t began like any other day in the House of the Hearth—chaotic, noisy, and vaguely scented of burnt marshmallows and questionable inventions. Children were running through the halls, yelling about diplomacy with the Mushroom Cult and the newly elected second-in-command to King Croak the Frog (a duck plushie named Sir Quackersworth). Mother Goose was attempting to maintain some semblance of order, her hands full with laundry that insisted on folding itself incorrectly, while Father Hearth was seated in his favorite chair sipping quietly on tea that had not yet declared rebellion.
And then…
CRASH.
The front door exploded inward in a whirlwind of confetti, flower petals, and sparkling wind magic as a figure dramatically cartwheeled into the entrance hall, flipping once, landing on one foot with his arms raised like a circus performer.
"BEHOLD!" shouted the figure, golden curls wild, his wings trailing magic like a comet. "I HAVE ARRIVED!"
Every single child in the house froze mid-chaos.
One of them dropped their spoon. Another fainted from sheer sensory overload.
"...Zephyrion," Mother Goose muttered, closing her eyes with a deep inhale.
"Yes!" bellowed the Fairy King of the Western Wind, flipping again and landing in front of her with sparkles somehow falling from his cloak. "It is I, the incomparable Zephyrion! Prince of Mayhem! Lord of Whimsy! The Most Dazzling Disaster! And today—" he struck a pose, "—I challenge you, Mother Goose, to a contest of PARKOUR."
There was a long, weighted silence.
One of the children in the back yelled, "What's parkour?"
"It's where you jump on furniture for sport!" another shouted, immediately leaping off a windowsill.
"I swear," Mother Goose muttered, rubbing her temples, "I cannot take this man anywhere."
"I am not a man!" Zephyrion declared proudly. "I am an EXPERIENCE."
Before she could reply, the house was already stirring. Children began clapping. Chants started rising. Someone had pulled out drums. King Croak was seated upon his squire Theo's head, declaring the event "a trial of heroes!"
"Oh no," Father Hearth said, appearing beside Mother Goose with a half-finished cup of tea. "It's happening again."
"Stop it. Stop speaking like it's normal."
But it was already too late.
One Hour Later…
They were in the center of the city.
Somehow—through the unfathomable power of Zephyrion's charisma, wind manipulation, and possibly a small bribe of candied apples—the entire city had shown up. People lined the streets. Streamers were hung. Children from other districts came pouring in.
And, to the confusion of many, the royal family had also arrived, sitting in a magically-constructed viewing platform, equally as baffled and too polite to leave. The King leaned over to his advisor.
"Why are we here?"
"Public relations, sire."
"Who's competing?"
"That woman in the feathered shawl and the man currently balancing on the cathedral roof."
The King paused. "Who let the fairy king up there?"
"I believe he let himself up."
The rules were nonsensical.
The path was absurd.
The parkour course involved climbing lampposts, sliding down bannisters, vaulting over fountains, and swinging across laundry lines hung with enchanted socks. There were checkpoints, most of which were guarded by confused ducks or mildly threatening cats. The final stretch involved an obstacle course of stacked chairs, wooden crates, and a bakery window (which, unfortunately, had not been warned in advance).
Zephyrion twirled in the air, confetti trailing behind him as he landed on the starting platform, waving to the crowd like a pageant queen.
Mother Goose, for her part, stood at the other end in her full shawl, still wearing a proper dress and boots, utterly unimpressed.
"Are you sure you're not going to break something?" Father Hearth asked, sipping tea on the sidelines.
"I break expectations, not bones," she snapped, tying her hair back with a ribbon. "Besides… I've been dealing with children for centuries. I can handle jumping on some rooftops."
A whistle blew.
The crowd roared.
And they were off.
Zephyrion soared like a bird on a sugar high. He flipped over awnings. He pirouetted down staircases. He somersaulted through an alley full of confused alley cats and winked at a pigeon mid-air.
Mother Goose, meanwhile, did not soar.
She stormed.
Every obstacle she hit was met with grim, furious efficiency. Fences were climbed, not danced over. Chimneys were leapt across without flair. She slapped a magically spinning clothesline out of her way with a sharp flick of her wrist and scowled as a sock dared to hit her in the face.
"I have had it with airborne laundry!" she roared.
The city watched in stunned awe.
By the halfway mark, Zephyrion had slipped on a stray pie (long story), and Mother Goose had headbutted a turnstile out of sheer stubbornness.
"She's winning," the prince muttered from the royal booth, watching her jump a hedge with the power of righteous fury.
Zephyrion flew into the final stretch, glitter trailing behind him like a comet. But just as he reached the finish line, he looked to the side—
And saw Mother Goose, in her shawl and boots, vaulting through the bakery window, snatching a baguette mid-leap, and landing like a battle-hardened dancer.
The crowd erupted.
Zephyrion collapsed on the ground in a dramatic heap.
"Defeated… by a woman in a dress!" he gasped.
"You challenged me in my prime," Mother Goose said, casually biting the baguette. "You never had a chance."
Two Hours Later…
The crowds had dispersed, the royal family had politely bowed out, and the square was full of exhausted townsfolk murmuring about "the most confusing afternoon they'd ever loved."
Back in the House of the Hearth, Zephyrion was curled on the couch, dramatically sulking into a pillow while Gunther the Goose patted his head sympathetically.
Father Hearth passed by the living room, muttering, "He'll be like that for an hour. Ignore him."
Mother Goose walked in with her prize: a trophy made of mismatched socks and a sash labeled "Queen of Chaos."
"I earned this," she said proudly.
Father Hearth raised an eyebrow. "You punched a weather vane."
"It had it coming."
She turned to Zephyrion. "Same time next year?"
The fairy king peeked out from under the pillow. "Only if we do it upside-down."
And somewhere outside, the wind whistled with laughter.