The first rays of sunlight spilled through Nolan's window, casting a warm glow across the room. He stretched, feeling the soft warmth brush against his skin, and drew the curtains wider, letting the morning light flood in. The quiet hum of the town outside seeped through the walls—the distant clatter of carts, the faint crowing of a rooster.
He padded to the bathroom, the cool tile underfoot contrasting with the warmth of his skin as he dried himself with a towel. Quickly, he pulled on his battle suit, the familiar weight of it grounding him for the day ahead.
Downstairs, the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted eggs welcomed him. Cynthia gestured toward the dining table, her movements graceful yet precise. Nolan nodded and took a seat, the wooden chair creaking slightly under him.
Moments later, Celia, Linda, and Lyra appeared, yawns stretching across their faces, hair mussed from sleep.
"Good morning, Master," Celia murmured, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
