The forest looked different after a fight like that.
Not because the trees had moved—though some had been split, others bent at awkward angles, bark scorched and stone embedded where soil once was—but because the air itself felt lighter, as if it had finally decided to exhale. Sunlight slipped through broken canopies in long, lazy beams, dust motes drifting where domain walls had collapsed only minutes ago. The clearing still bore the scars of power pushed too far, but life, stubborn as ever, was already creeping back in.
Tomora rolled his shoulder as he walked, a faint wince betraying what his grin refused to admit. Every step sent a dull ache through his ribs, a reminder of stone fists and shockwaves that had rattled bone. Still, he walked easy, hands loose at his sides, like his body hadn't just been tested to its limit.
Connor matched his pace without thinking about it. His boots crunched softly over gravel and broken roots, the earth beneath him finally calm, no longer answering his every breath. There was dried blood at the corner of his mouth, and his jacket hung crooked where a seam had torn, but his posture was relaxed—almost lazy. The kind of lazy that only came after surviving something you weren't sure you would.
Tomora broke the silence first, because of course he did.
"Man," he said, rubbing at his side and letting out a low chuckle, "you hit like a damn canon."
Connor laughed, the sound rough but genuine, his shoulders bouncing once. "And you're slippery as hell—like fighting water made flesh."
They stopped walking at the same time, turning slightly toward each other. No tension this time. No coiled threat in their stances. Just two idiots standing in a wrecked forest with matching bruises.
Tomora stuck out his fist.
Connor didn't hesitate. Their knuckles met with a soft thud, the impact echoing faintly through the trees. It wasn't dramatic. It didn't need to be. The sound carried enough weight on its own.
Behind them, the girls slowed.
Jer squinted, tilting her head as if staring harder might change what she was seeing. Her voice dropped to a whisper. "Did they just… become best friends after nearly killing each other?"
Yora blinked, then glanced from Tomora's easy grin to Connor's relaxed stride. "I mean, yeah? I don't get it either."
Patricia let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head as she stepped over a cracked stone slab. "Told you it would be interesting."
Tala watched the two boys walk ahead, their shadows stretching long across the forest floor. There was a softness in her expression now, a quiet relief that settled in her eyes. "Guess you were right. Now they won't be yelling at each other."
Up front, Tomora kicked a loose pebble off the path, sending it skittering into the underbrush.
"So," Connor said casually, hands behind his head, "what's next for the 'water boy' now that you're not trying to drown me?"
Tomora didn't even look at him when he answered. "First, I'm gonna take a really long nap."
Connor made an exaggerated face of horror, clutching at his chest. "Good idea."
They laughed, the sound blending with birdsong that had slowly returned once the ground stopped shaking. The forest was reclaiming its rhythm, and somehow, so were they.
As they walked, their conversation drifted—unimportant things, stupid things. Complaints about sore muscles. Jabs about terrible footwork. Half-serious arguments over who would've won if the fight had lasted another minute. None of it carried the sharp edge from before. It was all smoothed down now, worn blunt by shared exhaustion.
Tomora's mind flickered, uninvited, back to the hooded figure. To the way his voice had sounded during training—mocking, patient, ruthless. Every movement Tomora had used in the fight had been drilled into him through bruises and breathless collapses. Dodge late. Strike earlier. Move like water, but think like a blade. He didn't say any of that out loud. He didn't need to. The way Connor glanced at him now and then, eyes sharp with understanding, said enough.
Connor, for his part, felt the echo of the forest in his bones. The earth had answered him more fiercely than ever before, and that scared him a little. Not during the fight—but after. Power like that didn't come without a price. He shoved the thought aside, focusing instead on the easy rhythm of walking, the strange comfort of not being alone with it.
The group moved deeper into the trees, the path narrowing as grass and roots began to reclaim the ground. Sunlight grew softer here, filtered through layers of green. Somewhere in the distance, water trickled—small, steady, alive.
Jer eventually jogged up beside Connor, hands on her hips. "So," she said, eyeing him, "you always almost kill people before becoming friends, or is Tomora special?"
Connor snorted. "He's… special."
Tomora shot her a smug look over his shoulder. "Hear that? I'm unforgettable."
Yora groaned. "Please don't encourage him."
Patricia laughed, stepping around a fallen branch. "Too late."
The forest swallowed their voices as they moved on, laughter and footsteps weaving together into something almost peaceful. The clearing behind them faded from view, scars hidden by distance and shadow. What remained was motion—forward, always forward.