The Five Realms

Chapter 1: Joey I

Chapter 1: Embers of Innocence

Joey Jackson didn't believe in magic—not really. Not in the burning-sky, talking-animal, prophesied-chosen-one kind, anyway.

He believed in fire, though.

And there was a lot of it.

Pine trees crackled overhead as flames leapt from branch to branch like rabid squirrels. Smoke clawed at his throat. Somewhere behind him, Chyna screamed.

"Move!" Katherine shouted.

Joey stumbled through ash. Branches snapped. The world tilted.

Then the sky tore open.

Not figuratively. Literally. A seam ripped across the sky like fabric, revealing—not darkness, not stars—but something... else.

A shape loomed.

Something scaled.

And suddenly, the fire wasn't hot anymore. It was golden.

Blinding. Calm.

Then, silence.

And Joey Jackson was no longer in the forest.

He was falling. Then he woke up.

The smell of cinnamon rolls and cracked pepper bacon had settled into the walls like incense in an old church.

Joey Jackson stood barefoot in the kitchen, flipping pancakes while Carly zoomed past in a blur of red pajamas and glittering elf slippers. "I call the first pick!" she shouted, pointing at the stack like it was treasure.

"Only if you pour the orange juice," Joey said, nudging the glass pitcher toward her with his elbow. His voice had the smug calm of someone who knew today was his day.

It was Christmas, yes. But more importantly: his birthday. His and Chyna's, though he'd technically come out two minutes earlier—a fact he invoked annually like it was royal lineage.

The house hummed with quiet joy. Katherine was at the far end of the kitchen table, cross-legged in a hoodie and socks, reading a book so old its spine had split. Her dark hair was tied up in a knot, glasses low on her nose. "He's being smug again," she said, not looking up.

"He's always smug on pancake days," Maria said from the sink. She was humming softly, sleeves rolled up, hands rinsing dishes no one had asked her to clean.

Joey leaned out into the hallway. "Dad, you coming?"

A rustle of newspaper. "Is the coffee ready?"

"Triple strength," Joey replied.

Footsteps. A low groan. Then Isendorn entered, half-dressed, looking like a monk in flannel. He pressed a kiss to Maria's temple, then nodded once at each of the girls. Joey handed him a mug as if offering a holy relic.

Then came the moment they all knew was coming.

From upstairs: a door creaked. A deliberate footstep. Another.

Carly perked up. "It's happening."

Katherine sighed and slid her bookmark into place. "Five... four... three..."

Chyna descended like a queen reluctantly summoned from her chambers—blanket wrapped over one shoulder, hair in a chaotic bun, socks mismatched. Her eyes scanned the table with a deadpan regal stare. "Where is the sacrificial syrup."

Joey grinned. "Good morning, sunshine."

"I'm not speaking to peasants until coffee."

Maria held out a mug without comment. Chyna took it and inhaled dramatically, as if breathing for the first time.