
Noah straightened. "What kind?"
"Anomaly detection. Atmospheric disturbances. Distorted space. Some missing persons. The usual… strange."
She passed over a report. The descriptions mirrored the readings from Tatarasuna, though far less intense.
Noah opened the Void Archives in his hand. The rings spun rapidly before emitting a low, pulsing hum.
"Stellar contamination confirmed," the device intoned. "Residual pattern… similar to the Cocoon fragment."
Kiana whistled. "So, another corrupted mess?"
Elysia tilted her head. "Or a breadcrumb trail."
Lumine nodded. "Either way, we can't ignore it."
"Agreed," Noah said. "We prepare today. We sail at first light."
They exchanged looks—and then, almost without realizing, they started finishing each other's thoughts.
"So we should head to—"
"Watatsumi Island," Lumine finished, looking at Noah.
"Don't forget the—"
"Explosive arrows," Elysia added, grinning as she beat Noah to it.
Noah raised an eyebrow. "I was going to say rations."
"We'll need those too!" Kiana chimed in with a laugh. "Especially if you keep burning all the calories with your dramatic Jedi brooding."
The others laughed, the tension easing a little. That spark between them—that uncanny synchronicity—had become their new normal. No words were needed to know what the other would say next. And in that small moment, standing together with shared smiles and overlapping thoughts, they felt like a single thread.
A team bound not just by mission—but by something deeper.
Resonance.
The rest of the day passed in preparation. And quiet revelations.
Kiana joined Noah outside a food stall, two skewers already in her hand. She raised one—only to find him holding out the same kind.
She blinked. "You knew I'd pick this?"
"Lucky guess," he said with a smirk.
She stared at him a second too long before huffing and turning away, cheeks a little red. "You better not be reading my mind, or I'll punch you. Gently."
They walked side by side, and without thinking, they said together:
"We should get extra for—"
"Elysia."
They blinked at each other and burst out laughing.
Elysia met Noah just outside the inn courtyard, crystalline shards of Origin Crystal hovering at her side like playful sparks.
"Thinking frost or pulse today?" she mused, weaving the energy strands into arrowheads with a dancer's grace.
"Frost," Noah replied.
"Why?"
"You hate how pulse buzzes too sharply when you shape it."
She blinked, the arrow paused mid-form. Then she gave him the softest smile.
"You're getting dangerous, Mr. Alden."
She leaned closer and whispered, "You keep this up, and I'll start thinking you actually like me."
"Maybe I do."
Her eyes widened briefly—then she laughed, cheeks pink and light catching in her hair. "Careful. I might believe you."
She nudged him playfully, flicking a finished arrow his way. "We should craft a few extras for—"
"Lumine," he said without missing a beat.
She blinked again, then chuckled. "You really are linked to us, aren't you?"
Lumine stood at the harbor, watching the tide. Noah stepped beside her without a word.
"You always know where to find me," she said softly.
"I think I just know where you'd want peace."
"Or maybe you just want the same peace I do."
They stood together in silence.
Lumine eventually whispered, "…It's still there, isn't it? The link."
Noah didn't answer. He didn't have to.
She looked at him. "And it doesn't scare you?"
He met her gaze. "Only when I realize how much I want to protect it."
Lumine lowered her eyes, a rare blush coloring her cheeks.
Noah glanced out over the water. "We should get back to the others before they start—"
"Worrying," she finished, already turning.
The next morning, fog greeted them like a curtain drawn from the sea.
Their boat creaked as it pushed off, the waters around Watatsumi growing still, too still. The mist rolled in unnaturally fast.
Noah stood near the bow, eyes closed. The Force trembled. Not in warning—but recognition. Whatever this anomaly was, it shared a thread with what they faced beneath the mountain.
Void Archives pulsed.
"Interference rising. Dimensional layering unstable. Be advised: perception may distort."
Kiana leaned on the railing beside Noah. "That means illusions, right? Weird echoes and reflections?"
"Possibly worse," he replied.
Elysia peered into the haze, her fingers twitching toward her bow. "I don't like how quiet it is."
Lumine, standing at the stern, looked upward. "It feels like… a dream trying to remember itself."
Noah felt a cold pressure at the edge of his mind. And a whisper not his own:
"What will you do… when you must face the truth you buried?"
He turned sharply, but nothing was there.
They reached the island by midday. Watatsumi should have been lush, vibrant, peaceful.
But this was different.
Mist clung to the earth like a second skin. The air was dense, heavy. The trees shimmered as though caught between moments. Echoes of movement passed in the corner of their vision—and vanished.
They moved slowly, weapons drawn, senses sharp.
Noah took a breath. He felt the Force pulse, and then—
everything shifted.
Kiana turned to say something—but she wasn't there.
Elysia reached out to touch Noah's arm—but her hand passed through him like smoke.
Lumine looked up as the mist swallowed her whole.
The group had split.
And the echoes were calling.