As soon as he was done, the door grating was heard, and steps were heard heading towards them.

"I'm home!" his dad's cheerful voice called out from the living room. He came in, immediately embraced his wife, and pulled her into a deep kiss.

"Ew, not here." He couldn't help the exclamation. He loved them, but they were still his parents.

"Hahaha! How is my big man doing today?" His dad mercifully let go of his mom and came in for a hug. Although his broad shoulders and toned body made for a much harsher squeeze, it was safe all the same. Then, there was a hair ruffle. Again.

"You stink!" He huffed in mock annoyance.

"Try shoveling fertiliser at four in the mourning." His dad did not have an ounce of regret.

"Ooooh is that beef stew I smell? What's the special occasion?"

"Honey!" His mom squawked in indignation and followed it by slapping his dad upside the head. They were not great at this lying thing.

"The stew is ready. Now take your dirty boots out of my kitchen so we can eat," his mom demanded.

"Okay, Okay, I will do as the princess says." His father knew when to retreat from a hopeless battle.

The stew was soon on the table, and everyone settled in their chairs. A steaming bowl was placed in front of him. His mom cast a few spells to ensure all the bowls were at the perfect temperature, and he shared a knowing look with his dad.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

"Let's dig in!" His father started vacuuming the stew without a preamble, paying no heed to the mess he was making.

He carefully eyed the delicacy, taking in the rich aroma. It was a mixture of herbs, beef, vegetables, a pinch of salt and pepper, a hint of garlic, and a mystery ingredient that his mother refused to reveal.

His spoon scooped up a tasty-looking chunk of meat and broth. The beef melted in his mouth like butter, and the rich broth, which had to be prepared a week in advance, contained a complex set of tastes, each somehow complementing the other.

The family ate in content silence. His mother was very strict about observing the kitchen etiquette, and there was no room for debate.

In no time at all, the stew was devoured, with his dad scraping every last bit from the pot, and for once, he couldn't blame him.

The bowls, utensils, and pot were removed quickly. The family would usually gossip about the latest happenings in the neighbourhood. Callen always tuned it out. He could never understand why his parents were so interested in something like the love life of old Rosmerta down the road—not today, though.

"Today is a very special day! Happy birthday Callie!" The enthusiastic voice of his mother brought him back to reality. A magic circle appeared on the table, and seemingly, out of nowhere, a cake appeared. The cake would be the envy of any of those snobby bakeries. Using a traditional Tourteau Fromagé cheesecake as a base, with vanilla cream on top, thirteen strawberries elegantly sliced and spread around the top, and two candles read thirteen. Simple yet elegant. It's just the way he liked it. And just the way to describe his mother.

Another magic circle dimmed the lights and cut sunlight in the kitchen.

"Light the candles, honey! Just like I showed you." His mother's voice cut through the now-dark kitchen.

He felt the warm current coursing in his body. He imagined what he needed, just a spark. He closed his eyes in concentration and used a tiny trickle of his demonic energy to bend the world to his will. A small flame lit the wick and didn't touch anything else.

"Yay! My baby is a genius! Now make a wish."

His parents were at least kind enough to spare him the singing. He closed his eyes again and wished for this moment to last forever.

Blowing the candle caused several more magic circles, and the candles transformed into a tiny flame dragon that danced around the room before finally exploding and spelling out the words 'Happy Thirteenth Birthday'.

'Show off.' He thought fondly of his mother's peculiarities; he had no doubt she was miles ahead of him in magical aptitude at his age.

His mother rushed across the room to wrap him in a massive hug. He could see his father shedding a 'manly tear' on the other side of the table.

The lights came back on, and he cut the cake, giving the first slice to his mother and then one to his father. His was last. His parents waited for him to take the first bite, and he quickly dug in. It was sweet and cheesy with a hint of lemon and strawberry—perfect.