The heavy, serious atmosphere of the formal reunion did not last long. As soon as the main doors of the Grand Hall were closed to the public and the official guards stepped back to the perimeter, the air in the room changed completely. It shifted from a place of politics and strategy into a playground.

For the outside world, the children of Lloyd Ferrum were terrifying beings. They were the offspring of the most powerful man on the continent and his legendary wives. They held titles like "High Chief Justice" or "Grand Admiral." But inside the walls of the Ferrum Estate, behind closed doors, titles didn't matter much. Here, they were just brothers and sisters, and they had a lot of energy to burn.

The silence was broken by a high-pitched laugh that sounded like crackling electricity.

"You can’t catch me! You’re too slow!"

It was Raiden. At six years old, the son of Fang Fairy was a blur of motion. He didn't just run; he zipped across the marble floor like a bolt of blue lightning. His silver hair was a mess, and his eyes sparkled with mischief. He wasn't using his full power, of course—that was forbidden inside the house—but even his natural speed was faster than most horses.

Chasing after him was Ignis. At twelve years old, Ignis was tall for his age and had his mother Faria’s fiery temper. He was red in the face, panting hard as he tried to corner his little brother.

"Raiden, stop!" Ignis shouted. "Give it back! That paintbrush isn't a toy!"

"It is now!" Raiden yelled back, his voice echoing off the high ceiling. He darted between two massive stone pillars, using them as an obstacle course.

Ignis growled. He didn't use fire magic inside the house because his mother would ground him for a month, but the air around him got noticeably hotter. He tried to cut Raiden off by jumping over a decorative bench. He was athletic and strong, but he was trying to catch lightning with his bare hands. Every time Ignis got close, Raiden would giggle and vanish in a blur of blue static, appearing ten feet away.

"I’m going to tell Father!" Ignis threatened, though it was an empty threat. He never told on his siblings. He preferred to handle things himself.

"You have to catch me first!" Raiden teased.

He looked over his shoulder to make a face at Ignis, which was a mistake. Because he wasn't looking where he was going, Raiden didn't see the obstacle standing in the middle of the hallway.

The obstacle was Petra.

Petra was nine years old. She was the daughter of Spirit Jasmin. She was standing perfectly still, holding a small doll, watching the chaos with calm, dark eyes. She saw Raiden zooming toward her. She didn't move out of the way. She didn't scream. She simply braced her feet against the floor.

Her skin shimmered for a split second, turning into a translucent, diamond-hard surface.

THUD.

Raiden slammed into his sister. It was like running full speed into a diamond wall. Raiden bounced off her with a squeak of surprise and landed on his bottom, sliding across the polished floor. The stolen paintbrush flew out of his hand and clattered away.

Petra didn't even wobble. She looked down at her little brother, her expression unimpressed.

"No running in the hall," Petra said simply. Her voice was quiet but solid as a rock.

Ignis finally caught up, breathing heavy. He bent over, hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He looked at Petra and gave her a thumbs-up.

"Thanks, Petra," Ignis wheezed. "Good block."

"He was being loud," Petra shrugged. She picked up the paintbrush and handed it to Ignis. "He stepped on my doll's dress yesterday. Now we are even."

Raiden rubbed his nose, which was slightly red from the impact. He wasn't hurt—Ferrum children were tough—but his pride was a little bruised. He looked up at his sister with big, puppy-dog eyes.

"That was mean," Raiden pouted. "You're too hard."

"I am supposed to be hard," Petra stated matter-of-factly. "That is my job."

While the physical chaos played out in the center of the room, a different kind of game was happening in the shadows.

Voran, the fourteen-year-old son of Princess Amina, was nowhere to be seen. Or at least, he thought he was nowhere to be seen. Voran was the "Lord of Whispers" in training. He took his studies seriously. He wanted to know everything about everyone.

Currently, he was blending into the dark curtains near the side alcove. He was trying to eavesdrop on the older siblings—Sullivan, Eira, Caelum, and Luna—who were standing near the window discussing something that looked important. Voran held his breath. He controlled his heartbeat. He made himself as small and unnoticeable as possible. He was doing a perfect job.

Or so he thought.

A hand tapped him gently on the shoulder.

Voran jumped, nearly falling out of the curtains. He spun around, his heart hammering. Standing there, holding a plate of small cakes, was his sister Elowen.

Elowen was thirteen, the daughter of Queen Seraphina. She didn't have super speed or diamond skin or shadow magic. Her power was different. She noticed things. She understood people.

"You're breathing too loud, Voran," Elowen said with a sweet smile. She offered him a cake. "And your left foot was sticking out from under the drape."

Voran straightened his jacket, trying to recover his dignity. He took the cake because he was hungry, but he frowned.

"I was practicing," Voran whispered defensively. "I almost heard what Sullivan was saying about the trade routes."

"Sullivan was talking about how much he wants a nap," Elowen corrected him gently. "And Caelum was complaining that the Wi-Fi signal in the East Wing is spotty. It wasn't state secrets. It was just complaining."

Voran sighed, defeated. "I need to work on my stealth. Mother says a true spy is a ghost."

"A true spy also knows when to take a break and eat a strawberry cake," Elowen said. "Come on. Dinner is being set up. If we don't go now, Ignis will eat all the good rolls."

Voran grumbled, but he followed her. He knew Elowen was right. She was always right about people. She had a way of making everyone do what she wanted without them realizing they were being ordered around. It was a terrifying power in its own right.

As they moved toward the massive dining table that had been set up in the center of the hall, the noise level increased. The servants were bringing out platters of food—mountains of roasted meats, towers of fresh fruit, and huge tureens of soup.

It was a family dinner for a family of thirty-plus people, including the mothers and the children. It was less like a meal and more like a logistical operation.

"I want to sit next to Solus!" Raiden shouted, having recovered from his collision with Petra.

"No, Solus is sitting with me," Ignis argued. "We need to talk about the new solar array design."

"I am sitting next to the bread," Petra announced, climbing into a chair and staking her claim.

Sullivan, the eighteen-year-old Crown Prince, stood at the head of the table. He looked exhausted. He loved his siblings, but herding them was harder than negotiating peace treaties between nations. He rubbed his temples.

"Everyone, please," Sullivan said, raising his voice just enough to be heard. "Just pick a seat. It doesn't matter where you sit. The food is the same at both ends of the table."

"That is factually incorrect," Caelum, the twin genius, pushed up his glasses. "The roast beef is currently positioned at the north end. By the time it is passed to the south end, the temperature will have decreased by approximately four degrees. Therefore, the north end is objectively better."

"Nerd," Luna, his twin sister, muttered, shoving him playfully. "Just sit down."

The argument over seating arrangements was about to escalate into a wrestling match between Ignis and Raiden again when Elowen stepped in. She didn't shout. She just tapped a spoon against her glass. Ding. Ding. Ding.

The sharp sound cut through the noise. Everyone looked at her.

"If you don't sit down in five seconds," Elowen said pleasantly, "I will tell the kitchen to take the dessert away."

The threat was effective. Absolute silence fell over the room. Within four seconds, every child was in a chair.

"Thank you," Sullivan mouthed to Elowen.

She winked at him.

The dinner began. It was loud, messy, and happy. Plates were passed around. Jokes were told. Drinks were spilled and cleaned up with magic. For a while, it seemed like a normal, chaotic family meal.

But then, down at the far end of the table, the youngest Ferrum decided he wasn't happy.

Aeon was four years old. He was the son of Zafira, the Spirit of Time. He was a cute kid with big eyes and a messy face covered in sauce. He was sitting in a high chair, playing with a small wooden toy soldier while he ate.

He was trying to make the soldier stand on the rim of his soup bowl. It was a precarious operation. He balanced it carefully. He let go.

Splash.

The toy soldier fell into the bowl of thick mushroom soup. It sank to the bottom, disappearing beneath the creamy surface.

Aeon stared at the bowl. His bottom lip began to tremble. His eyes filled with tears. He didn't want a soupy soldier. He wanted his toy back, clean and dry. He wanted the mistake to not have happened.

He started to cry. But when a child of the Time Spirit cries because they want to "undo" something, the universe listens.

________________________________________

Sullivan was just lifting a spoon of mushroom soup to his lips. It was good soup—rich, creamy, and hot. He blew on it gently to cool it down. He opened his mouth.

Flash.

Suddenly, Sullivan felt a weird sensation in his stomach. It was like going over the top of a roller coaster, a lurching feeling of weightlessness. The world blurred for a microsecond.

When his vision cleared, Sullivan was holding his spoon. He was blowing on the soup. He was opening his mouth.

He paused. He blinked.

"Wait," Sullivan thought. "I just did this."

He looked around the table. Everyone else had paused, too.

Caelum was holding a fork halfway to his mouth, a confused expression on his face. Eira, the Grand Admiral, was mid-sentence, talking about ocean currents, but she had stopped talking and was looking around the room with narrow eyes.

"Did anyone else feel that?" Eira asked. "It felt like... a skip."

"Déjà vu," Luna said, shaking her head. "A glitch in the matrix."

"It wasn't a glitch," Caelum said, putting his fork down. "Look at the clock."

He pointed to the large grandfather clock in the corner of the hall. The second hand was ticking, but it seemed to be stuttering.

Sullivan looked down the table. At the far end, little Aeon was staring at his soup bowl. His lip was trembling. A toy soldier fell into the soup with a distinct splash.

"No!" Aeon wailed. "My soldier!"

Sullivan sighed. He realized what was happening. "Oh no."

Before anyone could move, Aeon scrunched up his face and screamed. He didn't want the soldier to be wet. He wanted to go back.

Flash.

The lurching feeling hit everyone again. The room spun. The sound was sucked out of the air.

When the world snapped back into focus, Sullivan was holding his spoon. He was blowing on the soup.

"Okay, this is getting annoying," Sullivan said, putting the spoon down with a clatter. "We are in a loop."

"It’s Aeon," Dizzle said from the middle of the table. The fourteen-year-old Chief Justice was calm, as always. He pointed his fork at the baby. "He keeps dropping his toy. He gets upset. He unconsciously triggers a localized temporal reset to try and fix it."

"He's four!" Ignis complained. "How does he have enough mana to reset time for the whole room?"

"He's Zafira's son," Solus said, his eyes glowing faintly with solar light as he tried to resist the time shift. "Time doesn't have rules for him. It just does what he wants."

Down at the end of the table, the tragedy repeated itself. Aeon balanced the toy. The toy slipped.

Splash.

"Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry," Vala, who was sitting closest to the baby, whispered desperately. She tried to reach for the bowl, but she was too slow.

Aeon cried.

Flash.

Sullivan was holding his spoon. He was blowing on the soup.

"I hate mushroom soup," Raiden groaned. "I’ve eaten this same spoonful three times now. I’m full, but I’m still hungry. It’s confusing my stomach!"

"We have to stop him before he drops it," Eira said, standing up. "If he drops it, he resets. We need to intercept the target."

"This is a military operation now?" Ignis asked, grinning. "I'm in."

"No fire!" Sullivan ordered. "Elowen, talk to him. You're the diplomat."

"I can't talk to him if time resets before I get there!" Elowen argued.

The loop reset again. Sullivan was holding his spoon.

"Okay," Sullivan said, dropping the spoon. "New plan. Speed. Raiden, you're up."

Raiden’s eyes lit up. This was his moment. "On it, boss!"

Down at the end of the table, Aeon was balancing the soldier. His little hand was shaking. The soldier wobbled.

"Go!" Sullivan shouted.

Raiden exploded into motion. He didn't run; he vanished in a streak of blue light. He zipped down the length of the long dining table, weaving between goblets and dodging roast chickens. The wind from his passing blew napkins off the laps of his siblings.

The toy soldier tipped forward. It began to fall toward the creamy, brown surface of the soup.

Gravity was pulling it down. Aeon’s face was scrunching up, getting ready to scream.

Raiden’s hand blurred.

Just as the toy’s plastic boots were about to touch the liquid, Raiden snatched it out of the air. He skidded to a halt at the end of the table, holding the toy soldier up in triumph like a trophy.

"Got it!" Raiden cheered.

The table held its breath. Everyone looked at Aeon.

The baby blinked. He looked at his soup. It was undisturbed. He looked at Raiden, who was holding the toy.

Aeon didn't cry. He clapped his hands and laughed. "Soldier fly!"

The tension in the room snapped. Everyone exhaled at the same time. The grandfather clock in the corner resumed a steady, normal ticking rhythm. The loop was broken.

"Good job, Raiden," Sullivan called out, sinking back into his chair. He looked at his bowl of soup. He pushed it away. "I think I’m done with the soup course. Can we move to the main dish, please? Something solid that doesn't splash."

The servants, who had been frozen in the kitchen doorway, confused by the sense of déjà vu but unsure what was happening, hurried forward to clear the bowls.

The rest of the dinner was relatively peaceful, by Ferrum standards.

Raiden sat next to Aeon and kept the toy soldier safely in his pocket, entertaining the baby with funny faces instead. Ignis and Petra argued about whether diamond could melt if the fire was hot enough (Petra said no; Ignis said he just needed a bigger fire). Caelum and Luna debated the efficiency of the castle’s heating system.

Sullivan sat back and watched them. He took a sip of water. He felt a deep, heavy tiredness in his bones, the kind of tiredness that comes from managing a hurricane.

Being the oldest brother of this family was a full-time job. They were demigods. They were geniuses. They could freeze oceans, burn forests, and rewind time because they dropped a spoon.

But as he looked at them—Raiden making Aeon laugh, Elowen sharing her dessert with Voran, Petra letting Ignis use her arm as a drum—Sullivan smiled. It wasn't a politic smile. It was a real, soft smile.

"They're monsters," Sullivan whispered to himself. "But they're my monsters."

Extra Chapter: The list of the children:

Sullivan Ferrum (Male, Age: 18)

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by lotustale.com