I woke up to the smell of something burning.
Not catastrophically burning. Not building-on-fire burning. Just the very specific, faintly tragic scent of toast that had stayed in the toaster thirty seconds too long.
I stared at the ceiling for a moment, disoriented not by cosmic revelations this time, but by the sheer normalcy of it. My body felt heavier than usual, not from exhaustion, but from the lingering awareness of what I carried.
The fragment pulsed faintly beneath my ribs, quiet and contained, like it had settled into its place.
Then I heard her voice.
"…it's still edible."
A pause.
"…probably."
I exhaled slowly and rolled onto my side.
A peaceful life.
That was what this was supposed to be.
No chained star-fragments. No weakening locks. No unmeasurable bloodlines. Just morning.
I pushed myself upright and ran a hand through my hair before standing. The floor was cool under my feet as I made my way toward the small kitchen area in our room.
