​The cottage floors were made of rough-hewn timber, partially hidden by thick, braided rugs. 

Soft light filtered through round windows framed in stone, brightening the white curtains that swayed in the breeze. 

The flagstone walls curved gently to mimic the surrounding nature, leading the eye toward elegant, arched doorways.

​Zorn stepped through the entrance with his group, following close behind the man. The old wood creaked softly beneath his boots.

​“Watch your head. The archway isn’t that tall,” the man chuckled.

​The ceiling was low, but it didn't feel suffocating. It felt more like a warm hug than something smothering. 

Zorn scanned the room, his eyes widening. This place was definitely larger than a regular cottage.

​I'm assuming all those children I saw earlier live here, too.

​His gaze drifted to the hearth. It looked like the true heart of the home, built from massive stones and stained with the soot of a thousand fires. 

A copper kettle hung over the dancing flames, steam already beginning to rise. 

Cecelia sat on a nearby bench, her knitting needles clicking rhythmically as she waited.

​Across from her stood a large, comfortable armchair with a patchwork quilt draped over the backrest. Inside the seat, another child was curled up, fast asleep.

​“Take a seat anywhere you like. We don't really have designated areas,” the man said. 

He walked over to the armchair and gently pulled the quilt down, tucking it around the sleeping child with a small smile.

​Zorn took a seat at the rustic dining table in the kitchen. 

He couldn't help but eye the heavy throws on the furniture, the various family portraits, and the rows of mismatched pots and pans hanging from the walls.

​Ángel joined him, though an awkward expression was plastered across his face.

​“What's wrong?” Zorn whispered.

​“I hate having to be formal. It's so weird,” Ángel replied, dropping his head into his hands.

​“Dude, it's not that serious. Besides, this place is huge for a cottage.” Zorn looked around again, his curiosity piqued. “There are even stairs to a second floor.”

​“The guy just has a lot of kids,” Ángel shrugged.

​“I wonder why,” Zorn whispered. “Some of them don't even look related to the couple at all.”

​“Because they are rescued,” the man's voice chimed in.

​Zorn and Ángel stiffened, slowly turning their heads. The man stood there with his arms crossed. 

He sighed and took a seat at the table with them, clasping his hands together.

​“My wife and I foster these children until they grow up. They usually leave after they get married, but I treat them as my own regardless.”

​“Oh, that makes sense. So, what is your name?” Zorn asked.

​“My name is Gael, and my wife's name is Cecelia,” he said with a soft smile.

​“You and your wife have pretty names,” Ángel added gently.

​“Thank you!”

​Nearby, Mossiah watched Khor and Donal take their spots by Cecelia at the hearth. 

He eventually turned away, heading toward the kitchen area. Gael looked up, spotting him immediately.

​Mossiah looked away, clearly embarrassed by his earlier behavior. 

“I'm sorry for how I acted before.”

​Gael smiled back at him. 

“It's no problem.”

​Then, Gael’s expression shifted. His eyes grew a little sad as he looked down. 

“But to answer your question from earlier... yes, I am a wisp. May I ask why you wanted to know that?”

​Mossiah froze. He slowly stepped forward, his hands shaking at his sides. 

“Did... did you have a son?”

​Gael's eyes widened. At the hearth, Cecelia’s needles went silent. She froze mid-stitch.

​Donal noticed her hands trembling and glanced back at Khor. 

Khor raised an eyebrow, looking back with equal confusion. 

Deep sadness began to swell in Cecelia’s eyes.

​“Yes, we had one biological son,” Gael responded softly. “Why? How could you have guessed that?”

​Ángel and Zorn turned to look at Mossiah, waiting for an explanation.

​“You see...”

​Before Mossiah could finish, a soft sob cut through the room. He shifted his gaze toward the hearth. Cecelia was crying, her head bowed as Donal rubbed her back.

​Gael heard the sobs and his expression hardened. 

“If you don't mind, I would prefer to drop this topic.”

​“But I...”

​“End of discussion!”

​The cottage fell deathly quiet. The air felt heavy, almost thick enough to choke on. 

Zorn couldn't help but feel a hint of guilt for the family.

​“Dude, you're acting like a jerk right now,” Ángel whispered to Mossiah.

​Mossiah sighed, his gaze casting down to the timber floors. The light from the window glared off his glasses, hiding his eyes.

“My apologies,” he said softly.

​“No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have yelled like that,” Gael said, his voice regaining its gentle edge.

​“You have every right to feel frustrated,” Zorn said. “It's annoying when people pry despite how much it hurts.” He shot a pointed glare at Mossiah.

​Mossiah lowered his head further. 

“You're right. I overstepped. I'm sorry.”

​Gael glanced over his shoulder toward the hearth room. 

“I value my wife and children's comfort over everything else. I won't talk about something if it hurts them. We can continue this some other time.”

​“I understand,” Mossiah responded.

​The copper kettle began to whistle. Cecelia grabbed a metal, hooked rod and lifted the kettle from the wire over the fire. She carried it over and placed it onto the rustic kitchen table.

​“Are you okay, dear?” Gael asked softly.

​“Yes, I'm fine. It's nothing,” she said, her voice small as she began to set the tea.

​The pot and cups were made of fine white bone china, decorated with delicate blue floral paintings. 

She poured the steaming water into the teapot. 

Gael watched her with a lingering look of worry.

​She managed a smile for him and the others. “I hope you all enjoy it. This was my mother's recipe. It's called Fairywood Chai.”

​Her voice seemed to instantly clear the heavy air, leaving a warm, comforting feeling in everyone's chest.

​Suddenly, the little girl from earlier burst through the door. “Mommy! Daddy! I saw a big horse flying–”

​She stopped in her tracks, seeing the strangers in her home. Then, her eyes landed on Zorn. She remembered how he had waved and smiled at her before.

​“That's the boy from the flying horse!” she shouted.

​“Claire, remember what I said about inside voices?” Gael said in a playful tone.

​Claire quickly clamped her hands over her mouth.

​It suddenly dawned on Zorn that he had been rude. “I haven't introduced myself yet!” He turned to the little girl. “Hi! I'm Zorn!”

​“Hi Zorn! I'm Claire! Mommy calls me Eclair because I love sweets!” She flashed a wide grin, missing a few teeth. Zorn laughed softly at the sight.

​“Zorn?” Gael asked, his voice dropping to a whisper.

​Zorn looked back at him. 

“Yeah! I'm...”

​“The Star Soul, Antares?” Gael finished.

​Zorn's eyes widened in shock. 

Donal and Khor both snapped their heads toward Gael.

​How does he know?! they thought simultaneously.

​Ángel stared at Zorn, his mouth agape. 

He’s like my brother?! I thought he was just skilled in magic or something!

​Mossiah was the only one who didn't react with surprise. Instead, he simply stared at Gael with a knowing, heavy gaze.

​Zorn felt a cold shiver of worry.

​How does he know who I am?