Tazaro peeled away from the project he’d been working on, deep in the process of designing a new, updated version of the Stargazer. He agreed to release a blueprint for a massive version of the machine to be built on Raynak’s university campus alongside an observatory with the premise that, eventually, similar constructs would be replicated on all of the island’s central locations for networked discovery and categorization. He could hardly believe his luck and found himself evermore grateful that he and Sheeva could cast an altering spell to keep their identities hidden from the general populace, as he was certain that if the plan was a success, the press would be at their doorstep every minute of the day.

  Feeling beads of sweat trickle down his brow from the midsummer night’s heat, Tazaro wiped at it with the back of his hand. It wasn’t enough, and he retrieved a handkerchief from his pocket and cleared the rest of the sticky droplets from his temple and along the bridge of his nose. He tucked his long chestnut hair behind his ear as it fell in front of his face, then scratched at his unshaven chin.

  The unshaven chin was unbecoming of him, he felt.

  He pushed the thought from his mind and sat back, finally aware of the tension along his spine from sitting hunched over a large scroll of paper. Confused about how he could ache this much when it seemed he’d just gotten started, he glanced at the cuckoo clock on the wall, tick-tick-ticking as it clicked off the seconds.

  Mildly astonished, he found he hadn’t been spending a couple of hours on the project; he’d spent several, and it was well into the evening.

  “Oops. I hope Sheeva will forgive me.” He muttered to himself, chuckling. If anything, Sheeva was probably too busy to check up on him at her leisure.

  Deciding to check on her instead, Tazaro rolled over onto his hands and knees, then stood with the help of a recently built oakwood desk, groaning as his back popped when he got to his feet. He needed to remind himself not to sit and tinker for as long as he used to in his early twenties.

  Tuning into the noise he’d tuned out, nothing but critters, owls, and crickets sounded in the forest, and he took a silent moment in appreciation to survey the land they both had worked hard to develop.

  Tucked amid a ring of warding stones that they had carved their combined signature into lay a small pond fashioned from a once-trickling creek and now vibrant with aqueous plant life. Plans were in motion to hook up a watermill to the stream to power a forge, a mill, or something in a workshop that would allow Tazaro to “build bigger and better things.” Tazaro listened for a moment as a breeze caused the Sleipnir-tail reeds to thunk against one another, a soft, hollow, wooden chime echoing along the brook. He peered close as something rustled in the tall grass, then sighed softly as a toad leaped out from behind, lashing out a tongue to snatch at a luna moth.

  Illuminated by the moonlights, he could see ovals of white: the family of geese that called the pond home. They didn’t mind a bit since the geese kept to themselves and only nibbled on mosquito spawn and scraps of vegetables Sheeva would toss their way if the trimmings proved to be too much for their tableside ragora. Their daughter, Nayeli, had already learned to leave them be after getting chased by the male for trying to temper with it, despite their oldest son, Arseniy, warning against “touching the bird.”

  Their children, once old enough, learned to enjoy helping them take care of the animals they’d gathered, though Nayeli preferred to play with the chickens in their coop. Arseniy seemed to have a knack for tending to the flock, earning him the nickname “goat whisperer” after their doe, Butthead, allowed only Arseniy near her newborn during and after kidding. Sheeva was mildly bitter since she had worked hard to gain Butthead’s approval, but let the matter go, deciding she could trust Arseniy with the responsibility.

  The greenhouse, offset to catch as many rays as possible during the cold and wet seasons, gave off a faint glow from the bioluminescent strawberries they managed to smuggle in the pockets of the cloak Tazaro had bought for Sheeva in Pomiza Port. While he’d purely meant for the addition to be used as hidden hand warmers, they proved useful for many things. From the aforementioned smuggling gig to the “magic trick” they used to wow the crowds in Pacem–in which Sheeva would rapidly shrink, hide, recover, and expand a random object given to them by curious people–to the occasional, intended use as a hand warmer while backpacking up Pacem’s steep mountain to net a glorious view of the Northern Lights, the cloak now lay worn and unfortunately, torn, in a chest in the closest amid other important bits and baubles.

  Tazaro smiled in fond memory and looked back at the greenhouse. Unlike the one in the temple, this one had a roof that could split open to welcome the sheets of rain that would pour over the land in late spring and fall, though a series of underground pipes and pumps still chartered water from the stream to the reservoir built into the side for summer and winter watering. Like the temple’s greenhouse, theirs was a three-story building with a similar setup: things that grew in the dark and enjoyed moist environments dwelled in the basement floor, spices, herbs, and vegetables they used most often on the second, and fruits and other plants that needed all the sun they could grab for on the top floor, with a trickle-down and recycling setup for water built into the plots.

  A yawn and much-needed stretch brought Tazaro back into the tower, and he pushed himself away from the sill and tuned into the sounds of his home.

  Or rather…the lack thereof, since the house was oddly quiet.

  His eyes widened, slightly worried. Either everyone was asleep, or their two oldest children were up to something troublesome while Sheeva’s back was turned, busy tending to the youngest.

  Tazaro sighed, yawned again, and rubbed at the tension in his eyes while he meandered toward the staircase that descended into the attic of the four-story house they’d requested built to their liking. The seven-bedroom estate–because they just couldn’t seem to settle on something small–was complete with a personal library, a study/workshop, and a secret room for Sheeva to enjoy that harbored the dissecting scope and a new microscope that Tazaro crafted in his free time as a gift for their second wedding anniversary, among other bits, baubles, and logbooks that Sheeva had collected or filled out.

  Not to his surprise, the attic was much warmer than the tower. Enough so, to the point that Tazaro felt almost suffocated by the cozy, encompassing heat. For now, the expansive space was being used for storage, but they hoped that, once the shed next to their greenhouse was completed, they could turn the room into a better guest room. He crossed the floor and pulled the chain to the windows, letting them fly open to bring in cool, fresh air from outside, then made his way down the steps, pausing to snuff out the gas-lit lamps illuminating the room with the turn of a dial.

  He rubbed the tension from his eyes as he stepped out into the corner of the third-floor hallway, then looked around at the four claimed bedrooms: one for him and Sheeva at the front of the stairs, the next for Gabriel, the following one for Nayeli, and the last room for Arseniy. Aside from the guest bedroom with its perpetually locked door, all doors were open, and lights were off. Just to be sure they weren't already asleep in hopes that he could bid them goodnight, Tazaro summoned Svet, dimmed the bright, energetic ball, and peered into the oldest child’s room as he passed the unoccupied guest bedroom.

  Ocean-blue walls decorated with ships and a hand-drawn map of the Sferran Islands made him smile, still pleased with Sheeva's hard work. Apparently, in his lengthy absence, Arseniy had turned the handmade oak bed into a white, fitted-sheet fortress, but the dark-haired and amber-eyed pirate, explorer, warrior, or whatever he happened to be at the time wasn’t snoozing in bed.

  Tazaro softly hummed to himself in a questioning manner. Maybe, Arseniy had fallen asleep on Nayeli's floor.

  He paused to look at a painting they commissioned from Brom, insistent on paying him "this time" since the loyal painter constantly showered them with small-canvas portraits that Tazaro believed belonged in an art gallery or culture museum. The painting he gazed at showcased the four of them: himself, Sheeva, Arseniy at seven years old, and Nayeli as a toddler, requested while Sheeva was pregnant with Gabriel.

  Further pictures showed off their family's gradual growth and aging, and he sighed cheerfully at each, pleased with both himself and Sheeva as parents and a married couple.

  He checked the next room, pulling back the fuzzy blanket their daughter asked for, pretending it was the curtain between two worlds.

  Really, Nayeli, you're so much like me when I was five, except for…

  He took a deep breath and sighed at the room's interior.

  All the pink. He silently criticized, glancing in agony at the furniture, the walls, the carpet, the curtains…

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  So much pink! A friggin’ explosion of pink! He playfully scowled at his daughter's fashion sense, then scoffed at the newest addition he'd helped her assemble and paint. Even the lantern was pink, and he joked that if Sferrans bled pink blood, Nayeli’s room would be a gruesome murder scene.

  He hoped it was merely a phase, but they hadn’t expected the love of the feminine color since Nayeli lived and breathed playing in the mud, looking for bugs, newts, and other creepy-crawlies, and beating up kids that bullied her friends or siblings on the school playgrounds.

  He reminded himself for the umpteenth time that this was her choice, and so long as the pet Salamander they'd rescued from a bastard that treated the poor creature like a walking furnace and illumination device didn't end up pink, Tazaro would let the color bomb slide.

  As he checked the bed, no black-haired red-eyed kid was twisted into a weird position and demonically snoring away here.

  Maybe, the two oldest had begged and pleaded for Sheeva to read to them past their bedtime for what seemed to be the third night in a row, and maybe, they'd fallen asleep in their bed, and Sheeva had switched off the light before turning in for the night herself.

  However, when he popped his head in beyond the doorway, they weren’t there, either–a bummer since he really enjoyed viewing the scene from the doorway as they piled up on the King-sized bed, their three kids fighting for space on Sheeva’s lap as she flipped and read through a book of monsters or constellations or heroes and their tales of legend...or whatever tickled their fancy at the moment of decision.

  He paused to refill his glass in the master bathroom, chugged half, tipped it off, and headed for the staircase to the first floor. He stopped to pick up a toy and tucked it beneath his arm, holding onto the railing as he continued.

  He didn't bother poking his head into the small library they were amassing books in, hoarding and disguising banished books with covers from other, less interesting, or conspicuous books. The light was off, and a glimmer from the living room shone like a beacon or a homing device.

  He stopped as he rounded the corner and grinned with cheer buzzing from head to toe.

  Arseniy, dressed up as what appeared to be a knight using an old blue baby blanket as a cape and the small wicker basket they used for fruit as a helmet, lay against the couch as he slept with a book splayed across his lap. Nayeli had somehow managed to fall asleep in an impossible position, foot kicking at something in her sleep. They joked that she was related to ketze sometimes with how she twisted around on herself...much like Sheeva would.

  Two sets of snoring filtered the room, one from Nayeli and the other from his wife, stretched out and lying on her side on the couch, their nine-month-old cradled in her arm. Movement in the corner of his eye commanded his attention, and he looked in the direction of it. Sheeva’s foot kicked at something, and another smile cracked on Tazaro’s face.

  At least she wasn’t kicking him this time.

  Tazaro took another long drink from his glass and set it on the mahogany tea table he’d crafted for them. He scooped up Nayeli’s bizarre form, straightened her out, and carried her upstairs. Using his foot, he pushed down the covers, set her in her bed, and tucked a random stuffed animal under her arm. It happened to be a giant purple Behemoth as his dim orb of light hovered back over his head.

  He kissed Nayeli’s forehead and shut the door behind him. He returned to the living room and pulled the helmet from Arseniy’s head.

  Planning to return the fruit to the basket, Tazaro paused as he saw the apples, bananas, and oranges they harvested from their fruit trees spread out on the island and made a mental note to ask Arseniy to place the hard-earned fruits in a separate bowl the next time he wanted to play around as a knight. He stepped lightly on the hardwood floor as he snuck into the living room to pick up glasses and a random plate with crumbs. Evidently, one of them had eaten a cheese roll, and he wondered if similar crumbs would be found on the fire salamander’s dark scales since the odd pet didn’t seem to mind being used to heat things, so long as it got a nibble or two of whatever food it was heating up.

  In the salamander’s defense, it seemed much happier living with them than it ever might have in the miner’s careless hands. Tazaro had to admit that the exothermic reptile that was as big as Jax had been was one of the most patient animals he’d seen around children, and he trusted it not to harm them–so long as they also respected that its scales would be hot to the touch after asking it to heat something for them.

  Tazaro scrubbed the dishes clean with a quick spritz of water and soap, rinsed them, and set them in the stone-slat dishrack to dry, then dried off his hands with the handtowel draped over the door to the wood stove. The luxury, back-to-basics hunk of metal didn’t see much use in the summer, reserved for a cheap method of warming the house in winter when days were short, and sunlight barely reached the inside of the home. Instead, a side door to the kitchen opened up to a roofed patio that they would use if they wanted to cook in the summertime, grateful that the forest they dwelled in usually kept things cooler than it was in the expansive crater Roussell was founded in.

  In the back of his tired mind, Tazaro realized it had been a while since they had invited Micah, Vincent, and Tyler over for either supper or an extended stay, and made another mental note to bring up the idea of hosting a gathering of some sort to Sheeva in the morning.

  He peeked in the icebox to see if any cheese rolls were left, happy to snag the last of the dozen batch Sheeva had made the previous night. Fighting the urge to bite into it, he carried it with him to the living room, stooped by the salamander snoozing in the firepit, and rested the roll in the curl of its lithe body, passively exuding heat as it purred in a bundle.

  While the roll toasted, Tazaro turned to Arseniy and plucked the book from his lap. It was a bit of a young book for Aresniy to be reading, Tazaro initially thought, but as he squinted at the title in the dim light, he recognized the book as Nayeli’s favorite: The Reluctant Dragon. He smiled; though the two fought like ketze and soba, they cared for each other where it counted.

  Tazaro set the book on the tea table, pulled the blanket off Arseniy’s shoulders, then wrapped the eight-year-old up in it and scooped him into his arms. Halfway to the top of the stairs, he paused, finding he was stiff and sore. He fought a scowl at himself and caught his breath, then shifted the body in his hold to distribute his mass a little more evenly. He had more difficulty putting Arseniy in his bed since he had to fight with the fitted sheet over the posts and accidentally jumbled the child awake.

  “Dad?” Arseniy called out in a half-asleep slur. Tazaro nodded.

  “Sorry–didn’t mean to wake you. But yes, Arseniy, it’s me. Unless you are the gallant and chivalrous Knight, Arseniy Bartholomew Chorea?”

  “King of the Knights, Dad.” Arseniy corrected.

  Tazaro gave a thoughtful “hmm!”

  “Ah, my apologies, sire!” He played along with a theatrical voice. “King Arseniy! A royal and noble profession, to be sure!” Tazaro chuckled, finally setting Arseniy down into his bed as he managed to kick off the remaining corner of the bedpost.

  “G’night, Dad,” Arseniy mumbled. Tazaro smiled and pecked Arseniy on the cheek, then tucked the sheets under his shoulders.

  “G‘Night. Love you.” He answered, heading out the door and shutting it behind him, too.

  He returned downstairs, having to stop again as he felt his leg seize from an old injury. Gripping the guard rail so hard he felt his nails sink into the soft birchwood, Tazaro hissed and formed some seals, channeling muscle-relaxing energy into his cramping limb while he breathed through his pain.

  After a few cautious stamps of his foot and a gradual, experimental shift of balance, he was sure it wouldn’t bother him anymore and finished heading down the steps.

  The last person he could tuck in was Sheeva, but if his leg was giving him trouble now, it’d only give him more if he pushed it. He grabbed the spare blanket draped around the back of the couch and spread it over Sheeva. The action woke Gabriel, who began to fuss.

  Tazaro directed the light to illuminate his face, mesmerizing the youngest–and last, Sheeva “insisted," though Tazaro had argued that they could always turn the attic into the guest room, instead, if she wanted to change her mind. Their nine-month-old giggled and cooed, reaching for him with tiny, ready-to-learn hands as matching citrine eyes and curly chestnut hair glowed in orb light.

  “Dah!” Gabriel cried. It melted Tazaro’s heart, and a wholesome grin spread as his eyes lit up and brows touched the ceiling. He bit his lip to muffle an excited squeal at the attempt for words, considerate of the lovely, snoring lady beside him.

  “Well, look at you, getting all grown up!” He whispered. "Who said you could do that?" He chuckled gleefully.

  Tazaro reached and gently pried him from Sheeva’s hold, stilling when Sheeva mumbled something incoherent in her sleep. When she didn’t wake, Tazaro let go of his nervous breath and stood, shuddering and groaning as his knees popped loudly.

  He needed to remember not to sit and tinker for long hours like he used to in his early twenties.

  “Don’t get old, Gabriel. It sucks,” Tazaro commented, chuckling as Gabriel responded with nonsensical blurbs that sounded like words.

  Gabriel babbled and blurbed while Tazaro responded as he paced the room and tidied it up a bit, pausing to pick up and devour the now warm, gooey cheese roll. Tazaro bent over to pick up a stuffed animal and grimaced as he touched something slimy, hoping it was just salamander slobber. He wiped the mystery goo on his pant leg and gently kicked the thing aside underneath the tea table.

  Whatever that was, it could wait until morning, Tazaro decided.

  Cradling Gabriel in his arms, he sat down in the chair and rocked, a sleepy, content daze plastered on his face as he hummed “Kolibelnaya,” a lullaby Sheeva had come up with when pregnant with Arseniy. It only took one hum-through before Gabriel was lulled to sleep again.

  As Svet dimmed and fizzled out, Tazaro resigned to his sleeping position, propped his feet on the tea table, and let his head fall back.

  “Love you, Zvezdaya.” He called to Sheeva, though he knew she wouldn’t answer.

  He hummed to himself in delight. He wouldn’t trade this for the world and smiled with pride as he drifted asleep, cozied by Sheeva’s snores, the salamander’s purrs, and the lingering warmth of summer.