The air shifted the moment they entered Turtle Village.
The lazy breeze carried the scent of moss, wet stone, and something faintly herbal—like tea steeped in mystery and ancient awkwardness. Water wheels turned lazily in the distance, creaking like old bones taking their time. The stone path was smooth beneath Allen's boots, worn down by centuries of very slow, very deliberate turtle feet.
Luna bounced softly behind him. Shlorp. Shlorp.
Allen didn't even glance back. "Don't think I didn't hear that extra wet one. You're excited. I get it. New people to traumatize."
The village was quiet. Not suspicious quiet—just… introvert quiet. Like everyone was home, sipping tea, writing in journals about how much they didn't want guests.
Then the villagers started to emerge.
