Chris was gone for a few weeks. But he did return, alive and well enough.

He opened the door of his father's fairy-sized Hawaiian hut, hoping to nurse the sunburn, sore muscles, blisters, and his disappointment. Food he could scrounge up, a hot shower, an early bedtime. . .

To his surprise, the hut's open shutters provided a fresh breeze, there was something stewing on his stove, and his daughter-and-son twins were playing a fairy board game on the throw rug. They gasped when Chris entered and buzzed into a flutter to greet him at full speed.

Morgan gave him a flying hug that almost knocked him over. Placing her at the hip, Chris pulled Ryan in for a quick hug with his left arm. Ryan wasn't one to outwardly show his affection, but in this case, he didn't seem to mind. Like Morgan, he must have been grateful for Chris's safe return from yet another mission.

Chris was pleased to see them too, but looked for some sign of an adult present. Other than the two eight-year-olds, the place seemed empty. "What are you two doing here? You're supposed to be with Simona."

"Grandfather brought us back here," Morgan stated as Chris set her back on the ground.

She immediately lifted in flight to eye level. She was a firm believer of why walk when you can fly? Most fairies with wings shared this philosophy and not necessarily in a good way. With the twins, it was still playful and innocent. Even four years after the onset of their unique abilities—flight and Modification—it was still fascinating to watch them hover off the ground. It didn't happen often; living where they did, they had no reason to return to human size, but it was possible for them to go between states and sizes. The wings would simply disappear inside a tiny nodule on their backs. So they didn't need to lead a fairy life forever, not if they didn't want to.

"Kimo's back and brought you here? What for? Is he still here?"

"No, silly—"

"She means me." The legendary Scott MacRae, his perpetually absentee father, emerged from the bedroom at the back of the hut. "Simona is awfully overworked. So I took the kids off her hands for a few days. I hope you don't mind."

He would have been more able to digest the presence of Kimo Jokura—the twins' maternal grandfather, the Kāne general, and first-in-command leader. He had left many months ago to recruit soldiers on other Hawaiian islands, starting with Kauai, and they hadn't heard from him since.

Chris was too stunned to speak. "D-Dad. . . ?" he finally stammered. "What are . . . ?" He shook his head. One of his hands dove into his hair at the back of his neck. He had his other hand propped up as if he were trying to pull the appropriate words from the air. Or any words for that matter. . .

"What am I doing here?" Scott wandered closer. There was a moment of hesitation, ending with an awkward hug.

The greeting felt strained. Their relationship had suffered the ill effects of grief, regret, harsh words, and time apart. Still, it was a much better reunion than the first time Chris encountered Scott in this exact location. There was no reason to throw punches this time. That's because Chris was no longer angry with him. Chris now fully understood how all-consuming Hawaiian affairs could be.

Even so, the last time Chris saw his father and brother on that awful day in Pyxis, his erratic behavior most likely pushed everyone who cared for him away. He had thought forever. That's what he deserved. That's why no one ever came looking for him. But here his father stood. The timing of the visit was indeed significant.

Chris just knew.

Scott gestured to the chairs at the kitchen table. "It looks like you could use a seat and a hot meal."

He ladled two servings of stew into bowls and took a place across from him. Scott was never much of a cook in his "human" past. And that was because Chris's mother was an outstanding one and she was around for dinner ten times more often. Luckily, Scott could pull together a decent fairy meal with the unusual ingredients available for harvest in the jungle—fruit, edible flowers and plants, and meat if it was available—certainly better than Chris could.

Almost anything would have tasted better than the rabbit food and adrenaline Chris had been surviving on lately. "Thanks," he mumbled and then he finished his bowl with barely a pause to breathe. It was both fruity—mango based?—and spicy. Scott must have come across pepper extract and the chunks were most likely bird meat, like chicken, almost. "Dad, if you don't mind me asking, what are you doing here?"

"You don't sound happy to see me."

"I am. It's just . . . been a long time . . . and . . . I never expected anyone to drop by."

"To make a long story short, I came here to corroborate rumors that you died over here."

Chris couldn't suppress a smile. "Clearly you should check your sources."

Everyone, including the Kāne warriors he fought alongside, always seemed surprised whenever Chris showed up for training or battle. He had heard there was even a death pool. The winner would allegedly get the hut, one of the most spacious and well-built in Kāne Territory, and all of its contents.

Granted, Chris had been a bit reckless over the years, but at least he had honed his survival skills and evasion techniques. If he ever did go down, it would never be quietly enough to be mistaken as "rumor."

"I guess so! Since you're alive, what have you been up to? Any run-ins with my lovely ex-wife or her army?"

"Funny you should ask. . ." Chris finished his second bowl of soup and set his spoon in the empty bowl. "We were chasing shadows for years and had only one minor tiff with a few Gray Coats. The could have been lost or abandoned for all we know. But then we recently heard they were camped at Mount Konahuanui. We explored every rock, every hole, every damn ditch. We eventually found a channel into the mountain. It led to where they were camped. They left plenty of evidence behind, but they must have moved on. There was still food lying around, only somewhat rotten, so we didn't miss them by much. I'm sorry there's not better news to report."

"We haven't heard much either," Scott claimed. "I find it interesting that they're still lurking around Hawaii and at the same time, keeping such a low profile."

"Yeah, I came here expecting a fight. At first, I was pretty stupid about the whole thing. I dangled myself out there like bait."

"I hope you're not still doing that."

"No. Kimo talked some sense into me. He said he would do what he could to help my 'cause' if I was more careful. And Simona told me that Morgan," he whispered so his daughter wouldn't hear him. She was playing on the rug again and didn't look up when her name was said. "She was having night terrors when I wasn't around."

"I'm glad you finally saw the light, so to say. Some of us care if you live or die."

Chris gave him a shrug, and then stared at the fire for a while. They weren't that close to it, but he could feel the heat and burn of the smoke in his eyes. It was then it came to him. He was reminded of another tidbit of information Niele, their Kanaloan captive, had spilled out, something Chris had never mentioned to anyone else. "Oh, and I've been meaning to ask someone who might know. What are 'Fire Breathers?' Supposedly, Andromeda's recruiting them."

Scott leaned on his elbows, brought his folded hands beneath his nose, and stared at the table, as if praying. In some ways, his deep concentration could have been a prayer. In other ways, maybe he realized he didn't have a prayer.

"What? What are they?"

Scott dropped his hands from his face. They made a thud on the table. "Have you heard of the Ao clan?"

"I've heard of them," Chris admitted tentatively. "That's about it, though. Aren't they from the Big Island?"

"That's right. Their territory includes Mauna Loa, the volcano. They are known to be territorial treasure hoarders, luckily not aggressive beyond their borders. But if you get anywhere near their treasure, their guardians will kill you. The guardians are called 'Fire Breathers.' They're just slightly below human intelligence, just enough to make them obedient and loyal to their masters. They're about the size of a . . . I don't know . . . maybe a football? And here's a scary thought—they can interbreed with our kind. You may have even seen a few. They're out there. . . ."

"I have, I think. In Nohea."

"That doesn't surprise me," Scott continued. "The ones with mixed blood may or may not have wings and usually have the scales, at least partially, and some aggression issues. The genetically pure ones have wings, strong legs, and small clawed arms. They walk upright and have the head of a dragon. And they're nasty. Plus, their scales are practically impenetrable. When combined with their ability to breathe fire, they make for rather formidable opponents, even with the use of defensive magic.

"Here's what concerns me: Andromeda somehow managed to clean out the coffers when she escaped. So she has centuries of the world's finest treasure at her disposal. If she strikes a bargain with notorious treasure hoarders?" Scott raised one palm into the air. "Lo and behold, she might have Fire Breathers at her command."

"Awesome." Chris leaned back in his chair and chuckled as he put all the facts together. His father's theory, as ludicrous as it sounded, was the most logical one he'd heard so far. "I can't wait."

"I wouldn't be too concerned about Ilima. Pyxis concerns me more. It doesn't have the same Zone of Protection."

"So how protected are we around here? I know the army can wander in and out of the zone. But how exactly does it exclude outsiders?"

"The only way to 'officially' enter for the first time is through one of my password-guarded wormholes. As an added precaution, the password isn't even enough. It needs to be said in the presence of my blood . . . or that of a blood relative. Or a Jokura by blood. Once you enter, the barrier will recognize you in specific areas and then you can come and go as you please. Outsiders would be transported right over it and wouldn't have a clue. The process would be over in the blink of an eye.

"Outsiders brought in as, say, guests or prisoners, wouldn't be able to enter or return on their own without physical contact with an insider. So even if there are enemies brought in with an escort, they didn't enter through an official avenue. I understand that this is still a vulnerability, one I couldn't see a way around, but as far as I'm aware, it's never been an issue. In theory, once your numbers improve around here, you should no longer need the protection anyway."

"Yeah. Ha! In theory," Chris replied. "Why couldn't you set something like that up in Pyxis?"

"That would be a logistical nightmare. It's too big, first of all, and there are a number of parties to take into account. There will always be that bitter minority who remain loyal to their queen. And what would I do? Kick them out? How would I go about determining their loyalty? Or keep tabs on everyone once they're inside? On top of that, zone building with that level of complexity is a time-consuming endeavor—a lot of trial and error. It took me over a year the first time and let's just say I've been busy with other things."

There was an uncomfortable silence after that, as if they both knew where the conversation was heading and were mutually reluctant to take it there. Chris knew why on his end; his father had information he both ached for and dreaded. And Chris could guess from his father's almost mirror-image fidgeting that the fear was warranted.

Soon, though, Chris decided that knowing might bring on some pain but not knowing was akin to torture. So he chose bad over worse. "So what's new in my favorite spot on the globe?" he asked, every word carefully annunciated so that he merely sounded curious.

Chris's poor attempt at indifference brought a knowing smile to Scott's face. "You should stop by sometime and find out."

"Maybe I will. It's so conveniently located."

"Yeah, just like Hawaii."

"Good point. So what's your role there anyway? Are you running things?"

"As a matter of fact, I'm the Prime Minister."

Chris burst into a hearty laugh. "Prime Minister?"

"Why is that so funny?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe it's because back in the real world you used to sit on the couch and watch more baseball than I did." When you were home, Chris almost tagged on, but he didn't feel like opening an unnecessary line of conflict.

"Things change. . ." Scott said. "And what about you? Your in-laws have been saying some great things. Maybe you ought to consider leadership someday. I plan to retire soon. You could help ease the transition."

"Me?" Chris laughed again as he pictured himself back in Pyxis, sporting the neat haircut, trim beard, the tailored fairy slacks, the crisp and dignified white dress shirt—his father's exact likeness. "I might be able to lead an army, but a city?"

"The army needs all the help it can get!" Scott clapped his hands together and clunked his elbows on the table, all a show of eagerness to grant Chris the honor of general on the spot. "Sometimes those best suited for power are those who accept it with trepidation. If leaders crave the control and enjoy it too much. . ."

"Bad things can happen."

"And usually do," Scott added.

"I don't know," Chris said after some consideration. "I don't think it's for me. And besides, don't you have more qualified successors to choose from?"

"Well, there's Joe. He's doing really well and I think he wants to take over when I retire. I'm only hesitant because he's seen only the good times. It's easy to lead when you're attending galas, luncheons, and committee meetings. And he's never been good with money and he would have to be. There's not a lot to spare." Scott then paused. "Then, there is someone who might be a better leader than she realizes. Cassiopeia really understands Pyxis and its problems and takes into consideration—"

"Wait a second. She's alive?" Chris did little to disguise the elation in his voice. "All this time I've been preparing myself for the worst. That she didn't make it."

"Chris. . ." Scott said, though not loud enough to redirect Chris's attention.

"That wound of hers . . . the poison . . . who could have survived that, right? I feel so. . ."

It was hard for him to pick a word, really.

"Chris!"

Chris finally looked over. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing is wrong, per se. . ."

"Then what is it?"

"She's doing . . . well, for the most part. There was one incident—"

"Incident?" Chris interrupted.

"A misunderstanding that resulted in an abduction."

"What? Is she all right? Where was her protection?"

Scott's sigh was heavy, weighed down with what Chris could detect as guilt and responsibility. "She wandered off. She's headstrong, that one."

"Yeah, I know!" Better than most. Headstrong was what saved Chris's life on more than one occasion. "Still. . ."

"She's okay," Scott stressed. "A broken hand. That's all."

Chris's head was legitimately spinning. "Are you sure?"

"Yes! I'm . . . sure."

"You hesitated!"

Scott shook his head. Looked away. "It's nothing."

"It's obviously something. Just say it already!"

"All right," he acquiesced, his eyes back on Chris. "She's getting married . . . to . . . your brother. I didn't know how. . ."

Scott kept rambling, probably explaining how it came to be from his neutral perspective, but Chris didn't hear any of it. The whir of his blood-flow was clouding all thought processes. Still, the news was circulating through the rest of his body. A reaction was building, but it wasn't solidifying into words or actions just yet.

Scott shifted in his chair and its squeak was enough to remind Chris that he was still sitting there. "Are you going to be all right with that?"

Chris got up from his chair and paced into the living area. He stared at the baseball bat that hung on the wall like a shrine. Cassie had given it to him on his birthday, the one where he and she had briefly but fervidly. . .

So much more than a kiss. . .

And with them, the bat fell into the lagoon. When he returned to Hawaii—believing she was dead—it took him days to find it, but he finally did. And because of it, he would always link the bat to her, and hence, immortalize the one moment in his life he ever truly believed in magic.

Chris shuddered away from the path his mind was taking. It was doing more harm than good. "I'm a little surprised. Well, maybe I'm not that surprised. It makes sense that they would end up together."

Then Chris had to relive the last time he saw Cassie and Joe "together." She only pretended to betray them and Joe was the one who never lost faith in her. Their moment included a climactic kiss in the palace dungeon after she accomplished their rescue. Moments later, she walked by Chris like he wasn't standing there watching the whole thing.

Scott got up from the table and joined Chris's side. "Look, Chris, I'm not as daft as you might think. I know you have a past with her too. But isn't it ancient history at this point? Shouldn't you be able to come to the wedding and wish them all the best?"

"It's not that simple."

The news of the wedding was finally sinking in, infiltrating his core, practically softening his bones. And he didn't want to talk about it anymore.

Chris tore the bat off the wall and left the hut.

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