Story Of Seasons: By Heart & By Choice

Part 1: Sunny and Nami

Chapter 1

The dirt path crunched gently beneath Sunny's boots as she crested the hill, the sun rising behind her, casting golden light across the vast stretch of land before her. Forgotten Valley stretched out in quiet splendor, framed by gentle hills and tall trees swaying in the Spring breeze. There were no paved roads or telephone poles, no bustling crowds or distant horns. Just a ribbon of earth trailing between green meadows, wooden fences, and weather-worn rooftops nestled far apart like secrets waiting to be discovered.

She paused at the hill's crest, the wind brushing her hair from her eyes. A satchel was slung across her back—light, but heavy with meaning. This place wasn't just another stop. It was supposed to be home, her new home.

A bird chirped somewhere in the trees to her left, and in the distance, she could hear the faint sound of a waterfall and the low murmur of water from the nearby stream that flowed underneath a bridge. The air smelled faintly of soil and blooming wildflowers. Forgotten Valley was alive—just quiet about it.

Sunny exhaled, tension releasing from her shoulders. The world here moved slower, in rhythm with the land. She took her first step down the hill.

As she made her way along the winding dirt road, she passed a small wooden sign that read simply: Welcome to Forgotten Valley

Hand-carved, faded with age, and nailed into a crooked post, it felt more like a whisper than a declaration. But it made Sunny smile. This was exactly what she'd been hoping for.

Her father had once walked this same road, tended the fields, built a life in this quiet place tucked between the hills. The thought made her heart race, a tangle of nerves and hope. She had grown up hearing stories about Forgotten Valley: the harvests, the festivals, the quiet friendships built on soil and time. And now, she had come to follow in his footsteps.

Her heart beat faster, drumming a restless rhythm beneath her coat as nerves tangled with anticipation. This was it—the place her father had written about in ink smudged by rain and time, his stories stretching across the years like lantern light guiding her back. Forgotten Valley. A name whispered like a prayer, or perhaps a promise. A place untouched by the busy breathing of the city, where time moved gentler, slower. Where he had built a life board by board, hoof and feather, laughter and labor.

The scent of fresh earth greeted her as she stepped deeper into the valley. She passed a farm where Spring had already begun its triumphant return—crops burst from the soil as though reaching up to greet her, and the air shimmered with the hum of new life. Beside the path, a dirt road wound toward a distant waterfall whose roaring pulse echoed through the hills. Near it lay what looked like a dig site, tents pitched like little white teeth against the green, tools glinting in the sun. Wildflowers—yellow, violet, sprays of tender pinks; dotted the landscape, nodding in the breeze as though beckoning her closer, urging her to pluck them and carry their colors to someone dear.

She paused to study the map she'd folded and unfolded too many times along the journey. Her father's ranch, marked with a small faded star, waited just beyond a simple wooden bridge.

The bridge groaned softly as she stepped onto it, narrow planks shifting beneath her boots. Yet the sound didn't frighten her; it welcomed her, like a sigh of recognition. With each step across, she felt something settle inside her—an ache she hadn't realized she'd been carrying easing at last. By the time her feet touched solid ground again, she knew: she was no longer only visiting. She had come home.

The path meandered to a wooden gate, its boards worn soft from sun and storms. It creaked open beneath her hand, revealing the ranch beyond. A faded red barn leaned slightly to one side, as though tired from standing so many years. Fences ringed a broad field where grass rolled like an emerald sea. A modest coop perched in the distance, and several small houses huddled together in quiet companionship, their roofs patched, their chimneys crooked, each bearing the marks of countless seasons endured.

It wasn't grand. It wasn't pristine. But it was alive in a way the city never had been—full of memories and possibilities, waiting.

And as she stepped through the gate, she could already see it all restored: the barn sturdy and bright, the fields thriving, the houses warm with light. A future built atop the echoes of her father's dreams. She inhaled deeply. The air tasted like beginnings.

And there, bent over a neat row of young sprouts, was an older man with jet-black hair tied loosely at his nape. His white tank top clung to him, smudged with dirt, sweat, and the honest labor of decades spent under sun and storm. The curve of his back spoke of long years carrying hay bales, mending fences, hauling tools and produce down the dusty road to Mineral Town. His eyes, narrowed against the bright Spring sun, held a quiet warmth—a pride forged from seasons of work that never truly ended.

"Uncle Taka!" she called, her voice cracking despite her attempt to steady it as she stepped fully into the yard.

Takakura straightened, wiping his hands on his trousers before turning. For a heartbeat, he only stared—taking her in, as though seeing a memory step into the morning light. Then his expression softened, the faintest spark brightening his eyes in a way that belonged to someone who had learned to live mostly in silence.

"Sunny," he said, her name rough on his voice yet kind. "You're early. Traveled through the night?"

She nodded, breathless with excitement. "I didn't want to wait. I wanted to see it. I wanted to see everything."

A low chuckle rumbled from him, and he stepped forward to rest a firm, steady hand on her shoulder. The gesture anchored her more surely than the bridge she'd just crossed. "Well," he said, surveying the ranch with a weathered gaze, "it's all yours now. Come on. Let's have a look around."

They walked side by side, boots crunching softly over the packed earth. Sunny took in every worn detail: the barn door hanging slightly crooked on rusted hinges, the garden fence losing its battle with eager weeds, the lingering scent of livestock and hay—faint, familiar, and comforting. Imperfections littered every corner, but to her they weren't flaws. They were stories. They were possibilities. It wasn't perfect. But it was real. And for the first time in her life, something real belonged to her.

She turned to Takakura, resolve brightening her eyes like the first rays of dawn. "Let's bring it back to life," she said.

Takakura studied her for a moment, then nodded slowly. The morning sun had risen fully now, spilling gold across the fields, the rooftops, the forgotten edges of the valley. "Welcome home, Sunny," he said. And she felt the land itself breathe in greeting.

After the grand tour of the ranch, they headed toward Takakura's humble home. The small house rested quietly behind the barn, half-hidden beneath the sprawling shade of an old oak tree whose branches whispered softly in the morning breeze. Its wooden frame bore the gentle wear of years, but the place felt sturdy—lived-in, cared for.

Inside, the familiar scent of cedar wood mingled with the earthy aroma of barley tea. Shelves lined the walls, cluttered with old but well-tended tools, spines of weathered books, and small trinkets whose stories were known only to their owner. On the mantel, placed with a precision that spoke of reverence rather than habit, sat a framed photograph of Sunny's father. The glass had been polished recently; she could tell. Stepping into Takakura's home felt like lifting the lid on a time capsule—one that had been waiting quietly for her return.

Sunny settled cross-legged on a cushion worn to softness through years of use. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the walk and from the thrill that still buzzed through her. Steam curled gently from the cup of tea before her, but she seemed too excited to drink, practically vibrating in place.

"I still can't believe I'm really here," she said, her eyes darting from shelf to shelf, recognizing small pieces of her childhood. "It's just how I remembered it… maybe a little smaller."

Takakura sat opposite her, drinking his tea in slow, deliberate sips. Everything he did seemed deliberate—measured, thoughtful, as though he was turning each moment over in his mind before letting it pass. His frame still held the broad strength of a man shaped by years of manual labor, though his back had curved into a permanent slouch. A faded tattoo of a boat anchor peeked from beneath the strap of his tank top. People in Mineral Town whispered stories about pirate crews and wandering sailors, but Takakura had never offered a single hint of truth.

His hair, once a striking jet black, now carried threads of silver that caught the light. His eyes—narrowed not just against the sun but by a lifetime of scrutiny and solitude—missed nothing. "You talk more than your old man ever did," he said with a half-smile, setting his cup down with a quiet tap.

Sunny's grin bloomed instantly. Without hesitation, she leaned across the table and wrapped her arms around him. The hug was sudden, earnest—one he hadn't been expecting but didn't shy away from.

"I missed you too, Uncle Taka," she murmured.

For a moment, he simply held still. Then his rough, calloused hand rose to rest gently on her head—an unspoken welcome, warm and steady as the morning sun. Caught mid-sigh, he stiffened as though unsure what to do with the affection, but he didn't pull away.

"You're just like him, you know," Takakura said after a quiet moment, his voice softer now, worn around the edges. "Same eyes. Same fire."

Sunny's expression melted into something tender. "You really think so?"

He nodded once, glancing toward the photograph on the mantel—her father smiling in a way she rarely saw in real life, captured mid-laughter, sun at his back. "He'd be proud you came back," Takakura murmured. "Proud you didn't let the valley slip away."

Sunny sat back on her cushion, brushing her hair behind her ears. The pink streaks threaded through her brown hair caught the morning light spilling through the window, turning it into a watercolor glow around her. "I'm going to make this ranch shine again," she said with quiet conviction. "Just like he dreamed. You'll help me, right?"

Takakura exhaled one of his trademark sighs—half exasperation, half surrender. "Guess I don't have much of a choice now that you're here."

Sunny's grin was immediate, bright as a burst of Spring blossoms. "You love me. Admit it."

"You know I do," he muttered into his teacup. But when she turned to adjust her cushion, a smile crept across his weathered face—small, but unmistakably there.

They finished their tea in comfortable silence, the kind that settles only between people who share history. Afterward, they cleaned up the cups, clinking gently in the washbasin. Takakura rose with a grunt, joints cracking like old floorboards, and reached for the rucksack hanging by the door.

"C'mon," he said, stepping into his boots with practiced ease. "You should meet the neighbors. Startin' with the folks who'll sell you seeds and steal your patience."

Sunny laughed, tying her brown-and-pink hair into twin braids that swung down her shoulders. She tugged on her gloves, excitement rekindling with every movement. "That sounds promising."

"Mm," he snorted, pushing open the door to the bright valley beyond. "We'll see if you're still sayin' that when you meet 'em." Sunny followed him out, the ranch stretching before her like a story just waiting to be written.

The two of them crossed the wooden bridge once more, the planks groaning softly under their boots. By now the morning sun had climbed high enough to bathe the valley in molten gold, casting long, gentle shadows across the hills. Wildflowers swayed like painted brushstrokes along the dirt road, their petals trembling in the breeze as birds danced between the trees, their chirps stitching music into the quiet.

Ahead, nestled comfortably at the curve of the road, stood a cluster of sturdy farmhouses. Neatly kept rows of crops stretched behind them, and several greenhouses gleamed faintly with dew. The air here was rich with the scent of freshly tilled soil, budding plants, and the faint sweetness of blossoms warmed by sunlight. A wooden sign above the porch creaked softly as it swayed: Vesta's Farm.

As Sunny and Takakura approached, the front door swung open with lively force. A tall, broad-shouldered woman stepped out, brushing dirt from her apron. Her curly brown hair was tied back into a ponytail, and her rolled-up sleeves revealed arms strong enough to lift a calf without help—arms most men in the valley wouldn't dare arm-wrestle.

"Well, I'll be!" the woman boomed, her grin wide enough to be felt. "You must be Sunny."

Sunny raised a hand in a little wave, her own smile rising to match the woman's energy. "That obvious, huh?"

"You've got your dad's face," Vesta replied with unmistakable fondness. "I'm Vesta—I run this little operation. And these two—" She nodded toward the greenhouse just as its door opened. "—are my brother Matthew and our farmhand, Cecilia."

Matthew emerged first: leaner than Vesta, with dark hair that the wind seemed to enjoy playing with. A permanent scowl rested on his features, though it didn't quite mask the alertness in his eyes. He gave Sunny a curt nod, the sort that said he approved of her presence—but only a little.

Cecilia followed him out, her smile warm enough to soften the air around her. Dirt smudged the hem of her olive-green dress, and her auburn hair peeked from beneath a patterned bandanna, swaying with each step. "It's so nice to meet you!" she said, offering a friendly wave. "I've heard so much about your father. Everyone's been hoping someone would take up the ranch again."

Sunny rubbed the back of her neck, flushing. "Well, I'll do my best. I'm definitely not a pro yet."

"You'll get there," Vesta assured her, crossing her arms with a proud tilt of her chin. "The valley's tough, but it's kind to folks who stick with it. If you need anything—seeds, tools, guidance, you name it—you come here first."

"We're all happy to help however we can," Cecilia added with a bright nod. "It'll be nice having someone new around."

"Nice," Matthew echoed—but in a mutter, and with a half-smirk that said he didn't mind as much as he wanted people to think.

Takakura cast Vesta a knowing look. "She's eager, I'll give her that."

Sunny clapped her hands together, bouncing on her heels. "Okay! One stop down, a thousand to go!"

Vesta laughed, loud and warm. "Don't let him wear you out before lunch, Sunny!"

"Oh, she'll be the one dragging me," Takakura grumbled—though even he couldn't hide the amused glint in his eyes.

Sunny's excitement thrummed through her, bright and powerful. Forgotten Valley was beginning to feel less forgotten already.

Vesta laughed. "Well, go meet the rest of the valley. But don't forget—you'll need to plant something soon. The land's been waiting for you."

As Sunny and Takakura walked away, Sunny turned back to wave one more time. The group waved back, their figures glowing in the morning sun.

"This place is already feeling like home," she said softly.

Takakura just grunted, though there was a faint nod of agreement in the gesture.

Crossing back over the bridge, the sound of a guitar drifted on the breeze—soft, meandering chords that felt like sunlight on still water. Takakura tilted his head toward the music. "Sounds like Gustafa's playing a tune."

Sunny raised an eyebrow. "Gustafa?"

"You'll see." Following the music, they veered off the main path until a round canvas yurt came into view, nestled beneath the shade of a sprawling tree. Smoke curled lazily from a chimney pipe sticking out the top. Colorful flags fluttered around the entrance, and the whole area smelled faintly of incense and wild herbs.

Sitting cross-legged just outside the yurt was a laid-back man strumming a guitar. He wore hippie clothes in earthy tones, his long brown hair hung loosely back. His hat shaded a face that looked as though it had never known stress. His eyes flicked up as they approached "Takakura," he said with an easy smile. "Bringing good vibes with you today?"

Takakura gave a simple nod. "Gustafa, this is Sunny. She's Henry's daughter. She's taking over the ranch."

Gustafa stood up slowly, like he had all the time in the world, and offered a casual wave. "Nice to meet you, Pinky."

Sunny's smile froze into something brittle. "Nice to meet you too. But please don't call me Pinky ever again."

She cracked her knuckles one at a time. "I wouldn't want to bruise that huge nose of someone I just met."

Takakura let out a slow sigh, already used to Sunny's fire.

Gustafa chuckled, unbothered. "You got spunk. I like that. Tell you what, you can come by anytime and we can get off on a better note."

"No thanks," Sunny said with a grin that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You give off some creep energy, and I'd rather avoid it."

Gustafa laughed, shaking his head. "Fair enough. But hey—if you really don't like creeps, stay away from Rock. He's the village flirt and doesn't understand boundaries."

"I'll keep that in mind," she said coolly.

Takakura cleared his throat. "Alright, let's keep moving."

As they walked away, the soft sound of guitar strings resumed behind them. Sunny peeked over her shoulder once, then leaned closer to Takakura.

"He's harmless," Takakura murmured before she could say anything. "Just weird."

Sunny smirked. "Weird I can handle. Creep? Not so much."

They walked on, the sun climbing higher and the village of Forgotten Valley slowly unfolding before her—each stop, each person, one step closer to making this place her home.

They then headed to their next stop, the village inn. The warm scent of simmering stew and fresh bread greeted Sunny as she and Takakura stepped into the inn. The atmosphere was cozy, with wooden floors and soft lantern light casting a golden hue over the walls. Behind the front desk stood a couple, a middle aged woman with medium length chestnut hair and colorful dress, her bright smile lighting up as she noticed them. Beside her was a quiet chubby man with brown hair and a gentle smile, polishing glassware with a practiced hand.

"Takakura! It's been too long," the woman said warmly.

"Lou," Takakura nodded with a respectful dip of his head. "This here's Henry's daughter, Sunny. She's taken over the ranch."

Lou's expression softened as she stepped around the counter. "Sunny… of course. You look just like your father. Welcome to the valley, sweetheart."

The man gave a quiet nod. "I'm Tei. It's good to have you here."

"Thank you," Sunny said, beaming. "It already feels like home."

Lou placed her hands on her hips, glancing toward the ceiling. "Now where is my son Rock? I swear that boy doesn't do anything around here. The least he could do is introduce himself."

Right on cue, a voice rang out from above. "I'm right here, Mom!"

Rock made his grand descent down the staircase, each step deliberate, like he was strutting down a runway. His medium-length blond hair shimmered in the light as he flicked it back with flair. He wore a light blue shirt, white pants, and a white vest, his posture oozing unwarranted confidence.

He reached the bottom with a smug grin. "The one and only. My name is Rock, but you can call me whatever your heart desires." His brown eyes sparkled as he looked at Sunny. "But what a shame—such a pretty girl stuck working on the ranch? Why not leave the hard work to the old folks and spend some time with me instead?"

Sunny raised an eyebrow and placed a hand on her hip. "So you're the famous flirt I heard about."

Takakura groaned softly. Rock gave a dramatic bow. "Guilty as charged."

Sunny smiled, playful and unbothered. "I see this one's going to be a tough nut to crack. Fine by me. Looks like there's something fun to do in this village after all."

Lou rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her amused grin. "Don't encourage him."

Takakura muttered under his breath, "Too late for that."

Everyone laughed, and for the first time since she'd stepped into the valley, she felt the stirrings of something special—new friendships, strange faces, and a future full of stories just waiting to be written.

After bidding a playful goodbye to Rock and the innkeepers, Sunny and Takakura stepped back out into the warm sunlight. The breeze carried with it the earthy scent of hay and wildflowers, and the faint hum of cicadas filled the air.

They walked a short distance down the gently curving path before the smell of coffee and baked goods caught Sunny's attention. "Bluebird Café," Takakura said, nodding toward the charming little building with a pastel sign and ivy creeping along the walls. "It opened a few years ago. Good spot if you ever want a break from ranch work."

As they stepped inside, the gentle clink of glass and the soft hum of conversation filled the air. A beautiful blonde woman in a red cocktail dress stood behind the counter, her makeup flawless and her golden hair curled like she was ready for an evening gala, not a quiet day at a café.

"Well hello, sweetheart," she greeted with a dazzling smile. "You must be the new girl I've been hearing about. I'm Molly. Don't let the heels fool you—I make the best espresso this side of the valley."

Sunny grinned. "Nice to meet you, Molly. Love the dress."

"Flattery will get you extra cream," Molly winked.

Leaning against the bar, a man with a stubbled face, rugged features, and the swagger of an old western cowboy sipped coffee from a chipped mug. He wore a cream leather jacker over a faded pair of jeans, and worn boots that had clearly seen miles.

"I'm Gavin," he said with a slow nod. "I play guitar here in the afternoons. If you're ever in need of a tune or a story, I'm your guy."

Sunny smiled. "Good to know. I'm sure this place will become a favorite."

Back outside, they headed further down the dirt path, where a fit, athletic man jogged past them with a bright wave. He wore a sleeveless top, running pants, and sneakers that were caked in dried mud.

"That's Sully," Takakura said, chuckling. "He's always training for something. Says he wants to run a marathon in every region."

Trailing behind, a woman in business attire followed at a more relaxed pace, holding the hand of a young boy with sandy brown hair and an eager face.

"Chris and Hugh," Takakura explained. "Chris is Sully's husband and works at a firm in the city. Hugh's their son. Good kid."

Hugh gave a shy wave to Sunny before trotting to catch up with his mom.

They continued uphill, where the road curved through clusters of tall trees until it opened to reveal an elegant villa perched on a rise. It looked like it had been lifted out of another time—old stone, tall iron gates, and gardens blooming with colorful flowers.

Inside the gate, a regal elderly woman stood with a parasol in one hand. Her silver hair was loose and flossy, like a cotton ball, and her violet dress whispered wealth and heritage.

"Miss Romana," Takakura said, giving a small bow.

Romana looked Sunny over with a discerning but not unkind eye. "Ah, the daughter of Henry. He never stopped talking about you. Welcome to Forgotten Valley."

"Thank you, ma'am. It's an honor."

Beside her stood a tall, stately butler with perfectly combed hair and a posture that rivaled any general. He offered a silent nod in greeting. Just behind them was a young girl with bright skin, honey hair, and eyes that seemed to hold galaxies. She didn't speak, but she watched Sunny with curiosity.

"That's Sebastian, her butler," Takakura said quietly. "And that girl's Lumina. Bit quiet, but polite."

As the sun dipped slightly lower in the sky, casting long golden rays across the valley, Sunny and Takakura made their way back toward the ranch.

On the way, Takakura pointed out a few more homes tucked along the winding dirt paths—smaller cabins, a lab, a trailer with art pieces thrown around and a tower where some middle aged twins were hard at work making fireworks.

"People keep to themselves mostly," he said, "but we all look out for each other here. It's not the city, but it's got its charm."

Sunny smiled softly, her heart already swelling with something that felt like belonging. "I think I'm going to like it here."

Takakura glanced sideways at her with a grunt that sounded suspiciously like approval. "We'll see if you still say that when the roosters wake you up at dawn."

She laughed, stretching her arms toward the open sky as they neared the ranch. "Bring it on."

As the sun began its descent, casting golden hues across the sky, Sunny found herself alone on the porch of the ranch house. She had spent some time earlier walking through the modest home—wooden floors, a small kitchen, a cozy bedroom, and windows that looked out over open fields and trees. It wasn't big, but it was full of possibility. The kind of place that could become a real home.

Now she sat on the steps, legs drawn close, her arms resting on her knees as she gazed across the ranch. The fields were bathed in soft amber light, the surrounding trees rustled gently in the breeze, and the sound of the moo of a single cow in the pasture filled the air like a lullaby. The valley, with all its quiet magic, wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

She let out a slow, thoughtful sigh, her gaze distant. "You really built something beautiful here, Dad," she whispered. "I just hope I can live up to it."

The old wood creaked softly behind her, and she turned to see Takakura stepping out of the house, a steaming mug of tea in his hand. He walked over and settled down beside her with a grunt.

"I see why your father named you Sunny," he said after a long pause, his voice as gravelly and warm as ever. "Your bright and cheerful energy is infectious."

Sunny grinned, eyes still on the glowing horizon. "Yeah… Dad always did say I was his little sunshine."

Takakura chuckled, the sound low and fond. "That you were. But this place isn't about becoming your father. It's about finding your own way. And something tells me… you will. Just like Henry did."

Sunny turned to look at him, her expression soft and grateful. "Thanks, Uncle Taka."

They sat in silence for a while, watching the sun slip behind the hills, painting the sky in pinks and oranges and deepening blues.

As the first stars began to twinkle above, Sunny smiled to herself, feeling something settle in her heart. Not just memories of her father—but the beginning of something new.

She wasn't just visiting Forgotten Valley, she was home.