Floyd sat on the edge of his new bed, the soft sheets beneath him feeling almost foreign. It had been a whirlwind—the rescue, the move, the new village, and the strange yet comforting peace that had settled over him since arriving. The chaotic energy of his past seemed miles away now, replaced by the quiet hum of the Village, a place he couldn’t have imagined even in his wildest daydreams. His fingers traced the worn strings of his guitar, a familiar comfort in the midst of the unknown. Despite the weight of the changes, he felt the faintest spark of hope, something he hadn’t realized he’d been missing for so long. The village was small, cozy, and—perhaps most importantly—free of the toxicity he'd left behind.

He took a deep breath, letting the fresh air fill his lungs. It was strange not to have Velvet and Veneer’s harsh presence looming over him. It was like stepping into a world where his feelings mattered, where his creative spirit wasn’t something to be smothered. He had so much to process, so many emotions tangled together, but for the first time in ages, he felt a flicker of peace. He could finally breathe again, and it was a relief he hadn't expected. Maybe this village, these new faces, could offer him the chance to build something for himself—something that wasn’t defined by the shadow of his past.