The middle district settled into evening warmth, the kind that pretended nothing extraordinary ever happened and would absolutely gossip if it did. Their little rented house creaked like it was trying to be welcoming. An actual table existed. Chairs didn't bite. The kitchen was a place where food could exist without tragedy, which already made it the safest room any of them had been in recently.
Dinner became an event.
Not because it was good—taste was vigorously debated—but because it happened without panic. Liora took command of the stove like it personally insulted her. Aiden tried to help and was fired from chopping vegetables for almost turning them into art instead of edible pieces. Seris sat nearby in that lazy "I'm watching everything and pretending I'm not" way she did. Ardent poured tea and supervised existence as if reality needed encouragement.
Eventually they all sat.
They chewed.
There was silence.
Aiden smiled like this might be what happiness feels like if it doesn't cost anything.
Seris grinned just a bit and leaned back in her chair. "Saints above, I wish all meals could be this peaceful."
The chair squeaked.
The table hummed.
Something subtle clicked in the air like a lock fitting perfectly into place.
A plate gently slid into exactly the right place. Steam rose at precisely ideal comfort temperature. The light through the window softened like it had been professionally adjusted. The smell improved. The mood warmed.
Everyone turned very slowly toward Aiden.
He froze, fork halfway to his mouth.
"…I didn't do anything," he said, which was exactly what someone who definitely did something would say.
Seris stared at the now perfectly plated meal in front of her.
"I didn't mean that literally."
"Well," Aiden tried weakly, "the universe did."
Liora sighed and put her forehead on the table like she was emotionally exhausted on principle. "Oh good. We've reached the stage of casual ambient wish fulfillment."
Ardent chuckled quietly into his tea.
He was enjoying this.
Far too much.
"That," he said cheerfully, "was delightful. Quite elegant. No catastrophic consequences. No screaming. Dinner simply… improved."
"It shouldn't do that!" Seris protested. "Food should not respond to emotional declarations."
"Welcome," Liora told her dryly, "to knowing a newborn cosmic problem."
Aiden groaned and slumped. "I didn't try to do anything. It just… happened."
"Because you're listening to people even when you're not trying to," Liora said, lifting her head again and poking his forehead like she had legally declared herself guardian of his remaining common sense. "Which means you are no longer allowed to casually respond to emotional noise. Or dramatic sighs. Or metaphor. Or poetry. Or—"
"I'll try," he said.
"Trying isn't comforting," she replied.
Seris pointed her fork accusingly. "And you—no more wishing while eating. Or talking. Or existing near him while feeling strongly about anything."
"That seems unfair," Aiden said.
"That seems safe," she corrected.
He nodded.
Fair enough.
They finished dinner with unnecessary caution and too much laughter for people supposedly trying to stay calm. Dishes clinked. Chairs scraped. The house felt warmer than it had any right to.
Later, when the lights dimmed and the street outside relaxed into soft evening hush, Aiden stood at the window and watched the city glow. He still didn't belong. He wasn't made for this place, this scale, this softness.
But he wanted it.
That meant something.
Seris came up beside him again.
"Still think normal doesn't matter?"
He looked at his ridiculous reflection in the glass. Desire's beautiful mistake. A being that shouldn't exist in a street this ordinary.
"No," he said softly. "Normal is terrifyingly precious."
She nodded like she'd been waiting for him to say that.
Across the room, Liora made sure Ardent saw her still watching him. He caught her gaze and gave a small amused bow like a dangerous elder brother acknowledging the family skeptic. She didn't drop her guard.
He didn't expect her to.
Outside, the neighborhood went to sleep convinced nothing strange had moved into the quiet little house down the lane.
Inside, something cosmic sighed happily over a decently warm meal and soft laughter and the miracle of people choosing to stay.
Tonight, the world settled.
Tonight, no grand forces intervened.
Except, maybe, the tiniest amused ripple of Desire,
somewhere far away,
giggling,
because of course Aiden was the type to accidentally make dinner emotionally better.
Tomorrow would not be this quiet.
But tonight…
was perfect.
And that counted.