Morning arrived without announcement.
No alarms.
No visions tearing through the mind.
No voices whispering from forgotten places.
Just light.
Soft, pale sunlight slipped through the half-open curtains, painting the room in muted gold. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, as if even time itself had decided to slow down.
Vicky woke to the unfamiliar feeling of… peace.
For a moment, he didn't move.
He simply lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening.
The world outside was alive in the smallest ways—distant footsteps, a cart rolling over stone, faint laughter somewhere far below. Ordinary sounds. Comforting sounds.
He exhaled slowly.
Then he realized something else.
Warmth.
His arm was trapped.
Carefully, he turned his head.
Aarna was asleep beside him.
Not curled up delicately like she usually tried to be—but sprawled just enough to make it clear she had zero intention of moving. One arm rested across his chest, fingers loosely clutching his shirt as if afraid he might disappear if she let go.
Her hair spilled over the pillow, catching the light. Her face—normally expressive and mischievous—was peaceful, unguarded.
Vicky didn't remember when she'd fallen asleep like this.
But strangely…
It felt natural.
He tried to shift slightly.
Aarna's brows furrowed instantly.
"Mm… don't," she murmured, half-asleep.
Vicky froze.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said quietly.
Her grip tightened—just a little.
"Good," she mumbled. "Then stop trying."
A corner of Vicky's lips lifted.
He lay back again, surrendering.
When Aarna finally woke up properly, it was not because of light or noise—but because she realized she was still holding him.
Very consciously.
Her eyes opened.
She looked down.
Then up.
Then froze.
There was a long, deadly silence.
"…You moved," she accused flatly.
"I breathed," Vicky replied.
"That counts."
She pulled her arm back slowly, cheeks heating. "You should've woken me."
"You looked comfortable," he said. "I didn't want to disturb you."
She stared at him suspiciously. "You're smiling."
"I am not."
"You are."
"I might be."
Aarna huffed and sat up, folding her arms. "Unfair. You're unfair in the morning."
Vicky chuckled softly—an actual, quiet laugh.
The sound surprised both of them.
Aarna blinked.
Then smiled.
Not teasing. Not playful.
Just… warm.
Later, they stepped out into the city.
The streets were calmer than usual, washed clean by last night's rain. Stone paths glistened faintly, reflecting the sky above. Vendors were setting up stalls—calling out half-heartedly, stretching, yawning.
Life was continuing.
Kael was already awake, leaning against a railing with a cup in hand. He glanced at them and raised an eyebrow.
"Well," he said. "You both survived the night."
Aarna walked past him. "Barely. Vicky snores."
"I do not."
"Lies."
Kael smirked. "Noted."
Luka stood nearby, arms crossed, gaze distant. He looked… calmer than usual. Less tense. When he noticed Vicky watching him, he nodded once.
No words.
Just acknowledgment.
Eren arrived moments later, holding a stack of papers. "Good morning," he said, then paused, squinting. "Why do you all look… rested?"
Aarna tilted her head. "Is that suspicious?"
"Yes," Eren replied immediately. "Very."
They moved together through the streets, no particular destination in mind. No urgency. No looming objective.
Just walking.
At one point, Aarna stopped abruptly in front of a stall selling small carved trinkets.
"Oh," she said softly.
Vicky followed her gaze.
Among the wooden charms and metal tokens lay a simple pendant—unpolished, uneven, shaped vaguely like a feather.
She picked it up carefully.
"This one," she said. "It feels… familiar."
Vicky studied it.
He didn't feel anything unusual.
But when he looked at Aarna—really looked—he nodded. "Then you should keep it."
She smiled and paid without hesitation, slipping it around her neck.
"Don't lose it," he said.
"I won't," she replied. "Not again."
She paused.
"…I mean. Not ever."
Vicky didn't ask.
They ate together at a small open café near the edge of the city. Nothing fancy—warm bread, soup, simple tea.
It tasted better than it should have.
Conversation drifted easily.
Kael talked about roads he'd traveled. Eren argued with him about maps. Aarna complained about the soup being "almost good but not quite."
Luka listened.
Mostly.
At one point, Aarna leaned closer to Vicky. "You're quiet again."
"I'm fine," he said.
She narrowed her eyes. "That's what you say when you're thinking too much."
"Maybe I just like listening."
She studied him for a second, then nodded. "Okay. But if you disappear into your head again, I'm dragging you back."
He met her gaze. "Deal."
As the sun climbed higher, the city grew louder.
Yet something inside Vicky remained still.
No pressure behind his eyes.
No whispers.
Just the present moment.
At a quiet corner near a fountain, Aarna stopped and turned to him.
"About last night," she said.
He waited.
"I know you don't remember everything," she continued carefully. "And I know you might never want to."
He nodded.
"But," she added, stepping closer, "whatever you were before… whatever we were before…"
She placed her hand lightly over his chest.
"I'm choosing this version of you," she said. "This moment."
Her voice was steady.
No fear.
No demand.
Vicky felt something loosen inside him.
"Thank you," he said.
She smiled, then—very deliberately—leaned her head against his shoulder.
Just for a second.
Then she pulled back and grinned. "Don't let it go to your head."
Too late.
That night, as the city settled into quiet again, Vicky stood alone by the window.
Lights flickered below like grounded stars.
He touched his chest lightly.
No pain.
No visions.
Just a faint, unfamiliar warmth.
Somewhere far beyond the city—
Something watched.
And waited.
But for now…
The world was quiet.
And Vicky allowed himself to rest in that quiet.