The Priestess's Vision

The scent of roasting figs and something vaguely floral, like dried thyme, greeted me as I padded into the kitchen. Sunlight, thick and buttery, streamed through the arched window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. It was a quiet morning, the kind I savored before the weight of Aegis Reach settled onto my shoulders. The clatter of pans and the low hum of a song I didn't quite recognize told me Harper was already at work, her usual whirlwind of energy even before the sun had fully committed to the sky.

"Morning, Commander," she chirped, not turning from the stove where she was expertly flipping what looked suspiciously like golden-brown pancakes. "Or should I say, 'Your Excellency'? You know, just to keep you on your toes."

I chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. "Good morning, Harper. And no, 'Commander' is perfectly fine. Keeps me grounded, unlike some people I know who seem to float on a cloud of pure chaos."