Kael decided they needed a rule.
No discussions about reality after sunset.
It was not an official rule.
No one agreed to it aloud.
But after the encounter in the square, exhaustion settled over all three of them in a way even danger hadn't managed before.
So when evening arrived, Kael said only one thing:
"We're eating."
Rook immediately approved. "Finally. A philosophy I understand."
Mira raised an eyebrow. "You cook?"
Kael hesitated.
"…I follow instructions precisely."
"That means no," Rook translated.
---
The kitchen was small, barely large enough for two people, yet somehow all three occupied it at once.
Rook leaned against the counter doing nothing useful.
Mira sat on the table swinging her legs while inspecting ingredients like artifacts.
Kael read from a recipe book with intense concentration.
"You're measuring salt like it's a legal contract," Mira observed.
"Precision prevents failure."
Rook nodded. "Incorrect. Confidence prevents failure. Precision creates anxiety."
Kael ignored them and continued cooking.
For several minutes, the apartment filled with ordinary sounds:
Knife against wood.
Water boiling.
Low conversation.
No distortions.
No pressure.
Just life.
It felt unfamiliar.
Mira watched him quietly for a while.
"You used to do this alone," she said.
"Yes."
"Was it quieter?"
Kael considered the question.
"…Yes."
Rook grinned. "Congratulations. Your peaceful existence has been successfully ruined."
Kael almost smiled.
Almost.
---
Dinner turned out surprisingly edible.
Rook took one bite and froze dramatically.
"…I am confused."
"Why?" Kael asked.
"This is good."
Mira laughed. "He expected survival food."
"I expected academic food," Rook corrected. "Emotionally bland."
They ate slowly.
Conversation drifted away from anomalies.
Rook told an exaggerated story about being banned from a library for "philosophical misuse of furniture."
Mira added unnecessary dramatic sound effects.
Kael listened more than he spoke.
And for the first time since everything began—
he felt something loosen in his chest.
A simple realization.
He was not alone when reality changed anymore.
The thought startled him slightly.
He set his chopsticks down.
"…Thank you," he said quietly.
Both of them looked at him.
"For what?" Mira asked.
"For staying," he answered.
Rook blinked. "We live here now. Leaving would require effort."
Mira smiled softly but didn't joke.
"You'd notice if we disappeared," she said.
Kael nodded once.
"Yes."
The answer came too quickly to be analyzed.
Silence settled — not awkward, just calm.
Outside, night lights flickered on across Halren City.
For several minutes, nothing strange happened.
And that itself felt miraculous.
---
Later, Rook fell asleep on the couch mid-sentence.
Mira covered him with a blanket without comment.
Kael watched from the doorway.
"You act like this is temporary," she said quietly without turning.
"It probably is."
"Everything is," she replied.
She walked toward the balcony and leaned against the railing.
City lights reflected in her eyes.
"You know," she said softly, "most people never realize when their life changes direction."
Kael joined her outside.
"And you?"
She shrugged.
"I realized too late."
The words slipped out casually — but something heavy sat behind them.
Kael didn't press.
After a moment, she smiled again, lighter now.
"Don't look so serious. We survived dinner. That's progress."
He nodded faintly.
"Yes."
Below them, laughter echoed from the street.
Somewhere music played.
Normal life continued.
Kael allowed himself to relax slightly.
Inside the apartment, the paper star lantern swayed gently near the window.
Its shadow stretched along the wall—
Then split briefly into two overlapping shapes.
Only for a second.
Only long enough to remind the world:
peace was not permanence.
But tonight—
it was enough.
---