Strings, Spells, and the Beatleverse

Chapter 4: Ringo is Finally Found

4.1 – Escape to Paradise

Boom. Boom. Boom. Bang! Bang! Bang! If anyone were passing by this isolated paradise (unlikely, given it was in the middle of absolutely nowhere), they might think they were hearing an impromptu beach concert. But no, it was just Ringo.

After abandoning his makeshift train, Ringo had dived into the endless blue, swimming with a determination fueled by confusion, frustration, and a little bit of sheer lunacy. He swam until his arms ached, until the world blurred, and then—like some divine twist—he stumbled upon this island. Shaped like a seashell, it looked as if the ocean itself had whispered, "This one's yours, mate."

The place was... magical. No, not in a poof, fairy dust kind of way. More like a this-is-so-perfect-it-can't-be-real kind of way. Golden sand stretched lazily under his feet, palm trees waved in slow motion, and the sea shimmered in fifty shades of turquoise. This wasn't just any island. This was the Octopus's Garden, come to life.

Ringo didn't waste time sulking or overthinking. He claimed this haven as his own. Driftwood became drumsticks, coconuts became snares, and life became... well, pure rhythm. He beat out his frustrations, his fears, and his joy on his cobbled-together drum kit, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he smiled.

4.2 – The Gift and the Pie

Days melted into each other on the island. Time didn't matter. The sun rose, the sun set, and Ringo lived. He swam with dolphins, played hide-and-seek with starfish, and had full-blown (silent) conversations with his mate, the Octopus, who waved back every single time.

But paradise isn't perfect without a twist, right? Enter: the weird old man.

One blazing afternoon, as Ringo was perfecting his "coconut snare roll," a shadow appeared. Not just any shadow—it came from the sky, shaped like a flaming pie. Perched on top was the strangest figure Ringo had ever seen.

"Oi, lad," said the man, hopping off his fiery pastry like it was the most normal thing in the world. "You've got rhythm, but no beat. Here."

Before Ringo could process what was happening, the old man handed him the real deal: a brand-new drum kit. Shiny, pristine, and absolutely perfect. Ringo's jaw hit the sand.

"Who are you?" he asked, his voice shaky.

"Call me the Pie Man," the stranger said, tipping an imaginary hat. "Don't forget the 'A' in 'Beatles.' You'll thank me later."

And just like that, the man vanished, leaving behind the smell of freshly baked pie and the faint sound of laughter.

Ringo stared at his new drum kit. It felt... right. Like the missing piece to a puzzle he didn't even know he was solving. He played until his hands ached, the beats blending with the crash of the waves. This was happiness. This was freedom.

4.3 – Homeward Beats

For a while, the island was enough. Ringo lived for the rhythm, the sea, and the sunsets. But eventually, something stirred in his chest—a pull he couldn't ignore. He missed home. His mum's lullabies, his dad's terrible jokes, the smell of burnt toast in the mornings.

"Guess this war's over by now," he muttered to himself, staring at the horizon.

So, he packed up. Well, not literally. The drum kit stayed, buried under a leafy shelter he'd built. He didn't need it where he was going—he had the beat inside him now.

Diving into the ocean, Ringo swam back to Liddypool. It took longer than he'd planned (turns out, swimming across the ocean isn't easy), but when he emerged, dripping wet and breathless, the city welcomed him back with open arms.

And when he played? Oh, when he played, people stopped and listened. His rhythm wasn't random—it was alive. Wild, chaotic, and perfect. Ringo wasn't just back. He was a Beatle.