the house was quiet, almost too quiet.
Kaino crept along the polished stone floors, tiny feet bare, toes curling against the cool surface. His heartbeat raced—not from fear, not from excitement, but from an invisible pull. The kitchen. The cathedral. The room where his father moved like a conductor, where smells and flames danced together in perfect rhythm.
Today, the kitchen was empty.
Not a single chef. Not a single hovering maid. Keano was out, presumably reviewing menus for the World Cup, leaving the kitchen—his cathedral—unguarded.
Kaino's chest tightened. He could feel the pull again, deeper this time, almost like the room itself was calling him forward.
I can do it.
I just need to try.
He paused at the doorway, his small hands brushing the frame. Steam lingered faintly from the early morning cleaning. The scent of butter, the faint tang of metal from knives, the lingering aroma of fresh bread—it all hit him at once. His mouth watered. His fingers tingled.
He stepped inside.
The sun poured through the tall windows, illuminating countertops polished to a mirror finish. Pots gleamed, knives rested in perfect alignment, the stove stood like a sentinel waiting for action.
It's quiet. Too quiet.
He shuffled closer, heels brushing against the base of the counter, eyes wide, scanning every pan, every utensil.
Then—movement.
A tiny shadow appeared. Kaia.
"What are you doing?" she whispered, hands on her hips, eyes wide with disbelief. "You know it's dangerous! Watching Papa is one thing—but this… this is different!"
Kaino glanced at her, unsure. "I… I just want to try," he murmured.
Kaia raised an eyebrow. "Try what? Cooking? With fire? With knives?" Her lips pressed into a tight line. "You could get hurt! You could burn yourself!"
Kaino's small fists clenched. "I… I need to taste it. I need to learn."
Kaia's eyes softened. "I get it," she said quietly. "I really do. But—" She paused. Her small stomach grumbled loudly. "But you're hungry, aren't you?"
Kaino froze.
She knows…
He pressed his hand to his stomach. He had been trying to ignore the gnawing emptiness, pretending it didn't matter, but now it seemed impossible to hide.
Kaia's tiny nose wrinkled. "I think we should eat first," she suggested. But then she looked at him, her brown eyes sharp. "Or… you can do this. But be careful. Don't let anyone see."
Kaino nodded. She wouldn't stop him—but her gaze was a silent warning.
He approached the stove.
The burners glinted in the morning light. He had watched his father for years, memorized every movement, every tilt of the wrist, every adjustment of heat. Today, he would try.
He lifted a small pan from the shelf, fingers trembling as he placed it on the burner. He turned the knob—carefully—matching the exact degree of force he had memorized from watching Keano.
The flame hissed. It wasn't the graceful flicker of his father's fire. It roared slightly, wild, impatient. Kaino's stomach tightened.
It's alive, he thought. It moves.
He picked up a carrot, his hands small and shaky. He tried to replicate the knife motion he had spent days mimicking in the air—tap, tap, tap—but the angle was wrong, the wrist stiff, the blade clattered against the counter instead of slicing cleanly.
Kaia's eyes widened. "Stop! Stop!"
But he couldn't.
He wanted it too badly.
The pan sizzled as he tried to toss a few drops of oil. The liquid jumped, tiny flames licking the edge of the metal. Kaino flinched, his fingers brushing the heat. Pain shot up his hand in a sudden, white-hot spike.
He froze.
It burned.
Not just a little. Not like a stubbed toe. The heat seared through his fingertips, a sharp, demanding reality that he had never experienced before.
He didn't cry.
He couldn't.
Pain was new. Learning, however, was necessary.
Kaia gasped, yelping, "Kaino! You're burning your fingers! Mama! Mama! He's—"
The words carried across the house like an alarm.
Mirabel came running from the living room, a towel clutched in her hands, her hair loose from her morning routine, eyes wide with panic.
"What happened?" she demanded, hurrying into the kitchen.
Kaia pointed frantically. "He was trying to cook! He got burned!"
Kaino sat on the floor, tiny fingers smoldering from the pan. The flames had subsided; the heat lingered, sharp and alive. His mouth was dry, but he didn't cry. His eyes met his mother's.
I am learning, he seemed to say. I am paying attention. This is real.
Mirabel scooped him up instantly, brushing his hair from his forehead. "Oh, my poor baby," she murmured, though her voice carried anger too—quiet but potent. She set him gently on the counter, examining the tiny burn on his fingers.
Kaino flinched slightly at the cool touch of water from the kitchen sink, but otherwise remained still.
Mirabel's eyes shifted toward the room, scanning. "Where is everyone?"
Kaia hesitated. "The maids were cleaning. The chefs were… I don't know. They left the kitchen for a moment. I didn't think he'd—"
Mirabel's lips pressed into a thin line. Her hands moved quickly, retrieving a cold cloth and placing it over the burned fingers. "This is unacceptable," she said, voice steady but sharp. "He's three! He's never left alone! How could the kitchen be unsupervised?"
Kaia looked down, guilt written plainly across her face. "I told him it was dangerous…"
Mirabel's sigh cut the tension. "Yes. But they should have been watching him." She stood, scanning the room again. "Every cook, every helper, every maid. Someone should have been at the door. Someone should have—" She shook her head. "Never mind."
Kaino's gaze flicked toward the pan. The lesson was clear. Fire was not a toy. Heat demanded respect.
It burns. It isn't obedient.
He flexed his fingers carefully under the cool cloth. Pain lingered, sharp, insistent. But curiosity remained.
"Do you understand, Kaino?" Mirabel asked, her voice softer now, more motherly than angry.
Kaino nodded slowly. "Yes, Mama."
Kaia climbed onto the counter next to him. "You have to respect it," she whispered. "Watching Papa is… safe. This… is different."
Kaino's small hand reached out, brushing hers. "I know," he said quietly. "I just… wanted to try."
Mirabel's expression softened, though the edge of worry remained. She held him close, brushing her thumb across his cheek. "I know. But learning doesn't have to hurt like that."
Kaia watched silently, her head tilted, frowning. She looked small but protective, aware even now of the danger their world could present.
The staff arrived minutes later, rushing into the kitchen apologetically. Maids, chefs, and assistants all murmured excuses. Mirabel's sharp glance silenced them immediately.
"This was your responsibility," she said firmly. "Do not leave him alone in a room with fire again. Understand?"
Heads nodded quickly.
"Yes, ma'am," the head chef said, flushed.
"Yes, ma'am," chorused the others, almost in unison.
Mirabel looked down at Kaino, brushing a stray hair from his forehead. "You're okay?"
"I'm fine," he said. His tiny jaw set with quiet determination.
"Good," she said. "Because you have to learn—carefully. Fire doesn't wait. Heat doesn't care about desire. It doesn't care about skill or effort. You must respect it."
Kaino's mind absorbed the words slowly. Respect. Observation. Patience. Not just watching Papa anymore. Not just mimicking his hands. Real action required humility, awareness, and caution.
He flexed his fingers again, still tingling but already remembering the pain.
I will not forget, he thought.
I will respect it. I will learn. I will be careful next time.
Kaia leaned close, whispering, "We'll do it together one day. But not like this."
Kaino smiled faintly. She didn't need to know he already understood. The lesson had burned itself into memory, sharper than any knife.
Mirabel carried him to a soft chair in the corner, letting Kaia crawl up beside him. Together, they watched the kitchen, now quiet again, steam rising faintly from a pot left simmering by the staff.
Keano would be back soon.
And when he returned, the kitchen would be alive again.
But Kaino understood something important now, deeper than any observation or imitation: desire alone could not replace respect. Flames were not to be conquered by curiosity. Pain was a teacher.
And in that quiet lesson, he felt something else—a new determination.
I will learn. I will observe. I will respect. And one day… I will master it.
The sun climbed higher, casting sharp angles of light across the polished floors. Kaino sat quietly, his small fingers bandaged and cool. He didn't cry. He didn't whimper. He only watched, only thought, only remembered.
And when Kaia whispered, "Next time, we'll do it together," he nodded, tiny eyes glinting with focus.
This was only the beginning.
The St. Hunter kitchen had claimed him, tested him, and left its mark.
And Kaino St. Hunter—silent, small, observant—would never forget.
System status: dormant.
Learning: active.
Respect for heat: acquired.