Night came differently here.
Not suddenly. Not with a system cue or a shift in ambient lighting. It arrived slowly, carried in by the wind that brushed against the hill and slipped through the cracks in the house like it had always known the way.
The lamps were lit by hand.
That alone felt strange.
No automatic glow. No preset brightness. Just Lyra fumbling slightly with a match, muttering under her breath when it took two tries.
"There," she said triumphantly when the flame caught. "See? Perfectly normal."
Arcelia raised an eyebrow. "You nearly set the curtain on fire."
"It was a warning flame."
I laughed, and the sound felt real—too real. Like it didn't echo through code before coming back to me.
Dinner was quiet again, but not awkward. The kind of quiet that happened when everyone was thinking the same thing and didn't want to be the first to say it out loud.
That this place mattered.
Afterward, Arcelia volunteered to clean without being asked. Lyra followed her, not to help—just to be near. I stayed behind, leaning against the doorway, watching them move around the small kitchen.
This… felt dangerous.
Not because of enemies or systems or corruption meters.
Because it felt like something I could lose.
"You're staring," Lyra said without looking back.
"Am I not allowed?"
She smiled slightly. Arcelia pretended not to notice.
Later, when the dishes were done and the lamps burned lower, we ended up back in the living room. The couch claimed us again, as if it had decided this was its purpose now.
Arcelia sat close. Close enough that our shoulders touched naturally. No armor. No sword. Just fabric and warmth.
Lyra curled up on the other side, legs tucked beneath her, head resting against my arm like it had always belonged there. She didn't ask this time.
I didn't comment.
Outside, something hooted in the distance—an owl, maybe, or something pretending to be one. The sound echoed faintly across the fields.
Arcelia spoke softly. "If the system can't fully see this place… does that mean we can be honest here?"
Lyra tilted her head. "You aren't honest outside?"
Arcelia hesitated. Then shook her head. "Not completely."
I glanced between them. "About what?"
They both went quiet.
Lyra was the first to move. She shifted closer, fingers brushing mine—not accidentally. Her hand lingered, then slowly intertwined with my fingers.
"I don't like watching you walk into danger alone," she said. "Even if you smile while doing it."
Arcelia's breath hitched. After a moment, she placed her hand over ours—steady, firm.
"And I don't like being ordered to stand back," she added. "Even if I understand why."
The room felt smaller.
Warmer.
I tightened my grip slightly. "Then don't."
They both looked at me.
"You don't have to stay behind," I continued. "And I won't shut you out. Not here. Not anywhere."
Lyra's cheeks warmed. "You're bad at saying things like that casually."
"Yeah," I said. "Working on it."
Arcelia leaned in, resting her head briefly against my shoulder—just for a second. Just long enough.
Then she pulled back, composed again, like a knight reclaiming her stance.
But her hand didn't move.
Time passed.
No menus appeared.
No corruption meter ticked.
No world update announced itself.
It was almost unsettling.
I was just starting to think the system had truly lost interest—
When the lamp flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then steadied.
Lyra stiffened. "Did you feel that?"
Arcelia straightened instantly. "Yes."
I frowned. "Feel what?"
"Like…" Lyra searched for the words. "Like someone leaned too close to a window and pulled back."
The air in the room shifted—barely. Subtle enough that I might've missed it if I hadn't been paying attention all day.
A faint, unfamiliar text shimmered at the edge of my vision.
Not system blue.
Not warning red.
Something else.
External Observation Attempt
Source: Unknown
It vanished before I could focus on it.
The lamps stopped flickering.
Silence returned.
I slowly exhaled and squeezed their hands reassuringly. "It's fine," I said, though I wasn't entirely sure.
Outside, the wind changed direction.
The house stood quiet on its hill—still unregistered, still distant.
But somewhere beyond the fields—
Something had noticed where we were.