After weeks filled with news of unrest, crises, and looming threats, the world finally offered a reprieve: a simple night, devoid of ceremonies and politics, just family gathered together, warming each other's hearts in a small circle that was never truly whole—but always full of love.
In the main dining room of the palace, a large table was filled with the aroma of home-cooked meals: spiral root soup made by Oda, cheese and mushroom stuffed toast from Rinoa, garden-fresh vegetable salad from Joanna, and small layered cakes made with manastone by Iris—who was now heavily pregnant. Fitran had set the plates and glasses, his hands deft but often interrupted by misplaced spoons. The soft flicker of candles on the table added to the warm atmosphere, while gentle shadows danced on the walls, creating an intimate ambiance that was deeply missed.
Joanna (chuckling): “Dad, why is the soup bowl being used for water?”
Fitran (confused, then laughing): “I forgot, Jo. The last time we ate together like this, the table was still half empty.”
In the corner of the table, Iris smiled, adding a brief funny story about past culinary experiences. "Remember when we tried to make pizza and it turned into pancakes?" she said, her eyes sparkling with joy. Iris rubbed her belly, and everyone laughed, creating a warm sense of closeness. Oda ladled soup for everyone, the warm broth aroma filling the air, inviting more appetite, and laughter erupted from one end of the table to the other. There were no palace formalities tonight. Just family, joking about burnt dishes, overly salty bread, and how Fitran always failed to crack eggs properly. Rinoa, with a wide smile, poured a little wine into everyone's glasses, "Let's toast to this togetherness," she said, her voice soft yet full of warmth.
Oda: “When was the last time we ate without the sound of the Council's knocking or glyph alarms?”
The aroma of soup wafted, filling the room with warmth. Each spoonful added to the joy at the table, prompting Oda to add, “This taste reminds me of my childhood, when we gathered in Grandma's kitchen.”
Rinoa: “Don’t speak too soon. The world loves to throw surprises, but tonight… I want to be a wife and mother, not a queen.”
She gazed at the happiness on Fitran and Joanna's faces, feeling the spirit that bound them like an unbroken thread of warmth. The room became warm not just because of the food, but also because of the genuine love present.
Joanna (looking at Fitran and Rinoa): “You know, sometimes I’m afraid to sit here. I fear that happiness like this is just a fleeting visit.”
The room fell silent, everyone feeling the depth of that fear. The warm embrace between Rinoa and Joanna provided comfort, promising that they would support each other, no matter what lay ahead.
Fitran (touching Joanna's shoulder): “Happiness isn’t a gift, Jo. It grows from the courage to sit together, even when the world outside isn’t fully healed.”
He smiled gently, trying to wipe away the worry on Joanna's face with a look full of assurance. The game of identity continued, and everyone at the table felt a deeper bond.
Laughter erupted again when Iris compared her baby's kicks to spiral magic. “She’s going to be the guardian of the spiral!” Oda quipped, and they toasted with manastone water—not to victory, but to togetherness.
Their laughter blended, adding sweetness to the candlelit night. Iris felt her baby's heartbeat, as if becoming part of the eternal melody of happiness. That moment, simple yet precious, became a new thread of memories they would cherish forever.
Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
After dinner, they moved to the living room. The warm atmosphere filled the space, with soft light from the hanging lamps creating a cozy vibe. Rinoa picked up an old guitar, Joanna sang, and Fitran shared stories from the past: nights of war, the fear of loss, and the little miracles that once saved their lives.
As Rinoa's melodious voice flowed, Joanna felt a vibration in her heart. Sweet memories of her childhood with Jeanne never faded. She smiled, even as tears welled in the corners of her eyes.
Joanna: “Dad, you know, I always wanted to hug Jeanne when I was sad. But now, I want to cry in the embrace of family. Mom (Sheena) used to say, if you want to cry, cry in the arms of those who won’t leave.”
Iris wiped Joanna's tears, Oda embraced them, feeling how important this moment was. Meanwhile, Rinoa continued her song about a new dawn—about the promise of a slowly changing world, where every wound gradually received a name, and every name could heal. The soft sound of the guitar felt like a hug, making the environment more intimate, warm, and full of hope.
Fitran: “I used to think a father's job was just to protect, provide, and fix doors. But sometimes a father's job… is just to be silent, listen, and be a home to return to.”
Fitran looked at his children's faces with love, feeling that in that silence lay an unspoken strength. He remembered the tough times they had gone through together, weathering storms with the same strength. Everyone fell silent for a moment, absorbing those words, as if encapsulating all the hopes and safe places they sought in this togetherness.
For the first time in a long while, they played family games:
Guess the spiral drawing on paper.
A relay of funny stories: each person added one sentence until the story ended up chaotic.
A race to see who could peel an apple the fastest without breaking the skin.
Laughter and joy filled the room. Joanna and Oda won the story contest, and Fitran finally managed to peel a whole apple—thanks to a little help from Iris's magic, who pretended not to know. Rinoa laughed at the expression on Fitran's face as he concentrated on peeling the apple, his tongue sticking out slightly, making him look funny and sweet.
As laughter and cheerful voices spread around, the fresh, sweet aroma of apples began to waft, making the moment even warmer. Joanna unconsciously held Oda's hand, exchanging smiles, reminiscing about their childhood. Both felt the closeness and warmth that brought back beautiful memories of family.
At the end of the night, Rinoa invited everyone to the balcony. They lit a spiral lantern, wrote their names on small pieces of paper, and released them into the sky. Rinoa's eyes sparkled brightly, stepping forward with enthusiasm while holding the lantern, her face filled with hope. "May all our dreams fly together," she said with a wide smile, signaling a hope that touched the hearts of every family member present.
Rinoa: “The world may change a thousand times, but family… will always be the first and last home.”
As the night grew late, one by one, they fell asleep on the sofa and carpet. The sound of peaceful breaths filled the atmosphere, while the stars in the Gaian sky twinkled softly as if watching over them. Fitran sat in a chair, gazing at Rinoa and the children, and for a moment, the world felt very quiet—not because of the threat of loss, but because love and warmth closed all the gaps of wounds that once existed. He could feel the tranquility enveloping the space, the distinctive aroma of the apple he had just peeled still lingering in the air, providing a sense of comfort as if reminding him of those small yet meaningful moments.
Fitran (to himself): “I don’t know how long this peace will last. But if I had to start a new world a thousand times, I would choose to sit at this table, peel apples, and listen to their laughter. Because only here, I truly live.” Rinoa glanced over for a moment, their eyes meeting, and in that gaze, Fitran felt thousands of unspoken words—a simple expression that spoke deeper than mere love.
The light of the spiral lantern floated in the Gaia sky. The first family night ended, but its promise remained eternal: Rinoa smiled at the lantern, as if sending hope through the light they released into the sky. In a world that never fully healed, home and family would always be the beginning of all hope. And in the silence of the night, every second together felt more precious, creating beautiful memories they would remember until time carried them into the future.
