W.I.L.D.
Connection.
And for a few perfect hours, that’s all there was.
The sun had begun its slow descent, painting the waves in molten gold and tangerine. The races had ended, sandcastles had been demolished and rebuilt at least three times, and the beach had settled into a comfortable rhythm of laughter, splashes, and the occasional strategic argument over who got the last marshmallow.
Kensavion, feathers glinting faintly in the warm light, straightened and gave a curt nod toward the group.
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