The only thing that matters is power. Good and evil is a separate conversation.

  - Silas Norgard, from Repelling Guardian Beasts, A Comprehensive Guide.

  In the dark arteries of the capital, where lanterns died young and silence reeked of sin, a cloaked figure stalked. Their cloak billowed in the frigid, late winter wind. Silver runic sigils pulsed with magic along the hem of the garment, concealing the grim silhouette from the innocent eyes of the young and foolish.

  "David?"

  A second figure stepped onto the streets, fading magitech streetlamps flickering and casting the ominous figure in shadow. A pregnant silence fell as the adversaries looked upon the hungry void deep within each other's hoods. A beat. And motion. The first figure ripped a wand from beneath their cloak, a coruscating beam of concentrated force tearing the air with a shrill whistle as it rocketed toward—

  "David!"

  "Huh! Wha—what. What?"

  I jerked upright, blinking rapidly as the fantasy faded. I was in the office. Which made sense, I supposed. Not that I had any real desire to be at my desk today. A quick glance at my computer revealed two terminals and a vim instance blinking patiently for my attention.

  ATA Sim: 100%|███████████| 9227/9227 [2:13:04<00:00, 0.87s/it]

  "Jesus, dude, you were really out of it." Louie said. He kicked my chair, pulling my still dazed attention off of my monitor. Louie's mop of reddish orange hair greeted me with the type of enthusiasm reserved for puppies and small children. It clashed harshly with the other colors in the office. White, beige, off-white, light gray, and most salacious of them all, medium gray.

  "Yeah, uhm, yeah. The sim took a while." I replied, rubbing my eye to wake up properly. It had been a long while since I'd daydreamed something that... vivid.

  "Sure, dude, whatever. Work's out, by the way. You still coming to the gym with me?"

  I agreed, and the bear of a man sauntered off with a wave and a promise. Louie was a big man, with freckles and a pug nose. I didn't call him fat, but mostly because I didn't want to be sat on. Not that he would harm me. There wasn't a softer person in the entire office as far as I was concerned.

  I closed the terminals, double checking that the log data files actually recorded the data. 23.7 GB. Good grief. Thankfully, we had interns for that.

  I could almost see my wife, Caroline's, disapproving expression.

  I grinned. She would call me lazy. I preferred the term, efficiently inclined.

  Speaking of. I leaned back in my mesh chair, my phone buzzing in my ear. The frame creaking slightly as I wobbled back and forth. Four rings later, the call went through.

  "Hey baby doll," I grinned.

  "I'm not a baby! I'm four years old!" A familiar, childish voice screamed into my ear. I winced, holding the phone an inch further from my ear. An ungodly racket was playing in the background.

  "Tristy? Is that you?" I asked.

  "I'm not a baby..."

  I could almost see the pout on her chubby little cheeks.

  "I know, I'm sorry. Is Caroline around?"

  "I forgive you, uncle D! Auntie told me to tell you that she can't talk right now."

  "Why not—" I asked, hearing my wife's voice raging in the background, followed swiftly by the shriek of children and the barking of Big Boy.

  "Her hands are messy with flour. She doesn't wanna dirty her phone."

  For a brief moment I considered asking how the pizzas were going, but then decided against it. I wouldn't get a succinct answer from the four year old.

  "Alright, sweetie," I winced again as something banged in the background. "Can you tell her that I'm going to the gym and will be home in an hour and fifteen?"

  "Okay!"

  Terrible banging and static blasted through the tinny speaker, followed by a hollow echoing silence. I got the distinct impression Tristy had dropped the phone in her haste to deliver the message. I waited for a minute, but when no one picked up the phone, I shook my head and hung up.

  The elevator down to the gym was as sterile and soulless as the hallway I took to it. It pinged cheerfully as the doors closed and once again as the doors slid open. One more hallway. A bored security guard. The locker room.

  Louie was lounging on a bench, high pitched Japanese voices tickling my ears from his phone. The screen was a riot of colors and miniskirts.

  "You can stop worrying. I have arrived." I grinned.

  Louie set down his phone and gave me a look. "So what are we doing today? Standard push?"

  I unlocked my locker and quickly switched out of my work clothes. I didn't bother with shoes, content with a thick set of comfortable socks with the word 'Butt' written in big bold letters. A birthday gift from Neil, my nephew.

  "Nah, I was thinking of PR-ing for pullups."

  "Again?" Louie blinked. "What are you at by now?"

  "One thirty two," I said, then added with no small amount of vindication, "point five."

  Louie shook his head, joining me as I stepped out of the men's room and into the lifting area. "You're insane, you know that? I swear you have some of the luckiest pulling genetics I've ever seen."

  "It's not luck. It's skill," I said cheekily, doing a few easy, unweighted pullups and squats to get the blood flowing. "And a little bit of knowledge."

  "You keep telling yourself that."

  "I'm serious. I just know how to get stronger and I'm doing that. It would work for you if you did it as well. Has nothing to do with genetics. The only thing that matters—"

  "Is power. Yes, yes, I get it. You do realize you sound like a sith lord when you say that." Louie raised both his arms and squinted his eyes in what I expected was supposed to be a dramatic and menacing pose, then lowered his voice. "There is no good or evil, there is only power—"

  "And those too weak to take it," I finished the quote with a grin, not bothered at all by the misattribution. I sucked in a hissing breath, my mind emptying as the weights clicked around the dip belt around my waist. "You ready?"

  "'Am I ready' he asks," Louie shook his head, rising from his bench and standing behind me.

  I sucked in another violent, hissing breath. My mind cleared. My heart clenched and I felt the tips of my fingers start to tingle. No pre-workout. No supplements. Just pure power. An emotion that had no name filled me. It wasn't fear. Or desire. Or anything like that. A heightened fullness coupled with an emptiness that made my ears feel like they were expanding to fill the gym. Just like that, I fell into the state of mind to push my body to my limits, and beyond.

  Louie was making grunting ape noises behind me.

  I closed my eyes, rising up onto my tippy toes and gripping the bar. The dip belt dug into my hips, an immense weight that had me swaying slightly side to side to control the mass of iron. This gym didn't have real weights, just the thick rubber ones that spread my legs obscenely wide. It was annoying, but such a tiny thing couldn't break through my calm.

  One hundred and thirty two point five. It was the weight. The goal weight. What I had been pushing for, for the last seven months, three weeks, and two days. One hundred and thirty two point five.

  "Come on! David! Come on!" Louie roared in my ear. His two giant meat grips slammed into my back, sending shocks of pain and adrenaline down to my toes and into the hollow of my throat. I sucked in another violent breath.

  I pulled.

  Sharp knurled steel dug into my fingers as my left ring finger popped. The force traveled down my forearms, into my elbows which creaked at the effort. The inside of my right elbow twinged. An old injury. Not that it would stop me.

  I rose. Steadily and inexorably higher. Lifting the thick stack of plates in addition to my hundred and seventy pounds of body weight. Vaguely, I heard Louie roar encouragements behind my back, and for some reason my weird brain latched on to how I was thankful the gym was empty today.

  Barely two seconds had passed but it felt like longer and shorter at the same time. My face turned red with the effort, back trembling as my lats struggled to bring my chin over the bar. I was doing a chin up, easier than a pullup, at least for me. But that wasn't to say it was easy.

  I froze a finger width below the bar, body vibrating like it was contemplating an early retirement to the Bahamas. I glared at the bar, unable to form a coherent thought, but still furiously willing the black steel bar to drop lower in my vision.

  It refused. My body refused. It was working. I was hanging, elbows bent with the weight of a small adult dangling between my legs. But it wouldn't budge.

  Caroline's face flashed before me.

  I snarled, lips pulling back as a pained groan choked its way past my locked vocal cords. My elbows tightened, slowly closing as if in slow motion as my chin crested the bar. I felt something click in my right elbow, a brief flinch of pain that I ignored as I gently dropped down.

  "Goddamn, dude! PR! Congratulations!" Louie grinned at me, slapping my back like I'd just won the lottery.

  I smiled wanly back up at him, unable to speak yet and trembling on the bench as I slowly got back my breath. I was lightheaded.

  I did it. I had done it. I closed my eyes and smiled as my body informed me in no uncertain terms not to do that again. Ever. Or at least for a week.

  The rest of the session went by quickly. Louie did bench, tricep pulldowns, and for a reason I still couldn't understand, RDLs. I didn't say anything, hobbling along through the exercises with half of Louie's weight. I could do more, but there was a blistering mental toll to pushing my one rep max, and I could already feel my body starting to shut down.

  I tapped out after half the sets, content to spot Louie as he tried to ride my success. He didn't succeed, short almost fifteen pounds on bench, but that didn't put a damper on the mood. He was simply genuinely happy at my success and thought his own failures were mildly funny in comparison.

  The drive home was uneventful and I recovered sufficiently to glue together more than three words in succession. The joy of my accomplishment hung like a medal around my neck, uplifting me and making even the tedium of rush hour traffic mundane.

  I had to park on the street as I pulled up to my house. There were four cars in the driveway, crammed like sardines with the sickly green van's tires getting frisky with my lawn. I took a bracing breath, then approached the door. Like the preview I'd received on the phone, it sounded like a warzone inside.

  Instead of doing anything sensible, I crouched down, and tapped the door four times.

  knock-knock...knock...knock

  I waited in a crouch, my wet hair cold from the post-gym shower.

  knock...knock-knock-knock!

  I grinned as my co-conspirator flipped the latch and opened the door a crack. Neil's brilliant blue eyes, so like his mother's, looked at me with unreserved glee. He threw the door open, then caught it in a rush before it could hit the wall as he sent a worried glance over his shoulder.

  "Uncle D! You're here."

  Neil, my eight year old nephew, was a gangly, black haired terror in a loose fitting old Bionicles shirt and child-sized, off-white cargo pants. He had what my mom referred to as 'piano fingers' though the kid didn't have a single musical bone in his body. According to me at least. The rest of the family disagreed.

  "I am home." I said solemnly, idly noting his socks proudly displaying the word 'Fart' in large bold letters. The companion to my gym socks. "Have you finished the preparations."

  "I—I did. All of 'em." He beamed up at me like a suicide pilot fully prepared to go down with the ship.

  I stepped inside, mildly curious to see the landing and living room entirely empty. "Has anyone discovered Operation Staircase? Are we compromised?"

  "No! I kept it a secret!" Neil exclaimed, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

  "And the target?"

  "Upstairs! I made sure he has a big mess to clean up just like you said."

  "Excellent work, Mr. N," I said, patting the kid on the head indulgently. "I shall make you a proper terror yet."

  "So when—"

  "Ahem!"

  The sound of someone clearing her throat caused both of us to freeze like children with their hands in the cookie jar. I recovered faster, smoothly turning with my best smile toward my wife. Neil reacted less... efficiently.

  "We're not doing anything!"

  I resisted the urge to facepalm. The look of sheer horror on Neil's face at least showed the little kid had the decency to recognize his mistake.

  "Oh?" Caroline said, her voice severe, but I could see the way the corner of her lips were struggling. "And what exactly are you two scoundrels not doing?"

  "Uhm—"

  Neil shot me a look like he'd just been convicted of murder. I magnanimously decided to save his ass.

  "Nothing at all," I said easily, rising up to my full height and directing my best smile to my lovely wife. "Which is the problem. Neil, my boy. You might be the brother of the birthday girl, but that doesn't mean you can't help out a little. What do you say you go to the garage and start up the pizza oven. That way we can get started sooner, and everyone gets to eat cake sooner."

  Neil latched onto my lifeline. "Yes! Okay. Right away uhm. Sorry aunt Caroline. Busy busy! Bye!"

  The sharp patter of his feet on the hardwood floors vanished into the general chaos sounding from deeper into the house. I vaguely heard the garage door open and slam shut.

  "What a kid," I shook my head, stepping up to my wife and wrapping her in my embrace. "Hi baby doll."

  "Welcome home," Caroline leaned up giving me a soft kiss before leading me into the warzone—ahem, kitchen.

  She walked with that heavy ambling gait that the less polite might refer to as waddling. I on the other hand, preferred my sensitive bits attached to my body and mentally referred to it as a pregnant shuffle.

  Her large belly led the way, causing her oversized dress to form a shelf that rippled and swayed hypnotically with every one of her slow steps. A dash of flour colored her cheek, evidence of her cooking spree, but neither it or her messy golden bun distracted from her beauty. I'd seen her when she tried after all.

  "You alive?" I asked, automatically helping clean up the disaster zone as Caroline leaned against the counter.

  "Barely," she chuckled. She rubbed the back of her neck, groaning softly and giving a self satisfied look at the prepared dishes on the kitchen counter. They were the only part of the mess that was in any way orderly. "I had Joanne take the kids into the yard."

  That explained the relative quiet, and the distant noise.

  I stepped up behind her and wrapped my hands under her bloated stomach. Then, with utmost care, I bent my knees, leaned back, and lifted ever so slightly.

  "Oh..." Caroline sighed, letting her head fall onto my shoulder. "That feels nice."

  "Mhmm," I hummed, content to tuck my chin into the hollow of her throat. As always, I had the patience of a gopher and before too long my hands roamed higher.

  "David!" Caroline said, slapping my hand away and firmly planting it back on her stomach. "We have company."

  "You just said they are outside." I started nibbling on her earlobe.

  "You are unbelievable. They only got a little bit bigger."

  "Which means they are huge." I retorted in a tone of voice to indicate I won the argument by a landslide.

  "David..." Caroline repeated, this time with an edge to her voice.

  Uh oh.

  "Fine," I huffed and abandoned my exploration. I leaned us back against the counter, adjusting slightly to make us both more comfortable. "Guess what I did today."

  "Hmm?"

  "Guess." I grinned.

  "You finished the ATA simulation optimizations?"

  "Uh, yes," I blinked. "but that wasn't what... never mind. Guess again."

  "Nope, I guessed right, so now you have to tell me."

  I pursed my lips but then decided it wasn't worth arguing over. "I got a new one rep max. For pullups."

  "Oh? How's the elbow?" Caroline opened her eyes, looking up with laughing eyes.

  "Fine, yeah. Hurts a little. But I got one hundred and thirty two point five pounds off the ground." I grinned again, giving her a little squeeze.

  "Mhmm. Very sexy," Caroline turned in my arm, giving me a quick kiss. "You know I'm like thirty five pounds heavier than I was, right?"

  "Not for long," I grinned, leaning down and giving her belly a kiss. I looked up. She was giving me a look that was a mix of compassionate and exhausted in equal measure.

  "I'm so ready for this," she said.

  "Speaking of, have you thought of names? I'm thinking... Robert."

  "...Robert," Caroline raised a single penciled eyebrow. Disdain dripping from her voice. "Really?"

  I think she was on to me.

  "Or maybe..." I pretended to think. "Roberta? That rolls of the tongue better don't you think?"

  Caroline snorted. "I'm not that easy, David. I told you, I want it to be a surprise."

  "And I'm all for it. It's very sweet. But you know what would be better, and hear me out now, how about you just tell me. I'll even throw in a free massage. Five stars, highly recommend."

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "Nope." Caroline grinned smugly, turning her back on me with the grace of a dancer. I narrowed my eyes. Where had that pregnancy induced wobble gone?

  "If you don't tell me I’ll go full detective," I threatened.

  "Go ahead," she smirked. She actually smirked at me. Unbelievable.

  "Joanne knows, I'll torture it out of her. Don't think I won't."

  "She would take it to her grave, and you know it."

  "Come on, Caroline," I said, looking around the kitchen for something. A truth potion would be ideal, though I would settle for inspiration. What I found was a mostly full box of oreos. "I'll give you a cookie. Tell me the gender. Please?"

  "Resorting to bribery now?"

  "Two cookies!"

  "No!" Caroline said, bursting out in laughter as I grabbed at her. She escaped briefly, but her brief bout of agility faded and I grabbed her.

  "Three cookies!"

  "Stop! Stop!" Caroline giggled, her hands warding away mine as I halfheartedly tried to shove oreos into her mouth. "Oh my god, you are getting crumbs everywhere. I—Oh!—"

  Caroline blinked and even I felt the tiny thump as the baby kicked as if trying to knock me away. If I didn't have such a big heart, I might have been insulted by the implication.

  Instead, I pressed my ear onto her belly. "One kick for boy, no kicks if you're a girl." Silence met my request and a slowly turned a shit eating grin onto my wife. I saw it then, just a hint of uncertainty. "That settles it. It's a girl."

  Caroline raised an eyebrow and I immediately felt my surety wither away.

  "It is a girl, right?"

  Caroline put on a serene expression that gave me nothing. "Come on, go gather the kids. I'll bring the cake and we can get started."

  And just like that. I failed. Again. It's kind of impressive actually. I wouldn't have been able to keep that secret for more than a few days. It was one of the things I liked about Caroline.

  The horde of younglings charging into the living room was a real sight to behold. I relegated myself to a quiet corner, doing my best to blend with the pictures on the wall. Joanne and two other moms trailed after them, looking a little haggard, but still far more capable then my clumsy self.

  I smiled quietly to myself as I watched Tristy lord over all the other little kids. She had that childish severity of a tiny tyrannical queen sitting primly on her plastic stool at the head of the table. The subject of conversation changed with little sense or reason, but none of the kids seemed to have trouble following.

  I, on the other hand, never claimed to be the smartest tool in the tool box so quietly grabbed a seltzer and excused myself to locate a certain older brother who was notably missing.

  "Neil! Where you at? Neil!" I called down the hall leading to the garage. "We are starting with the cake!"

  Turns out, shouting at the top of my lungs was a sufficiently sophisticated strategy, and a moment later, the eight year old boy appeared. He stumbled over the veritable mountain of tiny shoes, eyes locked on mine the entire way.

  "Already? I'm not ready!"

  "Then let's get you into position," I said easily, guiding the kid by the head so he didn't fall on his face and bust his nose. "If everything is set up correctly—which it is—then all we need to do is walk calmly over to the laundry room. Remember, slow is smooth and smooth is fast. I'm sure Jeff won't come down until you are ready."

  I spoke calmly, trying to ease Neil's nerves. I needn't have bothered. The little devil's brief flash of nervousness evaporated as soon as I shoved him into our tiny utility closet. Neil darted into the room, grinning like a psychopath as he settled before the setup.

  Tucked in between the washer and the furnace sat a small bench supporting my old laptop. Its fans hummed like a tiny jet engine as a tangle of black cables snaked their way from the old machine. They went up and into a hole in the drywall, cleverly hidden from the ladies of the house with a painted cardboard flap. To complete the setup was a boom arm holding a semi-professional desk microphone floating on vibration dampening bands.

  Neil immediately crouched before the setup like a greedy gremlin. He adjusted the microphone and his fingers flew over the keys, bringing up the four camera feeds and the audio program we had meticulously devised for this exact moment. He looked up at me and mouthed: 'Live'.

  I suppressed the smile nudging at my lips and gave him a serious salute. "Good luck Mr. N."

  He grinned like a loon as I closed the door. I finally let my cheerful grin seep through as I made my way back to the festivities.

  "I want to start! Where is papa!" Tristy's shrill voice greeted me in the living room. "Uncle D! Where is papa?"

  "Probably upstairs," I replied evenly, carefully choosing my steps so as not to inadvertently trample a child. I didn't bother mentioning that I knew that Jeff was a hundred percent upstairs. After all, I'd asked him to stay there until I called.

  "Go get him!" Tristy commanded imperiously, her finger pointing stiffly toward the staircase.

  "As you wish, my lady," I bowed, drawing a round of cackling giggles from the little girls, most of which were in frilly pink dresses. I made my way to the bottom of the stairs, and called up in my gruffest voice. "Oi, Jeff! Get your butt down here! We've got cake to cut!"

  "I—mother of... Give me a second!" Jeff's voice percolated down. There was not an insignificant amount of stress in his tone. I grinned, that too was my doing.

  "We don't have a second, you tired old sod! Miss Tristy is waiting!" I replied, shooting a grin back at Tristy. She was looking at me with wide eyes. I distinctly saw her mouth 'old sod' under her breath.

  Oops.

  Ehh, I'm sure Joanne would forgive me.

  "Alright, alright! I'm coming." Jeff called down, and I heard his heavy footsteps on the creaky floorboard in front of the upstairs bathroom. I spared a glance at the tiny black speaker tucked under the banister, then retreated by my wife to watch the show.

  "What are you grinning about? Is this another one of your pranks?" Caroline whispered, leaning against me as I wrapped my arm around her waist.

  "Watch," I whispered.

  Not a moment later, Jeff's boots appeared on the top step and he took another step. The step creaked, but as soon as he touched down the speaker near his feet let loose a long protracted farting sound that brought silence to the party.

  Caroline's grip on my forearm tightened. From the look on her face, I knew she recognized Neil's 'musical talent'.

  Jeff, playing his part beautifully, took four more stairs down before pausing and ducking his head lower with a confused expression. Naturally, those four steps were followed by increasingly grotesque and loud flatulence.

  "What is that sound? Who is doing that?" Jeff asked, tilting his head dramatically. Personally, I thought he was overselling it, but I suppose the target audience were four year olds.

  Silence greeted his question before Tristy stood up and pointed at him. "You're farting!"

  A wave of shrieking giggles rippled through the preschoolers, and even Joanne's lips tilted up.

  "No I'm not!" Jeff proclaimed proudly, only for him to take another deliberate step and Neil undercut his statement. "Whaat?"

  I shook my head, Jeff was a horrible actor. Luckily, the kids didn't see it that way, shrieking and giggling and saying 'ewww' and various other things as Jeff entertained them by walking up and down the steps to 'prove' that he wasn't farting. Naturally, it didn't work and only sparked further rounds of giggling screams.

  "You set this up?" Caroline asked softly, though it wasn't really a question. Her brilliant hazel eyes looked up at me, and I couldn't help but pull her a little closer.

  "Ahuh," I responded, letting myself smirk at the devolving scene.

  "I'm glad no one got hurt this time around," Caroline said, earning an affronted pout from me. She looked around the room one more time, then gave a shallow nod. "Good job."

  I let the feeling of lazy contentment her words incited roll over me. Jeff eventually stalked down the last step, pointedly ignoring the strained wheezing now coming from the speakers, and started cutting the cake. The show was quickly forgotten as the cake was cut and the kids voraciously—and messily—ate.

  Joanne took over, giving her husband a quick peck before he withdrew next to me.

  "Did you have to have to make Neil cause an actual bathroom emergency?" Jeff gave me a mild look of exasperation. "I could have just run up there before the whole cake cutting. I doubt the kids would care."

  "Believability is important," I nodded sagely.

  "Have I ever told you that you can be a right asshole sometimes, brother?"

  "Not that I can recall, no," I replied, unable to mask my shit-eating grin.

  We fell into companionable conversation, watching the children. Jeff was predictably grouchy, but his ire shifted quickly to Neil when he joined us later with a look of unrestrained mischievous glee. That look didn't last long, and Neil shrank down like a kicked puppy, but even his father's scolding didn't keep him down long.

  "Operation Staircase is a success," Neil whispered to me.

  "Exemplary work, Mr. N," I whispered back. Neil beamed.

  Worth it.

  "Should we start the pizzas?" Caroline eventually said.

  "Looks about right," Jeff said, eyeing his wife who was leading the kids in pairs to the bathroom to wash the cake off their fingers. He turned to me. "Is the oven hot?"

  "Should be," I nodded, turning to Neil. To my surprise, a complicated look darkened his youthful features. "Didn't you turn on the oven, Neil?"

  "Uhm, yeah, uh. One sec!"

  With that, Neil sprinted away, but none of us missed the nervous look on his face.

  "What was that about?" Caroline asked.

  "Dunno, let me go see," I said, following after Neil. "We might need to delay a bit. Could you bring out the first pizza in five?"

  Caroline nodded, and I navigated the house. I traversed the small mountain of shoes and stopped before the garage door. It smelled awful in the hallway. A mix of locker room and sweaty socks and... something else. I frowned, my nose wrinkled as I paused with my hand on the door knob.

  Was that gas?

  My frown deepened as I poked my head into the utility closet, and sniffed the furnace. The sharp metallic scent filled my nostrils, but none of the faint—but distinct—scent of natural gas. Neil had left a mess with the computer and wires everywhere, but he hadn't touched the gas valve.

  I was just starting to wonder if I had imagined the smell, when I returned to the garage door, only for the smell to hit me again. Stronger this time. Much stronger. I didn't wait, ripping the door open and beheld our garage.

  The familiar concrete box greeted me. Two bicycles hanging on hooks to my left. A rough workbench with various dusty tools jammed into the two lower shelves beneath a 'mostly' clean surface. The spot where my car should have parked was empty, only revealing its purpose by the four wet depressions in the concrete still visible since yesterdays rains.

  click-click-click

  Our large brick and plaster pizza oven was embedded into the near wall. The thing was plumbed into our houses gas line, and got hot enough to cook a pie in under two minutes flat. Neil was bouncing in front of it, pushing in the lighter with more than a small amount of frustration.

  "Come on, come on, turn stupid..."

  click-click-click

  Oh and it smelled like gas. A lot of gas.

  click-click-click

  "Neil!" I barked, a tight terror closing in around my heart. He jumped, turning guiltily in fright.

  "I didn't—"

  "Don't touch anything. Come here. Quickly." My voice came out quiet and dangerous. I leaned back, sucking in a lungful of unpoisoned air and yelled back into the house. "Jeff!"

  "Uhm, the pizza..." Neil swayed in place, eyes hazy as he looked in between me and the oven.

  click-click-click

  "Don't move," I said, rescinding my previous order. I stepped quickly, but with forced calm, into the garage. My eyes watered at the smell, but I refrained from coughing my fresh air away. Neil turned back to the oven, but I grabbed him before he could do something stupid.

  I jiggled the dial and immediately saw the problem. Whatever Neil had done had jammed the thing in the open position. It was crooked, the baseplate bent just enough to make it impossible to close. I tried anyway for a half second, but when I didn't make any immediate progress, I yanked Neil into my arms and turned away.

  click-click-click

  "David? What is—Holy—!" Jeff reeled as he looked into the garage, his eyes watering as he looked from me, to the pizza oven, to the closed garage door. He reached for the button to open it—

  "Don't!" I stopped him from sending us into low earth orbit and explained. "Might spark. Turn off the mains, please. And call the police, yeah?"

  My brother blinked twice, then nodded firmly and vanished into the house. I vaguely heard him intercept someone in the hallway, as I walked firmly toward the door into the house.

  Things seemed to happen very quickly after that.

  A thousand thoughts bounced in my head in an instant. How to handle the situation. How to get Neil out of danger as quickly and safely as possible. How to keep everyone in the house safe. How to diffuse the gas without flicking any electrical switches. Not that it mattered, the damn oven with still clicking away.

  click-click-click

  I pivoted, still holding my breath as Neil clutched me with scared eyes, not understanding. I grabbed the manual override on the garage and yanked it. My feet took me to the bay door, and with one hand I yanked hard.

  My arms screamed, regretting the workout I had forced them through earlier in the day, but adrenaline gave me strength. I didn't know if opening the door would cause sparks, but it was infinitely better than allowing the gas to keep building with no escape route. I'd seen what houses looked like after a gas explosion.

  I sensed it before it happened. A small spark. Not from the slowly opening garage door, but from the faulty igniter that had so frustrated Neil. I glanced down, then back and I swear I saw the emerging fireball as if in slow motion. The garage door was only a foot open, not enough, but it had to be.

  I dove toward the foot tall gap of sunlight in the door, curling around Neil and pulling a rough squeal from the small boy as I crushed him to my chest.

  Light.

  Fire.

  Motion.

  I crashed through the garage door and oddly, felt nothing. I didn't really process the pain as wood splintered around my body, and the fireball threw me into the windshield of a car with a heavy crunch. The pressure wave hit me like a truck, bleeding my ears and causing my lungs to ripple in a way I found fascinating in the moment.

  I didn't really feel it because I was focused with all my being on Neil. The small bundle of warmth tucked in my chest. I didn't know if my efforts had succeeded. I simply hoped they had.

  I blinked, suddenly realizing that Neil was gone. I looked up, meeting my beautiful wife's tearstained hazel eyes. I reached out, and I saw her mouth move. Saying... something. I blinked again, piercing through the growing pain all over my body to focus on her soft caress on my cheek.

  "What—" I choked, coughing weakly as I reached for her. She held my hand tightly, crying and holding me and saying things I couldn't hear. I reached for her belly, for our child. I suddenly needed to know. I had to know. I looked into my wife's eyes, desperate. It seemed she understood and she said something. I tried to read her lips, but my eyes were acting funny.

  I blinked again, looking around and vaguely taking in the devastation. I must have lost time, because the gaggle of children were standing in the street. Far from the house. I spotted Neil—alive and well—and a small smile pulled up my lips. It must have looked horrible on my burned and bludgeoned face.

  I blinked a third time, and this time, when I tried opening my eyes... I couldn't.

  It felt like waking from a long slumber. That kind you don't rightly remember entering. I tried blinking, but all I saw was a deep red darkness greeting me. I felt weightless, like I was underwater, and none of my limbs were moving correct. It was warm. A deep soul nourishing heat that seeped into my very bones.

  Distantly, I heard the steady thump of a monolithic, muffled heartbeat.

  I tried moving again, and the sense of wrongness hit me. Like someone had pulled my arms and legs off and sewn them on backwards. Something different pulsed in the hollow of my throat, and I got strange kaleidoscopic impressions beamed straight into my hindbrain. My head felt funny and there was salty, bitterness coming from my parched throat.

  An interminable amount of time passed by. I latched onto the wet, muted thumping of the distant heartbeat to keep time, but inevitably, the constant drumming lulled me into sleep. Or something similar. It was hard to tell, and my head felt like it had been stuffed with wool. Scratchy, rough wool that scraped behind my eyelids in the most unpleasant manner.

  I tried moving again which amounted to no more than a pointless wiggle. Without vision, my sense of proprioception was completely shot. I had no idea where my limbs were, or if my weak movements even corresponded to the struggles I tried to convey.

  I couldn't be in a hospital, recovering from the injury after the gas explosion. Or if I was, this was the strangest situation I'd ever heard of. Doctors didn't submerge patients in liquid as a general rule. If they did—due to some medical advancement or otherwise—I would have heard of it.

  So I wasn't in a hospital, but I was probably drugged clueless. Nothing else really explained the pervasive sense of disorientation that simply wouldn't go away. Nor the exhaustion that kept bubbling up from seemingly nowhere. I'd lost an unknown amount of time to sleep. I was sure of it. I simply had no way to figure out how much.

  My—or the—heartbeat, heavy, rhythmic and muffled rose and fell. Slow and steady for long durations before pulsing rapidly for short brief bursts. It made no sense. I was here. Floating in bitter fluid. So why would it accelerate? What need did my body have for increased circulation? Why did my heartbeat sound so... distant?

  The walls closed in violently.

  I froze as it felt like my brain was being squeezed out of my eyeballs. I tried to scream. To yell, but my mouth was full of the strange brackish liquid like I had been placed in a sensory deprivation tank. No sound came out so I resorted to struggling to somehow convey to whatever person was responsible here that I was not okay with this.

  The pressure eased, but before I could relax, I was squeezed within an inch of my life once again. The cycle repeated. Painfully. I curled into a ball, somehow guiding my unresponsive, backwards limbs inwards to try and endure.

  Again and again. I vaguely felt distant nudges and movements in between the crushing waves. I floated, somehow flipping over until I couldn't tell up from down. Not that it mattered. My eyes were useless, my ears were waterlogged, and I couldn't begin to understand the sensations coming from my other senses.

  Crushing pressure, worse than all the ones before stole my nonexistent breath and I suddenly realized I wasn't breathing. I gasped, sputtered, and sucked in violently until my lungs filled with fresh, sweet, lifegiving air.

  Hallelujah!

  I immediately screamed at the top of my lungs.

  It was only then I noticed the searing bright light, extra painful after so long in the dim, red dark. Shifting blurry shapes moved around me and a morass of disorienting sounds pounded into my skull. A bitter cold speared through my body, as vicious as a popsicle brain freeze.

  There was a baby crying somewhere.

  The world moved, or rather, I was moved, flying through the air at nausea-inducing speeds until I stopped on what could only be the world's softest pillow. Warm. Smooth. Impossibly soft. Naturally, I struggled and flailed mightily.

  The world's roughest blanket scraped over my back and I distantly realized I was naked. Not anymore, I supposed. Arms cradled me from below. Huge, gigantic, enormous arms. Giant arms. The world's softest pillow was mashed into my face, or rather I realized, I was pulled up into it. Distantly, I recognized the lovely object my cheek was pressed against.

  A face hovered over me. A huge, alien, blurry face. Gray, with a faintly blue tinge. I couldn't tell if there was something wrong with my eyes, or if the face was painted. It was a creature. Holding me to her chest with an expression I couldn't fathom. She cradled me gently, making painfully familiar coos as her free hand tickled my hairline.

  I swallowed, my screams abating briefly as unwanted recognition shivered up my spine. Another creature stood beside the woman. Also looking down at me with teeth bared like it—no, he—was going to eat me.

  I froze.

  I never claimed to be the smartest cookie in the cookie jar, but I recognized this scene. How could I not? I'd dreamed of this for months. This exact thing. Sure, it had been from a different perspective—namely, from the parent's—but that didn't make it less recognizable.

  I'd just been born. Again. So... reborn. And I wasn't imagining all this. I didn't care what kind of crazy drugs existed, none could hope to match the sheer vividness of the sensations burning pathways into my brain.

  Which meant...

  Which meant...

  The thought stuttered as I frantically skimmed through my last memories. The pizza oven. The explosion. My wife's tear stained face. Caroline's face. And then, the quiet. The long period in the red-black haze. That distant heartbeat. My mother's distant heartbeat. It all made a terrible sort of sense.

  I had been reborn. To a pair of... hairless creatures with blue skin and slitted eyes.

  Which meant.

  I would never see my wife and unborn child again.

  I was not so naive as to believe there was a chance of going home. I didn't recognize the species of the creatures that sired me. Hell, I might be on a different planet entirely, or even an entirely different time period.

  There was no going home.

  I didn't even know my unborn child's gender.

  The grief hit with the breadth and force of a tsunami. So powerful I would have balked at resisting it. If I cared about resisting, that is. I didn't.

  I let it drown me.

  Lira cradled Silas to her bosom with a haggard exhaustion, rocking vainly on autopilot. Silas screamed, grief filled cries that caused Lira's mana pathways to shiver in empathetic pain. His voice, so strong mere minutes after birth, had diminished terribly. Now but a hoarse, pained cry that barely did the fat tears collecting in his large eyes justice.

  "Hush little baby, hush," Lira hummed, trying once again to guide her son's mouth to her breast. "You need to eat little one. Come on... Momma's here. There is nothing for you to worry about. I'm here..."

  She continued, trying to be as soothing as possible, but nothing helped. She'd heard about this from other mothers. Sometimes babies cried. Cried and cried and the only thing to do was to rock them until they fell asleep.

  The door to the bedroom creaked open, and Medlas poked his head in. After confirming the situation unchanged, he slowly slunk inside, his dorsal braid curled in discomfort. The coward.

  That wasn't fair. Lira shook her head, trying and failing to banish the exhaustion.

  "Any change?" Medlas asked. Whispered, really.

  "He isn't eating, Medlas," Lira swallowed heavily, pausing her attempted lullaby and staring in defeat at her distraught child. His two hands clutched at her fingers with tiny strength.

  "...Perhaps, he needs a demonstration?" Medlas said.

  Lira didn't even dignify that with a response, simply snapping her dorsal braid at how utterly idiotic of a suggestion it was. Medlas backpedaled instantly, his tail curling around her ankle in contrition.

  "Should I fetch the wise-woman again? Perhaps there is something she can do now. Perhaps, putting him to sleep forcefully? It's not good, but... It would do all of us good to rest and let the moons bring a new day."

  Lira didn't respond immediately, instead, she gently lifted Silas' chin to reveal his opalescent myliria. The fragile scales along the hollow of his throat gleamed a rainbow medley of colors, more vivid than any other alten Lira had ever met. She flared her soul core, trying to cocoon her son in her essence.

  It seemed to work for a moment. Silas' screams dulled momentarily, and his puffy little face uncrunched a little. Lira smiled down at him, curling her fingers playfully with his tiny digits. He clenched his hands clumsily, as his huge slitted eyes looked up at her innocently.

  "There, there, its okay, little one. No need to cry..." Lira crooned, leaning down and nuzzling her dorsal braid with his. He shivered, hiccupping slightly, before his eyes scrunched and he started crying again.

  Lira recoiled, unable to hide her despair as her son rejected her. It was as if he hadn't bonded at all with her. He didn't recognize her in the slightest as a source of safety and comfort. It was enough to cause her ego to wither like ashen bloom before the first frost.

  "Alright, in for a pound..." Medlas sighed. He pulled out a candle from the dresser, channelling his mana into an arcane flame atop his thumb and holding it to the wick until it caught.

  Silas froze, his cries dying as his little mouth remained adorably open.

  "Wait!" Lira straightened. "What did you do?"

  "What? I just lit the candle."

  Silas made a questioning, gurgling coo, his little mouth opening and closing rapidly.

  "Bring it here—Not so close, do you want to burn him?"

  "No, no," Medlas said, holding the candle close to Silas.

  They huddled around the flame, the little fire flickering as it lit their face in a warm orange glow. For the first time since his birth Silas was silent. He looked from the candle to Medlas and back to the candle. His little face scrunched up and a faint frustration rose up.

  "Do it again," Lira hissed, focus locked on Silas. "Light the candle again."

  Medlas dutifully blew out the flame, and reignited his finger. Silas instantly froze, his little mouth opening wide in an adorable look of shock. Lira gently caressed Silas' cheek with her dorsal braid, and then gently lifted his chin. His myliria rippled with a metallic luster, and if anything, Silas' eyes grew even wider as he looked up at her, his neck pointing toward the flame.

  "That's an arcane flame, little Silas," Lira crooned, rocking her finally calm child. "Do you like that? Can you feel the arcane flows? Yes you can, yes you can!"

  "Should I?" Medlas hesitated after lighting the candle, then let the cantrip fade away.

  "aaaaAaA?" Silas complained, his eyes blinking rapidly.

  "Light your finger again, honey," Lira murmured, an idea coming to her.

  As soon as the arcane fire returned, Silas calmed, enraptured by the flickering flows of magic. Lira lifted his little chin, helping him to look upon the magic with his myliria. Then she gently started nudging his mouth once again to her breast.

  "Drink little one. You need to drink, Silas. Don't worry, now. Your daddy is very strong. He can wave that fire around all night if he has to."

  Medlas shot her a bemused look, but she ignored it in favor of watching her newborn child. Silas seemed to hesitate, his large eyes looking surprisingly mature as he searched her expression for some hidden secret. Then, as if coming to a decision, Silas opened his mouth and latched on.

  Lira sighed in relief, utterly worn out, but utterly unwilling to move a hair's breadth in case it jostled the hard won peace. Medlas leaned against her shoulder, calmly waving his burning finger before Silas' rippling myliria. His iridescent scales really were brilliantly saturated. He would make a marvelous mage. Lira was sure of it.

  "How long do you think..." Medlas trailed off, as Silas' hungry suckling relaxed into a deep sleep. "I guess that long." He finished, dismissing the flame, and leaning back in the bed.

  "He barely ate anything though," Lira bit her lip, new worry flaring in her gut.

  "I'm sure he will drink plenty more in the morning. Come Lira, let us sleep."

  "But what if he doesn't develop right because he didn't drink enough? Maybe we should wake him and get him to drink a little more?"

  "I—don't know," Medlas admitted slowly.

  "Then we should..." Lira said. She didn't move though. Just the thought of trying to get Silas to go back to sleep felt like a capital crime.

  "Well, if he was truly hungry," Medlas started, putting his hand on Lira's shoulder. "Then I'm sure he will wake by himself."

  "He will, won't he," Lira repeated, as if trying to convince herself.

  "You know of the advice from the other villagers. I'm sure that Silas won't be scared of waking us up in the middle of the night if he is hungry."

  "This is going to be really hard, isn't it," Lira smiled softly, allowing Medlas to pull her back into the sheets. Silas remained blissfully limp in her arms.

  "We'll manage, goodnight Lira. Goodnight little Silas. Have mercy on us, okay?"

  "Goodnight Medlas," Lira chuckled, wrapping her dorsal braid with Medlas' as she closed her eyes. "Sleep tight, Silas."