The orchard that straddled the Eternal Bridge had become the undisputed heart of the merged worlds. By late March 2036, the mango season was in full, glorious swing. Trees heavy with fruit bowed under their own weight, branches sagging like generous aunts offering endless hugs. The air was thick with the heady perfume of ripening Alphonso, Langra, and the new hybrid varieties—golden orbs kissed with faint starberry shimmer that made them taste like summer memories mixed with midnight magic. Children from both sides of the portal darted between trunks, their laughter a constant soundtrack: human giggles blending with beastkin yips, elven trills, and the occasional puff of delighted dragonkin smoke.
Ahmed Khan stood at the orchard's edge, arms folded, watching the scene with the resigned amusement of a man who knows chaos is inevitable when three hybrid children are involved.
Ammar Thorne-Khan, ten and already shoulder-high to most adults, crouched behind a low stone wall near the portal arch. His silver-streaked hair caught the sun; wolf-scales along his forearms glinted like polished armor. He was in full hunter mode—nose twitching, ears pricked, blue eyes narrowed in concentration.
Zara Thorne-Fox, eight and pure mischief, perched on a branch above him. Her russet tail flicked impatiently; illusion patterns danced across her skin like living tattoos. She whispered down, barely containing her glee:
"Target acquired. Three perfect Langra on the south tree—lowest branch, ripe enough to drop with one good shake."
Ammar growled softly. "I smell them. Sweet. Juicy. Ours."
From higher up came Liyana Thorne-Frost's soft, tinkling voice—seven years old, pale blue scales shimmering, tiny wings fluttering as she clung to the trunk like a frost-kissed koala.
"But Abba said no stealing. Only if we ask."
Zara rolled her eyes so hard her tail swished. "Liyana, it's not stealing—it's… strategic harvesting. For science. And snacks."
Ammar nodded solemnly. "Science snacks."
Liyana sighed the sigh of the only sensible sibling. "Fine. But if we get caught, I'm telling Nani it was your idea."
Zara grinned, showing sharp little fox teeth. "Deal."
The plan was simple, elegant, and doomed from the start.
Step one: Zara creates a perfect illusion mango tree ten meters away—complete with swaying branches and extra-shiny fruit—to distract any adults.
Step two: Ammar uses his controlled howl (practiced for weeks) to shake the real tree just enough for three mangoes to fall into a waiting basket.
Step three: Liyana frosts the basket to keep the fruit cool and fresh for the "science tasting" they planned behind the old neem tree.
What could go wrong?
Everything.
Zara concentrated, tail twitching. The air shimmered. Ten meters away, a second mango tree appeared—identical to the real one, fruit glowing temptingly. She added a soft breeze for realism; leaves rustled perfectly.
Ahmed's mother—Nani to the children—happened to be walking past with a basket of fresh parathas for lunch. She paused, squinted.
"Arre? Yeh doosra ped kab laga?" (When did this second tree get planted?)
Ammar panicked. His howl came out sharper than intended—a short, sharp "Awooo!" that rattled the real tree like an earthquake.
Three mangoes plummeted—not gently, but like golden cannonballs.
One landed in the basket.
One bounced off Ammar's head.
One sailed straight toward Nani.
Time slowed.
Nani's eyes widened. The mango arced gracefully—perfect parabola—and landed with a soft thump right in her open paratha basket.
Silence.
Then Nani looked up at the illusion tree, down at the real one, over at three guilty children frozen mid-escape.
Zara's illusion flickered and vanished.
Ammar rubbed his head.
Liyana whispered, "Told you."
Nani's lips twitched. Once. Twice.
Then she burst out laughing—the full, rolling, belly-deep laugh that could make even the sternest orc crack a smile.
"Chor bachche! Mango chor!" (Thief children! Mango thieves!)
The children bolted.
Ahmed, hearing the commotion from the veranda, jogged over just in time to see his mother chasing three giggling hybrids through the orchard with a rolling pin in one hand and a mango in the other.
"Arre ruk jao! Mango wapis do!" (Stop! Give back the mango!)
Ammar dodged between trees, scales flashing. "Nani, it was for science!"
Zara sprinted ahead, tail streaming like a comet. "Run faster! She's gaining!"
Liyana fluttered above, wings buzzing. "I told you! I told you!"
Ahmed intercepted them at the portal arch, arms spread wide.
"Enough!"
The children skidded to a halt, panting, faces flushed, eyes wide with the perfect mix of guilt and glee.
Nani caught up, out of breath but still laughing. She held up the mango that had landed in her basket.
"Eh dekho—mango ne khud surrender kar ditta." (Look—even the mango surrendered.)
She tossed it to Ahmed.
He caught it, looked at his children, then at his mother.
Then he started laughing too—deep, helpless, the kind of laugh that makes your stomach hurt.
The children stared, confused.
Ahmed wiped his eyes. "You three… are officially banned from unsupervised mango missions."
Groans all around.
"But Abba—"
"No buts. However…"
He held up the mango.
"Since the mango surrendered peacefully, we will have a peace treaty. All mangoes harvested today will be shared—properly. With permission."
Zara pouted. "But where's the fun in asking?"
Ahmed knelt to their level.
"Fun is better when everyone gets to laugh together. Not when Nani chases you with a rolling pin."
Nani chuckled. "Next time, I'll use the belan on your illusions, Zara beti."
Zara gulped.
Ahmed continued, voice softening.
"And remember the stories. Sassi didn't steal Punnun—she pursued with heart. The fox didn't trick for greed—he taught a lesson. Your powers are gifts, not tricks. Use them to build, not just to take."
Ammar nodded slowly. "Like Bulleh Shah dancing—embarrassing, but true."
Zara sighed dramatically. "Fine. Permission next time."
Liyana beamed. "Can we frost the peace mangoes?"
Ahmed laughed again. "Yes. Frost away."
The rest of the day became a festival of redemption.
The children helped harvest—properly this time. Ammar shook branches gently (howl controlled to a soft hum). Zara conjured helpful illusions—highlighting ripe fruit, creating gentle baskets of light. Liyana frosted the crates to keep everything cool.
Ahmed's mother supervised, doling out parathas and life lessons in equal measure.
"Power without heart is like mango without sweetness—looks good, tastes empty."
By sunset, crates were filled. The family gathered under the oldest tree—Ahmed's parents, his sisters (now young adults helping with portal logistics), the three bonds, and the children.
Ahmed's father spoke quietly.
"Ten years ago, we thought the bridge was the miracle. Now I see—the real miracle is this."
He gestured at the children, the trees, the open portal where Elandrian friends waved from the other side.
Ahmed nodded, throat tight.
"Together."
They ate mangoes—real ones, frosted, illusion-free, shared.
Laughter drifted across both worlds.
The heist had failed spectacularly.
But the lesson—and the love—had succeeded beyond measure.