Magic Adventure: Story About Julius

About ten years had passed.

I had nearly forgotten what that first step on the soft carpet felt like or how the flame danced beside a candle. The world had grown bigger, louder, fuller. And most of all — more crowded.

During that time, our family welcomed two younger brothers and two younger sisters. Selena, our mother, smiled as she rocked them in her arms while Father sighed with quiet exhaustion and stoked the fire beneath the stove with ever more resolve.

We grew used to the noise. The constant clatter, the falling wooden spoons, the echo of children's laughter bouncing off the kitchen walls.

My new siblings were like sparks from a great flame — each one different, but all born of the same warmth.

Pecky, one of the youngest, adored sweets from the very beginning. He was drawn to pastries, dough, and the scent of vanilla. He was always covered in flour from head to toe, stubbornly trying to recreate Mama's muffins — even if they sometimes came out burnt… or salty.

Grill was the opposite. He dreamed of being like our father. You'd often find him by the oven, focused and serious, hands coated in spices. He especially loved making meat and burgers — and he was almost as good at it as Darion.

Among the girls was Syrupa — gentle, romantic, with a voice like drops of honey. She cooked fruit sauces and berries in caramel, and once almost boiled Papa's favorite ladle in apricot syrup.

And then there was Mozzarella. Yes, that's what we called her — though, of course, she had a real name too. But she loved making pizza more than anything, stretching the dough, layering it with anything and everything. Especially cheese. First, a little... then handfuls... and eventually — buckets. All with a contented grin.

I'd been helping for a while by then, too. I especially loved baking. Not like Pecky — he loved decoration and sweetness. I cared about texture, aroma, warmth. My dough was always alive. I could feel when it was "breathing" right. And the fire listened to me no less than it had once listened to Mama.

"Furno" became crowded, noisy — but all the more cozy for it. We were no longer just a restaurant. We were a family where no one simply ate — we created flavor, warmth, joy.

But nothing lasts forever.

Even the warmest kitchens grow cold one day.

We didn't have palaces, castles, or magical towers.

But we had dinners where no one sat in silence.

There were evenings when all of "Furno" turned into a living fairytale. As the sun slowly sank behind the hills, we lit lanterns — not ordinary ones, but ours, made of flame. Little fire orbs floated gently in the air above the tables, reflecting in the glossy glaze of pies.

The whole family would gather at a long wooden table in the corner of the kitchen.

Someone laughed, someone argued, someone sang. Sometimes, we even had to turn off the magical heater — the room was already too warm from the people, the fire, and the love.

Papa, a man of few words, often just sat and listened, leaning back in his chair, a mug of herbal tea in his hand. Mama would tell stories about how she baked her first loaf of bread at the age of five — and almost burned down Grandma's shed in the process.

Grill roasted vegetables on coals out on the veranda, dancing to the rhythm of wooden spoons that Mari banged like drumsticks. Pecky, dusted in powdered sugar, offered everyone sweets he hadn't managed to hide for himself. Mozzarella sang songs about cheese. Syrupa scattered dried rose petals across the table, claiming, "Even plain salt should look beautiful."

And me… I remembered. Everything.

The crunch of bread between teeth. The smell of vanilla clinging to the tablecloth. The way Lina, without lifting her eyes from her notebook, would suddenly say, "Did you know cinnamon amplifies the magic in kind words?"

There were holidays too — rare, but unforgettable. On those days, we closed the restaurant to outsiders. We lit a giant bonfire in the backyard, grilled everything we could find in the house, and danced barefoot, not caring who might be watching. Even Thea allowed herself to smile, though she pretended she was just keeping things in order.

Those were the days when the world didn't just feel kind — it felt like it belonged to us.

And we needed nothing more.

Back then, I couldn't even imagine... that one day, all of it would come to an end.