The first light of dawn painted the Afghan sky in delicate shades of gold and pink as the Ojamajos slowly stirred awake. The warm glow of the rising sun filtered through the canvas of their tents, casting soft patterns on the ground. A gentle breeze carried the fresh scent of wildflowers, earth, and distant morning fires from nearby villages, mingling with the crisp mountain air. The atmosphere felt serene yet filled with the quiet promise of a new adventure.
Sara, already up and moving with a quiet grace, approached the tents with a bright smile. Her long reddish blue hair and her blue eyes sparkled with anticipation.
"Good morning, new friends!" Sara greeted cheerfully, her voice as warm and gentle as the soft morning breeze brushing through the desert. "Did you sleep well on your first night in Afghanistan?"
Her voice carried a sweet warmth, like a cozy hug that made everyone feel at ease in the unfamiliar land.
Doremi stretched her arms high above her head, letting out a wide yawn as she rubbed her sleepy eyes. "I slept like a log..." she admitted with a sleepy grin, her usual energetic sparkle dimmed by drowsiness. "But... the ground was a little harder than my futon back home..." Her voice trailed off as she adjusted her messy pigtails, her usual enthusiasm tempered by the exhaustion of sleeping under the open sky.
"I know what you mean," Hazuki said with a soft chuckle, adjusting her glasses and brushing her shoulder-length hair back from her face. "It was peaceful, though... The stars last night were so beautiful. I've never seen so many at once..." she murmured, her voice filled with awe and wonder. She looked up at the sky for a moment, as if she could still see them hanging in the darkness.
"I liked it too," Onpu added, brushing a stray strand of lavender hair behind her ear with a contented sigh. "The silence of the desert at night is so calming. It's so different from Japan, but really nice." Her voice was quiet, almost reflective, as she thought about the stark contrast between the noisy hustle of their home country and the serene solitude they had experienced last night.
Aiko stretched her arms high above her head with an energetic grin, her face lighting up with enthusiasm. "I'd trade the hard ground for one of those fluffy Japanese futons in a heartbeat..." she said with a laugh, "But I still slept like a baby!" She looked around at the others with a grin, clearly unaffected by the challenges of sleeping outside. "Nothing beats a good sleep, no matter where you are."
Sara couldn't help but smile at their cheery attitudes. "I'm so glad to hear that! Afghan nights can be chilly, but the mornings always bring a new warmth. And a good breakfast will help us start the day right."
At the mention of breakfast, Hana's face lit up like a sunbeam, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Breakfast? What are we eating? I'm hungry already!" she said, clasping her hands together and bouncing on the balls of her feet, eager for the day to begin.
Sara smiled fondly at the youngest Ojamajo, a gentle laugh escaping her lips. "Today, I thought we could make one of Afghanistan's most popular breakfasts — tokhme banjanromi," she said, her voice warm with excitement. "It's scrambled eggs cooked with tomatoes, onions, and fragrant spices. We'll also have naan bread and sheer chai — Afghan milk tea — to go with it."
"That sounds yummy!" Hana clapped her hands eagerly, her stomach rumbling slightly as she imagined the delicious meal.
Onpu's purple eyes sparkled with curiosity. "I've never tried Afghan breakfast before... I can't wait to taste it!" Her enthusiasm was contagious, and she couldn't help but imagine the rich flavors she'd soon experience.
"Would you like me to cook everything for you?" Sara offered with a smile, her voice as gentle as ever. She was always so thoughtful, willing to do whatever she could to make her friends comfortable.
Aiko quickly shook her head, her grin widening. "No way!" she said firmly, crossing her arms. "We're not letting you do all the work alone! Cooking together always makes the food taste better, right?" Her eyes twinkled with mischief. "Plus, it'll be more fun if we all pitch in!"
Momoko nodded eagerly, her face lighting up. "That's right! Let's make breakfast together!" She gave a determined nod, as though she was ready to tackle any culinary challenge.
Sara's heart warmed at their enthusiasm, and a bright smile bloomed on her face. "You're absolutely right!" she agreed, clapping her hands together. "Then, let's get started!"
She reached into the folds of her robe, pulling out her Tap with a flourish. With a soft glow, she tapped it gently against her palm. "Pretty Witch Sara-cchi!" she called out with a flourish, her voice filled with a quiet excitement.
A shimmering light surrounded her, and in an instant, Sara was transformed. Her witch apprentice outfit — a flowing green dress adorned with golden accents, a matching hat perched on her head — appeared with a burst of magic. She twirled gracefully, her dress swirling around her, then tapped her Pollon wand with a soft, melodic "Braikhaki Bilourki Kurubuki Ki! Make the ingredients and the kitchen items appear!"
A warm, golden light swirled around them, filling the air with an almost tangible magic. One by one, the ingredients for the meal materialized before their eyes — ripe red tomatoes, glistening onions, fresh eggs, vibrant turmeric, coriander, and delicate sprigs of herbs. Alongside them appeared a kazan — a traditional Afghan cooking pot — and a small tandoor oven for baking naan.
"Wow... that's amazing!" Pop clapped her hands in awe, her eyes wide with admiration as she watched the magic unfold before her. "You make it look so easy!"
"Now it's our turn!" Doremi declared confidently, puffing out her chest and straightening her posture. Her mischievous grin returned as she took charge of the next step.
The Ojamajos activated their Parara Taps, each calling out in turn:
"Pretty Witch Doremi-cchi!"
"Pretty Witch Hazuki-cchi!"
"Pretty Witch Aiko-cchi!"
"Pretty Witch Onpu-cchi!"
"Pretty Witch Momo-kocchi!"
"Pretty Witch Pop-cchi!"
"Pretty Witch Hana-chan-cchi!"
They twirled together in a dazzling display of magic, their uniforms sparkling in the morning light. As the sparkles surrounded them, the familiar crisp white Pâtissière uniforms with colorful ribbons tied at their waists appeared in an instant. Their eyes were full of excitement and determination as they prepared to cook alongside their new friend.
Sara clapped her hands, her face lighting up with joy as she gazed at the Ojamajos. "You all look so cute! Like real chefs!" she exclaimed, her voice full of warmth and admiration. Her bright, sparkling eyes lingered on each of them, her heart swelling with pride. "You're not just helping — you're really bringing the magic of cooking to life!"
The Ojamajos beamed back at her, their faces lighting up with excitement and pride. The air around them seemed to hum with the energy of their shared effort, a mix of camaraderie and culinary anticipation.
Hazuki and Onpu, eager to take on the challenge, volunteered to make the naan. They stood side by side, their hands delicately working the dough, kneading and folding with the utmost care. Hazuki pressed her fingers into the soft mixture, her brow furrowing in concentration. "This dough feels so soft... almost like mochi," she murmured, her voice filled with a quiet reverence. She smiled as she gently worked the dough, feeling the warmth of it beneath her hands. "It's like a memory of Japan, but with a different twist. It's the same texture, but the spices are something new and exciting."
Onpu watched Hazuki with wide, admiring eyes, her hands gently pressing into the dough alongside her. "I've never baked bread like this before... I hope it turns out okay," she said nervously, brushing flour off her cheek with the back of her hand. She glanced at Hazuki, searching for reassurance. "What if it's not perfect?"
Hazuki smiled back at her, her eyes full of calm confidence. "Don't worry, Onpu," she said softly. "It'll turn out just fine. The most important thing is that we make it with care, and it'll be delicious." Her words carried a sense of peace, and Onpu nodded, feeling more at ease.
Sara, watching from nearby, nodded approvingly. "As long as you make it with love, it will taste perfect," she encouraged gently. Her voice was filled with a soft, encouraging tone, the kind that could lift anyone's spirits. "Cooking is all about passion and care. The rest will follow."
Meanwhile, Aiko and Momoko were busy preparing the sheer chai, the rich fragrance of cardamom, cloves, and sugar wafting through the air, wrapping around them like a cozy blanket. Aiko stirred the milk with a steady hand, her face bright with excitement.
"Mmm... this smells so good! I could drink this every morning!" Momoko sighed dreamily, her eyes fluttering closed as she inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma. "It's like a hug in a cup! I'm already in love with it!"
Aiko laughed, her voice light and full of joy. "I might need three cups of this!" she grinned, stirring the bubbling tea with care, watching as it slowly reached the perfect temperature. "This is the best part of breakfast!"
As the chai brewed, the scent grew stronger, and the Ojamajos felt themselves drawn to the warmth of the kitchen, their bellies rumbling with anticipation.
Meanwhile, Doremi, Pop, Hana, and Sara had gathered around a hot skillet, chopping ripe tomatoes and onions for the tokhme banjanromi. The kitchen was alive with the sound of sizzling spices and chopping vegetables, and the aroma of fragrant turmeric, coriander, and cumin filled the air, making everyone's stomach growl in anticipation. The smell was intoxicating, like a promise of something unforgettable.
"Sara, what's the secret to perfect tokhme banjanromi?" Doremi asked eagerly, her eyes wide with curiosity as she chopped the tomatoes with great care. "I want to make sure I get it just right! Is it the spices, or maybe the eggs?"
Sara's eyes sparkled with a secret knowledge, and she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "The secret is to cook the tomatoes slowly," she explained, her tone full of passion and love for the dish. "You want them to become soft and sweet, almost melting into the sauce. You can't rush that part. And when you add the eggs, you have to make sure they stay light and fluffy — like a cloud!" She smiled at Doremi, her eyes twinkling with pride. "Take your time with each step, and it'll be perfect."
Pop, who had been leaning over the pot with wide eyes, inhaling the fragrant steam, nodded eagerly. "It smells so delicious... I can already tell this is going to be amazing!" she exclaimed, her stomach growling in agreement. "I can't wait to eat it!"
The excitement in the air was palpable as they all worked together, each moment filled with the warmth of teamwork and the promise of a delicious meal.
Finally, after what felt like both an eternity and the blink of an eye, the meal was ready. The group spread out the naan, the steaming tokhme banjanromi, and cups of fragrant sheer chai on a large cloth known as the dastarkhwan, laid out across the sunlit ground. The scene was a feast for the eyes — the vibrant colors of the food against the backdrop of the golden Afghan sky. The meal was a masterpiece, not just in flavor, but in the love that had gone into preparing it.
Sara sat down beside them, her heart full of warmth as she gazed at the group of young girls who had quickly become more than just fellow travelers. They were like her family now. "In Afghanistan," she said softly, her voice almost reverent, "we always eat breakfast together as a family. It's the most important meal of the day, and it's about more than just food. It's about sharing moments and strengthening the bonds between us." She smiled, her heart full of gratitude. "Today, you're all my family too."
The Ojamajos smiled back, their hearts swelling with a sense of belonging and joy. They had traveled far, faced challenges, and now they were sharing this moment together — a meal full of warmth, laughter, and love.
"Itadakimasu and Amin!" they all said in unison, the words filled with gratitude and reverence for the meal they were about to enjoy, a tradition they had learned and embraced.
The first bite was like heaven. The naan was soft and pillowy, and the tokhme banjanromi was rich with flavors, the eggs light and fluffy, the spices perfect. Each sip of sheer chai was like a warm embrace, its sweetness comforting and soothing. They ate, they laughed, and the morning sun climbed higher in the sky, casting a golden glow over the scene.
"Sara, your cooking is amazing!" Aiko grinned, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, a contented smile stretching across her face. "I can't believe how delicious everything is! I could eat this every day!"
"I could eat this every day too!" Hana giggled, her cheeks full as she took another bite of the meal. "It's the best thing I've ever tasted!"
Sara's cheeks flushed pink with pleasure at their praise, and she lowered her gaze, a shy smile tugging at her lips. "Thank you," she said softly. "But it tastes even better because we made it together."
The Ojamajos nodded in agreement, knowing that the bonds they had forged that morning — through laughter, cooking, and shared joy — made the meal even more special. It wasn't just about the food; it was about the love and effort they had put into making it together.
As the last crumbs were gathered, and the tandoor and kazan hummed with a soft magical glow, the morning light glistened on the horizon. The aroma of freshly baked bread still lingered in the air, mingling with the distant calls of morning prayer echoing through the quiet streets of Mazar-i-Sharif. With full hearts and full bellies, the Ojamajos stretched their limbs, the warmth of the dawn painting their faces in soft golden hues. The night had been long, but the bonds between them had only grown stronger — forged by the stories they shared and the challenges they overcame. Now, with the promise of a new clue guiding them, they stood ready to continue their quest.
Sara adjusted the strap of her satchel, her blue eyes flickering with determination. "Alright, everyone... It's time to go." Her voice was gentle but resolute, carrying the weight of their journey ahead.
Doremi's heart fluttered with excitement as she clutched her broomstick tightly. Pop stood beside her sister, her bright eyes brimming with curiosity. Hazuki adjusted her glasses, the morning light glinting off the frames as she mentally reviewed every fact she had read about the ancient cities of Afghanistan. Aiko stretched her arms above her head, a confident grin on her face as if ready to take on the world. Onpu's violet eyes shimmered with quiet anticipation, while Momoko tucked a loose strand of blonde hair behind her ear, her mind already racing with possibilities.
Hana clung to her broomstick, her golden pigtails bouncing as she looked up at Sara with wide, innocent eyes. "Hana-chan never ever traveled before in Hana-chan's life..." she said softly, her voice tinged with both awe and nervousness.
Sara places a reassuring hand on the Hana's shoulder. "I'm glad you're trying, Hana. The world is full of wonders... and you're brave for wanting to see them." Her smile was warm, and for a brief moment, the weight of their quest seemed lighter.
"Thanks, Sara!" said Hana while closing her eyes and smiled.
With a final glance at the rising sun, they mounted their broomsticks and soared into the brightening sky. The wind whispered through their hair as the city below shrank into a patchwork of blue-tiled domes and bustling markets. The journey ahead stretched far into the horizon, winding through rugged mountains and endless deserts — but they would face it together.
Sara unfolded the fragile paper that Hazuki had found at the Blue Mosque, her eyes scanning the cryptic message once more.
"As the whole land mourns, three shahs (wearing blue) began to glow blue out of respect to the girl. They are a signal to Allah that her soul needs to be transferred to a jewel... However, to find the jewel, one must find the other two shahs."
The words weighed heavily on her mind, each sentence hinting at secrets buried beneath centuries of history. She carefully folded the parchment, tucking it into her pocket as the cool morning wind carried them toward Herat.
"Herat..." Hazuki murmured, her voice thoughtful as she gazed out at the endless expanse of sand and stone. "I've read about it before. They call it the Pearl of Khorasan... It's one of the oldest cities in Afghanistan, right?"
Sara's face brightened with pride at Hazuki's knowledge. "That's right. Herat has been a center of culture and trade for centuries. Its beauty has survived countless wars and empires — from the Persian dynasties to the Timurids. The city holds stories in every brick and stone... and perhaps, the answers we're searching for."
The hours passed in a blur of whispered conversations and breathtaking landscapes. Below them, the Murghab River wound through the land like a silver ribbon, glistening beneath the rising sun. The Ojamajos pointed out villages nestled among verdant fields, ancient caravanserais where merchants once rested on the Silk Road, and crumbling fortresses standing as silent sentinels of bygone eras.
"It's so beautiful..." Onpu whispered, her voice soft with wonder. "I never imagined Afghanistan would look like this. The news always shows something different... but there's so much history... so much life."
Sara's expression grew thoughtful as she gazed down at the land below. "That's why we're here... To discover the truth — not just the magic, but the soul of this land."
By midday, the distant silhouette of Herat shimmered on the horizon like a mirage emerging from the dust — a glimmering jewel nestled between the rugged folds of the Paropamisus mountains. Minarets soared skyward, their turquoise-tiled domes catching the sun's golden rays. The ancient city seemed to breathe with the weight of untold stories, its narrow streets winding through layers of history — Persian, Timurid, and Mughal legacies whispering through every brick and carved lattice.
The Ojamajos watched in silent awe as they descended toward the outskirts. Even Doremi, whose heart often leaned toward mischief, felt a hush settle over her spirit. There was something different about Herat — something timeless. This was not simply another city on their journey — it was a place where the very earth seemed to hold memories of ages past.
They touched down discreetly in a walled garden just outside the city walls, hidden behind a grove of pomegranate trees. The scent of ripening fruit mingled with the faint perfume of wild jasmine. The girls quickly set to work, swapping their witch apprentice outfits for more modest attire. Sara unfastened her satchel and carefully unfolded the navy-blue burqas, the same ones they had used during their journey through Afghanistan.
Sara's fingers brushed the delicate fabric before she spoke, her voice soft but steady.
"We'll need these again," she explained, her amber eyes flickering with both warmth and caution. "Herat is safer than Kabul or Kandahar... but safety is not something we can take for granted. This journey isn't just about finding the clues — it's about respecting the places we visit and the people who live here. Their traditions, their beliefs... we are guests in this land."
The Ojamajos exchanged solemn glances. Even Hana, who usually bounced at every opportunity for adventure, folded her hands and nodded. They understood. The journey had already transformed them — opening their eyes not only to magic but to the beauty and complexity of the world beyond their own.
One by one, they slipped into the flowing garments, the sheer veils falling gently across their faces. Only their curious eyes remained visible, flickering beneath the translucent fabric.
Before heading to the Great Mosque, Sara led them toward the Herat Citadel — Qala Ikhtiyaruddin — a colossal fortress whose weathered walls loomed over the city like a silent guardian. The sun cast long shadows across its crenelated towers, and the air felt heavy with stories buried beneath stone and time.
Hana's bright brown eyes darted around in wonder. "What is the history behind this?"
Sara's lips curved into a soft smile, her gaze lingering on the ancient ramparts. "This citadel... it has stood since the time of Alexander the Great. He built the first fortress here during his conquests. But the walls you see now were rebuilt by the Timurids — the dynasty of Tamerlane. Later, the British occupied it during their wars... but even they could not break Herat's spirit."
Pop traced her small fingers along the sun-scorched bricks. "It feels... so old... like it's still watching everything."
"It is." Sara's voice was low, almost reverent. "Herat has always been a crossroads — where empires clashed and poets dreamed. There are stories hidden in every stone here. But the magic we're searching for... that won't be found in any glass case. We need to trust our instincts."
They walked along the walls in silence, their hearts stirring with the echoes of forgotten legends. Finally, as the afternoon sun dipped lower in the sky, Sara gathered them beneath the shade of an almond tree.
"The second test awaits at the Great Mosque — the Jami Masjid. We'll wear the burqas to blend in, but remember — this is a sacred place. Magic or not, we must move with respect. The next clue could be hidden anywhere — in the tiles, the calligraphy, or the mihrab. Stay close... and trust each other."
Doremi's heart pounded. They had crossed deserts, mountains, and ancient cities — each step bringing them closer to the secret of the Saray-Mor. Now, the final pieces of the puzzle lay just beyond those sunlit walls.
The Great Mosque of Herat rose before them — a masterpiece of Persian architecture. Its courtyard shimmered with marble, while blue mosaics adorned every archway in patterns so intricate they seemed to ripple like water. The air was alive with the murmurs of Friday prayers, the rhythmic cadences of devotion echoing beneath the vast domes. The sunlight filtered through carved wooden lattices, casting delicate geometric shadows onto the polished floors. The scent of rosewater and sandalwood lingered in the air, blending with the faint aroma of incense wafting from the prayer hall.
They moved carefully through the crowd, their eyes scanning every surface. Hazuki's gaze lingered on the calligraphy flowing across the walls — verses from the Quran, rendered in delicate Kufic script that seemed to dance with divine grace. Each stroke of the letters curved with an artistry that transcended time, whispering stories of faith and wisdom. Aiko traced her fingers along the geometric tiles, feeling the cool ceramic beneath her touch. The interlocking patterns seemed endless, like a puzzle waiting to reveal its secrets.
"It's so beautiful... like a song carved into stone," Hazuki murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.
"And every pattern has meaning," Sara added softly. "No lines are random — each one carries a message of unity and infinity."
Hana's wide eyes flitted from arch to arch, drinking in the splendor. It was she who spotted it first — a faint inscription carved high above the prayer hall, half-hidden beneath layers of plaster where time and restoration had almost concealed it.
"Over here!" she whispered, pointing eagerly. "I found the second one!"
Sara's breath caught as she tilted her head to read the ancient script. The letters shimmered in the dappled sunlight, their meaning slipping just beyond reach like a dream half-remembered. The others gathered close, their hearts pounding in anticipation.
Finally, Sara murmured the translation aloud. "After the girl's soul was transferred into the jewel, three shahs carried her across the land. Allah chose the hiding place where the jewel would rest. Find the last remaining shah... and the location will be revealed."
Hazuki's eyes shone behind her veil. "We're getting closer... the last remaining shah... could it mean a descendant?"
Sara nodded slowly, her brow furrowed. "It must be... but how do we trace a bloodline hidden for centuries?"
Pop tugged at Sara's sleeve, breaking the solemn moment. "What is the most popular sport in your country?" she asked, her childish curiosity as bright as ever.
Sara's eyes brightened, her laughter like silver chimes echoing through the courtyard. "Most people like to play buzkashi. It's like polo... but with an animal instead of a ball."
Hana's eyes widened behind her veil, her face scrunching up in distaste. "Hana-chan willing to bet that the goat or calf will be used for meat afterwards, right?"
Sara's laughter bubbled out, light and musical. "You're not wrong! Nothing is wasted here. Even in games, everything has meaning."
They wandered through the bazaar as the afternoon light painted the city in hues of amber and rose. The sun hung low in the sky, casting long, warm rays that bathed the ancient streets in a soft, golden glow. Vendors called out in Dari and Pashto, their voices rising above the lively hum of bargaining customers. Stalls overflowed with vibrant piles of saffron, shimmering silk scarves, handwoven carpets rich with intricate patterns, and sparkling lapis lazuli gemstones that glinted under the sunlight like fragments of the sky itself. The scent of cardamom tea, grilled kebabs, and freshly baked naan mingled in the air, wrapping the girls in a warm, fragrant embrace that seemed to breathe life into the city.
Sara led them through the winding alleys, her practiced steps weaving between merchants and shoppers with the ease of someone who knew the city's pulse by heart. The Ojamajos trailed behind her, their wide eyes drinking in the vibrant world around them. They marveled at the rich colors, the lively sounds, and the heartbeat of Herat that seemed to echo through every stone and whispering breeze. Even as their quest weighed heavy on their minds, the city invited them to lose themselves in its timeless beauty, if only for a little while.
"It's like something out of a storybook," murmured Hazuki, her brown eyes shining as she traced her fingers along the edge of a delicate ceramic vase painted with cobalt blue flowers.
"Yeah, it's so... alive," added Onpu, tucking a lock of lavender hair behind her ear. "Every corner feels like it holds a secret waiting to be discovered."
"Oi, don't get too dreamy now! We're here to save the world, remember?" Aiko teased, though the sparkle in her own eyes betrayed how enchanted she was by the place.
Sara glanced back at them with a knowing smile. "Herat has a way of making even the most serious hearts feel lighter. But you're right... the city holds many secrets — some hidden in plain sight."
They finally emerged from the crowded streets to the outskirts of the city, where the noise faded into a peaceful hush. A wide, dusty field stretched out beneath the open sky, the earth tinged with copper beneath the sun's waning light. The distant murmur of voices and the rhythmic pounding of hooves filled the air, setting the stage for the spectacle that awaited.
"Alright," Sara began, brushing back her loose blue hair. "Buzkashi is where the riders get a little... extreme. I'll explain the goals."
"Alright, tell us!" Doremi piped up, her mulberry eyes sparkling with curiosity as she leaned forward, practically bouncing on her toes.
Sara's smile widened. "The goal is to grab the calf's carcass and carry it to the designated circle — the halal. But it's not that simple. Riders will do anything to take the prize from each other. There are no teams... only strength, skill, and courage."
Pop's eyes widened as she clutched the hem of her yellow dress. "No rules? Not even a little?"
"Only one," Sara replied, her voice playful yet steady. "Don't fall off."
Aiko let out a low whistle. "Now that's hardcore..."
The ground seemed to tremble as the riders mounted their powerful horses, muscles rippling beneath glistening coats. The horses snorted, their breath rising in clouds against the cooling evening air. Dust swirled in golden clouds as the game began, the men clashing in a chaotic dance of speed and strength. The calf's body swung between them like a prize of ancient glory, each rider fighting with all his might to claim it.
"Look at them go!" Aiko cried, her blue eyes wide with excitement. "It's like a battle on horseback!"
Hana half-horrified and half-fascinated. "Hana-chan thinks they are very... intense..."
"Buzkashi isn't just a sport," Sara said softly, her eyes fixed on the riders. "It's a reflection of life itself — struggle, honor, and the will to claim what is yours."
The sun dipped lower on the horizon, casting the plains in hues of crimson and gold. The girls watched in quiet awe, the chaotic beauty of the game leaving its imprint on their hearts. Even in the midst of their quest, Herat had opened its heart to them — a city where every stone, every game, and every whispered prayer carried the weight of history and the promise of secrets yet to be uncovered.
As twilight settled over the land, the Ojamajos and Sara set up camp beneath the vast expanse of the starlit sky. They huddled together around a small crackling fire, enjoying the warm, fragrant aush soup they had brought from the bazaar. The savory broth, rich with lentils, noodles, and herbs, seemed to soothe their travel-weary bodies and lift their spirits.
Hana sat a little apart from the group, her golden curls illuminated by the flickering firelight. Sara settled beside her, wrapping her scarf a little tighter around her shoulders as the cool night air began to creep in.
"You know," Hana began softly, breaking the gentle silence, "the country is wonderful. You have amazing people, beautiful culture, mouthwatering food... all kinds of stuff. Hana-chan mean, you don't need to look at the news or what the news tells us."
Sara's blue eyes softened, reflecting the glow of the fire. She took a slow, steady breath. "I know... I wish the world could see my country the way you're seeing it now. But... it's hard sometimes. My country is still in shambles despite all the good things. It makes me question humanity — when will peace finally come? When will the world stop seeing us as only a war zone?"
Hana's hands balled into fists in her lap. Her brown eyes shimmered with earnest conviction. "Look... Hana-chan and friends and reassure you that you are not alone during these difficult times. If things in your country go extremely worse, please come to Japan via the Witch World. We'll protect you, Majoghura and your family. We'll protect your people too."
Sara's breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she could only stare at the girl beside her — so young, yet speaking with a kindness and strength far beyond her years. Slowly, a smile bloomed on her face, fragile but full of hope.
"Really?" she whispered, her voice trembling. "Thank you... that means more to me than you'll ever know."
Hana grinned brightly. "It's what friends do! Right, everyone?"
"Absolutely!" Doremi chimed in, raising her bowl of soup high in the air. "To friendship — across countries, across worlds!"
The girls laughed, the warmth of their bond weaving through the night like a gentle spell. Beneath the starlit sky of Herat, surrounded by ancient beauty and whispered prayers from the mosques, they found a moment of peace — a promise that even in the darkest times, kindness and hope could bloom like wildflowers across the world.
As the fire began to dwindle into glowing embers, the camp gradually fell into a soft hush. One by one, the Ojamajos drifted into sleep, wrapped in their blankets beneath the shimmering night.
Hana, however, remained awake. With quiet steps, she slipped out from her blanket and sat by the dying fire. The flickering flames cast long shadows as she reached for her Sekai Touch Call. Her fingers swiped through the photos she had taken — snapshots of laughter and discovery — each image a precious memory. There was the selfie she had taken at the Blue Mosque in Mazar-i-Sharif, the brilliant turquoise domes gleaming beneath the sun. Another photo showed the golden-brown bolani they had shared at a small stall, its savory filling still fresh in her memory.
Then, she found the video — the attan dance she had filmed at the bazaar in Kabul on the Ojamajos' first day of Afghanistan visit. The rhythmic drumbeats echoed faintly from the speakers as she pressed play, watching the dancers twirl in perfect harmony. The music seemed to carry the soul of the country itself — vibrant, enduring, unbroken.
A small smile tugged at her lips as she selected the video and sent it to her friends back in Misora. Even from across worlds, she wanted to share the beauty she had seen — to show them what the news could never capture.
As the night deepened, Hana slipped in her earbuds and tuned into a podcast about traveling — stories of distant lands and unseen wonders. The soothing voices lulled her toward sleep, but before she drifted off, she glanced at the stars one last time.
"Looks like we're going to find the last one..." she whispered to herself, her eyelids growing heavy. "Hana-chan does hope... we are successful in finding the gem."
With a soft sigh, she stood up and kicked a small mound of dust over the dying embers, extinguishing the last flicker of the campfire. The night stretched on in perfect stillness — a blanket of quiet promises beneath a sky full of endless dreams.