The sibling fight raged on like a battle between two equally incompetent warlords, neither willing to surrender, both determined to claim a victory that, in reality, meant absolutely nothing.
What started as a spar had escalated into a full-blown showdown involving hair-pulling, desperate flailing, and a few unsanctioned elemental attacks that might have set fire to a nearby bench — or maybe an innocent chair.
It was hard to tell since the house did not have flammable furnitures inside. The battlefield bore the scars of their recklessness, with scorch marks, swirling gusts, and the occasional, suspiciously singed feather floating down from nowhere.
As the combatants prepared for yet another round of sibling carnage — Liam looking ready to summon a tornado, and Judge with a fireball in hand — Melina decided that enough was enough.
With the grace of a teacher who had long since lost all faith in her students, she stepped in between the warring fools and, with precise execution, delivered two clean, no-nonsense punches to their heads. The kind of punches that didn't just hurt physically but carried a message — a message of pure and undiluted disappointment.
A hush fell over the battlefield. The wind died down. The flames fizzled out. Even the angry spirits of their ancestors, who had probably been watching this nonsense unfold, decided they had better things to do.
Melina, now standing over the two dazed, mildly concussed warriors, crossed her arms and glared. "Why won't you ever grow up?!" she bellowed, her voice ringing with the sheer exhaustion of someone who had seen this exact scenario unfold far too many times to count.
Liam, still processing the blunt force trauma, blinked. "Huh, Melina? Why are you here?"
Judge's internal self-safety alarm started to ring like it was doomsday. A siren blared in his mind. Emergency escape routes were calculated. He could already hear the dramatic, tragic music that played before someone got utterly obliterated.
Liam had made a grave mistake. A fatal miscalculation. A true act of foolish bravery, akin to poking a sleeping dragon with a stick and then asking why it was breathing fire.
Judge did what any reasonable, intelligent, well-adjusted individual would do in this scenario. He betrayed his brother.
"What do you mean, Liam?!" Judge gasped, as if utterly appalled by the audacity of such a question. "She was here the whole time, diligently supervising our fight, making sure it didn't spiral into a complete disaster! And you — you can't even appreciate her efforts?" He shook his head in disappointment, as if Liam had personally disgraced their entire bloodline. "Shameful. Truly shameful."
Melina turned her gaze toward Liam, her expression unreadable — but Judge knew better. He had seen that face before. That was the 'I am not appreciated' face. The 'I sacrificed my time for this nonsense, and THIS is what I get?' face. It was the same expression a teacher wore when they spent hours explaining a concept only for a student to ask, "Wait, so what's 2+2?"
Liam's face paled. "Uh — um, I — I meant — uh — "
But it was too late. There was no salvation. No escape. Only regret.
And as Judge subtly shuffled away, ensuring there was a safe distance between him and his doomed sibling, he made a mental note to never — never — question Melina's presence ever again.
Peace and quiet followed Judge as he made his way toward his room in the identical Drakonis mansion in Wistmere. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he could breathe. The air smelled sweeter, the walls looked less judgmental, and the floorboards didn't seem like they were plotting his downfall. He had never felt so relieved.
Watching someone else — specifically his brother — get scolded in his place had been a life-changing experience. A euphoria unlike any other. Truly, he had been missing out. So this is what victory feels like…
But alas, there was still one more task left to complete. Amber.
Oh, he couldn't let her slip away unscathed. He had to ensure that she, too, would face the wrath of an exasperated authority figure before she ran off to school after the weekend. But how? How could he set her up in a way so perfectly that it guaranteed a legendary scolding?
Then it hit him. Like a lightning bolt of sheer, unfiltered genius, an incandescent bulb flickered to life inside his mind, the banquet. His lips curled into a slow smirk as the idea took form. Oh, this was going to be good. No — this was going to be spectacular.
But just as he turned to enter his room, a voice rang out.
"Just what is brewing in that brain of yours?"
Judge froze. His heart did a backflip into his stomach. His internal emergency alarms, which had barely cooled down after the Liam incident, were suddenly blaring again at full volume.
He turned around slowly, like a guilty thief caught red-handed, and there stood Amber.
Dressed in a pristine white gown, with a pearl necklace and matching earrings, she looked like she had just stepped out of a portrait of some noble princess attending a grand ball.
Judge immediately knew this was bad. Amber, when dressed this well, was either going somewhere important… or was in the mood to ruin someone's day.
"Huh?" He blinked, playing dumb like a champion. "Why are you here?"
Amber took a step closer, her expression unreadable. Then another step. And another. Before Judge could react, she reached out and — oh no — grabbed his hand.
The moment a sibling grabs your hand with zero hostility, it usually meant they had something truly terrifying planned. A casual scolding? No. This was worse. This was interrogation time.
"I've been waiting for you," she said calmly.
Judge gulped. Waiting for him? Why? Had she… had she somehow read his mind? Was his face too obvious? Did he look like a man scheming the perfect crime? He needed to recover — fast.
"And you didn't answer my question," Amber continued, eyes narrowing slightly.
Judge sighed, shifting into his most casual, innocent, totally-not-suspicious posture. "What makes you think I was thinking about something? For all you know, I could have been not thinking at all. And yes, that is possible."
Amber didn't even blink. "Your face."
Judge felt his entire existence stutter. "Huh?!"
"It's the face you make when you are plotting something," she stated flatly.
Judge was in absolute shock. He had been exposed. Amber had just read him like an open book. He had underestimated his sister's ability to detect nonsense.
Had he been making a face? A plotting face? Was there such a thing?! Was this an inherited Drakonis trait?
Amber tilted her head, clearly unimpressed. "So. What is it this time?"
Judge panicked. He needed a distraction. A diversion. Something. Anything. But all he could think of was —
"Uh… what if I told you I was thinking about… muffins?"
Amber narrowed her eyes. "Muffins?"
"Yes." Judge nodded, far too quickly. "Muffins. Just… the concept of muffins. I was reflecting on them. Their roundness. Their fluffiness. How one bakes them. Have you ever really thought about muffins, Amber? It's actually fascinating when you — "
Amber held up a hand. "Stop. Right there."
Judge immediately shut up.
There was a tense silence.
Amber took a slow, deep breath. Then, she let go of his hand and crossed her arms.
"Fine," she said, voice unreadable. "I'll find out sooner or later."