“You ready to come out too, Momo?” Lamis asked. She had an orange towel in her hands, the same as the blue one Icelus now wore. “We have towels for Deimos and Perses too.”

“Mmhm!” Moros climbed out of the tub with Lamis’s help and the towel wrapped around him. He nestled into it with a churr before Lamis folded him into her arms as well. Moros melted into the cradle of his mama, head resting on her shoulder. 

“I like baths.”

“Good.” She kissed the top of his head. “You can have as many as you want. You’ll be the squeakiest cleanest little dragon in the whole house!”

Moros wiggled closer to her. “Does that mean I’ll smell like fire like you do?”

His mama bundled him against her shoulder, carrying him out of the bathroom. “Do I smell like fire?”

Moros snuffled on her, giggling as her feathers tickled his nose. “Yeah, I think so. But without the chemicals part.”

She hummed, swaying as she carried him towards the living room. “I have a lot of fire inside of me. Not everyone has a good enough nose to smell it like you do, though. I think that means you’ll have lots of fire inside of you too, or something close maybe.” She nuzzled his head. “My little sunshine baby.”

Moros let his eyes close against the attention. “Fire like how you made things all floaty?”

“Yeah.” She combed her claws over his head, settling into the squashy cloud chair across from the couch. Her fingers wiggled, and tiny sparks of flame danced between her fingers. “People’s mystics take different shapes depending on the kind of person they are. Mine’s fire. And I studied a lot to become a Mystic Master, so I can make my fire do a lot more than burning, like making things fun and floaty.”

“Mystics…” Moros snuggled against her chest, watching the flame in fascination. “Is that the magic?” They were supposed to be magic. They weren’t, though. Moros didn’t have a flame like Lamis.

“Some people call it magic, yeah. Humans sometimes have it, but fae like us are born in mystics. It flows through us all, even if most people never figure out how to use it.”

“Is there a secret to use it?” Moros asked, his tail winding around her leg.

Lamis laughed, rubbing the towel over his head. “It’s not a secret. Different families have different kinds of mystics though, and different stories that help them find the mystics inside of them. Your grandpa Orestes calls what we do necromancy, but I don’t think it’s as weird as the bone dancers who raise up ghouls in the graveyards. Besides, all of our family ghosts are really nice!”

Moros blinked. “Ghosts? How do stories help with mag– mystics?”

“The stories help you understand how your ancestors thought, and who they were.” She combed over and over Moros’s feathered crest with her claws. “And we came from them. So understanding them helps us to understand ourselves.”

Moros leaned into her touch, eyes struggling not to close against the soothing motion. “What’s our family’s stories?”

Lamis leaned back into the cushions, humming. “We have a lot. Your uncle Pom has scrolls and scrolls of family stories. Want me to tell you my favorite one?”

“Yeah.”

“It’s about how little fish can turn into powerful dragons.” Lamis nuzzled his head. “Once upon a time, a little fish lived in a river with its family…”

…