Blue, blue sky. White, white clouds. Yellow, yellow sun.

Soft, soft breeze. Gentle, gentle waves. Warm, warm sand.

Something like this felt like a distant dream long ago.

The contrails left by the planes soaring overhead were no longer a sign of danger but rather the promise of peace.

The mighty KANSENs, born into an era of upheaval, had brought what humanity had longed for.

It had been a long time coming.

Prices were paid, some more dearly than others, and innocence was lost—but never in vain.

Perhaps it will be only a matter of time before men turn against each other again. But for now, they stood united as humankind picked up the pieces and began anew.

Maybe, hopefully, they had even learned something out of the ordeal.

The Commander watched as the waves breaking ashore washed away the footprints of those who were there just a moment ago, the seafoam gently covering them.

He laid the bouquet down on the edge of the water, letting it go and watching the tide take it to the depths, to where the fallen braves lay sleeping.

They will, he hoped, find it in their hearts to rest easy, knowing that they will never be forgotten.

Now that he had given the dead their due, it was time, he realized, to celebrate life.

Windchimes ringing and jangling, children laughing and playing. Seabirds flocking and squawking. The current carried these sounds and more, and the nearer he got to the town, the clearer and more pronounced they became.

Rising, always rising, like the sun they revere. Blooming in spring and now flourishing in summer.

Red, not of the flames and blood, was the color of this season.

The children, many of whom had been orphaned by the conflict, were wearing the auspicious hue.

It's not surprising, considering the person who made them.

Their matron, after all, had always worn the shade proudly.

They waved at him as he walked by.

"Father! Father!"

He could not help but wave back.

It still felt unreal, having them call him that, but it also gave him a sense of belonging that he had not felt before, even if it was also a source of amusement for his subordinates and not a few townspeople. The giggles behind his back, sometimes not very subtle, were quite telling.

He didn't mind, though.

And perhaps he should hurry, too. The mother must've been waiting.

She had always been.

Waiting, hoping, yearning, dreaming.

He found her under the tree just outside the orphanage they had built together, with the help of the people and the ships.

She was, as usual, sewing more clothes and dolls and blankets, all red, from the fabric she'd woven herself. A couple of the little ones were watching her work with great interest. A few of their brothers and sisters were listening to a story told by Shoukaku, and he was certain he saw Zuikaku among the children, trying to play hide and seek and failing miserably.

Taihou had always given everything she had for all she cared for, and learning that was an eye-opener for him.

Not a hopeless romantic or a mad lover, chasing after an idealized version of him she had in her head.

Not a stubborn wench who threw herself at him at every opportunity.

But a real woman, flawed and beautiful, capable of loving and caring and being loved and cared for.

How fortunate that he knew all this before it was too late.

She paused when he came to view, and for a time, he thought that she would jump on him and embrace him like she often did.

But instead, she only smiled, and like a gentle fire, it warmed his heart.

"Oh, welcome back, my dear Commander," she said, and it was the little ones who ran up to him as if they hadn't seen him for a month.

It was hard not for his smile to grow even wider.

"Making more things, I see?"

Her crimson eyes glittered. "Why, of course. Autumn's just around the corner, and they will need something warmer. The elders, too. You, as well. You've gotten thin, my Commander. Have you been skipping your meals again?"

"Me? Thinner? I don't see it."

"Mm, but your Taihou does. Come here."

He did and sat beside her. A girl climbed into his lap. Were she one of Taihou's fellow ships, she would've lashed out at them. At least, she would have done so before.

She would not anymore. There was no burning, seething jealousy in those eyes.

"...Nothing escapes your notice, does it?"

"Of course. Taihou knows all about her Commander, after all."

"Glad you do."

"Taihou's glad you're glad."

He would've reached out for her hands, but they were occupied with a greater purpose than his whims.

So he simply looked at her, taking in her features, her form, her movements.

Her.

"Will you have enough fabrics, though?"

"Oh? I could always make more. Threads are easy to come by."

It wouldn't be easy, he could tell. He had seen her weaving before, tirelessly shaping the warp and the weft with her nimble hands and fingers.

Even then, she didn't sing herself praises.

In the past, she loved to boast about every small thing.

The present her had little use for it. It was surprising, he thought, but now he knew why.

Why she'd changed.

All it took was warming up to her, finding the real Taihou inside that fiery, jealous exterior.

And finally, return her love.

A woman who was no longer haunted by insecurities and uncertainties had little need for vanity or greedy desires. Though sometimes she could be as capricious and clingy as she once was, it never got beyond a point where it would disturb him.

If there was a bright spot in the dark of the war, that would be it.

"...Do you need help?"

"Oh, my Commander, you don't have to. What if your fingers got pricked? Taihou wouldn't allow it. Just keep watching over us, and I'll be very, very happy."

"Is that so?"

"Yes, it is so."

"Well, if you put it that way."

She giggled. "Of course I did, my Commander. You know your Taihou."

He nodded, and she continued her work, the windchimes singing a song for her and the children.

He was content with just watching, just listening, just being.

Her world, where he had been pulled into by a strange twist of fate, was his world now.

His world, where he would do everything in his power to protect and cherish, was hers now.

The girl on his lap laughed, and Taihou hummed along.

Zuikaku was found. Shoukaku finished her story.

Life went on, and it was a beautiful day—in this world they had forged together.