The plane touched down at JFK Airport as the golden glow of sunset bathed the city. The hum of engines and the chatter of travelers surrounded them, but Haraldin and Helena felt at ease amidst the chaos. After decades of living as vigilantes and warriors, the bustling energy of New York City was strangely comforting—a place where they could blend in and finally live for themselves.

As they drove into the heart of the city, Helena gazed out the window, watching the iconic skyline rise before her. "This city... it's alive," she murmured. "It never sleeps, does it?"

Haraldin smiled. "That's why it's perfect. Everyone here is too busy living their own lives to notice a couple of mages."

Helena smirked. "Unless we accidentally use magic in broad daylight."

Haraldin chuckled. "Let's try not to make a habit of that. For once, we're here to live, not to fight."

After a few weeks of exploring neighborhoods, they stumbled upon a charming brownstone in Brooklyn. The street was quiet, lined with trees, and far from the chaos of Midtown. The building itself was sturdy, with large bay windows and a garden in the back.

Helena stood in the middle of the living room, arms crossed as she surveyed the space. "I like it. High ceilings, hardwood floors... it feels grounded. Real."

Haraldin leaned against the doorframe, his arms folded. "It's more than enough space for us. And it's not too conspicuous."

Helena turned to him, a playful glint in her eyes. "Think you can handle staying in one place for a while?"

He shrugged. "I'll manage. Besides, I'll find something to keep busy."

The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. The magical trunk they'd brought from the Dark Dimension held treasures beyond imagination—ornate furniture, ancient tomes, and artifacts from countless worlds. They transformed the brownstone into a home that blended the modern world with their timeless legacy.

Helena carefully placed an enchanted vase on the mantle. It shimmered faintly, a reminder of their travels. "It's been a while since we had a place like this," she said softly.

Haraldin, sorting through a stack of magical texts, glanced up. "Feels good, doesn't it? A home that's ours."

Helena smiled. "It does. Though, knowing you, I doubt you'll be content with just sitting around."

He grinned. "Guilty. I was thinking of opening a restaurant."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "A restaurant?"

"Not just any restaurant," Haraldin said, his tone serious. "A place where I can experiment with various otherworldly ingredients."

Helena leaned against the couch, intrigued. "So, a low-profile operation?"

"Exactly. It keeps us under the radar and gives me something to focus on."

Helena nodded thoughtfully. "It could work. And it sounds... peaceful."

Haraldin gave her a pointed look. "And you? What will you do?"

Helena smirked. "I'll enjoy the quiet for now. But you know me—I'll find something. Maybe consulting work. Something discreet, no questions asked."

By the end of the week, their life in New York began to take shape. Haraldin scouted locations for his restaurant, eventually settling on a small shop nestled between a bookstore and a cloth store. Meanwhile, Helena explored the city, getting a feel for its rhythm and researching potential ventures.

One evening, as the autumn air grew crisp, they sat by the fireplace in their newly furnished home. Helena swirled a glass of wine in her hand, her gaze distant.

"Do you think we'll ever get bored of this?" she asked, her tone contemplative.

Haraldin shrugged. "Maybe. But for now, it's a nice change of pace."

Helena raised her glass, a playful smile on her lips. "To peace and quiet."

Haraldin clinked his glass against hers. "And to new beginnings."

It had been a few weeks since they'd settled into their new life in Brooklyn, and the brownstone felt like home. But the quiet life wasn't enough for Haraldin—Harry, as he'd come to call himself—and Helena. They were used to moving, to doing something with their time. The first few days had been filled with unpacking, organizing, and getting used to the world around them. But soon, the itch for a new challenge grew too strong to ignore.

Harry had always enjoyed cooking. The creative process, the way flavors melded together, the satisfaction of a dish coming to life—it was an art, one that he'd never fully explored during his past lives. So, he decided to start a restaurant. But not just any restaurant.

"I don't want it to be flashy," Harry said, pacing around the small storefront he'd chosen. "No fine dining. Just a cozy, welcoming place where people can feel at home."

Helena, sitting on a mismatched chair in the corner, tilted her head as she considered his words. "So, something... casual?"

"Exactly. A little bit of everything," Harry said. "Comfort food. Simple, but with a twist."

Helena smiled. "I like it. And I suppose the ambiance will match?"

Harry nodded, grinning. "The furniture, the décor, it'll be eclectic—like a bit of our own style from all the places we've been. But it'll still have that warmth, that inviting feel."

Helena stood and walked over to inspect some old wooden chairs Harry had bought from a secondhand shop. "These chairs—each one looks like a piece of history. I like it," she remarked, running her fingers over the wood. "It feels like the kind of place people will want to stay in. And we won't need to spend a fortune on furniture when it's this unique."

Harry agreed, though he didn't voice the full extent of his reasoning. They had plenty of money from the treasure vault in their Dark Dimension mansion, but Harry was intent on keeping a low profile. If they used their riches too freely, they would attract attention. Instead, he used his magic to transform cheap, second-hand items into something special. Chairs of all sizes and designs filled the small dining area, mismatched tables created a rustic charm, and even the cutlery seemed to tell its own story.

A few days later, the restaurant—Black's Hearth—was ready for its grand opening. The scent of roasting meats and fresh herbs drifted out from the open door, inviting people inside. Harry had spent the last few days perfecting the menu, experimenting with dishes from every culture they'd visited during their travels. Helena had handled the paperwork, the permits, and the small details that would help the shop stay under the radar.

And finally, they opened their doors.

At first, it was slow. A few curious passersby came in, unsure of what to expect, but Harry's food quickly spoke for itself. The dishes were simple but packed with flavor. From hearty stews to delicate pastas, and everything in between, the customers who came in for a meal were satisfied and often came back for more.

Helena worked the cashier and waited on tables, always with a warm smile and a friendly word. She had the kind of presence that made customers feel comfortable, as if they were old friends just stopping by to chat. And Harry, well, he was the heart of the kitchen. His culinary creations were not just meals—they were stories, memories from other worlds, and flavors that transcended time.

The restaurant was soon filled with regulars, and word began to spread. As the days turned into weeks, Black's Hearth became a beloved local gem in Brooklyn.

But with success came the need for more help. The two of them couldn't keep up with everything on their own. The kitchen was a whirlwind of activity, and Helena found herself juggling orders, taking payments, and even doing some cooking when Harry was overwhelmed. It wasn't long before Harry, looking at the growing stack of orders, realized he needed to expand his team.

Outside, a small sign appeared: "Help Wanted."

A few days after the sign went up, a young woman named Chloe walked into the restaurant. She was in her mid-twenties, with an energetic smile and a quiet but confident demeanor. She approached the counter, where Helena was currently taking an order.

"I saw the sign outside," Chloe said. "I don't have much experience, but I'm a quick learner. I'd love to help out."

Helena regarded her for a moment, sizing her up. "We could use some help," she said, nodding. "You're in luck. We've been running on fumes around here."

Chloe grinned. "I promise I'm better than I look."

Helena chuckled and handed Chloe an apron. "We'll see about that."

It wasn't long before Chloe proved her worth. She was sharp, quick on her feet, and eager to learn the ins and outs of the restaurant. She helped with everything from prepping food to serving dishes and even managing some of the customers who came in during the busier hours.

As the weeks went by, the restaurant's success grew, and it was clear that Harry's low-key approach had paid off. He didn't need to flaunt wealth or attract attention—he just needed good food, good company, and a place where people could come together.

Helena, who had initially thought she'd stay out of work and just enjoy the peace, found herself just as invested in the business as Harry. She had grown to love the atmosphere, the rhythm of the work, and the small, quiet joy of building something from the ground up. And though the work was hard, it was rewarding in a way they hadn't experienced in ages.

That night, as they closed up the restaurant and cleaned up, Helena leaned against the counter, smiling. "You know," she said to Harry, "I never thought I'd enjoy something like this."

Harry grinned as he wiped down the last of the tables. "Neither did I. But it's peaceful, in its own way."

Helena raised an eyebrow. "Peaceful? You, of all people, calling this peaceful?"

Harry laughed. "Not the work. But the life. It's different. We don't have to be on the run anymore. No more enemies to fight, no more worlds to save. We can just... live."

Helena's smile softened. "I like that idea. Maybe for once, we can just exist, without the weight of everything else hanging over us."

With their new life slowly unfolding, they could finally take a breath. And though they would always be who they were—immortal, powerful, and experienced—this new chapter offered a different kind of adventure. The kind that didn't involve magic and battle, but rather, the joy of creating something from nothing.

With the success of Black's Hearth, Harry's business was running smoothly, and his workload was easing. The restaurant had expanded its staff, bringing in experienced professionals who had worked in kitchens and restaurants around the city. With skilled hands behind the counter, the quality of the food remained top-notch, and Harry was finally able to step back a little from the daily grind. This gave him the time and space to focus on other things, while Hela—Helena, as she was known in this world—was free to pursue a new passion of her own.

Hela, ever the ambitious one, had grown tired of the quiet life. Despite her enjoyment of the restaurant, she longed for something more—something that could give her a sense of purpose beyond cooking and managing a restaurant. She remembered her past life and how she had once wielded power with authority. This time, she would use her intelligence, not her strength, to make an impact.

She had always been keen on law, on the intricacies of rules, justice, and the clever ways of bending systems to one's advantage. It was a challenge that suited her perfectly. So, one evening, as they sat at their usual table in the restaurant, Hela turned to Harry with an idea.

"Harry, I want to become a lawyer."

Harry raised an eyebrow, a bit surprised by the sudden declaration. "A lawyer?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes gleaming with determination. "Not just any lawyer, though. I want to specialize in criminal law, to fight for justice. But not just in any ordinary way. I want to make the bad guys suffer, not with my power, but with their own actions."

Harry studied her for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "I can make it happen. I've got the means to get you whatever you need."

True to his word, Harry used his magical abilities and vast resources to create a new identity for Hela. With a few well-placed enchantments and the use of forged documents, he crafted a perfect background for her—a well-educated woman with an impressive law degree, certifications, and impeccable credentials. No one would ever know she wasn't exactly who she claimed to be.

"I can do this," Hela said, holding up the papers Harry had created for her. "I'm going to change things in this world, Harry. I'm going to fight the ones who deserve to be punished, and I'll make them pay—without even lifting a finger."

Harry smiled knowingly. "Just remember, we're keeping a low profile. No unnecessary attention. It's a delicate balance."

Hela nodded, understanding. "Don't worry, I'll be as subtle as I need to be."

Author's Note:

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