While I was out cold, a literal Theater of the Absurd was unfolding on the first floor. Tizor’s crying was so loud and piercing that even the walls, accustomed to centuries of silence, began to vibrate.

  — "Yara, Erol, shut that thing off immediately!" Aya roared.

  The Demon of War couldn't think of anything better than to grab the toddler by one leg and hold him upside down, like a piece of downed game.

  — "STOP BELLOWING!" she barked directly into his face.

  Yara and Erol rushed to save their brother with shrieks of their own.

  — "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!" They snatched Tizor back, clutching him to their chests. "You can’t do that to him! He’s scared!"

  Tizor, of course, entered a new spiral of hysteria. He cried as if he were about to be turned into mincemeat.

  — "Tizor, come on, what's wrong?" the older little vampires pleaded. "Everything is fine."

  Alastor (Poverty) stepped closer, twitching all four of his arms. — "Give, give, give him to me. I’ll try."

  — "He’s not a toy!" Erol snapped, but eventually handed his brother over to the demon.

  Alastor took the child. Tizor continued to scream his head off. So, the demon decided to pull out his trump cards. He stuck out his tongue, which split before everyone’s eyes, turning into a serpent's tongue. The toddler froze for a second, mesmerized by the sight, but finding nothing edible in it, he cranked his siren back up to full volume.

  Aya took the handoff. She grabbed Tizor, and suddenly, two neat black horns sprouted from the top of her head. The little one froze. He reached his tiny hands toward the new objects, feeling the sharp tips. The crying was replaced by curious snuffling.

  — "There we go," Erol whispered, making smooth, rhythmic up-and-down motions with his hands. "Rock him like this. Mama always did it like this."

  The Demon of War began methodically rocking the child.

  — "Remarkable..." she whispered when, five minutes later, Tizor finally went limp and began to snore.

  She gingerly laid him on the sofa and covered him with a blanket, tucking the edge in with such extreme caution. Then she turned to Yara and Erol. A "good parent" glint ignited in the demons' eyes. They simultaneously scooped up the older children, attempting to rock them to sleep too.

  — "Hey! What are you doing?!" Erol protested, kicking his legs. "We’re grown-ups! This doesn't work on us!"

  — "Let go! We’re hungry! All this commotion has worked up a real appetite!"

  The little vampires broke free and headed for the chicken coop. A minute later, the short flapping of wings drifted from outside. They returned, wiping their lips. Four chickens had fallen the death of the brave for the sake of peace in the house.

  — "A temporary fix, nothing more," Yara muttered, licking her fangs.

  Meanwhile, Aya and Alastor were buried in their books again.

  — "Right," Alastor flipped a page. "It says here that children should be told fairy tales before bed. Instructive stories. It builds character."

  They led Yara and Erol to their room, sat them on their beds, and solemnly opened a volume titled Manual on the Hunt.

  Stolen story; please report.

  — "Chapter One," Aya began in a sepulchral voice. "How to properly track prey and sever its tendons so it cannot escape."

  An hour later, the demons climbed to the third floor. They stood in the doorway of their bedroom, looking at each other.

  — "Tell me... are we good parents?" Aya asked, rubbing one of her horns.

  — "Yeah," Alastor nodded. "Freaking awesome. Everything by the book." He paused, then added very quietly: — "Though, these new feelings... they scare me. Like something extra has grown inside."

  — "Me too," War admitted.

  They entered the room and closed the door. Silence finally reigned over the farm, broken only by the creaks and thuds coming from the third floor.

  In the middle of the night, it all started again. The little one cranked up his siren with such force that even the clouds in the sky seemed to scatter to get away from the noise. The whole house—demons, vampires, and me—crawled down to the first floor like sleepy zombies.

  — "For heaven's sake," I muttered, rubbing my eyes. "Kid, do you ever run out of air?"

  I scooped up a handful of clay and fashioned a simple rattle on the fly. I shook it right under Tizor’s nose—the sound was dry and annoying, exactly what was needed. The little vampire waved my handicraft a couple of times, giggled twice, and then... opened his mouth for another deafening roar.

  I already reached for my pocket for some gold dust, but I pulled my hand back just in time. He’s a child. A tiny one. Shattering a psyche takes seconds, but living with a vegetable afterward is no fun at all.

  — "Alright, stop. You’re four, right? That means rattles are so last century."

  I concentrated. The clay in my hands became as pliable as butter. A minute later, a tiny human figure stood on my palm. I worked the joints in detail so the legs could bend and the arms could rotate.

  Tizor grabbed the toy, suspiciously twisted its limbs, and... went silent. Pure research interest reflected in his eyes. How long would it last? No idea. Just in case, I quickly whipped up three more clay soldiers.

  Yara and Erol didn't need much convincing. They immediately snatched up a figure each, gazing at them with unmasked delight.

  — "Amazing..." Yara whispered, bending the clay man’s waist. "He’s like he’s alive. Even the fingers move."

  They both looked at me in sync. That specific brand of childhood greed, the kind even demons cave to, sparkled in their grey eyes.

  — "Please... Greg... Can we have some too?"

  — "So greedy," I grumbled, but my hands were already molding.

  For Erol, I made a dragon—scaled, with movable wings. For Yara, a graceful elf.

  — "Unfair!" Yara immediately flared up. "Why does he get a whole dragon and I just get a girl with pointy ears?"

  I sighed. Fairness is a tricky business. I started rapidly stamping out extra gear for the elf: tiny swords, a change of clothes, a shield.

  — "There. Now they have different classes but the same level of 'cool'. Satisfied?"

  The children immediately sat on the floor, forgetting everything else. A massive battle unfolded in the living room. They built their imaginary worlds, moved the figures, and voiced them with funny little sounds.

  And then, it hit me.

  An unbearable, thick sadness that made it hard to breathe. Memory—my eternal tormentor—helpfully shoved frames from other cycles at me. Other children, in different clothes, with different names... but with the same shining eyes. How little they need to be happy. One piece of clay, a drop of attention—and the world becomes magical for them.

  A dry crack rang out. Erol hadn't calculated his strength and snapped the clay dragon’s tail.

  — "WHAT DID YOU DO?!" I jumped up, nearly screaming.

  — "Greg, calm down!" Aya and Alastor blocked my path. "Don't yell at him. He’s just a child."

  — "HE’S JUST A STUPID CHILD!" I snapped, feeling everything inside me trembling.

  Erol, paying no mind to my anger, simply pressed the broken tail back to the site of the fracture. His fingers began to glow with a faint, yellowish warmth. The clay beneath his hands softened and fused back into a single piece.

  — "Look," the boy held up the intact dragon. "I fixed it."

  I froze, looking at his smile. My heart squeezed even tighter. It was a good thing I didn't start crying—my reputation as a "Regenerator" is already hanging by a thread.

  At that moment, Tizor slid off the sofa. He began to crawl toward the older ones in a clumsy, bear-like way, proudly displaying his clay soldier.

  — "TIZOR! YOU’RE CRAWLING?!" Yara and Erol shouted, dropping their toys and scooping up their brother.

  A chaos of joy reigned in the room. And for me, it became unbearably difficult to be there. I turned and quickly went to the second floor. I slammed the door to my room and collapsed onto the bed.

  — "Again..." I whispered into the darkness. "Again, I’m making the same mistake. Getting attached. Trying to fix something..."

  What am I doing? Why am I interfering in their lives? After all, in a while, I’ll wake up and won't remember this dragon, this house, or these children. But them... they will remember.