The Univited

The beautiful flight stewardess approached, her hands steady as she placed a plate of rare, bloody meat in front of Kein. It was a special menu—one the rest of the crew hadn’t questioned. After all, this passenger wasn’t just anyone. Not a dignitary. Not a monarch. But someone far older. Far greater. One of them, though they didn’t know it.

Kein’s thoughts drifted, his timeless reverie interrupted by the sight of her delicate fingers arranging the silverware. There was something about the warmth of her hands that stirred a faint flicker of memory—something soft, almost human. He reached out, his fingers brushing her arm gently. She paused.

“Sit with me,” he said, his voice low but commanding, centuries of unspoken power buried beneath the words.

She giggled—nervously, but not unwillingly—and sat beside him. Perhaps she thought this was part of the charm of flying private. Or perhaps, on some instinctive level, she knew she was in the company of something beyond the kings and sheikhs she had served before.

Encouraged by her nearness, Kein leaned in and kissed her. Softly. Slowly. Not with hunger, but with memory.

Because when his lips met hers, he did not see the stewardess.

He saw Mahganda.

It was not just beauty he remembered—but the way light danced in her eyes as she moved through the garden he was never meant to enter. The grace in her presence. The stillness she carried. Kein had crossed into that forbidden paradise only once, and yet her image had followed him through centuries, through deserts and wars, through exile and grief.

The stewardess returned the kiss, unaware that she was a shadow of someone etched into the soul of an immortal man.

Kein drew back, just slightly, watching her. The blood on his plate had gone cold, untouched.

Still, he could feel the echo of that first longing—the day he saw Mahganda in the garden and felt, for a fleeting moment, the ache of something close to redemption.

***<><>***

Kein and Velial stood on the edge of a cliff, shadowed by the folds of twilight. The sacred garden below thrived in silence, untouched by time, glowing under the soft kiss of the setting sun. They remained unseen—unable to enter uninvited. That was the law. Even gods, once cast out, must obey the old rules.

Kein narrowed his eyes at the family nestled within the garden’s embrace. They moved freely, unburdened by shame or cloth, their nakedness gleaming like polished bronze under the fading light. It was almost jarring—refreshing, he thought. Innocence still exists in the cracks of this world.

The mother stood tall and ripe with life, full hips and nurturing curves swaying as she moved. The daughter, younger yet already bearing the beauty of womanhood, laughed as she danced in spirals around the fire pit. The father, broad and grounded, carried the day’s hunt over his shoulder with the ease of a seasoned warrior. The two sons mirrored him—one already strong and commanding, the other still burning with youth’s fire.

Kein focused on the second son, Febo (February), whose name echoed from the lips of the eldest. The boy crouched near a pile of dry wood. Then, to Kein’s intrigue, Febo extended his arm backward—as if reaching into thin air—and pulled forth a flaming arrow.

Kein smiled. Even after two thousand years walking among the dying and damned, the sight of raw, untamed power still thrilled him. He watched as Febo released the arrow, and the dry wood erupted in an obedient blaze.

The girl, Arso (March), laughed in delight, twirling around the fire with unbothered grace, her bare feet stomping against the dirt in rhythm. Flame bloomed in Febo’s hands, unintentional, wild—much like the laugh that burst from his chest. The parents chuckled, amused by their children’s antics.

Only Niro (January), the eldest, remained still—focused on the game he and their father had caught. His hands moved with precision, stripping fur, cleaning sinew. Even as his younger brother hurled a ball of fire at him, Niro didn’t flinch. An invisible ripple of energy bloomed around him—an unseen barrier that swallowed the flame without so much as a flicker.

Kein’s interest deepened.

“Quit it,” Niro snapped, voice sharp but calm. “Father, stop encouraging them.”

Their parents only laughed louder.

“All right, my children,” Malacaz, the father, called. “Help your brother prepare dinner. Your mother and I have... matters to attend to.”

He lifted Maghanda, the mother, effortlessly into his arms. She squealed in mock protest, giggling as he carried her inside their modest hut and shut the door.

Arso paused, a pout forming on her lips. “Aren’t you curious what they do in there that makes Mother’s belly grow again and again?”

Niro smirked. “They’re creating more hands to help around the land, since someone spends all day dancing instead of working.”

“I do not!” Arso huffed, crossing her arms over her chest, eyes narrowing at her brother.

“I’m with Niro on this one,” Febo chimed in, stepping closer with a teasing smile. “But I don’t mind. You’re a delight to look at after a long day’s work.”

He kissed Arso’s forehead with brotherly affection. She giggled and threw her arms around him. But Kein, still watching from the cliffside, noticed it—the way Febo tensed. How he hesitated before gently pushing her away and turning toward the fire.

He’s confused, Kein mused. That confusion will grow.

Beside him, a hiss slithered through the wind.

“That family smells familiar,” came a low, sibilant voice.

From the heavy cloth sack slung across Kein’s shoulder, a serpent’s head emerged, tongue flicking as it climbed to his collarbone. Its slick body coiled around his neck like a sentient necklace.

Kein’s jaw tightened.

“Don’t tell me,” he muttered.

The serpent’s tongue danced again, tasting the air.

“They have the scent of the First Flame,” it whispered. “The bloodline of the Bound Ones. Especially the girl... her fire is not just heat—it’s persuasion, desire... old enchantment.”

Kein’s golden eyes darkened. “I told you not to speak of them.”

“You felt it too,” Velial hissed. “The moment the boy called the fire from nowhere. He reached into the space between. He pulled from the vein.”

Kein’s silence confirmed it.

He turned away from the cliff, his heart oddly heavy.

That garden below—so full of life and simplicity—was not ordinary. The family within it, though playful and foolish, carried something older than the soil they walked on.

And he...

He had once known what it meant to carry light like that.

But that was before the fall.

Before the betrayal.

Before Abba turned His face away.

Still, something inside Kein stirred—fascination, hunger... envy.

What kind of power had awakened in those children? And why now?