The portal stabilized on a quiet evening in late February 2026. The air in Kot Addu carried the familiar bite of winter turning toward spring—cool enough for shawls but warm enough that mango trees already hinted at budding leaves. The Taunsa Barrage loomed in the near distance, its gates murmuring with the steady flow of the Indus, just as it had for decades. Ahmed Khan (Aelar to his other family) had chosen this spot deliberately: familiar, open, away from prying eyes in the city proper. The portal frame—now a permanent arch of obsidian veined with glowing dragon scales and elven vines—stood unobtrusive behind a cluster of acacia trees, veiled by Mira's lingering illusion magic until needed.
He had prepared for weeks.
His family home buzzed with anticipation. His mother had cooked for days: biryani rich with saffron and cardamom, seekh kebabs grilled over wood fire, fresh parathas layered with ghee, saag with makki di roti for a nod to Punjab's heartland roots, zarda rice sweet with nuts and raisins, and—most importantly—crates of ripe mangoes from their own orchard, the prized varieties his father guarded like treasures. The house, a modest brick structure with a courtyard shaded by mango and neem trees, had been swept spotless. Extra charpoys laid out on the roof for evening gatherings, prayer rugs rolled neatly, and a small table set with chai thermos and sweets.
Ahmed waited at the barrage ledge, heart pounding in a rhythm that echoed both worlds.
The portal rippled.
First through came Vyrath—in diminished form, wings folded tight, size reduced by Veil magic to that of a large horse so as not to terrify the locals. His cobalt scales shimmered faintly under the setting sun. This air is dry, rider. Like the high thermals of the Spires, but scented with earth and smoke.
Next, Kira—humanoid form dominant, silver hair braided with wolf-fang beads, clad in simple leather and shawl to blend. Her eyes widened at the flat expanse of the plains. "So open. No mountains to howl against."
Vixen followed, russet tail tucked discreetly under a long dupatta Ahmed had gifted her, ears hidden by a headscarf. She inhaled deeply. "Spices. Sweet fruit. Life."
Sylara emerged last of the inner circle—wings glamoured invisible, scales muted to look like intricate jewelry patterns on her skin. Borin, stout and bearded, carried a small keg of adapted non-alcoholic brew. Lirael moved with quiet grace, bow unstrung and wrapped like a walking staff. Ren and Mira brought up the rear, already scanning for illusions to maintain discretion.
Ahmed greeted them with embraces—warm, familial. "Welcome to Kot Addu. My first home."
They walked the short distance to the family house, Ahmed leading, the group drawing curious glances from passersby on bicycles and motorbikes. A few children pointed; an elderly man at a tea stall squinted but said nothing. The Veil Key's subtle magic softened edges—making the extraordinary seem like honored guests from afar, perhaps distant relatives in unusual attire.
The gate creaked open.
Ahmed's mother stepped out first, dupatta adjusted, eyes wide but warm. "Assalamu alaikum," she said softly, voice steady despite the wonder.
"Wa alaikum assalam," the group chorused—Ahmed had taught them the phrase.
His father appeared behind her, tall and quiet, assessing. His sisters peeked from the doorway, the youngest clutching a mango like a talisman.
Ahmed made introductions carefully. "Ammi, Abbu, these are my family from the other side. Vyrath, Kira, Vixen, Sylara, Lirael, Borin, Ren, Mira."
His mother didn't flinch at the pointed ears, the faint scales, the tail tip peeking from Vixen's shawl. Hospitality overrode surprise. "Come inside. You must be tired from the journey. Food is ready."
The courtyard filled with life.
Ahmed's family had prepared a feast on the charpoy-lined floor—dastarkhwan spread wide. Platters of biryani steamed, kebabs sizzled on a portable grill, bowls of raita cooled the spice, salads of cucumber and tomato glistened. Mangoes piled high, their golden skins promising sweetness.
Borin eyed the spread with approval. "This rivals dwarven halls."
They sat in a circle—cross-legged on mats, no hierarchy. Ahmed's mother served first, placing extra portions before guests as custom demanded. "Eat well. Our home is yours."
Vixen tasted biryani, eyes closing in bliss. "Layers of flavor. Like illusion magic—each bite reveals more."
Kira tore into a kebab, growling appreciatively. "Meat grilled with fire and spice. Strong."
Sylara sampled mango—juice dripping down her chin. "Sweeter than the sun-ripened berries of the Aerie. Your orchards bear powerful fruit."
Ahmed's youngest sister giggled, offering her a napkin. "It's our best kind. Abbu says it's magic."
His father watched quietly, then spoke to Ahmed in low Urdu. "They carry themselves like warriors. But polite. Respectful."
Ahmed nodded. "They are. And loyal."
After the meal, chai flowed—strong, milky, cardamom-scented. Conversation turned to stories.
Ahmed translated fluidly—Cultural Conduit active, words carrying nuance across languages and customs.
His mother asked Vixen about her home. Vixen described fox-kin enclaves: hidden glades where illusions danced, feasts under moonlight. "We value cunning, but also family. Like here."
Kira shared wolf-kin pack life—hunts under stars, howls binding the group. Ahmed's father nodded. "Family is everything. We too gather, share, protect."
Borin boasted of dwarven forges—hammers ringing like thunder—then marveled at the old hand-pump in the courtyard. "Simple mechanism, but effective. Like our water wheels."
Lirael spoke of elven groves, trees that whispered prophecies. Ahmed's sisters listened wide-eyed.
Vyrath—perched at the courtyard edge—hummed a resonant dragonkin tune. Ahmed's grandmother, seated on a charpoy, clapped softly. "Like our folk songs. Soulful."
As night fell, they moved to the roof. Stars blanketed the sky—familiar constellations Ahmed had once wished upon as a boy, now shared with beings from another realm.
Ahmed's father pointed out the Big Dipper. Vyrath traced a wing claw in the air. "We call that the Dragon's Tail. Guides flyers home."
Quiet settled.
Ahmed's mother turned to him. "They are good people. Strange, but good. Bring them again."
He hugged her. "I will. Often."
The next days unfolded in gentle rhythm.
They visited Taunsa Barrage—early morning, mist rising off the Indus. Vyrath (glamoured smaller) gazed at the massive gates controlling the river's flow. "Like taming a wild storm. Impressive engineering."
Kira dipped paws in the water. "Strong current. Good for hunting fish."
Vixen charmed local fishermen into sharing tales of the river's moods.
At the family orchard, Borin marveled at mango trees—sturdy, laden. "These bear fruit like forges bear metal. Patient."
They picked ripe ones—Ahmed teaching proper twist-and-pull. Sylara breathed gentle frost to cool the crates for transport back.
Evenings brought music: Ahmed played old Pathanay Khan recordings on a small speaker. Lirael hummed along, strings of her bow resonating. Ren attempted Saraiki dance steps—awkward but enthusiastic. Kira howled softly in harmony.
One afternoon, Ahmed took them to a quiet spot by the Chenab River bank—green, peaceful. They sat, shared stories.
Vixen leaned close. "Your world is warm. Loud in a comforting way. People stare, but smile."
Ahmed nodded. "Hospitality here is law. Guest is honored."
His youngest sister tugged Vixen's tail (carefully, with permission). "Can I ride the dragon?"
Vyrath lowered his head. Carefully, little one.
A short glide—low, slow—over the orchard. Laughter echoed.
Departure came too soon.
At the portal, crates packed: mangoes, spices, parathas, a small rug woven by Ahmed's mother, letters of invitation for future visits.
Ahmed's family gathered.
His mother embraced each guest. "Come back. Our door is always open."
His father clasped Borin's hand. "Strong arms. Good heart."
The youngest pressed a mango into Sylara's hands. "For your babies."
Tears flowed—human, elven, dwarven, beastkin, dragonkin.
Ahmed stepped through last, turning back. "I'll return soon. With more stories. More mangoes."
The portal closed softly.
Back in Elandria, the citadel—now a thriving hub of unity—awaited.
Vyrath spread wings. Your home is beautiful. Warm. Alive.
Kira grinned. "We howled under your stars."
Vixen licked mango juice from fingers. "I want to go again."
Ahmed smiled, the Dual-World Anchor humming in his chest.
Two worlds, one family.
The bridge held strong.