Ori drifted closer to the hidden tomorrows and listened. In the dim cloud hollow, the bubbles made soft sounds: a hammer tap from Mira’s dream bridge, a scrap of song, a brave little “I can.” The sounds were thin now, like rain far away.

Peep landed on a rock and tilted his head. “They sound lonely,” he said. Ori touched one bubble with his fin and felt its glow flicker. Then he understood. Tomorrows were not treasure to stack in secret. They needed people, messy tries, and bright morning air.