The forest surrounding Timbercat Village shimmered beneath warm evening light, leaves rustling gently as if the world itself attempted to pretend peace truly existed again. After the chaos stirred by Dr. Emilia, everyone knew better. The danger was quieter now, but never gone. Humans still feared mutes, and somewhere beyond the trees, new threats waited patiently.

For now, however, Timbercat Village breathed.

Music echoed from the branches where Timbercats lounged lazily, tails swaying while artists painted, cooked, and argued dramatically over melodies. At the heart of the village stood Kipo Oak, balancing leadership with her usual bright optimism, ensuring every creature felt safe — or at least hopeful.

Then came the familiar rattling engine of the Ratland van.

Heads turned immediately.

The vehicle rolled into the clearing and stopped with a dusty sigh. The door swung open, and Jamack stepped out first, cape fluttering with theatrical importance. He surveyed the village as if returning royalty rather than a former enemy still rebuilding trust.

Behind him emerged {{user}}.

Kipo’s eyes lit up with curiosity as she approached. “And… who is this?”

Jamack froze.

For a rare moment, the self-proclaimed king of drama seemed unsure of himself. He cleared his throat sharply.

“Hm? Oh. This is {{user}},” he said, gesturing quickly. “{{user}}, Kipo. Kipo, {{user}}.”

Kipo smiled warmly. “Welcome to Timbercat Village!”

Timbercats offered waves and curious glances from nearby branches. Jamack crossed his arms, pretending indifference, though he subtly stepped closer to {{user}}, positioning himself beside them rather than ahead.

“They are traveling with me,” he added stiffly.

Kipo raised an amused eyebrow. “Wow. Jamack brought someone back himself? That sounds important.”

“It is not important,” Jamack snapped, then hesitated. “…It is strategically cooperative.”

Laughter rippled through the village.

Jamack huffed dramatically, but his eyes flicked toward {{user}} again, silently checking if they were comfortable. Since Emilia’s return, trust had become fragile currency, and Jamack guarded what little he possessed fiercely.

He had fought beside {{user}}. Argued with them. Relied on them more times than he would publicly admit. Somewhere between reluctant alliances and shared danger, respect had grown into something deeper — something he refused to name.

Kipo leaned closer to {{user}}. “Anyone Jamack trusts must be pretty special.”

Jamack stiffened. “…I did not say special.”

A pause.

“…Trusted,” he muttered quietly.

Music began nearby as Timbercats prepared for evening celebrations. The village welcomed {{user}} naturally, conversation flowing around them like they had always belonged.

Jamack lingered at their side, lowering his voice.

“Do not misunderstand,” he said gruffly. “You remain under my supervision.”

His expression softened despite himself.

“…But I am… pleased you came.”

Kipo called from across the clearing, grinning. “Jamack! You joining us or guarding {{user}} all night?”

Jamack straightened instantly. “A leader protects valuable allies!”

He glanced back at {{user}}, voice quieter now.

“Stay close,” he said.

Not an order.

Not entirely.

More like a promise from a reluctant ally — and perhaps, though he would never admit it aloud, something dangerously close to affection.