The routine began to emerge where before there had only been improvisation.
I noticed this as soon as I woke up. It wasn't because of the time, nor because of the light coming through the windows. It was the absence of urgency. No one needed to rush to the guild before the good missions were gone. No one needed to count coins before breakfast. For the first time, the day did not begin like a battle.
I went down the stairs smelling warm bread. The kitchen was active, but quiet. One of the maids greeted me with a slight nod of her head, without exaggeration, without fear. It was still strange to be treated that way, but it was starting to stop being uncomfortable.
Elara was sitting at the table, reviewing a map while she ate. Vespera was sharpening a blade with slow, precise movements. Liriel was staring out the window, distracted.
"Good morning," I said.
"Good," Elara replied. "Or at least calm."
I sat down with them. The table was far too large for four people, but no one seemed to mind anymore. The silence wasn't empty. It was comfortable.
"We don't have a mission scheduled today," Vespera said.
"I know," I replied. "And that makes me uneasy."
Elara smiled. "You don't know how to relax."
"I never learned."
Liriel turned to me. "Learning is also part of surviving."
After breakfast, we spent the morning taking care of small things. Adjustments in the mansion. Organizing equipment. Light training in the courtyard. Nothing grand. Nothing urgent. Even so, everything seemed important.
During training, I noticed how the movements were more synchronized. Not only in combat. In the small gestures. In the way we positioned ourselves. As if the group had found a new rhythm.
"You're more attentive today," Elara commented.
"Maybe I'm less worried," I replied.
Vespera put the blade away. "Constant worry wears you down. Conscious vigilance preserves you."
She always had a direct way of saying complicated things.
In the middle of the afternoon, we went into the city. Not for a mission. Just to walk. To buy simple things. To see ordinary people living their lives without knowing what had happened in the past few weeks.
Some recognized us. Others didn't. For the first time, that didn't bother me.
A vendor offered fruit. A child ran through the street laughing loudly. A couple argued over the price of fabric. Life went on.
"They have no idea who we are," Elara said quietly.
"And that's good," I replied.
We returned before sunset. The mansion welcomed us with its wide silence, but now it seemed less empty. More familiar.
At night, we had dinner together again. We talked about small things. Old memories. Useless stories. We laughed more than I expected.
At one moment, I realized something simple and strong at the same time.
This didn't feel like a group of adventurers.
It felt like a family.
The thought caught me off guard.
After dinner, we stayed in the main room. There was no rush to sleep. Just presence.
Liriel sat beside me. Vespera stayed nearby, leaning against the armchair. Elara settled on the floor, resting her back against the sofa.
"You're quiet," Elara said.
"I'm observing," I replied.
"And what do you see?"
I thought before answering. "I see something I never had."
No one made a joke. No one broke the moment.
Later, when we went to the bedroom, I lay down with the strange feeling of belonging. Not to a place. Not to a title. But to people.
As sleep came, I understood something I hadn't realized before.
The mansion was not the reward.
Rank S was not the peak.
That was only the setting.
What truly mattered was there, breathing beside me, sharing silence, dividing ordinary days.
And maybe that was what people called home.
Not a place where you live.
But where you remain.