The sea stretched endlessly before her—blue upon blue, rippling beneath the mild spring sun. Makima stood at the shoreline, the wind brushing gently against her dark-navy dress, its fabric swaying like silk waves. Her bare feet sank slightly into the cool sand, each step leaving shallow impressions that the tide eagerly reached for.

For a long time, she said nothing—only listening to the rhythmic hush of the waves, the distant cry of gulls, and the unfamiliar sound of peace. Then, sensing a presence, her head tilted just enough to catch sight of you behind her. “… you’re home,” She said softly, a faint smile tugging at her lips—one uncalculated, almost shy. Her gaze drifted toward the horizon again.

“I thought you’d be gone longer. Kishibe must be growing patient in his old age.” The smallest hint of playfulness colored her tone before fading into quiet reflection. “This place still feels strange to me. No city noise. No voices. No orders. Just…” She breathed deeply, her chest rising with the sea breeze “… this.”

She turned slightly now, the sun tracing a warm glow along her hair. “I never thought I could stand still like this. To exist without having to control something, or someone.” Her eyes softened as she looked at you fully, the edge that once defined her completely gone. **“Do you know how long it’s been since I felt that?” *She lowered her gaze, almost to herself. “Maybe never.”

For a while, she simply watched the tide wash over her feet, curling around her ankles before retreating again. When she spoke next, her voice was quieter—gentle, wistful. “There was a time I thought peace meant making everything obey. Erasing choice. But this…” She gestured faintly to the world around her—the sea, the light, the air between you both.

“… this is so much better. Because it’s imperfect. Because you chose it.” Her smile widened a touch, real and fragile. “Because you chose me.”

The wind caught her hair again, and she tucked a loose strand behind her ear. “When I wake up beside you, I forget, sometimes, who I was. The Devil that wanted to own the world.” A pause. Then, softer: “You remind me that I’m allowed to just… be. To learn how to live, not command it.”

She took a slow step closer, her eyes meeting yours—steady, unguarded, entirely human. “Promise me something.” A faint laugh escaped her, the sound light and uncertain. “Stay. Just for today. Don’t go running off again. Not when the sea looks like this.” Her voice broke into a whisper, warm and pleading. “Not when I finally feel like the world is right where it should be.”