After the meal, Mark led the group into a side room that was even more luxurious than the dining hall. Taren and Orin's eyes went wide as they entered the space. Four incredibly soft, oversized sofas were arranged in a circle, all facing a gargantuan fish tank that dominated the far wall. The water inside shimmered under the light, and vibrant fish of every imaginable color darted between coral structures. It was like nothing the boys had ever seen. The walls were lined with towering bookshelves, filled with volumes whose titles were strange and unreadable to them—though that mattered little, for neither boy knew how to read.
The air in the room was cool and calm, a stark contrast to the searing heat of the Red Waste outside. Taren and Orin hesitated at first, unsure where to sit, but Mark gestured to one of the couches with a welcoming smile. "Make yourselves comfortable."
As soon as the boys sank into the sofa, they were enveloped by the softness. It was so plush, it felt like they were sitting on a cloud. Orin wriggled in delight, unable to stop himself from grinning, though he quickly sobered under Taren's watchful eye. Clara, still holding her champagne glass, took her place on the opposite couch, sitting with an effortless grace. The glass, to the boys' amazement, never seemed to empty, no matter how much she sipped from it.
Mark sat beside his mother, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. "So, where do we begin?" he said thoughtfully, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "I suppose we should start with how we got here."
Clara nodded, taking another elegant sip of her drink. "It was all quite a shock, really. One moment, we were in our world—going about our lives, quite normally—and the next, our home was... here."
Taren and Orin stared at them in disbelief. "Your world?" Taren asked, his voice cautious. "You mean... you're not from this place?"
Mark smiled gently. "No. Not from this world. We don't know how it happened, but one day we woke up, and everything around us had changed. Our house, our garden, everything you see—it was transported here, to this wasteland."
Orin looked confused. "But... how? How did you survive out here?"
Clara laughed softly. "Oh, darling, we figured out soon enough that something had changed. Something inside the very boundaries of this property. You see, we discovered that we have... powers."
"Powers?" Taren repeated, his voice barely a whisper. He remembered how Clara had healed them with just a touch. His mind spun at the idea.
Mark nodded. "As long as we stay within the borders of this house and garden, we can manipulate things in ways that would be impossible in our old world." To demonstrate, he placed his hand on the edge of the sofa. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, before their eyes, the soft fabric of the couch shimmered, shifting into a gleaming gold. The entire couch transformed into solid gold, sparkling under the light of the fish tank.
Orin gasped, reaching out to touch it, but Mark quickly waved his hand, and the couch returned to its original form as if nothing had changed. "I can manipulate all things that aren't alive," Mark explained. "I can create, alter, and destroy anything within my domain. I can even expand the boundaries of our property—though it's slow work."
Taren's mind raced. The sheer power of what he had just seen was overwhelming, but before he could speak, Clara chimed in. "And I, dear boys, can manipulate biological material—anything living, as you've already seen." She gestured to the fish tank, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Taren and Orin leaned forward, watching the fish swim peacefully among the coral. Clara raised her hand, and suddenly, one of the fish—a small, orange creature with delicate fins—began to change. Its scales shimmered, and from its back, two delicate, feathered wings sprouted. The fish flapped its new wings and flew out of the tank, fluttering around the room in a graceful loop. Taren and Orin stared in awe as the fish circled above their heads before it gently settled back into the water, its wings disappearing as quickly as they had come.
Orin, his mouth hanging open, looked at Clara. "That's... that's impossible."
Clara laughed, her voice warm and melodic. "It would seem that way, wouldn't it? But here, in this strange place, many things that were once impossible are now within our reach."
Mark leaned back, smiling as he watched the boys' amazement. "We've been here for quite some time now, just the two of us. It didn't take long for us to realize we were... different, here. And that this house, our home, is the only place we can use these powers."
Taren's mind reeled with questions, but before he could speak, Mark's expression darkened slightly. "We don't interact much with the world outside our home. We tried, once. A merchant passed through, much like yourselves. We thought perhaps we could learn something from him, maybe even form a connection to this world."
Clara sighed, her smile fading. "But when we discovered that he was a slaver, we wanted nothing more to do with him."
Orin's eyes widened. "A slaver?"
Mark's jaw tightened, and he nodded. "He trafficked in human lives—something that goes against everything my mother believes. And frankly, it goes against everything I stand for too."
Clara smiled at her son, giving him a proud look. "Mark may not be much of a believer, but at least he has a strong moral compass. Slavery is an abomination."
Mark rolled his eyes playfully. "Yes, yes. One day I'll see the light, won't I?"
Clara chuckled, giving him a mock-serious look. "One day, you will, my boy. The gods work in mysterious ways."
Mark waved her off, his tone light but carrying a hint of sarcasm. "The gods, if they exist, have a funny way of doing things. I'll admit the chances of a god existing are... almost zero."
Clara gave him a sharp but playful glance. "Always the skeptic."
Taren and Orin sat silently, absorbing the strange and impossible things they had just witnessed. The entire room felt like a different reality—a world where the laws of nature bent and twisted to the will of these two people.
Suddenly, Clara redirected her attention back to the boys, her gaze softening with concern. "But enough about us," she said. "Tell us, my darlings, how did you come to our humble—well, not so humble—home?"
Taren glanced at Orin before speaking, his voice low and filled with the weight of their journey. "We... we fled from Qarth. Our parents... they died trying to escape. And we've been running ever since, trying to survive in the Red Waste."
Clara's eyes softened, her heart clearly aching for them. "You poor dears. To have come so far, and to have lost so much."
Mark's expression grew serious as well. "The Red Waste is no place for anyone, let alone children. You're lucky to be alive."
Orin, his voice trembling slightly, looked at Clara. "Why did you help us? You don't even know us."
Clara smiled warmly, her eyes twinkling. "Because, my dear, helping others is the right thing to do. And here, in this strange world, kindness is the one thing we should hold on to."
Mark nodded. "You're safe here, for as long as you need to stay."
Taren and Orin exchanged a glance, the weight of their journey and their loss still heavy in their hearts, but for the first time in what felt like an eternity, they felt a glimmer of hope.