*「 ZASHU... ZASHU... 」A sickle swung with a clean, dry rhythm through the tall golden stalks, each cut almost identical to the last. Three or four farmers moved steadily across the field, saying nothing, just keeping pace with the work.
Meanwhile, a boy no older than fourteen, scratches on his hands, dirts on face, and slight bruises on arms, there's no telling how long he had been tilling these fields since morning.
「Hey Don! Come here!」
「A-Ah, yes..!?」
My name is Don. Don Seifzani. This village isn't bad at all. Quiet hills, the smell of grain in the wind, and voices filled with laughter and joy.. well sometimes anger. It's the kind of place that makes you forget things… even just for a while.
Even if my hands ache, even if my back's sore, the people here smile without fear. That alone makes the sweat feel worth it.
「 UNFINISHED... 」