I eased myself off Belle's lap as carefully as I could, half-expecting her to wake up and punch me anyway. The warmth that'd been pressed against me disappeared immediately, replaced by the chill air of the infirmary. Figures. Comfort never lasts.

My phone was lying on the floor where I'd dropped it last night. I grabbed it, brushed off some dust, and squinted at the screen.

5:03 A.M.

I groaned. "Of course. I survive a breakdown and wake up before sunrise. Perfect."

The room was still. Just the faint tick of the clock, the soft rhythm of her breathing. I glanced back at Belle. She was out cold, not a care in the world, face calm like she hadn't accidentally watched me completely lose it last night.

Well, no point just staring at her. If I was awake, she might as well join me in the suffering.

"Hey," I said, crouching beside her and giving her shoulder a light shake. "Belle. Morning already. Time to—"

Her hand moved faster than my brain could process.

"Oh, come on—"

Boom.

Next thing I knew, I was airborne. My body slammed into the far wall hard enough to rattle the beds, and something in my chest gave a sharp, unpleasant crack.

I slid down to the floor, clutching my side. "Ah, brilliant," I wheezed.

{Nothing says 'good morning' like internal bleeding.}

Ah fuck off bastard.

Belle blinked awake, head tilting slightly as she seemed to register… the human projectile she'd just created. Her posture shifted instantly, from "peaceful sleeper" to "oh-gods-I-messed-up" in under a second.

Before I could say anything else, she was suddenly there, crossing the room faster than I could even blink.

"Die," she said quietly.

That single word hit harder than her punch. The air hummed, sharp and cold. For half a heartbeat, it felt like my body stopped existing like death itself brushed against my skin. Then it was gone. The pain vanished with it.

I blinked, exhaled slowly, and poked at my ribs. Perfectly fine. Not even sore.

Belle crouched beside me, blindfold tilted slightly, her voice low but firm. "You shouldn't have done that."

I groaned, rubbing the back of my head. "You're the one who tried to turn me into wall décor."

She exhaled, the kind of sigh that carried equal parts guilt and annoyance. "Instinct."

"Yeah, well, your instincts have anger issues."

A faint, almost invisible smile tugged at her lips before she straightened again.

I couldn't help but grin. "If that's your way of saying good morning, I can't wait to see what you do for breakfast."

Her head turned slightly, and though I couldn't see her eyes, I could feel the unimpressed glare.

Worth it.

The morning air inside the infirmary always had this sterile chill. Belle offered me her hand, and I took it, wincing only a little as she helped me stand. Her touch was warm, grounding. For a second, it almost made me forget she'd sent me flying into a wall a few minutes ago.

We started walking toward the elevators, her pace brisk and steady, mine slightly less so, because, you know, cracked ribs didn't exactly make for graceful movement.

"Next time," I said, rubbing my stomach, "maybe try saying good morning instead of using me as a punching bag."

She tilted her head, pretending to think. "I did say something. My fist said it for me."

"Your fist is terrible at greetings."

"Then stop sneaking up on me."

"I didn't sneak up on you," I said, stepping into the elevator beside her. "I gently woke you. There's a difference."

She crossed her arms. "You shook me."

"I gently shook you."

Her lips twitched. "You deserved it."

I sighed like a martyr. "This is abuse."

"This is karma."

The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open to reveal the short black corridors of the twenty-first floor. Mana laps hovered above, painting the room in soft shades of gold.

I stretched, looking down the corridor. "You know, I think I've grown attached to this place."

"You've been living here for six months," she said dryly. "You should be."

"I was hoping for gratitude, not sarcasm."

Belle turned slightly toward me, blindfold still in place, smirking. "Gratitude? For what, exactly?"

"For blessing you with my presence. I make this place at least fifty percent more charming."

"Fifty percent more annoying."

"Same thing."

She gave a soft laugh, short and worth every ounce of teasing. "You're impossible."

"I try."

We walked the rest of the way in easy silence, our footsteps echoing softly against the marble floors. Every now and then, the mana lamps lining the walls pulsed with faint light, filling the air with that low, rhythmic hum unique to the Aetherium's upper floors.

Belle's apartment was near the end of the corridor simple, quiet, filled with the faint smell of paper and herbs. Homey, in a way only she could make it.

As she opened the door, I leaned casually against the wall. "You know," I said, "most people would've kicked me out by now."

"Most people don't have the patience of a saint," she replied.

I grinned. "And yet, you still hit me this morning."

"Saints can lose patience too."

"Noted. I'll buy armor."

She huffed a laugh and stepped inside, motioning for me to follow.

For a brief moment, I just stood there taking in the soft morning light, the faint hum of mana from the walls, and Belle, standing in her own quiet rhythm like she belonged to the calm itself.

---

My room looked exactly the same as always, the kind of familiarity that settles into your bones after half a year. The curtains were half drawn, letting the early morning light spill across the floor in soft streaks. Dust motes drifted lazily in the air, caught in the golden glow, and for a moment I just stood there, soaking it in.

The faint smell of cedar polish, ink, and that weirdly comforting trace of parchment hung around the space.

The wardrobe stood proud against the far wall, its dark wood gleaming faintly. It was already filled with neatly folded clothes my casual sets, a few spare training outfits, and the black Apex uniform that hung like a shadow near the middle.

The desk beside the window looked exactly like I left it: my laptop half open, mouse dangerously close to the edge, notes scattered everywhere despite Belle's desperate attempts to make me "organize like a functioning person."

A stack of books lined the shelf nearby, some about mana theory, some books on strategy, and a couple of novels Belle had recommended that I absolutely hadn't read cover to cover.

Definitely not.

Then there was the bed. The ridiculous, king-sized monstrosity that Belle swore was "necessary for recovery." I had mocked her endlessly when she first got it for me. Then I slept on it once. After that, I decided she was the smartest person alive. The sheets were still dark and smooth, and the faint smell of lavender lingered from the wash she did a few days ago.

The whole room was… mine.

Simple, ok, maybe not simple, but it was quiet and comfortable. For someone who'd spent years drifting from one cold floor to another, that was saying something. I caught myself smiling faintly. Home. The word still felt strange, but less so every day.

I crossed to the wardrobe and ran my fingers along the Apex uniform before pulling it free. The jet-black fabric shimmered faintly under the morning light, silver lines tracing through it like living veins of starlight.

I'd worn it once before it got torn into pieces; thankfully, I had spares. It fit perfectly, the lightness despite the dense mana weave, the way the crest of the Silver Lantern on the back caught just enough light to make it look alive.

It wasn't just a uniform anymore. It was a reminder. That I'd made it this far. That I belonged here.

I grabbed a towel, took a quick bath, and came out to put it on. The fabric hugged my shoulders, falling into place like it knew me. I fastened the clasps at the collar and adjusted the cuffs out of habit.

Then came the cape.

Gods, I still can't get over the cape.

Black, lined with midnight-blue satin, and fastened with twin silver clasps that glimmered faintly under the light. On its back, the Apex insignia, the roaring lion, was embroidered in fine, glowing thread.

The runes encircling it pulsed like they were breathing, the lion's mane flaring in a soft shimmer when I moved. It never failed to look dramatic. Which, honestly, was the point.

I turned toward the mirror, running a hand through my hair, jet-black, still a little damp, and refusing to behave. My reflection stared back with golden eyes that caught the light like molten metal.

I tilted my head slightly, a smirk tugging at my lips.

"Damn," I muttered, tilting my head. "If I weren't me, I'd fall for myself."

I chuckled under my breath, rolling my shoulders. "Alright, handsome. Time to go face the chaos."

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