The room was too clean.
That was the first thought that came to Caelum Noctyrr every morning.
Not tidy. Not organized.
Clean.
As if no one had ever lived in it.
Sunlight entered through tall glass windows, painting soft lines across the wooden floor. White curtains moved slightly with the breeze. The bed was perfectly arranged. The desk was spotless. Even the chair was placed at a precise angle.
Everything was in its place.
Caelum sat up slowly, his movements quiet.
He looked at his hands.
Slender fingers. Pale skin. No scars. No calluses.
He turned them over, studying them with a calm expression.
'Still not used to this,' he thought.
'Three years… and it still doesn't feel like mine.'
He stood and walked toward the mirror.
The boy reflected there did not look real.
Silver-black hair fell neatly over gentle eyes. His face was smooth, soft, and perfectly shaped. There was no sharp edge anywhere. Even his expression, when relaxed, looked harmless.
Beautiful.
Not handsome.
Beautiful.
Caelum stared.
'This face is a problem,' he thought.
'Too noticeable.'
He leaned closer, examining the eyes.
Calm.
Clear.
Empty.
Not empty inside.
Just controlled.
'If this were my old world,' he thought,
'people would already be trying to own me.'
He straightened.
This was not his world.
This was the game.
The same game he had played for years.
The same game he had studied.
The same game he had never completed.
The same game that had killed him.
He did not react.
No shock. No panic.
Just a quiet understanding.
'So it's real,' he thought.
'Not a dream. Not a joke.'
He turned away from the mirror.
A soft knock came.
"Caelum?" a gentle voice called. "Are you awake?"
He answered immediately. "Yes, Mother."
The door opened and Jena Noctyrr stepped in. Her movements were calm, her expression warm. Her hair was neatly tied, her clothes simple but elegant.
She smiled when she saw him.
"You didn't come down," she said. "Breakfast is almost finished."
"I lost track of time," he replied.
She walked closer and lightly adjusted his collar.
"You always do," she said with a small laugh.
Her hand paused on his shoulder for a moment.
Not long.
Not dramatic.
Just natural.
He noticed it.
He always did.
'She doesn't treat me like an adopted child,' he thought.
'She never has.'
She stepped back. "Your sisters are already arguing."
He smiled faintly. "I'm not surprised."
Jena chuckled. "Hurry up."
She left.
Caelum stood still for a moment.
Not thinking about the game.
Not thinking about the future.
Thinking about the way she had touched his shoulder.
Not affection.
Ownership.
Acceptance.
Real.
'Strange,' he thought.
'In another life, this would have been impossible.'
He changed and walked out.
The hallway was wide and quiet. Paintings of ancestors lined the walls. Soft carpets absorbed his steps. Servants bowed as he passed.
He nodded back politely.
Not too cold.
Not too friendly.
Balanced.
The dining hall was warm and bright.
Sunlight poured through tall windows. The table was long and full. Plates were already set. Steam rose from fresh food.
Thyrene sat with her arms crossed, her posture sharp and guarded. Her eyes flicked toward the door.
Eliya sat beside her, swinging her legs under the chair, humming quietly.
Lucien Noctyrr sat at the head of the table, posture straight, expression unreadable.
Jena took her seat.
When Caelum entered—
Eliya noticed first.
Her face lit up. "Brother!"
She stood and rushed to him, grabbing his sleeve.
"You're late again!"
He looked down at her. "You're loud."
She grinned. "I know."
Thyrene clicked her tongue. "He's always late. He does it on purpose."
He glanced at her. "You assume too much."
She narrowed her eyes. "You talk too much."
He smiled faintly. "You glare too much."
Eliya laughed.
Jena sighed with a smile. "Sit before you start fighting."
Caelum took his seat.
Lucien glanced at him. "Thinking again?"
"Yes."
"About?"
"Things."
Lucien did not press.
He never did.
Thyrene leaned back. "Creepy."
He looked at her. "Predictable."
She frowned. "Annoying."
Eliya leaned against him. "Warm."
He shifted slightly. "Heavy."
She laughed. "Mean."
He did not move her.
Jena watched them quietly.
Lucien ate in silence.
Caelum ate slowly, observing.
Thyrene was protective. Obvious. Always watching him when she thought he wasn't looking.
Eliya was attached. Too attached. Always leaning, always touching.
Jena was careful. Always checking. Always adjusting.
Lucien was distant. Controlled. Measuring.
'Interesting balance,' he thought.
'Too stable.'
Lucien looked up. "You're staring."
Caelum blinked. "At the table."
Thyrene snorted. "Liar."
He ignored her.
Eliya tugged his sleeve. "Will you walk with me later?"
"Maybe."
She pouted. "That means yes."
He did not correct her.
Jena smiled. "He will."
Lucien watched the exchange.
Quiet.
Sharp.
Caelum met his gaze.
Not challenging.
Not submissive.
Equal.
Lucien looked away.
Breakfast continued.
Plates emptied. Servants moved. Sunlight shifted.
Normal.
Too normal.
'This is the safe zone,' Caelum thought.
'The part before the story starts.'
He felt no comfort.
No relief.
Just awareness.
Every sound. Every movement. Every look.
'In the game,' he thought,
'this family was background.'
'In reality,' he thought,
'they are leverage.'
His expression did not change.
Thyrene argued with Eliya.
Jena corrected them.
Lucien stood.
Routine.
Predictable.
And fragile.
Caelum finished eating and stood.
"I'll be in the garden," he said.
Jena nodded. "Don't go far."
He did not answer.
He walked out.
The garden was quiet.
Flowers were in perfect rows. Trees trimmed neatly. The path clean.
He walked slowly, hands in his pockets.
'Three years,' he thought.
'No system. No quests. No events.'
'Just waiting.'
He stopped near a fountain.
Water moved gently.
He stared at his reflection.
Beautiful.
Soft.
Harmless.
'They will underestimate me,' he thought.
'Good.'
He turned away.
Inside, his mind was already working.
Routes.
Flags.
Triggers.
Deaths.
Endings.
'This game was never fair,' he thought.
'So I won't be either.'
He smiled faintly.
Not in confidence.
In preparation.