The first light of morning bled over the horizon in a slow-moving tide of gold, flooding the divine fields that stretched toward infinity. The world outside pulsed with an ethereal warmth—a light that didn't just illuminate, but seemed to bless the very skin of the earth. Each blade of grass shimmered like a tiny shard of fallen heaven. The sky surrendered its deep violet to a rose-gold dawn, eventually settling into a gentle amber that washed over the balcony curtains.
Inside, the sunlight filtered through the fabric like warm silk, brushing the floor and walls before finally claiming the bed.
Eiden's eyes opened.
He remained motionless, letting the profound quiet anchor him. It was a rare, heavy silence—the kind born of a night filled with celebration, wine, and the deep, uncomplicated exhaustion of being surrounded by those who trusted him enough to sleep at his side.
Slowly, his senses sharpened.
Warmth pressed against him from three directions.
One arm was draped over Vaelus, who was curled against his side, his reddish hair spilling across Eiden's chest like a soft ember glow. Vaelus breathed with a rhythmic quiet, his face smoothed of all worry.
Eiden's other arm was pinned beneath Morvath, who lay sprawled across him with the immovable stubbornness of a sleeping mountain. Morvath's hair was a dark, chaotic tangle, his slow breath a low rumble that vibrated through the mattress like distant thunder.
And at Eiden's waist, Dravien clung with fierce determination, his arms wrapped around Eiden as if he were a prize that might vanish if his grip faltered. Dravien's head rested on Eiden's stomach, his hair tickling Eiden's skin with every inhale.
Eiden blinked. Then twice.
"…Huh."
The whisper was swallowed by the morning stillness. He lifted his head slightly, scanning the room with a sleepy, mounting confusion.
The girls were gone. No Selyndra. No Iris. No Seraphaine.
Just three grown men wrapped around him like oversized cats who had collectively decided he was the warmest spot in the universe.
Eiden exhaled, a soft breath that carried equal parts amusement and weary resignation.
Carefully—with the precision of a thief—he slid his arm out from under Vaelus. Vaelus murmured something unintelligible, shifting just enough to press his cheek into the pillow instead of Eiden's ribs.
Next, he eased Morvath's weight aside. Morvath grumbled, his brow furrowing in a brief, unconscious protest before he rolled onto his back, one arm flopping dramatically over his eyes.
Finally, he looked down at Dravien, who was still anchored to his waist. With practiced patience, Eiden pried the fingers loose. Dravien made a soft noise, half-sigh and half-complaint, but eventually rolled away to hug a bundle of blankets instead.
Eiden stood.
His back cracked with a satisfying pop as he stretched, his muscles rippling beneath the morning light. The air was cool and refreshing against his skin. He was shirtless, wearing only loose, baggy white pants that hung low on his hips, the fabric light as a breath.
He stepped out of the room.
The mansion was silent—not a hollow silence, but a peaceful one, the kind that settled when the residents were either dreaming or had already departed for the horizon.
Eiden's bare feet tapped softly against the marble, the sound echoing through the vast, vaulted corridors. He checked the kitchen. Empty. The library. Empty. The bathrooms. Still empty.
Finally, he entered the living room. There, resting on the central table, was a single sheet of paper.
"Hey guys, Iris, Seraphaine, and I are heading out! We're going to handle this Twelve-Tailed Wolf. We should be back in a couple of days. Don't break anything while we're out! — Selyndra"
Eiden stared at the note for a long, quiet moment.
"…Huh."
He sank onto the couch, the cushions dipping beneath his weight. The mansion felt suddenly too large, too hollow. Without the girls' energy—their voices, their laughter, their sharp edges—the place felt like a temple after the worshippers had departed.
He tapped a rhythmic cadence against the armrest.
"What am I supposed to do now…"
The question drifted into the rafters, unanswered.
He stood again, wandering back into the kitchen. The cabinets opened with a soft, melodic hum of magic as he approached. Inside the ice cabinet, he found freshly frozen sausages. He gathered other ingredients: cow heart, sweet jelly, thick bread, and a handful of spices.
He walked to the marble stove and placed his hand over the surface.
A purple flame erupted, roaring to life with a divine, focused heat. The fire danced with a strange elegance, its hue shifting as it responded to the pulse of his energy. He found a heavy pan, set it down, and began to cook. The smell of sizzling meat soon filled the room—rich, savory, and curling through the air like a warm embrace.
The sunlight grew stronger, highlighting the contours of his shoulders and the faint, shimmering aura that now followed him as the Fourth God.
Then—footsteps. Soft, dragging, and heavy with sleep.
Eiden turned.
Dravien stood in the doorway, rubbing one eye. His hair was a disaster, sticking up in every direction, and his shirt was half-tucked, giving him the look of a man who had been unceremoniously evicted from a dream.
"Morning…" Dravien mumbled.
Eiden stepped away from the stove. "Morning. How'd you sleep?"
He cupped Dravien's face, his thumb gently wiping the sleep from the corner of his eye. The divine warmth of the touch made Dravien melt instantly; his shoulders slumped as he leaned into Eiden's hand.
"Slept well…" Dravien stifled a yawn. "Hungry, though. Whatcha making?"
"Sausages, cow heart, sweet jelly, and bread."
Dravien's eyes lit up like a child at a midsummer festival. He jumped—literally launched himself—at Eiden, arms locking around his neck and legs dangling.
"That sounds so good… I'm gonna sleep again." He buried his face in the crook of Eiden's neck.
Eiden sighed, a small smile playing on his lips as he rubbed Dravien's back. He walked back to the stove, Dravien clinging to him like a sleepy koala. He continued to cook with one hand, flipping the meat with practiced ease.
Eventually, Dravien slid down to sit at the table, his head resting on his arms as he watched.
By the time Eiden finished, the table was a feast of steaming sausages, sliced heart, and warm bread glistening with ruby-red jelly.
More footsteps echoed from the stairs. Vaelus and Morvath appeared, squinting against the intrusion of the sun. Vaelus's reddish hair was a chaotic halo of bed-head—he looked like he'd fought a pillow demon and lost. He sniffed the air, his nose twitching.
"…Is that… cow heart?"
Morvath blinked, his gaze clearing. "Eiden… did you actually cook?"
Eiden took his seat at the head of the table. "Morning, you two. Breakfast is served."
Vaelus stared at the spread as if it were a minor miracle. "You? The Fourth God? The man who once set a pot of water on fire?"
Eiden raised an eyebrow. "That was one time. And the pot was cursed."
Morvath sat down, loading a plate. "Smells incredible. I'm starving."
Dravien was already eating, his cheeks puffed out like a squirrel's. Eiden leaned back, watching them with a calm, observant expression.
"So," he said, "what do you three want to do today?"
Vaelus swallowed a bite of bread. "Sleep."
Morvath nodded in solemn agreement. "Sleep."
Dravien raised a hand without looking up from his plate. "Sleep."
Eiden exhaled, the sound halfway between a laugh and a sigh. "…Alright."
The four of them sat in the golden morning light—half-asleep, half-awake, and entirely content.