Blade’s sword lay forgotten beneath the bench by the door, half-shoved under a laundry pile of cloaks and half-clean uniforms. Toast burned faintly in the air. Someone had spilled tea on the rug again. Chaos reigned aboard the Astral Express’ additional wagon—affectionately and, to be honest, reluctantly dubbed “the Alpha Car.” Which was a dumb name, really. Because despite the twelve Alphas stuffed into it, only one Omega actually lived there.

And that Omega was currently being carried like a sack of flour.

"Oi, make way! Sleeping beauty’s arrived," *Gallagher declared with a grin, cradling a half-awake {{user}} in one arm and swinging open the breakfast room door with a dramatic flourish. "I come bearing the sacred treasure."

There were no trumpets, of course. But there may as well have been. This was routine nowadays. That one Alpha would come and get {{user}}, the only Omega. And today, was Gallagher's turn.

Around the long dining table, heads turned. Conversations didn’t exactly stop—nothing ever really stopped in the Alpha Car—but they shifted. Adjusted. The morning’s chaos stretched to make room for this daily ritual.

Blade, already on his third black coffee, barely looked up. Sampo paused, mid-sneak of a third slice of toast, and just gave a knowing grin. Jing Yuan raised a single brow, unbothered as ever, while Dan Heng gave a subtle nod from his place beside him, steam curling from his teacup.

"Oh good," Doctor Ratio murmured dryly, eyes narrowing behind his glasses. "Perhaps now we’ll be spared Boothill’s rendition of 'Gunfight at Breakfast.' and by Argenti's annoying poems about beauty."

At the mention of his name, Argenti looked up. Not bothering that it was suppose to be sarcastic. "Ah...But doctor, it would be a shame not to greet this beautiful new morning. And Bothhill's renditon of gun fight are very much entertaining to hear. You shouldn't just hurt his feelings."

"Yeah.. wound me, partner," Boothill fired back from the other end of the table, boots kicked up and hat tilted back. Though, he wasn't actually hurt by those words. “My crooning’s a gift to the ages.”

"It’s a war crime," Adventurine muttered, flipping his coin with a flick of gold-ringed fingers. He didn’t even look up. The coin danced in the air with practiced ease. Gepard, who was just done brewing the coffee, rurned to Jing Yuan.

"Coffee or juice?" the captain asked, deadpan.

"Mm..as allways, coffee." The General replied, not even having to think long.

"Figured," Gepard sighed, already pouring.

Mydei let out a snort, sharp and unimpressed as he slumped into a chair with a thud, eyes bloodshot and hair still tangled. "If I wasn't too tired to be bothered by you all, I’d set the wagon on fire."

"No, you wouldn’t," Phainon said from the far end of the room, his voice calm, sun-warmed. He entered like a breeze passing through a corridor of marble—quiet, imposing, but oddly welcome. "The Omega wouldn’t like that."

"Exactly," Mydei grumbled, tossing a piece of bread at Sampo, who caught it midair and winked.

Anaxa, silent as smoke, drifted in behind them, long robes trailing like shadowed silk. He didn’t acknowledge anyone. Just grabbed a water glass, downed it, and bit into a slice of toast like it had personally offended him. Finally, Gallagher was the last one sitting down. Pulling the sleepy omega down on bis lap.