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Chapter Twenty

C allie

“Partnership under stress.” Three balls of fluff explode into our cottage before the Committee finishes their announcement. Tiny blue eyes. Oversized paws. Immediate chaos. They look like a cross between kittens and puppies, with wide blue eyes and paws that are too big for their body.

“Zorling offspring,” they explain. “Recently orphaned and requiring constant care. You must keep all three alive and thriving for seventy-two standard hours. Failure of even one results in a mark against your progress.”

The creatures—no bigger than my palm—scatter in different directions. One heads for the kitchen and somehow manages to climb onto the counter, another burrows under our meditation cushions, and the third starts a pitiful wailing that arrows straight to my heart.

Spark immediately zips after the counter-climber, creating gentle barriers of light to prevent it from reaching the drassah pot while somehow managing to look both helpful and utterly enchanted by these tiny, furry beings.

“They require feeding every two standard hours,” the Committee member continues as chaos erupts around us.

“Temperature regulation, socialization, and protection from their own curiosity. Zorlings at this age can die from loneliness, overfeeding, cold, or getting into dangerous spaces they are too young to know to avoid.”

Aries is already moving, his gladiator reflexes serving him well, as he clutches the wailer to his chest. “How exactly do we feed them?”

“Specialized formula needs to be applied with these.” They produce what look like tiny eye droppers. “Miss a feeding, and they weaken rapidly.”

After they leave, we stare at each other over the chaos of three tiny, needy creatures.

“Well,” I say as one of them climbs my leg with tiny, needle-sharp claws, “this is definitely different from meditation, hair braiding, and dancing.”

Aries’ laugh mingles with the renewed wailing from all three zorlings. “At least now I understand why so many couples fail the trials. This is going to be exhausting.”

Within hours, we develop a system, deciding that I’ll handle feeding preparation while he’ll manage temperature regulation, we’ll alternate sleep shifts, and both of us will maintain constant vigilance against their suicidal tendencies.

We discover that the adorable fluffballs can’t regulate their body temperature, requiring us to take turns holding them against our skin. The feeding schedule means one of us is awake every two hours, around the clock.

Spark has appointed itself as an auxiliary guardian, creating soft warning lights whenever one of the zorlings approaches danger and even attempting to herd them away from hazardous areas with gentle pulses of illumination.

“Behind you!” Aries calls as Trouble makes a break for the edge of our bed. I snatch the fuzzy escape artist just before it tumbles to the floor .

The next day blurs into a cycle of feeding, cleaning, warming, and preventing the zorlings from killing themselves through sheer curiosity.

By the end of the second day, exhaustion is testing our patience.

When Trouble—we’ve named them Trouble, Chaos, and Mayhem—makes its fifth escape attempt of the morning, I snap.

“How did these things survive evolution?” I mutter, snatching the fuzzy escape artist.

“Barely,” Aries replies dryly, catching Chaos mid-leap toward the hot stove. “And only with very attentive parents.”

The observation hangs between us—a reminder of what we’re really being tested on. Not just our ability to care for vulnerable creatures, but our potential as partners, as a family unit.

“Your turn,” I mumble at 3 AM, gently transferring the smallest zorling to Aries’ chest.

“They’re finally settling,” he mouths, arranging all three against his bronze skin. The sight of this powerful warrior cradling tiny, vulnerable creatures with infinite gentleness does something profound to my heart.

By the final day, something has shifted.

The constant cooperation, the shared responsibility, the way we’ve learned to anticipate each other’s needs and movements—it’s created a new layer of intimacy.

When Mayhem falls asleep in my palm while Aries holds the other two, we’re functioning as a perfect unit.

“The trial is complete,” the Committee announces as they retrieve the now-thriving zorlings. “All three offspring have gained weight and show excellent socialization responses. You have succeeded.”

As the tiny creatures are taken away, chirping contentedly, an unexpected emptiness settles over our cottage.

“I’m going to miss them,” I admit, surprised by the depth of the feeling .

Spark performs a melancholy loop around the now-empty warming nest, its colors shifting to a wistful blue-green that perfectly captures our shared sense of loss.

“So am I.” Aries moves closer, almost reaching to touch my hand. Spark drifts between us, its color brightening slightly as if reminding us that while the zorlings are gone, our own bond remains. “We make good partners, Callie. In everything.”

The word “partners” carries new weight now, tested by sleepless nights and shared purpose. Whatever comes next, we’ve proven we can care for something precious together—and keep it safe.