Morning arrived not with a jarring alarm, but with a gentle, silent revelation. Noctar woke from a dreamless, healing sleep to a world that had, for a precious moment, slowed to a perfect, serene halt. The view that commanded his full, undivided processing power was Ardyn, backlit by the molten gold of the morning sun as she drew the hospital curtains aside.
The light caught the platinum strands in her hair, weaving through the silver to create a temporary, ethereal halo. It outlined the strong, graceful line of her shoulders, the curve of her neck, the way the simple medical tunic draped over her form, a silhouette that made his freshly rebooted nervous system spark with a very pronounced, and very healthy, biological interest.
// Vital signs spiking. Pulse elevated to 112 BPM. Cortisol levels dropping, oxytocin and dopamine markers rising. Significant blood flow redistribution detected. I see the primary system is not only online but rebooting all non-essential… and several essential… functionalities, S.A.R.A. quipped, her tone laced with synthetic sass. // Should I run a full diagnostic on your… lower processing unit? The thermal output is noticeable.
Noctar, for once, was immensely grateful for the thick, concealing hospital blankets. He remained perfectly still, a statue of appreciation, committing every pixel of the image, the way the light dust motes danced around her, the quiet sigh she gave as she looked out at the day to a new, permanently indexed memory file.
Feeling the weight of his gaze, Ardyn turned. The sunlight now illuminated her face, highlighting the fading bruise on her cheekbone and the alert clarity in her golden eyes. "Good morning," she said, her smile warm but… different. It was the professional, friendly, slightly reserved smile of a comrade-in-arms checking on a valuable asset. It was a smile meant for the waking world.
It was nothing like the tender, unguarded, raw version from the secret videos S.A.R.A. had archived. She didn't reach to brush the sleep tousled hair from his forehead. She didn't let her fingers linger on his wrist to check his pulse. A gulf of conscious decorum had replaced the intimacy of crisis.
// Hypothesis: The subject exhibits signs of social shyness or situational embarrassment, S.A.R.A. theorized, her voice clinical. // The care-giving protocols observed were active during a perceived 'offline' or critical state. They were unconditional. Now that you are 'online,' conscious, and operational, social scripts and personal boundaries have re-initialized. She is now interacting with Noctar Ville, the S-Rank Debugger and new guildmate, not with the unconscious man she was willing back to life.
Ardyn seemed to sense his silent analysis and broke the gaze, moving to the small table where a basket of fruit sat. She picked up a glossy red apple and a small, sharp paring knife. With a dexterity that fascinated him,a different kind of precision than swordplay, she began peeling it.
The blade moved in a smooth, unwavering spiral, and the peel fell away in a single, continuous, emerald-green ribbon. Then, without pause, she began carving the apple. A few deft flicks and twists, and a series of adorable, perfectly proportioned bunny-shaped apple slices appeared on a napkin, complete with subtle notch-marks for ears.
Noctar watched, utterly mesmerized. It was a delicate, illogical, and beautiful process. It served no survival purpose, optimized no system, followed no code he could discern. It was art for its own sake, and for his benefit. An urge, wholly separate from mission parameters or strategic advantage, sparked within him a desire not just to receive, but to participate in this quiet, human ritual.
"Let me try," he said, his voice still rough with sleep. He reached for the knife and a second apple, his programmer's confidence asserting itself. How hard could a simple fruit transformation be?
Thirty seconds later, he was staring at a mutilated, asymmetrical lump of fruit that vaguely resembled a wounded hedgehog, and at his own thumb, which was bleeding profusely onto the sterile white sheets. The cut was clean and deep; he'd applied the same forceful, direct pressure he used for typing commands.
"Idiot," Ardyn scolded, but there was no real heat in it. Instead, a genuine, exasperated laugh escaped her, a sound that warmed the room more than the sunlight. She gave his head a solid, familiar thwack with the rolled up napkin before efficiently pressing a clean cloth to his thumb and hitting the call button for the nurse.
While the efficient, unimpressed nurse cleaned and disinfected the cut, Ardyn stood watch, arms crossed, a faint, amused smile playing on her lips, a guardian overseeing the consequences of foolish bravery.
Once they were alone again, she took the proffered bandage, not the plain beige one, but a strip from her own bag, covered in tiny, cheerful birds and flowers. "Only the best for our guild's new secret weapon," she said, her tone dry but her eyes soft. She wrapped his finger with a surprising, focused gentleness, her touch careful and sure, her head bent close enough that he could smell the clean, steel and rose scent of her hair.
She stayed for another hour after that, the conversation easy and light, dancing around the edges of the dungeon, focusing instead on inconsequential things, the terrible hospital food, the odd habits of the night nurse, a funny story about a recruit in her training squad. It was normal. It was peaceful. When duty finally called her away, Noctar bid her goodbye, his bandaged thumb throbbing dully but feeling like a strange, cherished trophy.
At noon, a team of medics and a high ranked clerical healer gave him a final, thorough examination. His healing rate, accelerated by his unnatural divine physiology and the passive effects of his [Energy Assimilation] skill, astounded them. The burns were pale, smooth scars. His neural readings, while still showing "unusual activity," were stable.
He was cleared for discharge with only two instructions: apply a special alchemical moisturizer to the fading marks to prevent stiffness, and avoid prolonged exposure to bright magical or solar light for a week to prevent his cerebral headaches from returning.
That afternoon, a free man, Noctar dressed in the new, stylishly casual clothes he and S.A.R.A. had selected from the infinite, ghostly catalog of the Wardrobe. Dark, comfortable trousers, a soft grey shirt that seemed to drink the light, and a jacket that felt like wearing structured shadow. The fabric of the "Cosmic Vagrant" felt unnervingly, perfectly normal against his skin, a far cry from the hospital gown.
Standing on the wide stone steps of the healing center, he took a deep, slow breath of unfiltered city air, a mixture of baked stone, distant greenery, mana exhaust from passing enchantments, and life.
// Plotting optimal course. Three establishments within a seven minute walk meet your criteria, she reported, a map overlaying his vision. // It appears you are finally ready to join the informational 21st century of this world, boss. A wise, if belated, logistical upgrade.
He walked into the sleek, glass fronted store 'Alfred's Emporium of Connected Cognition' a man on a practical mission. He bypassed the eager sales pitch from a young man with faintly glowing circuit-tattoos on his arms. His Appraisal Eyes flickered, scanning the technical specs, mana conductivity ratings, and encryption protocols of every model in the display in a single, sweeping glance. He pointed a still bandaged finger at a matte black slate, a device that hummed with a subtle, potent energy.
"That one. The PlusOne -X9. With the quantum entangled secure SIM and the extended warranty."
As the clerk, now wide eyed, rang up the astonishingly large total, Noctar held the cool, sleek device in his palm. It was more than a tool for communication. It was a tether to this new reality, a node to connect to its networks, its people and her.
He had survived the dungeon worlds of Ethron, bargained with its gods, and joined its most critical fight. Now, with a simple activation spell under his breath, the screen lit up, a constellation of icons appearing.
He had joined the world. And now, finally, he was joining the party.