The crisp morning air bit at my skin as I stood beside the barn, my breath visible in the cold. It had been two days since the conversation around the table, two days since everything shifted. Since that night, I have put all further planning on hold. Right now, nothing mattered more than my family’s safety. And that was exactly what I was here to secure—and to make the most difficult phone call of my life.

  I tightened my gloved hand, the fabric barely concealing the unnatural weight of the gauntlet underneath. Thankfully, the temperature was on my side; if it were warmer, I wouldn’t know how to hide it. I had found a barn next to a large open field away from highways and far enough from cities and other infrastructure. The farmer was reluctant to rent it to me, like all the previous others I had contacted. A €1000 changed his attitude, and I could now use the barn/storehouse for a year. A hastily acquired asset, but a necessary one. I was here to clean the place and drop off our supplies. Luckily, the barn had been converted into a storehouse and workshop, so there was ample space inside for freezer units and anything else we would need. I also brought the first of the industrial containers that I would use to pack everything in. The fewer small things I needed to move when the time came, the better. Expedience and efficiency were key.

  With a steadying breath, I pulled out my phone and dialed. It rang twice before my wife’s voice, warm and melodic, drifted through the speaker.

  “Hey, love.”

  Hearing her voice made my chest ache. I hadn’t realized just how much I missed them until now.

  “Hey, beautiful,” I said, forcing a small smile. “How are you and the girls? Enjoying the visit?”

  There was a pause, just a beat too long. Then she sighed. “Honestly?”

  I chuckled softly. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know…” she admitted. “The girls miss you. I miss you. And we just… don’t feel at home here.”

  “Then come home,” I said immediately, my heart already speeding up.

  “We can’t,” she countered, though I could hear the hesitation in her voice. “We agreed that it would be good for the girls to spend time with my family. But holy cow, he is treated like a little prince.”

  I knew exactly who she was talking about—her father’s brother’s daughter’s son. Our girls’ second cousin. My wife’s cousin’s son. Whatever the exact relation, he was apparently making life difficult.

  “The girls can’t be themselves. He gets away with everything and doesn’t share. It’s like we’re living with the Dudleys from Harry Potter,” she whispered, half-ranting.

  I smiled, but it faded quickly. This wasn’t about minor family annoyances.

  “Love,” I said carefully. “Do you remember that discussion we had a while back? About our relationship safety word? Do you remember what it was?”

  The playful edge in her voice vanished. “Now I’m worried. You didn’t laugh at my Harry Potter joke. What’s going on?”

  “A lot,” I admitted. “Like, a super lot. But nothing I can’t handle. That said… I need you and the girls home. Soon.”

  A heavy silence stretched between us. Then, after a moment, she murmured, “It was Zoidberg.”

  I laughed, but there was no real humor in it. Relief, maybe.

  “Zoidberg, love,” I said softly. “Come home. Please.”

  Another silence. This one even longer. When she finally spoke, her voice was thick with concern.

  “Is everything okay? You’re scaring me.”

  I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I can’t say everything is okay. A lot has changed in a short time. But we—you, me, the girls—we are okay. That much I promise. I’ll fix everything. I wish I could tell you more, but I don’t want to talk about it over the phone.”

  She exhaled shakily. “Okay. I’ll start packing now. Not much to pack, considering the three of us share the cupboard under the stairs.” Then I saw the joke for what it was, a way to mask her angst.

  I smiled again, this time more genuine. “You’re using me as an excuse, aren’t you?” I met her halfway with a joke of my own.

  “You bet I am,” she teased, though there was still worry in her tone. “I’m telling them you are forcing us to leave, that we would have loved to stay longer.”

  “That’s fine by me,” I said without hesitation.

  “We’ll be there in eight hours.”

  “Don’t rush,” I lied. “Take your time, stop regularly. It’s not that urgent.”

  It was urgent. But above all, I needed them safe.

  “And love, if you can't reach me, it's because I’m going to put my phone in the screen time tin. But you can send me messages—I’ll get them eventually and reply when I can,” I said.

  “Wow. Paranoid about something?” she asked.

  “Like you can't believe,” I answered as vaguely as possible. I loved my wife, one of the reasons being how smart she was and secondly how quickly she understood me without words.

  “Love you,” she said, not pressing the subject. I wanted to believe that she trusted me fully and knew I’d tell her the truth in person, but I also knew she could beat the truth out of me. She knew I knew she ultimately controlled me.

  “Love you too,” I said and added, “See you soon. Drive safe.”

  The call ended, and I was amazed by the quality of the call. I was in the middle of nowhere, and she was in another country. Something about it was different. I was on my way to put the phone in the tin when it pinged with a message.

  Aerorae: Love you truly.

  The message brought a genuine smile. I replied that it was, in fact, me that loved her the most. I set an alarm for one hour before placing the phone in its new prison. The alarm was there to remind me to check the phone regularly. I got back to cleaning while the farmer and his son came around the bend with their truck to pick up the last of the stuff I had moved out of the barn.

  Truly, this barn was ideal—out of the way, even from the farmer's primary residence, with its own dirt road leading to the main road. With the absurd amount of trips I was going to make, it was perfect.

  Eight hours later, I was sitting in my flat, exhausted. The phylacteries were safely tucked away at the bottom of my dresser, out of sight, out of mind—at least for now. Forty-two minutes later, my wife and daughters walked through the door, and I exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Relief settled over me like a weighted blanket.

  After getting the girls settled in front of the TV with snacks and juice I’d picked up on my way back from the farm, I guided my wife into the kitchen. I put the kettle on—not because I particularly wanted coffee, but because the sound of boiling water made me feel like I had control over something.

  She arched a brow at me. “Okay, why are you still in your jacket? And why do you only have one glove on? Also, are you going to tell me what the Zoidberg is going on?” The humor in her voice was a welcome relief.

  I let out a quiet chuckle. “Remember my plan for this week? The task I set out to do while you and the girls were away?”

  She leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “Yeah. You were going to help Elias find a job and get him settled in that one-bedroom apartment your realtor friend found for him.” The kettle clicked off. She turned away to pour us each a cup—decaf with almond milk for her, regular coffee with whole milk for me. When she handed me my cup, she continued. “Seeing as he’s not here, I assume something happened?” It was more of a question than a statement, but the way she said it, I could tell she already knew the answer.

  I exhaled sharply. “Oh, crap, something happened, all right.”

  She shot me a warning look. “Language, mister,” she whispered, glancing over her shoulder to make sure the girls weren’t eavesdropping.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  I held up a hand. “Right, sorry. But yeah, turns out Elias isn’t exactly who we thought he was.”

  Her brow furrowed. “Not in a dangerous way, I hope?”

  “No, no. Less Criminal Minds, more… Disney+ level weird.”

  I winced as soon as the words left my mouth. That made no sense. I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to find a better way to explain. “Okay, listen. Seeing is believing. Just—leave your phone here and follow me. I need to show you something.”

  She eyed me suspiciously but placed her cup down and followed me into the bedroom. I shut the door behind us and went straight to the dresser, retrieving Elias’s phylactery—the old copper kettle.

  “So,” I started, holding up the kettle. “I met Elias as planned. We talked, I used that new magnet to fish some junk out of the river, and I found this.” I tilted the kettle for her to see. “Turns out, it belonged to Elias. He lost it there… a long, long time ago. And, well, he couldn’t leave without it.”

  Her frown deepened. “What do you mean, ‘couldn’t leave’?”

  I hesitated. This was the part where I was going to sound like a lunatic. “Because, as it turns out, Elias is a genie,” I blurted. “And this is his lamp. Or, well, kettle.”

  She blinked at me. “Is ‘genie’ code for something?”

  “Nope. I mean literal, actual, magic-wish-granting genie.”

  Her lips parted slightly, but no words came out. So I kept talking because, at this point, I had nothing left to lose. “I made a wish. And now I have this.” I dropped the kettle onto the bed and shrugged off my jacket, pulling off my glove to reveal the gauntlet. The pulsing lights traced up my fingers, humming with an energy that wasn’t supposed to exist.

  She stared at it. Then back at me. “You wished for a fancy-looking gauntlet?”

  “For cosplay?”

  I let out a frustrated chuckle. “No! Here, just watch.”

  Wiggling my eyebrows dramatically, I picked up Elias’s kettle. “Elias, you can come out now.”

  Silence.

  I frowned.

  Maybe I needed to… rub the kettle? Like in the movies?

  I gave it a few passes with my palm.

  Still nothing.

  A heavy sense of dread settled in my stomach. Maybe I’d lost my mind. Maybe I’d hallucinated the entire thing. Maybe my wife had left me alone for a few hours, and in that time, I had completely unraveled.

  I was about to put the kettle down when—

  A rush of swirling, ethereal smoke erupted from the spout, filling the room with shimmering cosmic energy. The haze condensed, shifting, forming—and then, with a wide, shit-eating grin, Elias materialized.

  “What the hell?” my wife yelped, instinctively jumping to my side, putting as much distance as possible between her and the very real, very present genie standing in our bedroom.

  I turned to her, a little smug, a little relieved, and a lot exhausted.

  “Told you.”

  The rest of the day unfolded as expected. Elias filled my wife in on the history of the jinn, detailing how they came to be and how he ended up in his particular predicament. I told her about my two wishes—the spaceship now orbiting Neptune’s largest moon, Triton, and the not-so-minor detail that I was rapidly burning through our life savings to ensure we could survive once it was ready.

  At first, she listened with an expression of deep concentration, taking it all in. Then, slowly, I saw the realization dawn—like a sunrise creeping over the horizon. The thought settled, solidified, then bloomed into something almost hysterical: sheer, unfiltered joy.

  For most couples, this would be a cause for alarm. But for us?

  One of our shared loves had always been astronomy, but for her, it was more than just a passion—it was a calling. She had originally studied astrophysics before transitioning into engineering, where we eventually met. The idea that we were going to space wasn’t just exciting; it was the culmination of a lifelong dream.

  From that moment on, everything became smoother. She extended her leave at work—indefinitely. Together, we reviewed our plans, went over our shopping lists, and revised them, adding things I should have considered but hadn’t. Essentials that, frankly, I would have completely overlooked if not for her level-headedness.

  Lucky for me, she was here.

  Soon, our meticulous planning turned into eager fantasizing about the future—what life would be like among the stars, how we’d adapt, and what the girls would think of seeing Earth from space. Before I knew it, it was bedtime, and we sat our daughters down to explain the situation.

  “We’re going to be moving,” I told them gently.

  “Like to a new house?” my oldest asked.

  “Sort of,” I said, exchanging a quick look with my wife.

  “To space,” she clarified, a small, excited smile on her lips.

  The girls’ eyes widened, and suddenly, the room was filled with eager questions. We assured them they could bring whatever they wanted. I made a mental note to pick up a couple of large containers for their things.

  The next few days became a frenzy of preparation. During the day, we split up—she handled most of the packing from the house while I ran back and forth, ferrying supplies to the barn. At night, we reconvened, cross-checking our progress and making sure nothing was forgotten.

  Turned out, there wasn’t actually much from the house we needed to bring. It was liberating in a way, realizing how little of our life on Earth we were truly attached to.

  Then, the day of our departure arrived.

  We left our car in the apartment complex parking lot, the key resting on the front seat. Everything was cleaned, switched off, locked up. The landlord had a key. There was nothing left to do but walk away.

  I did a final check in the rearview mirror.

  Two little girls worth more than my life—check.

  Lovely wife that I would die for—check.

  Box of ancient beings that destroyed my life on Earth—check.

  Everything accounted for.

  When we reached the barn, my wife got the girls out while I retrieved the plastic container holding the phylacteries. I covered the car with a tarp, leaving the keys inside with a brief note. No turning back now.

  Inside the barn, I pulled open the massive double doors, letting in the crisp morning air. The sun was shining—an unexpected treat in the Netherlands this time of year. The breeze carried the promise of spring, as if winter were finally conceding defeat.

  And then—

  A voice rang out behind me, thick with a Dutch accent.

  "Goot morning, Meester."

  I froze. My stomach clenched.

  [Corvette will arrive at the pickup destination in 30 minutes.]

  I almost unleashed every curse word known to man.

  I turned slowly to see Jan, the farmer’s oldest son, standing in the doorway.

  "Goot morning, Meester," he repeated.

  He glanced around, taking in the sight of the barn—now stacked high with crates and supplies. His eyes landed on the chicken cages, one filled with fully grown hens, the other with chirping chicks. He frowned.

  "Say… vhat are you doing mit all your stuff here?" He pointed at the piles of boxes. "You can't stay in de barn. Fadder vont allow it."

  Crap.

  "Jan," I said, trying to keep my voice steady, "can you go fetch your father for me? I need to ask him something."

  His frown deepened. "Vhat? Really?"

  "Yes, really," I said, trying not to sound too eager.

  He looked dubious. "Are you sure? It is an incredibly long valk back. Do I have to?"

  "Please, Jan," I urged, barely managing to keep the desperation out of my voice.

  He let out a heavy sigh. "Ok, but you owe me, ja?"

  I nearly sprinted to the cooler, grabbed a cold Coca-Cola, and thrust it into his hands.

  "Thanks, Jan," I said, feeling an overwhelming wave of relief as he turned and started down the dirt road.

  The second he disappeared from view, I exhaled sharply and tapped the gauntlet.

  "Update?" I asked.

  [ETA 25 minutes.]

  I closed my eyes, took a breath, and prepared for the final countdown.

  No other surprises awaited us as we waited for the ship. I had to admit—it was eerily silent. No rushing wind.

  Then, without warning, a stadium-sized ship coasted over the trees, still silent as death. No sonic boom. No whine of engines. Nothing. Its enormous bulk blocked out the sky as it turned and slowly descended into the clearing. A section of the bottom hull disengaged with mechanical precision, free-floating and lowering to the grass.

  A moment later, four crawlers—flat-top cargo haulers designed for rough terrain—rolled off the loading platform. Their tank-like treads crunched over the earth, steady and deliberate.

  I grabbed my girls and ran up to the loading platform, my wife right behind me. Then, I sprinted back, retrieved the container of phylacteries, and dropped it at her feet before stepping backward off the platform.

  Lifting my gauntlet, I issued the command. “Get them onboard now.”

  My wife’s expression flickered with hesitation.

  “Stay on the ship,” I yelled. “There’s an access ladder at the back of the loading bay. Take it to the top—you’ll be safe there.”

  The platform began to rise, locking them away inside. A breath I hadn't noticed I'd been holding finally slipped free.

  [Rome secured.]

  I shook off the weird statement from the AI, my heart hammering as I set to work loading the crawlers. Thankfully, the haulers were equipped with different systems that made stacking heavy cargo effortless. By the time I finished loading the first batch, the platform had lowered again, depositing four fresh crawlers and taking up the previously loaded ones. I could only hope the ship’s systems were taking care of unloading—I didn’t have time to micromanage.I fell into a rhythm, muscles burning, legs aching—but time was against me.

  Then, the warning flashed across my mind.

  [Four military aerial assets inbound.]

  [One ground vehicle inbound.]

  Yeah, nope. I was not sticking around for that.

  “Bring down the loading platform and leave the empty crawlers up there,” I ordered. “Our time is up.”

  The platform started rising with the last load, but there was still too much left to bring. I frantically searched through the remaining crates, shoving the most critical ones onto the haulers. The crawlers inched forward, closing the distance to the ship, buying me precious seconds to pack more.

  Then my eyes landed on something near the barn—my daughter’s personal box.

  Probably packed with kid junk. But still—her junk. The most important things in her world.

  I bolted toward it, scooping up the box with a grunt.

  “Why is this so heavy?!” I wheezed, doing an awkward run-walk back toward the haulers.

  As I neared the platform, the distant roar of an engine made my stomach lurch. A vehicle skidded to a stop on the other side of the barn.

  Please don’t have guns. Please don’t have guns.

  I barely made it to the last crawler, all but throwing the box onto it, when a voice rang out from behind me.

  “Aco, get avay from dere! It is dangerous!”

  I whipped around, my pulse spiking—then nearly sagged in relief.

  Not the military.

  Jeroen, the farmer, stood near the barn, his son Jan at his side, both staring at the ship with wide, slack-jawed expressions.

  I scrambled onto the platform just as it began rising again—but this time, the ship was moving down, closing the gap even faster.

  I turned back, catching one last glimpse of Jeroen and Jan, their faces frozen in sheer disbelief.

  Grinning, I yelled down, “Jeroen! Thanks for lending me the barn! You can keep everything inside—and the car too. Consider it a gift!”

  I waved as the doors sealed shut with a soft thud.

  Then—

  “Daddy is back!”

  I looked up to see my wife and daughters standing on the landing at the top of the access ladder overlooking the loading bay. My youngest waved excitedly, her small hand flapping in the air. I barely managed to lift a hand in response before my gauntlet flashed another warning.

  [Four enemy aircraft arrival imminent.]

  I didn’t hesitate. I broke into a full sprint, racing toward my wife and daughters.