She slowly slid the cardboard box out from beneath her bed, she remembers the velvety chocolate she purchased from the store just yesterday. Hiding it under her bed felt almost like she was a mom hiding sweet from her precious children, but she had to, or else she wouldn't have a single bite from it.
She carefully lifted the lid, the shiny wrapper glimmered like little jewels. Just as she was about to indulge in the first bite, the door creaked on its hinges. Startled, she quickly tucked the chocolate away.
"Jasmine?" Micah's voice drifted into the room, punctuated by the soft sound of his footsteps. He peeked through the ajar door. "Mom said you should be done in the next few seconds. We need to pick out our outfits for the celebration!"
His words hung in the air, but all Jasmine could think about was the chocolate, teasingly out of reach. She licked her lips unconsciously.
"Sure, I would be down in no time," she replied wishing Micah would leave already but the lad wasn't prepared to. She remained comfortably nestled in her seat, not attempting to stand, while Micah lingered by the doorway, casting an intense gaze in her direction, both locked in a silent duel.
"What are you hiding?" he stepped fully into the room, she shook her head dismissively, as if brushing off a pesky fly.
"Hiding?" she countered, raising both hands to feign innocence. "Nothing." The corners of her mouth twitched slightly, betraying the facade she was trying to maintain.
He flick his eyes behind what she held on to behind her, call it instinct but he knew she was hiding something.
His brow crease, and took a breathe in.
The box wobble and she felt it, she held on to it more tighter, her finger trying it best not to let it go. God no, she isn't as much as losing the chocolate too, she wouldn't give him the pleasure to. Not like she ever won against him.
He tilted his head focused, she felt it again the wobble but this time it began hovering about the bed, she didn't have enough time to grab on to it before it zipped across the room and landed neatly on Micah's palm. His fingers closed around the chocolate, and a wide triumphant grin stretched across his face.
"Gotcha! You're not too clever when it comes to hiding your treats," he teased, his eyes sparkling with mischief.
Micah had grown fast too fast. At seventeen, he already looked twenty, with broad shoulders and that smug, older-brother energy he hadn't earned. Meanwhile, she, at the same age he looks, still looked younger. Somehow, the roles had flipped. Once the bossy older sister, now she had to crane her neck just to scowl at him properly.
"Micah give it back!" she snapped, lunging across the room.
He held the small box just out of reach, grinning like a cat with a cornered mouse. "What, this? You mean the highly classified top-secret emergency stash of chocolate you thought you hid behind your back properly?"
She groaned. "That's exactly why I hid it. Because of you, you don't let me enjoy them, I haven't even given birth yet, and you are already making me wish skipping that part."
He made a show of examining the label. "Dark chocolate almond truffle? Wow. You've upgraded."
She leapt again, and he twisted out of reach, laughing. "You're such a troll," she said, swatting at his arm. But there was laughter behind her protest, she was never truly mad at him, hell! Micah was annoying and sweet at the same time .
Micah grinned down at her, still holding the box just high enough to be obnoxious. "Hey, don't blame me for growing up superior in both height and snack detection."
"You're seventeen, not superior," she muttered, folding her arms. "Besides, I only stopped bullying you because I felt bad. Clearly a mistake."
He clutched his chest dramatically. "The betrayal."
"Micah!"
"Alright, alright," he said, finally relenting. He handed her the box with a grin and a wink. "But I get one."
"You get a crumb."
She turned on her heel and marched out of her room box secured—while Micah followed close behind, still arguing his case like a lawyer in a candy court.
Both of them walk out her room still arguing, totally oblivious to Mrs Morrigan who stood at the end of the corridor arms crossed and a sharp glare fixed on them. Her perfectly pressed blouse somehow making her seem taller than usual.
"Well...." she said crisply, "I asked you both to be downstairs in mere seconds, not sprinting through the house like panicked squirrels."
Her voice was calm, but it cut through the air like a knife that didn't need to be sharp to be effective.
Micah straightened instinctively. Jasmine offered a quick, apologetic smile, Mrs Morrigan is most times scary.
"Sorry, Aunt," she said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm ready now. We should, uh, set out."
She took a step toward the door, her ponytail swaying as if leading the way—but Mrs Morrigan's hand landed gently but firmly on her arm, halting her with the ease of someone who'd raised teenagers and survived with grace.
Jasmine ducked her head, cheeks warm. "Yes, ma'am?" She asked not sure about what she had done again, she pressed her lips praying it isn't about her chocolate, the one she hid beneath her dress the moment she saw her.
Micah looked like he was trying not to smirk. One glance from his mom wiped that right off his face.
"Aren't you cold?" Mrs Morrigan gestured to her light outfit.
The cold didn't do much to her, not like she was trying to be stubborn, but she barely flinched. The Snow floated down in quiet swirls, dusting the porch railings, glazing the ground in white just like her hair. Jasmine stood at the door, arms folded and dressed in nothing but a thin V-neck top and a denim jeans—nothing warm, nothing practical. No scarf. No hoodie. Not even socks thick enough to matter.
Mrs Morrigan had been right to step in. Anyone passing by might've stopped to ask if she was alright, might've assumed she was neglected or forgotten. Especially in a house watched so closely by neighbors, teachers, and the occasional curious stranger. The idea made her stomach knot.
"No, I'm not," she murmured, barely loud enough to hear.
Inside, warmth bled from the hallway, but she stayed put, her little banter with Micah earlier made her forget to put one on.
Mrs. Morrigan's voice came crisp from behind her. "I know you're not. But you still need to cover up—we're already behind schedule."
Her aunt didn't step all the way into the room. She never needed to. Her eyes flicked to the sweater hanging off the back of the chair. In a blink, it was in her hand.
Jasmine barely caught the movement—just a flicker at the edge of her vision—but she knew. No one moved like that. Not a normal person, anyway. Not faster than the body should allow.
Not unlike Micah, either.
The sweater was held out to her without a word. Her aunt expression was unreadable, sharp and poised like always, but Jasmine knew how much of a softy she was.
She took the sweater.
It smelled like laundry and cedar, like something packed away just in case. Pulling it over her head, she let it settle around her shoulders, heavy and warm.
Outside, the snow kept falling, she approached the sienna where Micah was already settled in waiting for them.
This was her family now. The Morrigans. She told herself that often sometimes as a reassurance, sometimes as a reminder.
It had been six years since Mr Grey found her. She'd only been fourteen then, small, bruised, half-conscious, and barely clinging to the edge of something that might've been life. The memories from that night came back in fragments—frost on her lashes, the taste of blood in her mouth.
The rest was haze.
She wasn't sure of the full story, not really. Mr Grey had never told her everything, and maybe that was on purpose.
Micah sat comfortably in his chair, stretched out like he had all the time in the world. He looked every bit relaxed, a quiet kind of confidence in the way he leaned back, legs crossed, scrolling through his phone.
She stood in front of the mirror, half-turned, dresses rustling around her like wind in a curtain. Mrs Morrigan circled with the precision of someone selecting armor, not clothing. Her gaze was sharp, critical, occasionally narrowing with disapproval.
"Do you have anything that clings to the—" her aunt's voice trailed off into a muttered hum, too low for Jasmine to catch.
Grateful for the pause, Jasmine slipped away from the mirror and sank into the seat next to Micah. He barely looked up, his thumb flicking across the screen with quiet focus.
"Have you ever been to the celebration?" she asked, nudging his elbow gently with hers.
Micah gave a noncommittal "Hmm," eyes still locked on whatever had caught his attention. A second later, a wide grin tugged at his lips, something clearly amusing flashing across his screen.
Jasmine just shook her head, half-annoyed, half-smiling.
Her expression shifted into a dramatic pout, the kind she knew got under his skin. When that didn't work, she gave his arm a light smack just enough to jolt him out of whatever world he was in on his phone.
Micah blinked, startled. He looked over at her like she'd broken a sacred spell.
"Ow," he said, dragging the word out like it really hurt. He rubbed his arm, his face twisting into a mock glare. "What was that for?"
"You were ignoring me," Jasmine shot back, grinning.
Micah rolled his eyes but finally locked his phone and dropped it into his lap, giving her his full attention now. "Okay, okay. I'm here. What's all this about?"
Jasmine leaned in, her voice lowering with curiosity. "Are we really meeting the emperor? Like, the emperor? Are there going to be other creatures there? Other realms? Is this... bigger than what they told us?"
"Why are you so eager to go, anyway?" he interjected folding his arms.
"What do you mean eager?" Jasmine asked, her eyes wide and sharp. "Only a select few even get to attend this event. Some nobles don't get invited, no matter how powerful they are! Just look at Uncle Grey—he's a high noble in Dynara, and it's a miracle we got an invitation at all."
She paused, shaking her head like she still couldn't believe it. "We don't even live in Dynara! The human realm's nice, sure, but it doesn't compare to what I've heard about the other realm." Her voice brightened a little as she started imagining it all in her head.
Micah let out a sigh, pushing himself to sit up straighter. "I've only been there once," he said, sounding tired already. "And that was ten years ago. I was barely seven. I didn't really understand anything going on."
He gave her a sideways glance. "But I do remember this much—the kids from that realm? Not as charming as you're imagining. They were... kind of a nightmare, honestly. Mischievous doesn't even cover it. You'd regret stepping foot there."
Jasmine rolled her eyes. "Oh please," she said, crossing her arms. "You've said it yourself—you don't remember much. And that was ten years ago. People grow up. Maybe they've matured."
She gave him a hopeful smile, but her voice had that edge—like she was trying to convince herself just as much as him.
Micah looked at her for a moment, then gave a small shrug. He didn't want to ruin the excitement she'd clearly built up.
"Suit yourself," he muttered, turning back to his phone.
Mrs. Morrigan waved Jasmine over again as they strolled through the shops, taking their time.
Dinner that night was quiet, just the way Uncle Grey liked it. He wasn't one for noisy meals. But Still yet, that didn't stop Jasmine and Micah from whispering and laughing now and then. Uncle Grey didn't say anything—he rarely did—but his calm presence alone kept things from getting too loud,.
"Jasmine, I've arranged for a hairstylist and a nail technician to come by," Mrs Morrigan said as she set her glass down.
She glanced at Micah, who was happily focused on his food, a grin on his face like he was in his own little world.
"Micah, you'll be going with your father to get your hair done," she added. Her voice turned sharp. "And don't even think about getting that ridiculous style from last time. If you do, I promise—it'll be gone by morning."
Micah blinked, the smile slipping just for a second. He gave a quick nod, not daring to argue. One look at her and he knew she meant every word.
Mr Grey, quiet up until now, spoke up in his calm, steady voice. "Darling, I've prepared the emblem for you and the kids. It'll arrive first thing tomorrow. And yes, we'll be using the direct portal to get back."
Mrs Morrigan gave a short nod, her face calm, but her eye said something else. She didn't relax, not fully.
"Good," she said softly. She didn't like the idea of the local portal not one bit. It was too exposed. Humans were getting smarter, their technology sharp. One mistake, one wrong step, and the consequences could be disasterous.
Worse still was the possibility of a rogue hiding nearby, waiting for an easy target. She and her husband could defend themselves, no question but the kids? They were her main concern. And she would do whatever it took to keep them safe.