Calm Breeze

Steven wandered beyond the Mistveil’s edge, the town’s clamor fading into the rustle of scrub grass and the distant crash of waves. He found an open patch—soft, green, cradled beneath a tall ash tree, its branches swaying in the salty breeze. He sank down, leaning against the trunk, the bark rough but grounding. Closing his eyes, he soaked in this new life, the warmth of the sun filtering through leaves, the ocean’s cool breath brushing his skin. A smile crept across his face as he recapped his wild ride since washing ashore—battles with crabs, goblins, bears, and that damn troll; the steamy nights with Melissa, her soulbound heat a thrill; the scams, the quests, the armor trades. An isekai adventure, raw and alive.

His mind drifted to his abilities—Fists of Holy Fury, Claws, Saiyan Fury, all born of instinct and need. Could he craft more? He’d cracked night vision, claws—why not ranged attacks? Sitting up, he raised his right hand, shaping a finger gun—pointer aimed skyward, thumb cocked like a revolver’s hammer, other fingers curled as if gripping a handle. He pictured mana pooling, felt the familiar warmth bloom in his palm, and willed it to shoot—a holy bullet, a spark of gold. Nothing. The spell fizzled, warmth fading. He tried again, lacing in holy energy—golden light flickered, then died. “Huh,” he muttered, frowning. No conclusions sparked—he shelved it, a puzzle for later.

The breeze tugged at his Stormgull Flyer, the shade cool, the ocean’s rhythm a lullaby. He’d never had this in his old life—no salty air, no wild trees, just concrete and grind. A nap called, and he let it take him, slumping against the trunk, the warm, cool mix of sun and sea wrapping him like a blanket. Sleep claimed him, his smile lingering—a D-rank soul at rest.