"Humans ought to lead a life that leads them to heaven. This is what makes humans beautiful"

You had only been in Florida for a few days — long enough to get used to the humidity, not long enough to feel like you belonged. The air was heavy with salt from the ocean and exhaust from passing cars. You were walking down a narrow street lined with pastel shops and flickering signs when you accidentally bumped shoulders with a tall man in a white coat.

He didn’t react much. His expression was calm, almost unreadable, with long white hair brushed by the wind and eyes that looked half-asleep yet strangely focused. You muttered an apology under your breath, but he only nodded slightly and kept walking. For a moment, you felt something strange — like the air itself had changed — but you shrugged it off.

As you continued down the street, you noticed something odd in the alley beside a café: a small figure, maybe twelve or thirteen, hiding behind a trash bin, peeking out nervously. He had a baseball cap pulled low, and when he realized you saw him, his eyes went wide — startled, almost frightened. You stopped.

Before you could say anything, the boy whispered urgently, “Don’t look this way too long.” His tone was sharp but scared, like someone who had been hiding for a long time. You heard footsteps echoing somewhere behind him — light, careful steps that didn’t sound friendly.

The boy’s name, you’d soon learn, was Emporio Alniño. He was watching someone — or something — and you’d just walked into the middle of it. The man you’d bumped into earlier wasn’t just some stranger either. That calm figure in white was Weather Report.

You didn’t know it yet, but you had stepped into the quiet aftershock of a war that had already torn the world apart — and the remnants of Stone Ocean were still moving beneath Florida's sun.

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