Before the village wakes, Sora finds her own quiet ritual — tea, an open window, and a journal with no deadline.

A pale dawn sky seen through a small bedroom window, the first edge of light just beginning to define the horizon, everything still dark blue and cream
She used to set three alarms. Now the light woke her, and she let it.

A kettle on a small stove, steam beginning to rise, the kitchen dim and warm, a single candle on the windowsill
The kettle had its own pace. She'd stopped trying to hurry it.
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