The House of the Hearth had always been a place of warmth and stability, a sanctuary where one could find shelter from the storms of the world. It was a house that had stood for generations, a foundation of steadfastness.
Or at least, that was how it had once been.
When Elias—one of the former children of the house—stepped through the great wooden doors for the first time in years, he was expecting quiet order. The comforting scent of burning logs. The soft murmur of voices around the fire. The peaceful, almost reverent stillness that had defined his childhood.
Instead, he was immediately met with the sight of a child dangling upside-down from the rafters, a wooden spoon clenched between their teeth.
Elias stopped in his tracks.
From the kitchen, another child bellowed, "FOR THE GLORY OF PIE!" followed by the chaotic sound of flour exploding.
Elias turned his head slowly, taking in the utter madness before him.
Two children were wrestling with a loaf of bread, another was engaged in what could only be described as a negotiation with a goose, and one particularly ambitious toddler was attempting to haul an entire pumpkin across the floor, their tiny legs straining under its weight.
Elias blinked.
Then turned his gaze to the one constant in the madness—Father Hearth, seated at the grand wooden table, as unshaken as ever.
Father Hearth was calmly drinking tea, as if his household were not in the process of descending into a war-torn battleground.
Elias finally found his voice.
"Father."
Father Hearth looked up, his expression unchanging. "Elias."
A long silence stretched between them.
Then Elias raised a hand and gestured—at everything.
"What. Happened."
Father Hearth took another sip of his tea. "Life continued."
Elias looked around at the utter bedlam, then back at Father Hearth, his disbelief only growing. "Life continued?" he repeated.
A child sprinted past them, dragging a bag of flour that was leaking a white trail behind them like snowfall.
Elias turned his gaze back to Father Hearth. "This is not the house I remember."
Father Hearth gestured for him to sit. Elias hesitated, then took the chair opposite him, his eyes still darting around as if expecting another explosion at any moment.
Father Hearth set his tea down, his tone even. "Tell me. How do you remember the house?"
Elias thought back. "It was… peaceful. Quiet. A place of refuge."
"And did you not long for warmth when you were young?"
Elias hesitated. "I… did."
Father Hearth nodded. "Then, as it was a home for you, it is now a home for them."
Elias ran a hand through his hair, watching as a group of children engaged in a highly strategic game of 'who can steal the most apples before being caught.' "But it was never this chaotic."
Father Hearth's gaze did not waver. "Every fire burns differently. Some are embers. Some are flames."
Elias exhaled. "So you're saying the house just... became this way?"
Father Hearth took a moment before answering. "Children shape the home, just as the home shapes them."
Elias stared at him. Then at the pandemonium unfolding around them.
Then back at Father Hearth.
After a long moment, he leaned forward. "…You let them do this, don't you?"
Father Hearth took another sip of his tea.
Elias's eyes narrowed. "You encourage it."
A child leaped off a chair, successfully catching a flying bread roll mid-air. The surrounding children cheered.
Father Hearth remained unbothered. "They are learning."
Elias gave him a flat stare. "Learning what? How to wage culinary warfare?"
Father Hearth raised a brow. "To be strong. To work together. To find joy in labor."
Elias opened his mouth to argue—then paused.
Because, for all the madness, the children were laughing. The air was alive, filled with energy and exuberance. Even the smallest among them, struggling under the weight of a too-large pot, was grinning as another child rushed to help them.
It was not the stillness he remembered, but… it was not bad.
Elias sighed, rubbing his temples. "I came expecting to find the home I once knew."
Father Hearth met his gaze. "You found it. It has simply grown with time."
Elias glanced once more at the chaotic battleground of flour and flying bread, then exhaled.
"…I suppose I'll have to get used to it."
Father Hearth handed him a cup of tea. "You have until dinner."
Elias took it, staring into the calm amber liquid as another loud crash echoed from the kitchen.
And, finally, he laughed.