Jack stared in disbelief at the reflection in the bathroom mirror. Staring back was a teenage boy with wide, cobalt-blue eyes and a full head of dark, dishevelled hair. The realisation struck him like a thunderbolt. “I’m sixteen again.”

  His left eye was no longer clouded by damage. The red, angry burn scars that had once stretched across half his face, disfiguring him for two decades, were gone. Erased, as though they had never existed.

  His breath caught in his throat as he raised a trembling hand to the side of his face. The skin beneath his fingertips was smooth and unbroken. “It’s all gone,” he whispered.

  Tears welled in his eyes and began to roll down his cheeks. “I look so young!” His fingers explored further, brushing through thick air where once there had been brittle tufts and bald patches. He pressed his palm to his temple, to the place where the fire had seared his skin, where pain and shame had lived for so long.

  “I-I’m whole again.” Emotion gripped him with a fierce intensity, and he clutched the edge of the sink for support. His legs felt weak. A lifetime of hiding beneath hoods, flinching from stares and pitying glances, all gone.

  He wiped the tears with the sleeve of his damp nightshirt, his breath shuddering as he forced himself to focus. “Pull yourself together, Jack,” he muttered. “This death thing could end at any moment.”

  His gaze drifted to the bathtub. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “It’s the old one.” Stepping closer, he gave the rounded brass side of the clawfoot bath a fond pat, like greeting an old friend. It donged like a brass bell; he couldn’t help but smile at the familiar sound.

  A small rechargeable aether capsule, its polished copper casing etched with delicate runes, pulsed with blue light and hummed. Inside, refined aether crystals shimmered like bottled lightning. This was the bath’s dedicated power source.

  “I always preferred this one to the new model,” he whispered, sliding the plug into place and turning the hot water valve. As it hissed open, the aether capsule emitted a soft hum, resonating like a cat’s purr as spent aether curled into the air in gentle plumes.

  He remembered his dad proudly having the latest aether-powered system installed throughout the house. It was a few months before Jack’s sixteenth birthday. It started with hooking up the kitchen to the mains aether supply, followed by the radiators and then the bathroom.

  “I think it’s next month we get the new bath,” he said, his voice tinged with nostalgia. The upgraded model would draw power directly from the city’s main aether grid via copper piping. More efficient and no more flat aether capsule halfway through a bath.

  A sleek and impressive design, but this one, this older, clunkier tub, felt more substantial. The water was deeper. The heat was more intense, and the hum of the aether capsule was like a comforting lullaby. It wasn’t as good as the new one, yet it was somehow better.

  Jack peeled off his nightshirt and stepped into the steaming water. Sinking down slowly, he sighed as the heated bath water enveloped him. He examined his arms, chest, and shoulders; skin, once warped and twisted, was now pale and smooth. Every scar from that terrible night had vanished. He flexed his fingers, and there was no pain. He rolled his shoulders; no stiffness. He breathed in deep, and there wasn’t even a hint of a rasp. His once scorched and frail lungs now drew in the air like the bellows of a forge, steady, strong, and healthy.

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  Jack sank further into the water until only his eyes and nose remained above the surface. The warmth wrapped around him like a mother’s embrace. Memories of laughter, of family breakfasts, of firelit evenings returned unbidden, and with them came the tears.

  Silent, wrenching sobs shook his chest. Years of grief, guilt, and self-loathing poured out in a flood of disbelief and raw gratitude. He didn’t care how foolish he looked. The Gods, or whoever had gifted him this miracle, had given him something he thought forever lost.

  A chance to be himself.

  When the bath was done, and his tears had run dry, Jack stood again before the mirror. He turned the small brass knob at its side, activating the heat rune. The fog cleared, revealing the boy staring back at him; a boy he never thought he’d see again.

  Jack smiled. A single happy tear rolled down his cheek and fell, soundless, to the tiled floor.

  ***

  The scent of frying butter and warm bread greeted him as he stepped into the kitchen. It was homely, bright, and filled with the soothing clatter of breakfast. He paused, savouring the moment, the smells, the warmth, the comfort of it all.

  He caught the end of something Polly was saying.

  “…this evening.”

  Their mother replied, “Don’t be too late. I don’t want you out after dark.”

  Polly sat at the kitchen table, attacking a stack of pancakes with childlike determination. “I won’t be late.” She stuffed a forkful of pancakes in her mouth and mumbled something unrecognisable and, “…rehearsing with my friends.”

  Their mother stood at the aether-powered stove, a wooden spoon in hand. “Don’t forget your sketchpad this time.” The stove’s brass control dials glowed with imbued runes, and the heat was regulated by more enchanted runes set into the base.

  Polly nodded and looked up at Jack with narrowed eyes. “You took long enough…” She jabbed an empty fork at him. “You better not have drained the crystal again!”

  Jack smirked and ignored her grumbling as he sat at the table. She had some nerve complaining. Usually, it was Miss I Spend Three Hours In The Bathroom who drained the aether capsule flat, leaving everyone else to have a cold bath.

  Their mother turned, placing a fresh stack of golden, steaming pancakes before him. They smelled of vanilla, cinnamon, and safety; they smelled of home.

  She ruffled his damp curls with a warm smile. “There’s honey if you want it. Best grab it before Miss Greedy Guts empties the pot.” She gave her daughter a warning glance and, in return, received a cheeky pancake grin.

  Jack sat at that moment, overwhelmed by the simple joy of being there, being whole, being home. And for the first time in what felt like a lifetime, he allowed himself to feel happy.

  After adding a generous dollop of honey, he sank his teeth into a thick, golden pancake. The crisp edge gave a satisfying crunch before melting into a soft, cloud-like centre. “Hmm,” he sighed with contentment, his eyes fluttering shut. “Thanks, Mom. These are the best pancakes I’ve ever tasted.”

  And he meant it. They tasted even better than he remembered. No one’s cooking could touch his mom’s. It wasn’t just the taste; it was the love in every bite.

  His mother gave him an appreciative smile. “It’s nice to have at least one grateful child in the family,” she said, tossing a glance at Polly.

  Polly, too busy shovelling another bite into her mouth, remained oblivious.

  Jack couldn’t stop smiling. His family was alive, safe, and together. His body, healed and youthful. He felt a miracle had taken root in the quiet corners of his life, and for the first time in two decades, he was tasting peace.

  As he devoured the last of his pancake stack, a sharp cry echoed through the house. It was high-pitched and indignant, with the unmistakable demands of a baby. For once, it wasn’t Polly. Jack froze, fork halfway to his mouth. A smile spread, widening until it lit his whole expression. The clatter of cutlery hitting porcelain broke the silence.

  My baby brother. Of course. It had to be his little brother. At this point, he would be a few months old.