Dragging my feet toward the silhouette of our family home, I felt the stir of magic flow within me, replenishing my reserves. I was stabilizing, no longer on the brink of collapse, but the strength returning to my body couldn't chase away the dread that had burrowed deep into my bones. Anticipating my parents' disappointment was like standing at the edge of a vast darkness, waiting for it to consume me. Their words had always cut deeper than any physical punishment could; each measured sentence was a lash that left unseen scars.
The garden, bathed in the realm's dusky glow, lost its charm and felt like a prelude to an inevitable trial. Our family's three-headed dog, KyGerNi, barks, shattering the evening stillness, signaling our arrival.
"Great," I muttered, the word a puff of vapor in the cooling air. "Announce to the world, why don't you?"
Julie's voice cut through the tension, as soothing as a lullaby. "We are in this together, remember?"
I drew in a shaky breath, her solidarity a small light in the thickening gloom, and nodded. Together, we made our way up the walkway, the crunch of gravel underfoot a countdown to the moment of truth.
As I opened the door, KyGerNi let out a final trio of barks and made way for us to enter, his three heads moving in sync, a dance of curiosity and caution. Silvia the owlcat received a delicate sniff from the leftmost head. The other two heads were equally investigative, their noses brushing against Jake, Julie, and myself, picking up the remnants of the day's tumult.
From the kitchen, the parents stepped into view. Mom's face was a canvas of warm smiles and maternal love, a sight that usually brought comfort. "Hello, Kids! I wasn't expecting you to..." Her voice trailed off as her gaze fell upon mine and Jake's battered forms; the smile wilted like a flower in frost.
The room seemed to hold its breath as Mom's eyes flicked to me. "What happened?" she demanded, her voice hard as steel.
Words tumbled out in a rush, my explanation a clumsy patchwork of truths. Mom listened, her expression unreadable, her hand finding its way to my forehead. "Sit in the foyer on the chairs. I'll be back in a second," she instructed, almost warmly.
Dad stood there silently, arms crossed as if to hold back a tide of further questions. We obeyed, the three of us sinking into the foyer chairs.
KyGerNi sat accross from us. After a few seconds, it zeroed in on Julie. Julie smiled and squared as the Cerberus scooched forward, closer and closer, till Julie petted its snouts one by one. Jake and I exchanged smiles.
"Do you have proof of your story?" Dad's voice cut through the quiet moments, his words precise, each one landing with the weight of judgment.
My head shook of its own accord. "No, Dad. It just happened. The dryads witnessed it. And Mr. Weavlin was there too," I added, hoping the names would lend credence to our account.
"Okay," he replied, a single word before retreating to the kitchen.
The quiet clink of metal and glass heralded Mom's return, her medical bag clasped in one hand as she rummaged inside with her other. "John, did you deplete your mana?" she inquired, her voice a blend of professional concern and maternal care.
I nodded, a twinge of embarrassment in my admission. "Yeah, but I'm already on the mend."
Without a word, she handed me a vial, the liquid inside shimmering with contained energy. "Take this," she commanded. I recognized the tone—not up for debate. The mana potion passed my lips, cold and sweet, a rush of vitality flooding my veins.
Her focus shifted to Julie, whose tears slowly rolled down her cheeks as she kept petting KyGerNi. Mom stretched out her hand and wiped the tears, cupping Jullie's cheek in her hand. "Oh, my dear, you're okay. I'm not angry, only worried." The softness in her words coaxed Julie to sniffle hard and give a half-hearted smile. Mom knelt, her arms open, and Julie folded into the embrace, her sniffles muffled by Mom's shoulder. "Are you hurt anywhere?" Mom whispered, her lips pressing a maternal seal of protection upon Julie's forehead.
A shake of the head was Julie's silent reply, her voice a fragile wisp. "No...Jake and John protected me...I was just scared."
She gave me a proud look before her attention turned to Jake, who sat stoically, his bruises on full color by this point. I didn't even notice he was punched. "You're certainly hurt. Where does it pain you the most?" Mom's hands were deft, her medical wand dancing as wisps of soft light emanated from the tip, skimming over Jake's frame, illuminating his wounds in an ethereal glow even through his clothing.
The wand paused over each area marked by the glow, the damage to his hands, face, and torso, and subtle flickers indicating deeper aches from magic missile hits on his legs. "Brace yourself," she warned, her brow creasing with concern. "This may sting."
As she worked, I felt a vicarious twinge for each wound that closed, each bruise that lightened. Yet Jake sat firm against the discomfort, not letting out a peep. When the final glow faded, I exhaled a breath I didn't know he was holding in. "Was that it?" he asked, his voice steady.
A smile, soft and proud, curved Mom's lips. "That's it, Jake. You were very brave and strong." Her eyes brimming with unspoken emotions. Her gaze seemed to linger on Jake.
With a sigh, she turned to me and Julie. "Dinner is ready. Shall we?" she waved for us to follow her.
We entered the kitchen to the savory scent of dinner, but my stomach was a battleground of nerves and hunger. Dad set aside his book, his gaze locking onto Jake and me with practiced scrutiny. "All patched up?" he asked, his voice a low timbre of relief and concern.
We nodded in unison, and I could sense the subtle relaxation in his posture. "Good," he said, his attention shifting to accountability. "The names of those who ambushed you—are they known?"
Jake and I glanced at each other. "No," I admitted, the words leaving a sour taste. "But they're in Mr. Weavlin's hands now. He said he was going to stop by with paperwork as well."
Dad's eyebrow arched, a silent nod to the trusted figure's competence. To my shock, he didn't push or press the conversation.
Mom distributed plates with an artisan's precision, each dish mouthwatering in its looks and smell. "Thank you," we echoed, our voices a chorus of appreciation tinged with the day's exhaustion. Julie gawked at KyGerNi and Silvia sitting at their usual spots at the table.
The conversation hung suspended, our collective physical and emotional fatigue muting the usual familial banter. Each bite helped smother the emotions of the attack.
From the corner of the table, Silvia's soft growl cut through the silence. "No, Silvy," Mom chided with a mixture of sternness and care, "you must mind your diet—it's breeding season."
Silvia retorted with a hiss, her feathers ruffling in defiance. "Silvia! Manners," Mom snapped back, her tone iron wrapped in velvet. "The hormones are no excuse for rudeness."
A snicker escaped Julie, and Silvia, in a flourish of rebellion, took to the air. With the precision of a practiced thief, she nabbed a juicy morsel from KyGerNi's plate and ascended to her sanctuary of a perch near the ceiling, triumphant, and untouchable.
Mom's outcry, "Oh! You little rascal!" merged with KyGerNi's barks and whines—a symphony of chaos that oddly lightened my heart.
The dog, seeking solace, lumbered over to Julie. As she stroked his head, they encircled her in an embrace of furry comfort. Jake and I looked at each other and cracked up, hiding behind our cups of juice. I glanced at Dad, who was barely smirking with practiced constraint.
"Uncle Zepher, I think Julie turned to Dad. "Uncle Zepher, I think KyGerNi wants some more food. Can you get him some more?"
Amusement danced in Dad's eyes as he watched KyGerNi's antics. "Julie, I think our three-headed friend has had plenty," he chuckled, but his laughter was met with a low, rumbling protest from one of KyGerNi's heads, each growl a wordless but emphatic plea.
"Alright, alright," Dad conceded with a mock sigh, "for the sake of fairness—and peace—I'll grant him a treat post-dinner." His words were the trigger for KyGerNi's burst of joy, a loud yelp echoing off the kitchen walls as he bounded to Dad's side, his trio of tails a blur of excitement.
Dad's stern "After dinner!" was enough to send KyGerNi back to his spot, his three heads drooping in a pantomime of dejection.
The light-hearted scene gave me the opening I needed. Glancing at Jake for courage, I said, "Mom?" She turned to me from staring daggers at Silvia. A small smile of encouragement got me to continue. "Dad must have told you about our visit's purpose."
I guess my non-question was the best thing I could muster.
She nodded, her expression turning solemn, the twinkle in her eye replaced by the gravity of our situation. "I'm aware, John," she said softly, her hand raised as if to physically hold the weight of our questions at bay. "Your father has been forthright with you. However, I implore you, all of you, to grant us a little more time. You're owed the truth, but it's a truth that should come from all of us together. So, please, hold onto your patience until tomorrow."
The skepticism must have been clear on my face as I asked, "And what's tomorrow?"
Dad's voice held a steadiness that I was learning to associate with important revelations. "Fraya and Paul will join us around noon," he informed us.
A collective sigh seemed to escape Jake, Julie, and me, the waiting game a familiar and frustrating process.
The glance Jake and Julie shared was charged with a silent conversation, their sibling synchronicity. "Uh-oh..." My parents offered us smiles that felt a bit too practiced. "Don't worry," Mom's voice was a soothing balm, but it barely masked the undercurrent of her own concern. "Everything is okay. No one is angry. Everything is fine. Everything is okay."
We exhaled in a chorus, a symphony of resignation. I was far from convinced, the itch for answers gnawing at me, but the united front of my parents was an immovable force. "Okay," I echoed, the word leaving my lips with a heaviness I couldn't disguise.
As we returned to our meal, the silence that enveloped the table was thick, punctuated only by the clink of cutlery against plates. I was on the verge of excusing myself and escaping the intensity of this quiet when KyGerNi's sudden bark cut through the stillness, sharp and alert. I looked as the three heads looked to the front of the property.
Dad rose from his chair with ease, pulling his wand, activating a spell, and putting it away. "Tax is here," he said, a note of surprise coloring his tone as he moved towards the front door with Mom.
Apprehension coiled tightly within me, mirrored in Jake and Julie's wide-eyed stares. Our collective breath seemed to hold, suspended in the air, as the door swung open to reveal Mr. Tax Weavelin.
Jake, Julie, and I followed Mom and Dad. Julie hid behind us.
Mom offered a smile, "Good evening, Tax. Would you like some food or a drink?"
"No, thank you, Beatrice," Mr. Weavelin's response was tinged with the formality of his role, his usual ease with our family stripped away by duty. "I'm here on official business." The discomfort was clear in his posture.
I caught Jake's eye, his expression a mirror of my internal squall. He wasn't as scared as before of Mr. Weavelin. Julie peaked out from behind us.
Mr. Weavelin produced an envelope, "Here is an official citation for the three young ones. The citation is for light disturbance in the dryad forest." He extended it to Dad.
Dad's response was immediate, his usual protectiveness replaced with a practicality that felt cold. "John and Jake are of legal age." He gracefully gestured towards me. He smiled as we caught each other eyes. I felt the sting of betrayal, but the reality of my adulthood forced me to deal with the consequences..
Mr. Weavelin's eight eyes shifted apologetically between Jake and me. "Sorry, happy birthday... and sorry," he stumbled over the words, his discomfort palpable as he took a tentative few steps towards me, handing over the envelope.
With a sigh, I unfolded the citation. Mr. Weavelin explained the bureaucratic prose: "You are ordered as a civilian summons for community service. An hour each, and ensure a signature from the dryad matriarch. Your passports are flagged; departure is barred without that signature cleared at the constabulary office."
His gaze drifted to the floor, then swept the room, nodding apologetically to Jake and Julie and then looking at the parents. "Sorry... And Zepher, the minimum punishment was necessary."
Dad smiled. "My friend. You are a constable. The appropriate punishment is the minimum punishment. But thank you for being merciful to us."
The paper in my hands felt heavier than it looked. I looked at Jake, who finally broke his look at Mr. Weavelin and looked at the paper.
The more I stared at the paper, the less I figured out what it said. I blinked and tried to re-read it.
As the silence stretched thin, my father's voice broke through, "Son, do you want me to take a look?" His hand outstretched, smirk on his face. Handing him the citation, my heart's drumbeat pulsed in my ears.
Dad's eyes met Mr. Weavelin's, and there was a warmth there. "Tax, relax," he said, the smile reaching his eyes. "Our friendship isn't in jeopardy." He scanned the document with a practiced eye. "Everything seems fair, legal, and correct."
I nodded, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly. I unclenched my fists and released a breath I was holding. "So we go there tomorrow, help out, and this will go away?" My voice cracked with a tremor, seeking confirmation.
"Yes," Dad affirmed, returning the paper. "This is a non-recordable offense, just a community offense. Everything will be fine."
Mr. Weavelin's sigh was a tangible release of pent-up concern. "Thank you, Zepher, for understanding. I really didn't want to ruin our friendship."
Dad's laughter was a soft rumble. "Don't worry. The value of taking responsibility for mistakes is not lost on us."
Mom questioned with a fire in her eyes, "What about the attackers on John and Jake and Julie?"
The room's atmosphere tightened once more around Mr. Weavelin's, his pointy teeth visible with his grimace. "They are detained and will face the tribunal tomorrow. The night witch doctor has tended to them. No permanent damage. Though 2 of the Geganous's hands and the noses of the sayers are gonna hurt for a while." he informed us, his voice firm, adding in a mumble, "Good thing the idiots didn't kill themselves with those illegal wands..."
His grimace softened to a smile of needle teeth as he turned to point at Jake and Me. I noticed Jake recoiled slightly at the gesture. "These two did well to defend themselves without causing undue harm. That's extra impressive for this non-magical young man." He tapped Jakes's shoulder, making him jump even more.
Mr. Weavelin stepped back and nodded to Dad. "I should go. I'm on duty today. Then I have to get home on time, or My Misses will give me a reason to visit Beatrice in the clinic."
Dad opened the door, letting Mr. Weavelin leave, and turned to me and Jake with a smile.
Mom walked up and gave him a side hug, looking at us with warmth and pride. "Good job, boys. Good job being good people. I'm proud of you," Mom said. I noticed a quiver of her lip and a dark flash in her eyes.
I glanced at Jake. He was looking at the floor, avoiding Mom and Dad's eyes.
Julie's eyes darted between all of us. Her eyes also dropped to the floor as she whispered, "This was my fault."
The maternal grace with which Mom moved toward her, kneeling to wrap Julie in a protective embrace, was as fluid as it was comforting. "No, dear," she assured, her voice firm yet gentle. "No matter what is going on, you're having magic and needing your family's help, which isn't your fault in any way, shape, or form." Dad's nod was a silent echo of solidarity.
Julie's response was muffled, snuffling against Mom's shoulder, "Thanks, Auntie Bea."
Mom's gaze swept over us, her eyes soft. "Okay, I know you had a long and hard day. But try to rest and get some sleep," she urged. "I'll get the guest bedrooms settled for you."
Julie tugged on Mom's arm. "Auntie Bea, can we camp out in John's room?"
Mom glanced at me, and Jake was confused, "We have guest bedrooms. You don't need to cram into one room," Mom replied, her brow furrowed in mild confusion as she looked down at Julie, taking her hand.
I glanced at Jake. I wonder why she wanted that? Jake looked like he was understanding.
Julie looked at the floor at Jake's feet. In a whisper, "I'm afraid of losing my brother..."
Mom's head whipped to look at me and Jake. A flash of pain and the verge of tears appeared for a split second on her face. "I understand," she conceded with a sigh. "I'll go get a couple of beds."
I led Jake and Julie into my room. As I stepped across the threshold, I poured a sliver of magic into the light crystals set into the walls, creating a warm glow that filled the room with a comforting ambiance. The room was easily twice as large as I needed for myself.
In fact, it is easily spacious enough that even with two extra beds, there would still be plenty of space to move around. On the left, my bookshelf stood tall, its shelves a chaotic mix of books and trinkets. Scrolls and spellbooks nestled against school texts, with a few dog-eared fantasy novels trying their hardest to stay upright, its spine cracked from being well-loved and well-read.
Turning slightly, I surveyed my desk, where my life's work lay scattered. Notebooks brimming with notes on spells and history. Above the desk, a collection of medals and awards caught the faint light, each one a reminder of the achievements I and my parents pushed me to reach.
Next to them, photographs and enchanted paintings adorned the wall. One painting of a forest glade seemed alive, its leaves rustling in a breeze that did not touch this room. It always brought me a sense of peace. It was from the Dragon's Glades Realm. I did my senior project there.
Mom walked through the door and handed over two bag-o-beds. "John, please set this up. And if you need extra blankets or anything, you know where they are," she instructed, her voice full of warmth of motherly care.
"Thank you for dinner, Mom. I'll set this up," She smiled at us and walked away.
Jake and Julie echoed in unison, "Thank you, Auntie Bea!"
I placed the bag-o-beds side by side, roughly in the correct position on the floor. With a flick of my wrist and a bit of manna, the beds unfolded themselves, guided by nudges here and there to prevent them from bumping into the stuff in the room. They expanded, whisper-quiet. I shook the bags out, and pillows and blankets fell out, puffing out as if coming to life at my command.
"Alright, that should do it," I said once the last blanket was smoothed out.
"Thanks, John," Julie murmured. She was looking down at the floor. "Sorry for imposing..." she trailed off.
"Don't worry about it," I reassured her. "We'll get through this together. And it's not like we lack the space."
Julie looked up at me with tears. "I'm so afraid to lose my family."