Morning arrived slower than usual. The sun didn't rush to rise over the hill, spilling pale light across the house like it was savoring the quiet.
I stretched lazily on the couch, still half-draped in the blanket from the night before. Lyra stirred beside me, blinking sleepily, then curled up closer, resting her head against my chest again. Her small warmth was grounding—like gravity itself had decided to pause just for us.
Arcelia appeared in the doorway, yawning softly. Armor gone, her hair tied back neatly, she carried herself with the same elegance she always did, but here it wasn't intimidating—it was calm, familiar.
"Morning," she said softly. "We should prepare breakfast before it gets too late."
I groaned dramatically. "Do we have to?"
Lyra peeked up at me from my chest. "You should get up, Master. Even if just a little."
I sighed, letting the blanket slip from Lyra's shoulders. She clutched my arm lightly, a faint pout on her face. "Fine," I said, standing. "But only because I don't want the two of you to starve."
Arcelia smirked faintly, moving to gather the ingredients. "You mean because you don't want us hungry. Not because you care about cooking."
"I care," I said, pretending to be offended. "I care enough to eat it too."
The three of us moved around the kitchen. Arcelia chopping vegetables with precise motions, Lyra hovering nearby to assist, occasionally brushing her hand against mine when passing. I caught her wrist once, teasing. "Careful, or you'll drop something."
She blushed but didn't pull away. Instead, she brushed past me again on purpose, closer this time, letting her shoulder lightly touch mine.
Arcelia noticed. Her eyes flicked between us, and for a moment her lips twitched. Then she set down the knife and leaned on the counter, casually, giving me a look that said: you're mine too.
Breakfast was quiet but comfortable. Not silence—but soft murmurs, laughter at small mistakes, playful jabs that meant more than they seemed. Lyra burnt a slice of bread and Arcelia rolled her eyes, but I ate it anyway, praising it as "crispy perfection," and both girls rolled their eyes at me.
Afterward, we moved to the living room. The couch claimed us again—Lyra tucked close on one side, Arcelia sitting elegantly on the other. I leaned back between them, feeling the warmth on both sides, the quiet heartbeat of our home surrounding us.
Lyra tilted her head, staring up at me. "Master… do you think the system even knows where we are?"
I shrugged. "Probably. But I doubt it can reach us here the way it usually does."
Arcelia rested a hand on my thigh lightly. "Good. Because… I like having this time to ourselves."
Lyra's cheeks heated, but she moved slightly closer, pressing her shoulder into mine. "Me too."
I swallowed, feeling the weight of it all. Here we were, three people tangled together in a fragile peace, unobserved and undisturbed—moments like this were rare, almost sacred.
And I knew… the system wouldn't let it last forever.
The Corruption Meter ticked quietly. 40%
Outside, the wind shifted again, brushing over the hill. Far off, shadows moved silently, almost curious. But inside…
Inside, sunlight caught their hair, their hands brushed mine, their laughter lingered in the air, and nothing else existed.
Not yet.
I leaned back, letting both of them rest against me, and whispered softly, more to myself than anyone else:
"Home… maybe I can protect this."
And for the first time, it felt like I could.
But deep down, I knew the system would notice sooner or later. And when it did… everything could change.