At one year old, the pressure to walk was immense—both from developing muscles and from two impatient souls.

  AZRAEL: “Balance is the key. A pillar of light is unbending. We shall stand tall.”

  MAMMON: “WHO NEEDS BALANCE? MOMENTUM! CRASH AND BURN! IT’LL BE FUN!”

  IRIS: “Activating motor-skill synchronization subroutines. Preparing for catastrophic failure.”

  Lyria and Elandril stood a few feet apart, encouraging their daughter. Kaelin, holding onto a low stool, glared at the space between them with intense, pupil-less focus.

  Inside, it was a launch sequence.

  AZRAEL: “Tensing quadriceps. Aligning spine.”

  MAMMON: “IGNITION! LEGS, GOOOO!”

  IRIS: “Override! Compensating for uneven thrust!”

  Kaelin launched herself forward. For one glorious, wobbling second, she was upright and moving. Then Azrael panicked and locked the knees. Mammon tried to force a sprint. The legs tangled. Kaelin pitched forward, not like a falling tree, but like a sack of potatoes launched from a catapult.

  She face-planted into the rug with a soft thump.

  Silence.

  Then, a muffled sound.

  MAMMON (internally, laughing): “WHEEEEE! AGAIN!”

  AZRAEL: “We have failed! We have desecrated the sacred act of ambulation!”

  A small hand lifted, giving a wobbly thumbs-up. It was Mammon’s doing. Elandril snorted with laughter. Lyria rushed to pick her up, checking for injuries, but Kaelin was already squirming to be put down, ready to fail again.

  Toddler emotions were nuclear, and having two emotionally stunted male entities in charge meant meltdowns were spectacular.

  The trigger was often simple: denied a second honey-cake, or a toy taken away for cleaning.

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  AZRAEL: “This displeasure is immense! We must channel it into a righteous, controlled protest!”

  MAMMON: “SCREAM! KICK! FLAIL! MAKE THE WORLD SUFFER WITH US!”

  IRIS: “Emotional dampeners at maximum. Overload imminent. Initiating ‘Biophysical Distraction Protocol’… now.”

  Kaelin’s body would stiffen. Her twilight skin would flush a deeper violet. A high-pitched wail of angelic purity would emanate from her, which would then distort mid-cry into a guttural, demonic roar of frustration. She’d throw herself backwards, but Azrael would seize control mid-fall to attempt a graceful collapse, resulting in a clumsy, spinning flop onto her side. Tears of holy sorrow (left eye) and tears of infernal rage (right eye) streamed down her face.

  It was horrifying and hilarious. The village children started calling her “Storm-in-a-Diaper.”

  Another exiled soul, in a manner of speaking, entered her life. A grumpy, one-eared forest cat named Soot took a liking to the warm, chaotic energy radiating from Kaelin. He’d curl up near her during naps.

  MAMMON: “FURRY THING! IS IT EDIBLE? IS IT A PET? I WANT TO POKE IT!”

  AZRAEL: “A creature of instinct. Observe its serene grace. We shall meditate alongside it.”

  IRIS: “Species: Feline. Threat level: Low. Potential benefit: Stress reduction.”

  Kaelin’s approach to petting was, predictably, inconsistent. Her hand would descend gently (Azrael), then twitch and grab a fistful of fur (Mammon), then instantly release and pat apologetically (Azrael again, overridden by IRIS’s “pain empathy” simulation). Soot, remarkably tolerant, just purred louder, as if amused by the internal battle.

  It was the closest thing to a peaceful, mutual interaction Kaelin had managed.

  Holding onto Soot for balance, Kaelin took three shaky, solo steps across the room before tumbling into a basket of laundry. It was declared a victory by her parents.

  That night, huddled with Soot, the internal dynamic had shifted minutely.

  AZRAEL: “The feline’s contentment is… contagious. A lesson in simple being.”

  MAMMON: “ITS BRAIN IS TINY. IT ONLY THINKS ABOUT FOOD, SLEEP, AND WARM SPOTS. I RESPECT THAT.”

  IRIS: “Logging: First external social bond formed. Non-verbal. Mutually beneficial. Model for future interactions? Possibly. Cat remains an enigma.”