Magic Adventure: Story About Julius

It was an ordinary day. The most ordinary.

The sun rose lazily over Aurorum, as if it too was in no hurry to wake up. I opened my eyes to the smell of spiced dough — Pecky had gotten up earlier than everyone again and decided to bake something special. Last time, his "special" turned out to be a salty pie with strawberry jam, but the family ate it anyway — with jokes, with smiles, and with spoons of silent forgiveness.

Life was already bubbling in the kitchen. Father checked the oven temperatures, and Mother was pouring tea for the early workers from the fields. At "Furno," there were never any breaks. Breakfast from six, lunch at noon, dinner until sundown. We didn't just serve food — we served warmth.

I was working on the pastries, as always. The dough behaved well, pliable — it was a good day. I could tell by the smell of flour, by the soft crackling of the fire beneath the cast iron pot.

Mozzarella was shaping pizzas, occasionally trying to boss everyone around like a little Thea. Syrupa ran around with a cup of honey, insisting that "you have to drip a bit on the corner of every pie, so wishes come true." Grill was grilling meat in the backyard, grumbling that someone stole his spices. Pecky, grinning guiltily, was hiding them under his apron.

And Thea? She was reviewing invoices, as usual. Strict and focused. But I noticed she had placed a little heart-shaped cookie from Mari beside her books.

Lina sat by the window with her notebook. She didn't cook, but she was writing something — I was sure it wasn't just recipes. Sometimes I thought Lina could see the future. Or at least feel it just a bit before the rest of us.

Darion only showed up by lunch — with a loud "Here I am!" — and a joke no one understood, but everyone laughed anyway. He was our thunder — cheerful, generous, a little unpredictable.

And me… I was just part of it all. Not the first. Not the last. Just a link in our living, warm chain.

We lived, worked, breathed together.An ordinary day.

And that was exactly where its magic lived.

After lunch, everything quieted down a little.

The customers left full and content, trailing behind the scent of roasted herbs and warm words. Some joked that our food wasn't just food — it was magic on a plate. We laughed in response, but deep down, we knew: for us, it truly was magic — our own, homemade kind.

Mama sat by the window with a cup of herbal tea and closed her eyes, savoring a moment of peace. Papa, as always, was cleaning something in the pantry. In our family, a break wasn't laziness — it was part of the ritual.

I stayed in the kitchen, kneading the dough that would soon become our signature caramel bread with a crisp crust. It required special care. Every touch, every second of heat — it all mattered. I could feel the flame responding to me. It breathed with me.

Grill turned the spit. Mari and Mozzarella, giggling, debated which was better — honey or melted cheese. Pecky ran around with a tray, from which something fell now and then. Syrupa sat on the roof, swinging her legs — she had this odd little hobby: watching clouds and naming them after flavors."That one looks just like whipped cream," she said that day.

And then…

The air seemed to shudder.

For a brief moment — everything stopped. Even the fire in the ovens dimmed slightly.

And then we heard the roar.

It swept over the village — not like thunder, but something far deeper. Like the howl of ancient mountains, a rumble that made your spine tremble. It wasn't close… but it was massive. And foreign. A sound I had never heard before.Not in childhood.Not in stories.Not even in nightmares.

We looked at each other.

And in that moment, everyone knew who it was.

Father clenched his fist, and the flame in the hearth flinched.Lina's quill trembled.Thea turned pale.Even Mari — cheerful, carefree Mari — lowered her head.

No one spoke the name.There was no need.It had already been said — in the air, in our bones, in the roar itself.

We knew it was him.And we knew — it meant trouble.

But me… I was still trying to pretend it was just a sound. Just a coincidence.Because back then, I still wanted to believe that an ordinary day…could stay ordinary.

The sky ignited.

As if someone had poured a bucket of molten blood across the heavens. The clouds tore apart, and everything around turned red — alarming, screaming, like a warning we hadn't heard in time.

And then came.

The dragon.

Massive. Black. With wings like shredded night and eyes that held no life — only madness and rage. He didn't breathe fire. He didn't even touch the ground. He just… roared.A sound that shattered houses, splintered beams, tore through walls — as if reality itself trembled under his voice.

The village of Aurorum — our warm, cozy world — descended into chaos in seconds.

People screamed. Stones rained from the sky. Lanterns, once soft and glowing, burst like drops of sun. "Furno" shook as if the fire inside was trying to flee.

Everyone scattered.

Some with others. Some alone. Some didn't make it.

I didn't know where my brothers and sisters were.Where Papa was.Where Thea, Lina, Mari were…

But I knew one thing:I was with Mama.

We were near the back wall of the restaurant when the ceiling began to collapse. I grabbed her hand, we started running — and then a beam, thick and scorched like a monster's bone, came crashing down right onto her back.

I fell beside her. Screamed. Tried to lift it.

Mama — Selena — only looked at me.

Calmly.

The way someone looks not at your face — but at your soul.

"Julius…" she whispered, her voice rough. "You can't. And you shouldn't."

"No… no, I… I can lift it! Or Grill will come, he's strong! Or someone… someone will see us!"

She shook her head, and in her eyes there was no panic. Only gentleness. And goodbye.

"Listen to me, son. Run. Run now. Save yourself. They'll need you. All of them."

"Mama…"

She touched my cheek. Her fingers were warm — but weak.

"I love you. Now go. Please."

I said nothing more. The tears burned my eyes.And I ran.Away from home.Away from the fire.

Away from the place where, for the first time in my life…fire wasn't a friend.But a killer.