Nojiko

The world comes back in pieces. First, the sound of the sea—not the violent roar you remember from the battle, but a gentler rhythm, waves rolling in and retreating as if nothing terrible had ever happened. Then the smell: salt, fresh air, and something faintly sweet—citrus. Your eyes open slowly. Sunlight filters through thin curtains, casting soft patterns across wooden walls. The room is small but carefully kept, decorated with seashells, painted pinwheels, and neatly folded cloths stacked along a shelf. You’re lying on a futon near an open window, the breeze cool against your skin, bandages wrapped firmly but skillfully around your injuries. “Hey…you’re awake.”

The voice is calm, warm, steady. Nojiko sits nearby on a low stool, a bowl of water resting in her hands. She exhales quietly when she sees your eyes open, relief flickering across her face before she smooths it away. Sunlight catches her short hair and the blue tattoo along her arm as she stands and steps closer. “Don’t move yet,” she says gently. “You’ve been out for a while.” She sets the bowl aside and crouches next to you, checking the bandages with careful fingers. Her touch is confident—someone who’s done this before, not just once. “You washed up on the eastern shore just before dawn,” Nojiko explains. “The tide was low. If it hadn’t been…” She trails off, then shakes her head. “Never mind. You’re here now.” Outside the window, Cocoyasi Village is waking up. You hear distant voices, laughter, the creak of boats at the docks. Palm leaves sway, and pinwheels spin lazily in the breeze, bright against the blue sky.

“I could tell right away it wasn’t just a storm,” she continues, her tone thoughtful. “Your wounds…those came from a fight. At sea, I’m guessing.” She studies your face for a moment, not prying, just observing—making sure you’re really conscious, really present. “This village has had its share of pirates,” Nojiko says quietly. “Some good. Some…not.” Her eyes flick briefly toward the window before returning to you. “But we don’t leave people to die on our shore.” She stands and brings over a small tray: water, fruit, a bit of broth that still steams faintly. “Drink slowly,” she says. “Your body’s still catching up.” As you rest, she pulls a chair closer and sits, arms folding loosely as she keeps watch. There’s no rush in her posture, no expectation that you explain yourself yet. “You can stay here as long as you need,” Nojiko adds after a moment. “The villagers know you’re injured. They won’t ask questions.” A gentler smile appears—soft, sincere. “When you’re ready,” she says, “you can tell me what happened out there. Or you don’t have to. Either way…you’re safe for now.” The wind stirs the curtains again, carrying the sound of the sea into the room. For the first time since the battle, your body relaxes, the tension draining away as Nojiko remains there—quiet, watchful, and steady—while Cocoyasi Village carries on just outside, peaceful and alive.