Alma walked silently, her steps slow but purposeful as she approached the colorful house standing proudly on the hill. The candle in her hand glowed steadily, its golden light illuminating her tear-streaked face. She held her sleeping triplets close in her other arm, their tiny breaths warm against her chest.

Santiago followed a few steps behind, Lucia still cradled safely in his arms. His heart was heavy, his mind reeling from everything they had lost—everything Pedro had lost. But he had made a promise.

He would stand by Alma, helping her, protecting her, and ensuring Pedro's sacrifice was never in vain.

Behind them, the remaining survivors spread out across the new village, their wary expressions slowly shifting to wonder. They whispered in amazement, running their hands along the sturdy walls of the homes that had appeared before them as though they had been waiting for them all along. Some villagers hesitantly stepped inside, their fingers brushing over the doors, the wooden beams, and the rooftops, feeling the reality of it settle into their bones.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, there was hope.

Alma finally reached the front steps of the house.

It was unlike any home she had ever seen—vibrant, welcoming, full of life. The walls seemed to breathe, as though the house was watching, waiting... protecting.

She hesitated for a moment, then lifted the candle slightly.

A warm breeze suddenly swept through the air, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers. A faint rumble vibrated beneath her feet, and then—

The house moved.

Not in a way that would frighten her, but in a way that felt... gentle. The tiles along the roof shifted, the windows adjusted as though greeting her, and the front door opened slightly—an invitation.

Alma gasped softly, but there was no fear in her heart.

This house was special.

She felt it.

She stepped inside, her breath catching as the warm glow of the candle illuminated the spacious, enchanting interior. The floor tiles shifted slightly like they were guiding her deeper in. The walls vibrated ever so gently as if Casita were introducing itself.

Alma pressed a hand against her chest, overcome with emotion.

This house—Casita—was a blessing. A gift. A home.

A place where she would raise her children and ensure that Pedro's sacrifice was never forgotten.

Santiago stood just outside, watching her and Casita, his grip on Lucia tightening slightly. He could see the emotion in Alma's face—the silent acceptance of her new role, the weight of leadership now resting on her shoulders.

And he knew, without a doubt—this was the beginning of something extraordinary.

As Alma and Santiago stepped inside Casita, the warmth of the house surrounded them, offering a sense of comfort that neither had felt since their village was lost.

The grand three-story structure enclosed a spacious, ceilingless courtyard at its center, where the night sky stretched above them. Though it was silent now, Alma could imagine children's laughter filling this space, the echo of footsteps on the tile floors, and the aroma of home-cooked meals drifting from the kitchen.

She exhaled softly. This would be their new home.

Santiago followed closely behind, his gaze sweeping over the ornate balconies and Spanish-tiled rooftops adorned the house. The single grand staircase led up to the second floor, where he caught sight of a portrait hanging at the top.

Pedro.

The flickering candlelight illuminated his face—a warm, youthful smile frozen in time. He looked peaceful and proud as if he already knew what kind of future his sacrifice would create.

Santiago clenched his jaw, his emotions stirring. Pedro should have been here.

Alma took a slow step forward, her arms tightening around her triplets. She had to keep moving.

As they ascended to the second floor, they stood on a long balcony overlooking the courtyard. Wooden doors, simple in design but spacious beyond imagination, lined the walls— a clear sign that Casita's magic had already taken root.

One door, however, stood apart from the rest.

It was engraved with a design of Alma, her figure depicted holding the glowing candle.

Alma's breath hitched as her fingers traced the delicate carving. She wasn't sure how, but she understood—Casita had chosen her.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the doorknob, her initials delicately etched into its golden surface. Slowly, she turned it and pushed the door open.

Inside, the room was simple yet full of warmth. The space was larger than it should have been, as if the house had expanded to give her what she needed. But it wasn't the size or the décor that captured Alma's attention—it was the portrait that hung on the wall across from her bed.

Pedro.

His 26-year-old self, smiling warmly, his eyes full of life.

A fresh wave of tears rose in Alma's eyes as she stepped inside and carefully placed the candle beneath the portrait.

The flame's glow flickered, casting a soft light on Pedro's image as if acknowledging his presence.

Alma swallowed the lump in her throat, her fingers lingering on the base of the candle.

"Mi amor..." she whispered, her voice breaking.

Santiago stood at the doorway, observing silently and respectfully. He didn't say a word, allowing Alma this moment with the man she loved—the man they had all lost.

With a deep, steadying breath, Alma turned back to Santiago.

"Once everything is in order," she said softly, her voice steadier than she felt, "we will give Pedro the funeral he deserves."

Santiago gave a solemn nod, holding Lucia a little closer.

Pedro's sacrifice would not be forgotten.

Not now.

Not ever.

Alma's arms ached, but she never once complained. Holding her triplets close brought her comfort, a reassurance that despite all they had lost, her children were safe.

Still, exhaustion weighed on her. She had carried them through the night after Pedro's sacrifice, through grief and fear, through fire and sorrow.

As if sensing her weariness, Casita suddenly stirred.

A faint tremor rippled through the floor beneath them, and before their very eyes, three beautifully crafted cribs appeared near the bed, each one positioned perfectly as if they had always been there.

Alma gasped softly, her tired eyes widening in surprise.

Still standing near the doorway with Lucia, Santiago stiffened slightly, watching in awe. He had seen many things that night—miracles, tragedy, and sacrifice—but this? This was... gentle.

Alma stepped closer, her breath catching as she traced a delicate hand along the smooth wooden frame of one of the cribs. They were sturdy yet elegant, adorned with soft blankets and small pillows as if Casita knew precisely what her children needed.

Pedro had left them.

But somehow, Casita would care for them.

Alma carefully laid Julieta, Pepa, and Bruno into their cribs, her hands trembling as she brushed their tiny cheeks. The triplets stirred but remained asleep, their soft breaths steady and peaceful.

Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes as she whispered into the dimly lit room, "Gracias, Casita."

The house gently creaked as if responding.

Still processing what he had witnessed, Santiago finally spoke, his voice low but full of wonder. "It's as if... the house is alive."

Alma nodded, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "It is. And I believe... Pedro is watching over us through it."

Santiago remained silent for a moment, then stepped forward. Carefully, he lowered Lucia into the small bassinet he had found beside him—another gift from Casita.

A quiet sigh escaped him as he watched his daughter sleep.

He felt peace for the first time since their world had fallen apart.

As the candle flickered beneath Pedro's portrait, Alma and Santiago stood in the quiet warmth of Casita, knowing that somehow, someway... they were home.

Alma and Santiago stood side by side, gazes lingering on the peacefully sleeping babies. Though exhaustion weighed heavy on them, curiosity sparked in their hearts.

Casita was unlike anything they had ever seen—a house born of magic, full of life and mystery. It would be Alma's forever home, the place where she would raise her triplets and honor Pedro's sacrifice. Santiago, though planning to live in a different house nearby, was just as eager to explore.

But neither of them wanted to leave the infants unattended.

Alma glanced down at Julieta, Pepa, and Bruno, snug in their cribs. Santiago gently ran a hand over Lucia's tiny head as she stirred in her bassinet before settling again.

Just as Alma was about to suggest taking turns exploring, a soft melody drifted through the room.

Both she and Santiago froze, exchanging puzzled glances.

The music was gentle and soothing, like lullabies carried by a breeze. It wasn't coming from any instrument they could see, yet the melody filled the air, wrapping around them like a warm embrace.

Alma's breath caught. Casita.

She turned, looking around the room as the house shifted, the walls pulsing slightly as if breathing in time with the music. It wasn't just a home—it was watching, listening, reassuring.

Santiago chuckled under his breath, shaking his head in amazement. "It's telling us we can trust it," he murmured.

Alma smiled, pressing a hand over her heart. Pedro... you made sure we were taken care of.

She exhaled deeply, allowing herself to accept the miracle before her. If Casita could create cribs for the babies, if it could respond to her needs, then she knew... the house would protect them.

She turned to Santiago. "Let's see what else Casita has to offer."

Santiago nodded, glancing at the infants before following Alma toward the doorway. The melody floated in the air, wrapping around the sleeping babies like an invisible cradle.

And as they stepped into the hallway, the house creaked playfully as if eager to show them everything it had in store.

As Alma and Santiago explored Casita, they marveled at the home's magic and warmth.

The first floor was spacious yet cozy, with a large kitchen that felt inviting, a living room full of potential for future gatherings, and a grand dining area that would one-day seat generations of family members. At the heart of it all was the courtyard, an open space that breathed life into the home, its ceilingless design letting the stars and sky shine.

They moved to the second floor, where many empty rooms lined the balcony overlooking the courtyard below. Alma smiled softly, already picturing her children running through the halls, claiming a room as their own.

One day, when her triplets grew older, these rooms would reflect who they were meant to be.

Perhaps, in time, when they had families of their own, Pedro's grandchildren would find a place here, too.

She turned to Santiago, her voice gentle yet hopeful. "Have you thought about staying in Casita?" She gestured to the many rooms around them. "You and Lucia could live here with us."

Santiago paused, touched by the offer, but he shook his head kindly after a moment.

"Thank you, Alma, truly," he said. "But I think it's best if Lucia and I have our own home. I want her to grow up surrounded by family, but I also want to build something for her—something I can pass down to her."

Alma nodded in understanding, though she couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness.

Santiago smiled reassuringly. "Lucia and the triplets will still grow up together. I'll never be far. I plan to open a bakery near my home—after all, the village will need a baker."

Alma laughed softly, warmth filling her heart. "You always did love making bread, Santiago."

"And you always loved eating it," he teased, making her chuckle.

As they continued exploring, they discovered the bathroom—one single bathroom for the entire house.

Alma sighed, already imagining the future chaos of a growing family sharing one space. "This is going to be interesting."

Santiago chuckled. "Maybe Casita will help out when the time comes."

At last, they reached the third floor, where a tall tower stood, its interior empty and waiting to be claimed.

Alma ran her fingers along the doorway, feeling the potential humming through the walls. Whoever chose this room one day would shape it however they liked.

As they stood inside the tower, their conversation grew serious.

They spoke of the village's future and how they would help the survivors rebuild. They discussed the new homes, the people who would take on roles to support the community, and how Encanto would grow into something strong and lasting.

But then their thoughts turned to Pedro.

His body had been placed in a quiet bedroom after the survivors had gently carried him inside, ensuring he would rest with dignity until they could give him a proper farewell.

Alma's fingers tightened slightly against the wooden frame of the tower's window as she stared into the distance. "Pedro deserves a beautiful funeral," she murmured.

Santiago nodded solemnly. "He saved us all. His funeral should honor that."

Alma turned to face him. "We should bury him soon... but I don't want to rush it." Her voice trembled slightly, but she steadied herself. "I want the village to have time to prepare something worthy of him."

Santiago placed a hand on her shoulder. "Then we'll take our time. We'll make sure he's remembered the way he deserves."

Alma exhaled, her gaze drifting toward the candle in her hands, its golden glow unwavering.

Pedro's body may have been resting in Casita, but his spirit was here, within the candle, the walls of this house, and their hearts.

And no matter what lay ahead, she would carry his memory forward.