Chapter 28: The Picnic Surprise
The next morning dawned with an unusual air of anticipation. The system clock still hung faintly in the sky like a watermark, its digits ticking away, but no one paid it any real attention. For once, the countdown wasn't the loudest presence in the room. It was Ava.
She had kept her promise from the night before, when she had stood in front of everyone and announced with that impish grin of hers that she had "a surprise." Now, that promise hung over the mansion like a string of colorful balloons just waiting to burst.
"Alright, Ava," Zephyr groaned dramatically, trailing behind her as the families were herded toward the wide glass doors leading to the back lawns. "If this surprise is a meeting about fertilizer ratios, I swear on every last jar of honey we've got, I'll—"
"You'll what?" Theodore asked flatly, one eyebrow arched as he walked alongside his younger brother.
"Uh…" Zephyr faltered, then brightened. "I'll… eat all the honey before anyone else can touch it."
"You'd do that anyway," Lyra said dryly from behind them, arms crossed.
"True," Zephyr said cheerfully.
"Relax," Ava said, her voice light, her grin mischievous. "It's not work. It's fun."
That alone was enough to stop everyone in their tracks. "Fun?" Alyssa repeated, skeptical. "Define fun."
"Yeah," Brian added, narrowing his eyes. "Last time you said something was 'fun,' we ended up knee-deep in digital mud, chasing escaped cows across folded-space pastures."
"That was fun!" Zephyr declared.
"For you," Kael muttered.
Ava rolled her eyes. "Trust me this time. This isn't work disguised as fun. This is actual, real fun. As in, no system menus, no logistics, no reports. Just… food, games, and family."
The parents exchanged amused glances. Claire Blackwood folded her arms knowingly. "A picnic."
Ava's grin widened. "Busted."
The announcement landed like a spark in dry grass. Mildred Lakspur clapped her hands together, delighted. Oriana Slade's stern expression softened into the faintest smile. George Stormbringer blinked in surprise, then chuckled under his breath. And Mia Stormbringer gasped in genuine delight, already muttering about packing baskets.
"Picnic?" Zephyr's voice rose half an octave. "With food? Real food? Like sandwiches and pie and fried chicken?"
"Exactly like that," Ava confirmed.
Zephyr let out a dramatic whoop, throwing his arms into the air. "Best. Boss. Ever."
Ava bowed exaggeratedly, soaking in the laughter that followed.
It didn't take long for the entire house to explode into motion. Kitchens were raided, baskets filled, blankets gathered. The system's static warehouse supplied everything they could possibly want: fresh bread, jars of jam, cheeses, fruit, cold lemonade, smoked meats, even cakes that looked too pretty to eat. Ava's mother Claire and Oliver Emberly's wife Ariana debated flavors of pie while Matteo Blackwood and Davis Slade wrestled with folding chairs that insisted on collapsing the wrong way.
By the time they spilled out onto the rolling lawns, arms full of food and laughter spilling ahead of them, it no longer felt like an apocalypse headquarters. It felt like a family outing.
The sky in the system space was perfect for it. Sunlight slanted across endless green fields. The air was warm without being oppressive, touched with the faint scent of blossoms that didn't exist outside of folded-space. Birds—digital, maybe, but lively nonetheless—flitted across the horizon.
They spread blankets in a wide circle, baskets in the middle like treasure chests of joy. Children of the extended families darted around, squealing as Zephyr chased them with exaggerated monster noises until Theodore grabbed him by the hood and dragged him back to the blankets.
"Sit," Theodore ordered firmly.
"But—"
"Sit."
Zephyr plopped down with a pout, only to immediately brighten when Lyra passed him a slice of apple pie.
Conversations blossomed everywhere. Claire, Ariana, and Oriana argued cheerfully about whether potato salad should have mustard. Mildred and Mia compared notes on beekeeping versus poultry care. Liam and George were deep in discussion about how to convert a corner of the courtyard into a training ground without disturbing the greenhouse plots.
The younger generation sprawled in their own little group, plates balanced on laps. Alyssa nibbled on cheese while scrolling through her console, pretending not to smile at Zephyr's ongoing attempts to juggle dinner rolls. Kael, as always, sat slightly apart but not detached, his watchful eyes scanning the perimeter even here. Brian leaned back on his elbows, content, while Lyra braided strands of wildflowers into a crown with deft fingers.
Ava sat in the center of it all, her heart swelling.
This—this was what she wanted. A moment where the countdown didn't loom like a stormcloud, where everyone could breathe and remember why they were preparing in the first place. Not just to survive, but to live.
Zephyr plopped the flower crown onto Theodore's head. The older brother froze, expression unreadable as everyone held their breath. Then, slowly, Theodore reached up, adjusted the crown with all the solemn dignity of a knight donning a helm, and said, "Fits."
The lawn erupted into laughter. Even Kael cracked a smile.
Games followed food, as naturally as sunlight follows dawn. Someone produced a frisbee—Zephyr, of course—and within minutes, half the lawn was taken over by a chaotic match that ignored every possible rule. Brian proved unexpectedly good at long throws, while Lyra nearly took Zephyr's head off with a spectacular catch-turned-accidental-slam. Alyssa stayed firmly on the sidelines, keeping score with increasingly ridiculous commentary that had everyone doubled over with laughter.
Later, when the sun dipped golden toward the horizon, they shifted to quieter games. Cards spread across a blanket. Storytelling contests began, with Zephyr embellishing wildly until Theodore corrected him in deadpan monotone, making the stories even funnier. Mia and Oriana led songs, their voices weaving harmonies that seemed to soften even Kael's stern expression.
And through it all, Ava's smile never faded. She moved from group to group, sometimes joining in, sometimes just watching. She soaked in every laugh, every playful shove, every affectionate scolding between siblings and parents.
The system clock still ticked faintly above, its digits shifting ever onward. A few noticed—Brian glanced at it once when he thought no one was looking, Lyra's gaze lingered for a heartbeat too long—but no one spoke of it. Not tonight.