Ash's Age: 8
Morning came slowly in the oasis, as if even time didn't want to rush this place.
Ash Vale sat up in his blanket beside the steaming spring, squinting at a butterfly sitting calmly on his hair like it had paid rent.
"…Personal space, please," he muttered.
The butterfly flapped twice, ignored him, and flew off with dignity.
He stretched, cracked his neck, and looked out over the landscape. The waterfalls shimmered in the sunlight, and a soft blue mist hovered over the valleys like the world was still dreaming.
It was time to build home.
Not a tent. Not a shelter.
A real home.
Ash spent the morning exploring the terrain with silent precision. He mapped the hills, tracked the water flow, catalogued plant life, and listened—truly listened—to the wind.
And then, near the biggest waterfall, he found it: a wide plateau of soft grass framed by massive trees and a sloped hill that gave way to underground stone. Elevation, drainage, sunlight, privacy— all perfect.
It would be massive.
The house rose from the ground like it had always belonged.
Walls of rich, honey-toned timber—harvested from naturally fallen trees, dried and treated using his custom solar kiln. Every beam was hand-shaped and locked into place with brass joints he designed himself.
It was warm, it was wide, and it smelled faintly of forest and lemon oil.
Ash stood in the middle of the open foundation, hands on his hips. "Okay," he told a passing parrot, "this will be the Great Hall of Snacks. Kitchen to the left. Living room to the right. Bedrooms… everywhere."
The parrot squawked. "APPROVE."
It took five days to complete the main structure.
By the end of it, Ash had built:
A central kitchen large enough for ten people to cook side-by-side A dining room with a glass wall view of the main waterfall Four upstairs bedrooms (one for him, three for future "I don't know, maybe lion roommates?") A sunroom for afternoon naps and tea A wraparound porch with hanging planters and rain-detecting canopies Bamboo flooring with embedded floor-warmers powered by solar flow Every surface was smooth, elegant, and warm to the touch. Firefly-shaped lanterns hung from the beams, gently glowing at night with soft programmable lighting.
The kitchen alone looked like something that could get featured in a magazine called Chefs Would Sell Their Souls For This.
Ash installed a self-cooling pantry, rotating spice walls, a ten-burner stove with three types of heat induction, and a built-in sushi prep counter that slid out from the wall.
At the center sat a massive island, topped with slate stone, decorated with vines and wooden trim.
Ash tied his apron with a grin and whispered to the wind, "Let the simmering begin."
But beneath it all—quite literally—was the true heart of his creation.
The Lab.
Carved into the earth beneath the home, it started as a hollowed-out cave beneath a mossy boulder and quickly grew into a cathedral of science.
Ash embedded vertical lift platforms and full-spectrum lights, coating the walls in eco-fused alloy that blended into the land. The floor was smooth graphite. The ceiling could shift transparency for mood-lighting or star-viewing.
Sections of the lab included:
AI module development bays 3D-printer banks with edible material settings Drone auto-docking stations Climate control towers Zero-emission generators Code chamber with floating holographic UI (just for personal use) An entire sector for animal medicine, diagnostics, and biome analysis He had tech in here that could change the world.
But he wouldn't release it.
"The world needs hugs before it needs hover boots," he muttered once while bolting a reactor core into place.
By the seventh day, the oasis had changed.
The house felt lived in. Chimneys puffed. The porch creaked in friendly tones. Solar flowers opened on the roof each morning. The kitchen smelled like soy broth and baked lotus bread.
And the animals?
They moved in.
The lion cub chose the sunniest porch chair and refused to give it up. The parrot took over the pantry and sang passive-aggressive songs about spice organization. A family of peacocks decided the upstairs guest room was clearly theirs and redecorated with feathers.
Ash didn't fight them.
He just built more rooms.
One evening, as he stirred caramel sauce for apple dumplings, the parrot landed on his shoulder and whispered, "You're not lonely anymore, huh?"
Ash blinked.
Then smiled.
"Nope," he whispered back. "Not even a little."
Rooftop construction wasn't for the faint of heart—especially not when you were standing barefoot, balancing a solar rake in one hand and a watering crystal in the other, while a tiger cub tried to eat your rope.
"Ash, my guy," Ash muttered to himself, "next time maybe don't invent your own gravity-compensating ladder on a sugar high."
The tiger cub yawned at him with zero shame and resumed nibbling.
The rooftop garden, however, was coming along beautifully.
Rows of fresh herbs lined the solar shelves: basil, mint, coriander, and the ever-powerful chili Ash had genetically tweaked to whisper compliments to passing butterflies (it was mostly for fun… mostly).
Sun-capturing panels were integrated directly into the garden's canopy. They looked like stained glass leaves and moved with the light. Water collected in leaf channels and trickled gently down to feed the roots—pure oasis hydration.
Ash dug his fingers into the soil and smiled.
"Science," he said aloud, "tastes better when it grows itself."
The interior of the house had changed in subtle ways too.
Ash had begun personalizing rooms for his growing family of animal roommates.
The lion cub's room was furnished with sun-warmed stone slabs and a heated floor mat that purred slightly when stepped on.
The parrot got a perch throne in the kitchen pantry and a whole wall dedicated to "approved snack storage" (which it mostly ignored).
The peacocks? Oh, the peacocks had taken over the guest rooms and claimed them as a fashion runway, complete with reflective surfaces and wind-chimes that somehow followed their struts.
Ash, of course, didn't mind.
He'd added automatic curtain sensors, lavender-scented diffusers that activated at dusk, and firefly-lit hallway trails so even the smallest creatures could find their way to bed.
The lab, meanwhile, had entered its final stages.
Ash stood in the command center, arms folded, gazing at the displays.
Floating screens projected above his central table, each glowing with clean, minimal interfaces.
His AI assistant, "Kiwi," chirped softly through the comms as new updates were finalized on an auto-translation drone that could understand 1,000 animal vocal patterns.
"You're being excessive," Kiwi chirped.
Ash sipped from his bamboo tea cup and nodded. "You say that every time I design a firefly-powered dishwasher."
"It's impractical."
"It sparkles."
"…Fine."
Behind him, the curved wall of the lab glowed faintly with energy. The inner chamber had sectors for development, food engineering, and even a quiet reading corner with a fireplace that wasn't actually a fireplace (it ran on ambient heat and glowing bioluminescence).
Ash had built this place not for power.
But for peace.
Later that evening, Ash found himself sitting in the hot spring beneath the stars, eyes half-lidded, a towel on his head, steam curling upward like the sky was exhaling too.
A lion cub floated nearby on a leaf raft. A parrot perched on the edge of a warm stone, sipping coconut water. Fireflies lit the air like tiny hovering lanterns.
Ash swirled his tea and let out a soft sigh.
"I've lived in ten gang hideouts, four safehouses, and once in a ceiling duct above a hostile kitchen," he murmured. "This is better."
The parrot belched.
"I take it back. This is perfect."
Just then, a clang echoed from below.
Ash sat up.
A warning ping flared across his internal systems. Kiwi's voice buzzed in his ear.
"ALERT: Unauthorized tech access. Lab Sector 3. Detected object: Parrot. Toolbelt stolen."
Ash blinked.
"…Of course."
He wrapped himself in a towel, grabbed his hoodie, and jogged back toward the house. By the time he opened the secret lift to the lab, Sector 3 had been flooded with light.
The parrot was standing proudly on a workbench wearing Ash's multi-tool belt like a championship sash. It had also somehow activated the robotic treat dispenser and was being pelted with dried mango pieces.
"You're banned," Ash declared. "From belts. And buttons. Forever."
The parrot squawked. "THIS IS A POWER MOVE."
Ash sighed and reset the control panel with a flick of his wrist. "Go help the peacocks file feathers or something."
The parrot flew off without apology, dragging a laser pointer in its talons.
That night, Ash stood at the massive window of his bedroom, watching the stars through the leaves above.
He held a steaming mug of mushroom broth and leaned against the wooden frame. The glow strips behind him lit his room in soft amber.
The lion cub snored softly from the stone hearth, and the parrot (now behaving) was curled up in a hammock, muttering, "Cheese… must retrieve…code…" Ash grinned faintly.
His home was filled with laughter. With rustling feathers, and sleepy growls, and robotic beeps, and vines that climbed the walls like they wanted to listen in on the jokes.
And fireflies drifted through the hallway—soft, slow, glowing gold.
"I think," he said softly, "this is the safest place I've ever been."