Five years. The world had no idea what was coming.
A shooting star streaked across the sky—as if the universe itself was acknowledging his declaration.
Noah watched it disappear, then turned toward his room. The glass door slid shut behind him with a soft hiss.
The next morning, sunlight streamed through automated blinds perfectly timed to Noah's wake-up routine.
7:00 AM.
He rolled out of bed in one fluid motion. Twenty minutes later, he was freshly showered and dressed in casual designer wear, he headed downstairs.
"Good morning, Master Noah." Alfred stood at attention in the hallway.
"Alfred." Noah nodded. "Busy day ahead."
"Indeed, sir."
Before Noah could respond, Pennyworth emerged from the east wing. "Master Noah! Beautiful morning, isn't it? Your breakfast is ready."
"Thank you, Pennyworth."
The kitchen gleamed, and the housekeepers were doing their job elegantly.
Noah's breakfast waited on the center island—a perfect spread of luxury and nutrition.
