Chapter 49 The Warmest Place

He held them.

All four of them.

One small set of arms wrapped around his neck, another clung to his side, the youngest’s tiny fingers curling into his shirt. Their scent—shampoo, powder, the grass-and-sun warmth of a child’s play—wrapped around him like a memory he’d lost and suddenly rediscovered in a single breath.

“Te amo, Tata,” the eldest said, his cheek pressed to Kai’s chest.

The second eldest, the eight year old, tightened his hold on his father’s waist without speaking, as if afraid he’d disappear if he let go.

The four year old, second youngest, climbed up into his lap, giggling before settling against him.

And the toddler, still so small, reached up to touch his face with both hands, babbling softly before resting his head against Kai’s shoulder.

Kai squeezed them tighter. He didn’t want to let go.

“You’re the best, Tata,” the eldest said, muffled against him.

Tears didn’t stream down Kai’s face. They simply… fell. With a grace so slow it felt like gravity had decided to give him a break.

The dream stayed longer than most. It was a rare gift.

Until something thumped against his chest.

He jolted, eyes snapping open. Early morning light crept through the window slats, painting stripes across the bed.

Revoli.

She sat cross-legged on his stomach like a mischievous cat, her short pink bob mussed from sleep, her yellow eyes locked on his face.

“You were crying,” she said.

Kai rubbed his cheek. “No, I wasn’t.”

“You were. I watched for, like, five minutes.”

He grunted and shifted, nudging her until she plopped onto the mattress beside him with a laugh.

“Didn’t know demons could be this nosy,” he muttered.

“Didn’t know dreamwalkers could sob in their sleep,” she shot back with a smirk.

The house was wrapped in a sleepy hush, the kind that comes only after days of storms. The danger had passed, but the cracks it left behind were still there—waiting.

The smell hit him before his feet touched the floor.

Food.

Not his cooking.

Something clattered in the kitchen.

Skye.

Her voice came in a low, irritated mutter about how “dumb” spoons should “stay where they belong.” When Kai peeked around the corner, he found her at the stove, black cape tied around her waist like an apron, golden eyes focused on a pan that popped and hissed.

Fara stood beside her, hair wrapped in a towel, tails tucked neatly behind her as she mixed something in a bowl with deliberate care.

Revoli zipped past him, hopping onto a stool.

Kai blinked.

Steam curled from a pot. Bread was rising. Laughter—small, tentative—filled the space.

“You look like a ghost,” Fara said without turning. “Go wash up. Breakfast’s almost ready.”

He obeyed. The cold water slapped his face awake.

When he returned, the table was set—three bowls, three cups, and one empty place waiting for him. Skye placed a plate in front of him without a word, her ears twitching as she sat opposite.

Fara joined, while Revoli already had a biscuit stuffed in her mouth.

He didn’t speak.

He ate slowly. The food wasn’t perfect, but it was warm and seasoned, carrying that quiet ache of something you didn’t know you’d been missing until it was in front of you.

“I didn’t know you liked eggs,” Skye said suddenly, eyes still down.

“I like breakfast,” he replied.

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was… thick.

Fara finally broke it. “We know.”

Kai raised a brow.

“We read your journal,” she said softly.

He froze mid-bite.

“I told them,” Revoli mumbled. “It smelled like you.”

“You read—”

“We’re sorry,” Skye said quickly, meeting his eyes at last. “We had to know. We had to understand.”

Revoli reached across the table, resting her small hand on his. “You were hurting. We didn’t know how much. Not really.”

He wanted to be angry. Wanted to scold them. But his chest was too full—not with rage, but something softer. Something he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

He ruffled Revoli’s hair, tugged Skye’s hood gently, and brushed the back of Fara’s hand with his thumb.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice breaking despite himself.

He stood to take his plate to the counter.

But his legs buckled.

They caught him—three pairs of arms tangled around him, steadying his weight.

That’s when he laughed. Not because it was funny, but because it was the only way to let the flood of relief and disbelief escape without crying again. He wasn’t used to being caught. Not used to having anyone care enough to hold him up.

The laugh faded into a breath, and the weight of his body dragged him down. Sleep took him—part from exhaustion, part because he finally felt safe enough to let go.

—

Later that night, he woke to warmth. Skye was curled into his right side, one arm draped over his chest. Fara’s tails wrapped lazily around his legs, her head resting on his shoulder. Revoli sprawled across his lap, cheek against him, breathing slow.

He didn’t move.

He just breathed. Listened. Let himself be held.

And as his eyes closed again, one truth settled deep:

This world might not be a dream anymore.

But this?

This was real enough to fight for.