Welcome to Gaia! ::

7/23/04

Djerod very rarely visited Gaia, but today he had some business to conduct. His cousin (or sister, as he considered her) had expressed an interest in expanding their business into the Gaian realm, and as PietTech's only representative, it was his job to figure out how.

The majority of the morning was spent scouting out locations. Barton Town, where his wayward daughter Emperial owned a shop, wasn't to his tastes. Gambino was even less so. He took one step onto the island and turned right back onto the boat when he was hit by a wave of heat. Heat gave him an excuse to wear Hawaiian shirts, of course, but that wasn't a luxury he was particularly attached to. He much preferred cooler climates more akin to his homeplanet.

So he found himself in Durem, where he located an ideal piece of real estate, and after brokering a deal with the landlord decided to take a walk. Durem was considerably cooler than Barton and Gambino, in large part due to its towering buildings which cast shadows over the streets for most of the day. Durem was a darker place, a gritty town, and he liked that. It was probably as close to Coruscant as Gaia came. He loved Coruscant, as much as he hated to admit it. Everyone minded their own business on the giant city-planet.

He stopped in a small store and picked up some lunch: a bento box. The food selection on Gaia was quite limited. All sweets and candy and sushi. The drink selection was considerably better: he found a bottle of chilled strawberry pop, not too sweet, and purchased that as well.

Now he was wandering through the streets of Durem, skirting dirty puddles from the recent rain, dropping a piece of tuna for a stray cat that crossed his path. It tried to follow him for half a block after that, but he had no intention of taking it home. There were too many pets there already, mostly Em's fault.

He sighed. He missed his daughter a great deal. She was a handful, to be sure, a Rhean as feral as they came, but she was also intelligent, funny, and one of the few people he trusted implicitly. Now she was gone, off on some grand quest without warning, worrying him to pieces every moment she was not safe at home. At home he could protect her. He wanted to protect her more than anything else in the universe.

Of course, his cousin had an answer for that. "You can't protect her forever, Djerod. Whether you like it or not, she is her own person and must make her own choices and deal with her own dangers."

"Well, I don't like it," he had retorted crossly. She had merely laughed at him, amused by his staunch refusal to accept anything less than total control of the universe in regards to his daughter. She had no children of her own due to a special incompatibility with her chosen lover, so had to settle for mothering his two daughters whenever she had the chance.

His musings had taken him far away from the general din of Durem into a quieter area. Here there were trees, twittering birds, and Oriental-styled buildings. He was momentarily confused. This was clearly not Barton Town, Gambino, or Durem. To the best of his knowledge, those were the only three accessible areas of Gaia, excepting that large field between Barton and Durem.

Not that he minded. If he'd somehow wandered into a hidden area of Gaia, he was thankful, for the place was quite deserted. Possibly it was an area not yet open to the general public. As there was no one around to stop him, he decided to take his lunch here and bend the rules a bit.

He chose a spot below a cherry tree filled with blossoms in the shade of a small wood and rice paper building. The ground was soft with new grass and a stream bubbled somewhere nearby, supplying calming background noise. The spot was also mostly shielded from the main path by the building and a stone garden wall. He smiled slightly at the particularly appropriate Oriental atmosphere as he snapped apart his disposable chopsticks.

Partway through his meal, he felt a familiar prickle begin on the back of his neck. At first he paid it no heed--it had been a frequent companion of his in recent weeks--but he quickly realized that however familiar the prickle was, this was the wrong place for it.

Rising to his feet, he tucked the remained of his lunch away in the box. Now that he was paying it attention, it seemed to him that the sensation was coming from the direction of the nearby building.

He presumed it to be a house of some sort. He was not well-versed in Oriental architecture so could not be certain, but the garden he was presently standing in seemed like the perfect compliment to a residence, and he envied the owners. Not that he had seen a single soul since his entrance.

The building was raised from the ground half a meter and surrounded by a wooden platform of sorts reminiscent of a wraparound porch. He stepped onto this platform now, the soil in the groove of his hiking boots crunching against the wood.

Since it seemed the polite thing to do, he cleared his throat and called out a questioning, "Hello?" Only the faint noise of trees and birds answered him. If there was anyone in the house, they were being very quiet about it. He took another step forward and nudged open the sliding door.

The house seemed empty enough. He saw no sign of any habitation. Only empty wooden halls and vacant doorways.

The prickling sensation suddenly intensified. He looked instinctively to the right and caught what might have been a glimpse of something or merely a trick of the light.

Slowly, he reached down into his boot and removed his I-6 blaster. It was a small model, but effective, created using bioengineered materials: hard chitin for the outer casing, elastic tendons for the trigger, carved bone pieces for the hard moving bits. It used a spark-producing element from an insect on Gyrhuiss IV to charge a natural electricity-producing organ harvested from a tiny marine creature the size of a fingernail. This electrical energy was focused in the blaster's barrel, forming a bolt. It was just enough to stun a small area on a humanoid, useless for most people, but if you knew where to aim a single shot could incapacitate.

The real beauty of the blaster was, in addition to its compactness, the fact that it could slip by almost any sort of sensor imaginable. It registered as an inconsequential parasite on biological sensors, it contained no metal bits or inorganic substances, and since the blaster was electrically inert until triggered, had no energy signature or coils. It was popular among those whose jobs required they not bear arms, but due to its nonlethal nature, was not a top seller. It uses were limited to a small niche market.

Djerod carried it because in addition to being terribly proud of its ingenious design (a collaboration between his physics expertise and his cousin's genetic and biology research) it was small enough to fit in his boot, and he was an accurate enough marksman to make an incapacitating shot on a human three out of four times in combat situations. He knew this blaster inside and out and was so comfortable using it he felt like an extension of his hand. He often stunned small birds and squirrels in the backyard for practice. While most folk tended towards blasters like the A-9 (sleek, elegant, accurate, customizable, and lethal) or the MATM series (overpowered, destructive, mountable, and illegal), he chose his blaster in the feeble hope of more peaceful times. The galaxy was far too tumultuous a place for such deadly objects. The I-6 was a weapon of enforcement, not war.

At the moment, he was just glad he had it. His combat skills were poor enough that he might never get the chance to fire off a single shot, but its presence was a reassuring factor. Always be thankful for the power you have over a situation, no matter how miniscule it may be.

He stepped lightly into the bare hall and was rewarded with the creak of floorboards for his trouble. However stealthy his blaster may be, he himself was unaccustomed to sneaking about. Too many years of comfortable home living had slowly sapped the paranoia from his steps.

Moving to a new position, he crept down the hall as carefully as possible, blaster at the ready. There was something down there. He could tell.

His first glance around the corner revealed yet more empty hallway, sliding doors lining both sides. At this point, he gave up on conventional stealth techniques, ready to admit that his abilities in that area, or lack thereof, would not help him in the least. Such things were meant for soldiers, not officers. He still kept his blaster at the ready. If he was going to hold an advantage, it would be found in his instincts. He had to trust that prickling sensation no matter what.

"Is there someone here?" he tried again, moving slowly forward and trying to listen for any signs of response. He passed a door on either side but sensed nothing behind them. His target was further down... and on the left side of the hall. He zeroed in on the sliding door in question. "Come out slowly." Still, not a single sign of movement.

Transferring his blaster to his left hand, he placed his right gently upon the door and pushed it aside quickly.

There was a woman seated there, back to him, long dark hair spilling onto the floor. She was wearing an elaborate kimono of intricate dark blue, white, and purple designs. "You've come," she said in a low voice. Somewhere nearby, a wind chime rang out.

"I beg your pardon," he said, still wary. Alarm bells were going off in the corners of his mind. "I thought this residence was unoccupied. Is this your house?"

The woman did not more or turn her head towards him. "No," she said, "it is a shrine."

Alas, from what little he knew of Asian culture, he understood shrines to be quite sacred, and disturbing one was not only rude, but downright sacrilegious. He'd heard his daughter Emperial speak of a custom involving shoe removal as well. Two for two so far. He was on a roll.

"Forgive me for disturbing you, then."

Cyptically, she answered, "You must take the child."

He frowned slightly, wondering what she meant by that. "What child?"

"We can no longer care for it," she continued. "It must be with its own kind."

Whatever alarms were going off in his head in regards to the Force were now joined by new warnings in the form of a vague familiarity. He took a step back.

The woman disappeared. She simply faded away, turned into thin air, became nothing before his eyes. Lying just in front of where she had been sitting, formerly hidden from his view, was a pile of red cloth and white hair which he instantly recognized as a baby.

The first thought in his mind was, "Oh no, not again." He stood there, frozen, until the baby rolled somewhat over and opened her eyes a crack to look at him. Since the woman seemed to be completely gone, he slipped his blaster back into his boot and approached slowly. The baby did not move except for her eyes, which were watching him.

Her skin was ebony and her hair white. She was dressed in a reddish cloth garment of some sort. If the skin and hair were not odd enough, she had a crease on her forehead: what looked to be a third eye.

Djerod sighed and knelt by the baby. This was a painfully familiar scenario. He addressed the child, "Let me guess. You have no family to come forward to claim you and planetary authorities won't place you in an orphanage." He paused a moment. "Does Gaia even have an orphanage?" He stretched out a finger and rubbed the baby gently under the chin.

Of course, predictably enough, the child's eyes crinkled up, its mouth went wide, and it wailed plaintively. Kancho just sighed and picked it up. "Let's see now, boy or girl? Ah, girl. Of course. You, my dear, will be the fourth daughter fate has seen fit to impose upon me."

At the gentle attentions, the girl quieted, reached out to grab Djerod's finger. She prompt pulled it into her mouth. "Aha, so you're just like Emperilu," he teased her, "always chewing on my fingers."

It was then that he noticed some parchment, a quill and an inkwell lying next to the girl. His sixth sense suddenly went crazy, and as he watched, the quill lifted from the inkwell and began to scratch at the parchment.



The quill stopped there, returning to the inkwell. Djerod finally realized he had quite forgotten to breathe for at least a minute and gave a short gasp. This was no mere coincidence. These ghosts knew about him.

Ghosts. He hated ghosts.

Pale as a sheet, he looked down at the baby, and found she was blowing spit bubbles at his finger. There was a powerful urge to jump up and run from the room as fast as he could, but the urge to take the baby with him was equally as strong.

Throughout his life, Djerod had been put in the same exact scenario, and every time he did the same thing. First, his eldest daughter, Lilem, orphaned on a faraway planet. No one had come forth to claim her, and after two weeks and the threat that the local government would sooner dump the human baby on the streets than care for it, he had been forced to consider that he would have to take her with him or abandon her to the slave trade. He abhorred slavery. His cousin, EmileAmai, had ended his moral conflicts by flat-out ordering him to care for her. Never once did he regret her intervention in the matter.

The second was Emperial, who was his biological daughter. Her mother had kept the pregnancy and birth a secret from him, and when Emperial was three and a half, her Rhean traits began to show and the young girl was left in his Coruscant apartment. The discovery had come as quite a shock.

Then, of course, there was Kasha, who was more rescued from Emperial's care than anything else. In fact, if he counted rescues, he could also claim responsibility for Alchiba, but he preferred to not think of his beloved daughter as so irresponsible no matter what the evidence.

Glancing about the room for the ghosts, he finally picked up Shizue. She seemed a healthy weight for what he guessed to be her age. The quill moved away from the inkwell once again.



"Well, then, Shizue. Einmal velas nisheltlatotaim," he said. "We cannot escape the role fate chooses for us."

8/04/04

Djerod looked at the child on the left, then the child on the right, and sighed heavily. "What ever have you gotten yourself into?" he mumbled dejectedly.

He was presently sitting between two makeshift cribs, one on the left and one on the right, each of which housed a young child. Shizue was on his right, her ebony skin and snowy hair trembling with each delicate breath of her sleeping form, and Zevulon was on his right. The Business section of the newspaper rested on his lap. Across the room was a bunk bed, the lower bunk of which showed signs of recent use.

While Shizue slept contently, Zev's bright gray eyes remained fixed pointedly on the ceiling. He was staring with great interest at absolutely nothing in particular. Djerod stared at the little boy, feeling too morose to move.

After a while, Zev turned and looked at Djerod. His little fingers wriggled and curled with excitement. Outside of this movement, the baby might as well have been a corpse.

Zevulon's actions spurred Djerod into motion. He pushed himself up from his cushioned chair, depositing the newspaper on the ground as he rose, and approached Zev's bed.

The bed was really a sorry affair, as far as baby beds went. It seemed to be made from a dog bed nailed to an old coffee table. Where Max had found the supplies used in the bed's construction Djerod would never know, but he was immensely sorry that he had not gone out to look for more proper accommodations on his own. Going out seemed too much of an effort nowadays. Of course, where Zevulon's welfare was concerned, Djerod felt the need to put forth some sort of effort. He simply had yet to find the right moment to leave the house.

Zevulon squirmed at the adult's approach. If sleeping in this unconventional bed caused him any discomfort, he made no sign of it. He was neither a particularly sad nor a particularly happy baby, but as he was alert and curious, Djerod believed him to be generally healthy. The one thing that concerned him was the fact that Zevulon never seemed to sleep for very long.

Such was the case now. While Shizue quietly slumbered, Djerod picked up the conscious Zevulon and nestled him into the crook of his arm. It was difficult: Zevulon's spiked right arm necessitated some clever maneuvering on Djerod's part. Thankfully Zevulon was a fairly immobile child. He possessed the ability to move, he simply chose to act like a limp rag doll where others were concerned.

As Djerod cradled Zevulon, he spoke to the child in a low voice, so as to not wake Shizue. He switched easily between Rhean, his native tongue, and English, always talking in full sentences. Djerod did not believe in treating babies as idiots. He firmly believed that if you treated a child as if it were of substandard intelligence, you would raise a child of substandard intelligence.

"Teylhaion," he said, a word meaning "little one who hears" in Rhean, "you never sleep. Why is that? Do you see something in your dreams?" Zevulon, as usual, did not reply, and Djerod continued, "Aiplos patassi massilhnon, shepasikhra. Voshell dasi caehshon." Still no reply from the baby.

Djerod continued in this manner for some time, wandering around the room as he did. The room had once belonged to Em the Art Student's brother in the original house. In the modified house, it served as a bedroom to whoever needed it the most at any given time. For now, that distinction belonged to Djerod, Shizue, and Zevulon.

After he had endured enough conversation for the time being, Zevulon gurgled at Djerod. This motion was easily recognized as Zevulon's "feed me" signal. There was a bottle prepped in an envicon near Zevulon's crib, which Djerod retrieved. Zevulon was soon slurping eagerly away at the formula. He had a good appetite.

There came a knock at the door.

"Sheldha-" Djerod started to say, then corrected himself in Basic, " Enter." The correction was unnecessary. Emperial slipped into the room, closing the door quietly behind her, and gave a short bow in greeting.

"Kancho," she said, "I've come to offer a small report. I've had time to analyze some of the intelligence I picked up on my travels, and believe there are details you should hear concerning security vulnerabilities around the house and our movements between realms."

"Emperilu," he replied, "I think it is only fair that you watch the babies once in a while, as half of this situation rests squarely on your shoulders."

She frowned slightly, cocking her head to the side. "While that does seem fair, I do have a great deal of responsibility to take care of. Since I left, everything around here has gone to pot. Or is it seed?"

"Spare me your human idioms," said he. "Would you care to hold Zevulon?"

Emperial eyed the spiked arm warily.

"Emperial," said Djerod, voice dropping to a low growl.

At that she relented. "Fine, fine, hand him over." She held her hands out, endured one of Zevulon's spikes poking painfully into her left breast, and was soon feeding him. She took Kancho's earlier vacated seat. "Do you want to hear my report now?"

"Yes," he said, sitting on the lower bunk of the bed. It was a sorry place for him to sit. His head scraped against the bottom of the top bunk, and had he not been wearing his uniform hat, he might have broken skin on his balding head and perhaps lost a few hairs sooner than intended.

Emperial squirmed in her seat, trying to find a comfortable position on the armless chair. "Now, as per security protocol, I am only going to tell you the information you absolutely need to know that does not compromise my mission."

"Of course," he answered automatically. This was standard procedure, though he disliked her keeping secrets of any kind from him.

"We are both aware of the monitoring of the house by outside forces, but the exact manner in which the enemy obtained this house's location was under question until recently. I am now quite certain of the fact, however unthinkable it is: we have a traitor." She let this statement rest on the air.

The idea did not surprise Djerod. "I have long suspected as much, Emperial. I know you have faith in your open door policy, but that was not a faith I shared. Too many individuals have passed through these doors unchecked and been allowed to roam freely outside. Animals should be tagged and kept in pens."

A small smile formed on Emperial's face. "Tsk, tsk, Kancho," she chided, "you shouldn't speak of them in such a way. Pets though they may be, inferior as they are, they are nevertheless thinking, feeling, breathing people." She stated this inferiority not as a boast, but as a fact. There was no need to mince words under this situation.

"I see you're remarkably close to the goddess at the moment," rumbled Djerod. Emperial smiled at him.

"Thank you for noticing. I've almost completely rid myself of your daughter for the time being, if only because she would wake the baby. She's presently lying dormant and need never even know that we spoke."

"Of course." Djerod did not mind keeping secrets from his daughter, or at least the part of Emperial's integrated being that as his daughter. He would never keep a secret from the part he was speaking to now, though. If only she presently felt the same.

Emperial's voice suddenly took on a regal tone. "I must warn you, Kancho, that there is a good chance my mission will require a separation."

Djerod's hands, which had been resting loosely on his knees, suddenly tensed. The muscles in his neck bulged and his nostrils flared. "Emperilu, no. Surely not so soon!" His voice rose with his desperation. He had only just gotten over the last separation. He quickly pulled himself back together, voice returning to its normal, calm, controlled state. "You only just returned."

As desperate as Djerod had just allowed himself to become, Emperial's eyes mirrored his feelings. "No, no, Kancho," she said, swallowing with sudden nervousness, "not you and I. Me, myself, and I."

Djerod's eyebrows shot up at that. "Surely not," he gasped.

Emperial look downward, ashamed. "Surely so. I have thought through all the potentials and the outcomes, and there is a 67% chance of discorporation. The question is what form it will take, and how traumatic the process will be to our respective beings. Your daughter did a damn foolish thing when she merged with me, Kancho. It was only a matter of time before separation became a necessary inevitability. I am sure I would have grown into it myself eventually, but the facts show that our present situation may require it."

"Emperilu," whispered Djerod.

"Don't worry about me," she said bravely, "I can do what it takes. I'm sure of it, Kancho. I've learned a lot. This time I'll do perfectly fine, probability calculations and all."

"But our cohabitation here," he said, punctuating the last word with a clenched fist.

"Is not certain," she admitted, "but I will do everything I possibly can to protect it. Worse come to worse, we may have to reproduce the house in triplicate to allow for nonexclusive coexistence on some level, but that's well within my powers, and yours as well. Pockets upon pockets."

He frowned as his hands relaxed. What she was suggesting was not impossible, it was simply undesirable. He had gotten accustomed to the setup here in this House and was reluctant to see it change. He hated change. Change was a function of the war between the dark and the light, a war in which he stood resoundingly grey. Creation, destruction, and maintenance, and maintenance was his job. "If it comes to that," he said hollowly.

"If and only if," she confirmed. This was punctuated by a wet gurgle from Zevulon.

"He'll want to be burped," noted Djerod. He waved a hand at a thin cloth draped over the side of Zevulon's bed.

"Oof, you're mean," she complained as she picked it up and threw it over his shoulder. She propped Zevulon up and began to pat him on the back. "Do trust me, Kancho. I won't get it wrong."

Impassive eyes locked onto hers. "I try, Emperilu, but I fear a repeat of the past."

"The whole universe fears that," she sighed in agreement, "only destruction may yet be inevitable if we are to preserve our way of life. It's us or the universe, Kancho, and I've made my choice."

With steely determination he said, "For better of worse, so have I."

And Zevulon, whose place it was presently to watch and listen and learn, gave the only comment he was presently capable of: he burped, and quietly closed his eyes.

8/29/04

9/13/04

The sound of muffled laughter drifted into Emperial's bedroom. She was presently sitting on top of the bed with her laptop in front of her, typing up an addition to one of her many stories. At first, she ignored the noise, but she couldn't help to be curious. Her curiosity drove her from the bed into the hallway. She quickly zeroed in on the source: the second bedroom.

"It's not that funny, Max," she could hear Kancho saying through the door. From the tone of his voice, he seemed to be almost laughing himself.

Kancho laughing? Emperial quickly crossed over to the door and grasped the handle. "Kancho? Max? What--" The door slammed abruptly shut as someone on the other side pushed it closed, laughing even harder now. Emperial's eyes went wide.

This was her house. That was her room and her door. "Open up!" she demanded, pounding on the door. The laughter subsided into hissing whispers. Plotting, no doubt. Emperial narrowed her eyes.

Of course, it just so happened that that particular room had two entrances: one into the hallways and one through the upstairs computer room. Emperial used the second method now, storming into the computer room and throwing open the cheap wooden sliding door leading to the bedroom. Much to her surprise, it was Kancho, not Max, who was holding the main door closed. Max was standing a pace behind him, doubled over with laughter. Shizue was in her crib, her knuckles white as she gripped the wooden slats to support herself in a standing position, looking at the adults with a confused expression. Zevulon was nowhere to be seen.

"Oh, Emperial," Kancho remarked, trying very hard to keep a straight face. "Was that you on the other side of the door?" Max's laughter intensified.

"What the hell is going on in here!?" she exclaimed, waving her arms about.

Kancho's face went dead serious. "Mind your language in front of the children."

"Hell," choked out Max, "she should see it."

"See what!" demanded Em, stomping forward. She need not have asked: it became quickly apparent.

Zevulon was sitting on the floor behind Max, black bunny plushie in his hands. That in and of itself was not remarkable. The thing which had apparently driven Max to tears with laughter was the state of the plushie. Its head was no longer attached to its body.

"There's a reasonable explanation for this," Kancho started.

"He ripped it clean off!" Max said. "It was the most amazing thing! I've never seen a child so determined to behead a toy before!"

"Max!" snapped Kancho, slightly too late. Emperial's mouth twisted into a distressed frown.

"Did he break anything else?" she asked softly.

"I told you she wouldn't find it funny," hissed Kancho. "I was going to repair it, but that oaf started laughing."

"You were laughing, too," pointed out Max, the laughter now gone from his voice. Shizue seemed the think this was a sign things were back to normal and plopped down in her crib to return to sleep.

With a sigh, Emperial dropped to the floor next to Zevulon and tugged the toy from his grasp. "Not good," she said to the baby. "At least you broke something that was replaceable. I'd hate to have to explain to those precious few people that have given you things why those things are no longer into your possession."

Zevulon stared at the ground. Whatever Emperial was saying, she was clearly not very happy. His lower lip trembled.

"Don't be cross, Emperial, he's just a baby," said Kancho.

"I think he's rather too big to be considered a baby any more, don't you think?" said Max. "More like a toddler. Cheer up, Em. We've got a bazillion bunny plushies, he can rip up as many of them as he wants."

"That's true," said Kancho. "EmileAmai sent us half a ton of the things." Where and when his cousin had developed an affinity for floppy bunny plushies he could not say.

Emperial looked deep into Zevulon's eyes, trying to fathom his motivations, and gave a sudden gasp of surprise. "Green!"

Neither Kancho nor Max knew what to make of the exclamation. Zevulon took it as a cue to reach forward and grab for his guardian's hand. "Gweem."

At that, Max rolled onto his side to look at Zevulon and Kancho practically dove to the floor to join him. "Did he just say 'green!?'" Kancho exclaimed.

"His eyes!" said Emperial, pointing. "They're green!"

Sure enough, Zevulon's eyes, once a mild grey color, were now vivid green. The color was almost as remarkable as Rikard's eye tone. Rikard was generally said to have the prettiest eyes in the whole household.

"Well whaddaya make of that?" said Max, grinning at the baby. "Must get them from my side."

"Don't be ridiculous, your eyes are brown," snapped Kancho. "And did anyone else hear him say the word green?"

"We heard," said Emperial. She was too mesmerized by the incredible color to comment on the word further. She crooned encouragingly and tickled Zev under the chin. "Such a handsome little boy!"

Max rolled his eyes at the childishness. "And now it starts," he said, sitting back up. "At least my son has the strength of an ox!"

"My son!" objected Emperial, looking away from Zevulon's eyes long enough to give Max a surprised glare.

"I gave you the name--"

"He belongs to EmileAmai," Kancho said, putting an end to the argument. "He's a blooded Piett now, he's custody of the leader."

"Not that fecking--"

"Language, Max!"

"Well he's still MINE anyway because I found him!" Emperial grabbed Zevulon and pulled him close in a tight hug. This put Zevulon within reach of the ruined bunny, which he gleefully retrieved and started to ransack further.

Kancho just sighed. "And yet, who's in charge of caring for him day in and day out? Changing his diapers, feeding him, putting him to bed, and bathing him?" The last point was of particular note following Emperial's trip to visit Jade and Yanisin.

Silence fell upon the room. Emperial may have found him, Max may have given him a name, and EmileAmai may have permitted the blood bonding, but in the end it always came down to Kancho to care for the children.

"Gweem," said Zevulon, throwing stuffing onto the floor.

After a moment, Emperial spoke again. "Zev, can you say 'Emperial?' C'mon now, 'Emperial?'"

" 'Daddy,'" tried Max, picking up the green dragon plushie Zevulon seemed to prefer and waving it in front of the toddler. "Daaah-deee."

Kancho sighed again and looked out the window, the noise of Emperial and Max's continuing encouragement floating around him. Finally, he leaned forward, looked Zevulon squarely in the face, and asked: "How about 'Kancho?' Kahnn-cho..."