CHAPTER 21: THE GIFTS

The day began with a crime.

Not war crimes. Not magical smuggling.

Just the kind of high-level, emotionally charged guilt trip that only family could weaponize.

Thirty-seven missed calls.

Twelve unread messages.

All from one person: Mom.

Riley groaned into his pillow as his phone buzzed again beside his ear, like it had been possessed by a ghost that believed in punctuality.

One eye cracked open. "If no one’s dying, I swear—"

Another message popped up, loud and demanding:

[MOM: RILEY. Sweetheart. I know you’re busy. But your brother is turning seven. TODAY. Lunch or dinner? Pick one. And for the love of all things good, ANSWER ME.]

He sighed and sat up like a man marching to his doom. Outside, the sky was still gray. Birds weren’t even awake yet. Not even Kael was this aggressive before breakfast.

[RILEY: Lunch,] he texted. [Need anything?]

The reply came in under five seconds.

[MOM: Noted. Bring yourself. Not potluck. I repeat: NOT. POTLUCK.]

That was... a relief. No cooking, no prep, and most importantly—no folders, no office, no Kael. Not today.

Today was his day off. A real one. Signed, sealed, and stamped by HR in ridiculous sparkly ink. Symbolic, sure, since HR didn’t technically own him—but it was nice of them to pretend.

And Kael? For once, had approved it without a growl, eye roll, or accusatory comment about "desertion," as if it were unusual to take days off in general. However, given how they had been swamped with the most unusual cases in succession, Riley believed he deserved it this time.

So, after driving the enforcers to look into the slave trading and their most recent exploration—and, well, arson—Riley managed to ask for this much.

Two whole days.

It almost felt suspicious.

Still, Riley took it. And for the first time in weeks, he left without a weapon, a briefing, or the dread of impending elemental disaster.

The streets of the merchant quarter were clean, sunlit, and suspiciously welcoming.

And with caffeine in hand, he wandered past sleek glass storefronts and glowing signs—the kind that flickered with enchantments instead of neon.

This had always felt like the oddest space for him. At least back at the Ministry, he consistently felt like an ancient being, given Kael’s preference for things as old as his ancient self. However, here, it was a blend of magic and modern technology.

Touchscreens hummed with ambient leyline energy. Some boutiques didn’t even have doors, just polite wards that scanned your intent and let you in if you meant well.

But mostly, it was the kind of place that whispered: Welcome. Also, please spend your entire paycheck here.

And maybe he was going to do that. Who knows how many years it’d take before he could do something like this again? Would he have to attend even more absurd exhibitions for another two days off?

Yikes.

Thankfully, though, he wouldn’t have to spend the entire day here looking for gifts, because his little brother had a list. And with the number of things on there, you’d think they hadn’t seen each other for years.

Okay, well, months. He’d only been able to video call him every now and then, so maybe the kid really deserved all these gifts.

- A voice-activated golem that danced and threw softballs.

- A real elf-forged bow for "target practice" (translation: future sibling bruises). Thankfully, he didn’t live there anymore.

- The latest Dragon Racer board game, with flying miniatures that smacked into walls if you lost focus.

- A squishy water slime pet.

- And, gods help him, "cool sunglasses like Dragon Lord Kael’s."

Absolutely not. Because really, those weren’t cool sunglasses—they were used so he wouldn’t randomly toast the next annoying fly who managed to ask for an appointment.

But what to do? Riley could say one thing and do the other, for in the end, he ended up buying everything.

The golem sang in three keys and startled a nearby mimic into transforming into a stool.

The bow was lightweight, magically reinforced, and just illegal enough to be fun.

He snagged the Dragon Racer box by outmaneuvering a dad with faster reflexes but worse rock-paper-scissors luck. And it was then he swore he’d even wear the ring for his rare days off.

The slime pet came in a containment orb with a hydration chart. Riley picked the glittery blue one. Naturally. Because the other choice was gold, and he could not, for the life of him, see another gold thing for the day.

Please.

As for the sunglasses? He grabbed a child-sized pair of aviators and immediately planned to hide them after cake.

He didn’t even lose an arm in the process. Ah, the beauty of not being on duty.

He even had time to treat himself to something: new shoes, new ties, and that compact toiletry set that refilled on command.

Heck, he even managed to restock his favorite cologne. The others could just complain or live with it. Or maybe he could get the Dragon Lord to let him quit just to save his sensitive nose.

The temporarily free aide snickered as he enjoyed his freedom. See, this was the kind of magic involvement that he liked—that part where you don’t get sucker punched but get to enjoy seeing flying broomsticks and useful light shows.

Meanwhile, the Hale house hadn’t changed. There was that same creaky swing. Same rebellious welcome mat. Same sun-wilted plants Mom refused to give up on.

"BROTHER!"

Liam tackled him at the door, all limbs and excitement.

"You grew," Riley wheezed.

"I’m seven now," Liam grinned. "I grow every Tuesday."

Their mom emerged, apron tied and wielding a spatula like a sword.

"You’re late," she declared. "But forgiven—if you brought gifts."

He held up the bags like a victorious knight.

Lunch was chaotic perfection: chicken pastel, soft rolls, baked mac, flan. Half the kids had frosting on their foreheads. One was riding a mop. Another had claimed a potted plant as their battle mount.

Riley’s official roles were Gift Bringer and Candle Lighter.

Unofficial?

Chaos Buffer. Tactical Babysitter. And today, Favorite Brother.

When Liam unwrapped the slime, his scream was loud enough to rattle the dishes.

"BEST. BROTHER. EVER!"

Riley laughed. Worth it.

Maybe if Kael had such a younger brother, he wouldn’t be all that grumpy.

___

Lunch was nearly over when one of the kids at the far end of the table squinted at Riley and blurted out, "Wait a second... I knew your big brother looked familiar!"

Several heads turned. Riley froze with a spoonful of flan halfway to his mouth.

"Yeah! I saw him on TV!" the kid insisted, pointing. "You were with that really shiny man! The one who melted that podium!"

Riley blinked. Oh no.

Beside him, Liam’s eyes lit up like festival lanterns. "That’s my brother!" he declared proudly. "He works for the mighty golden lizard boss!"

Riley coughed into his drink. "The—what?"

"You said not to call him Uncle!" Liam said, as if this explained everything. "So I made up my own name. Cool, right?"

Riley felt feverish. Sure, it was cool—if he wanted to be burnt to a crisp. His only consolation was that Kael usually ignored children. And while that sucked for them, they should be thankful—because they’d be safe.

But the kids were kids, and they erupted in questions immediately.

"You really work with a dragon?"

"Is he as strong as they say?"

"Can he fly? Does he have wings?"

"Did he actually roast a thief, or was that dramatized?"

Liam leaned in with sparkles in his eyes, hands balled in excitement. "Tell them, Riley. He’s the strongest, right?"

Riley opened his mouth, then closed it again. The way Liam was looking at him—hopeful, reverent, already halfway to dragging his classmates into some kind of Kael-worship club—made lying impossible.

He sighed and nodded.

"He is," Riley said carefully. "He’s strong. He’s... very strong. And fireproof. And occasionally terrifying."

Liam clapped.

"And do you like your job?" another kid asked, peering up at him.

Riley paused. "It’s... exciting," he said at last. "Let’s go with that."

The kids cheered. Someone tried breathing imaginary fire and nearly knocked over the iced tea.

Riley smiled, but he could feel the weight of someone’s gaze.

He glanced across the table—only to meet his father’s eyes. The man hadn’t said a word since the conversation began. Just watched. Silent. Still. Too still.

But before the moment could stretch into something uncomfortable, their mother swept in with a cheery clap of her hands and a gentle warning smile.

"Alright, enough about dragons and jobs and breathing fire indoors," she said. "It’s a birthday, not a press conference."

Riley exhaled in relief and shoved another roll in his mouth.

Liam didn’t stop grinning for the rest of the afternoon.

At least he was delighted—and likely wouldn’t kill him if he didn’t show up for, like, another half a year?

Welp.