Spellbound Empire: Reincarnated in Balance

The weekend rolled around faster than I wanted. Just when I thought I'd survived Aunt Vesperithia and Aunt Cassandra's latest "family bonding" attempt, Dad decided to drop a bombshell.

"They're coming over tomorrow," he said casually, like he wasn't shattering my peace into a million pieces.

"Who's coming over?" I asked cautiously, though I already feared the answer.

"Your aunties," Dad said. "And their kids."

I froze. Their kids. The words echoed ominously in my head, like the sinister chime of a death knell. Vesperithia's trio of spoiled brats and Cassandra's "angelic" son- who, let's be real, might actually be Satan in human form.

"Why, Dad?" I groaned, clutching my head like I'd just been told I had to fight a dragon barehanded. "Why would you do this to us? Haven't we suffered enough?"

Zyron, my younger brother and partner in misery, chimed in with his usual bluntness. "Dad, I'd rather fight a hundred monsters than deal with Cousin... uh..." He paused, trying to recall the name. "What's his name again?"

"Zeurianth," Dad said, his voice brimming with suppressed amusement.

"Right," Zyron muttered, his face scrunching up in disgust. "Him. And don't even get me started on Aunt Vesperithia's kids. Last time, Zephirath tried to sell me a 'limited edition' figurine that he stole from my own room which big brother gave me on my 9th birthday!!"

Dad shrugged, the universal parent gesture that translates to "I don't see the problem here"

"It's family," he said. "Be nice."

Be nice. The universal parent phrase that somehow means "sacrifice your sanity for people who make you want to scream."

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The next day, they arrived in full force.

Vesperithia and Cassandra swept into the house like queens at a coronation, draped in their signature dramatic outfits. Behind them came their kids: Zephirath, Lyranthia, and Kalvireth (Vesperithia's trio), and Zeurianth, Cassandra's "perfect" son who loved nothing more than pointing out imperfections in everything around him.

"Hello, darlings!" Aunt Cassandra chirped in her usual over-the-top manner. She leaned in to air-kiss Dad, her bracelets jingling like a malfunctioning wind chime. "I hope you've prepared something suitable for my Zeurianth. He's on a very special diet- no sugar, no gluten, and absolutely no artificial colors."

I glanced at Zeurianth, who had already begun inspecting our living room with the disdain of a prince forced to eat with commoners.

"This place is so... plain," he said, wrinkling his nose as though he smelled something rotten. "Don't you guys, like, redecorate? Ever?"

"Sorry, we didn't prepare a throne for you," I shot back.

Aunt Cassandra's glare burned hotter than a furnace, but Dad cut in before she could reply.

"Laziel, manners," he said, his tone half-exasperated, half-expectant.

Meanwhile, Zephirath had already started poking around my room.

"Hey, Laziel, where's that fancy gadget you got last year? You still have it?"

"Nope," I lied, planting myself in front of the door like a human barricade. I wasn't about to let him "borrow" anything again.

Lyranthia and Kalvireth, meanwhile, had cornered Zyron in the living room.

"Why don't you have more followers on your social accounts?" Lyranthia asked, scrolling through Zyron's page with a judgmental frown. "I mean, these posts are so... basic~"

"I don't care about followers," Zyron muttered, clearly holding back a storm of frustration.

"Maybe you should," Kalvireth added, smirking. "It's, like, embarrassing to have such a low number"

I could see the vein in Zyron's forehead twitching, but he kept his cool- for now.

"The only embarrassing thing I see here is your face" I muttered in a low voice enough for them to not hear.

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By lunchtime, I was ready to lose it.

Zeurianth complained about the food like it was poison. "Is this organic?" he asked, his tone laced with disdain. "It doesn't *taste* organic."

Zephirath, ever the hustler, tried to trade me a random rock he claimed was "magical" in exchange for one of my gadgets.

Lyranthia criticized everything from our furniture arrangement to Zyron's hairstyle.

And Kalvireth? He spilled juice on the couch and immediately blamed me.

I sighed and turned slightly to the side, pretending to wipe my face with my hand as I glanced toward the invisible lens of a hidden camera.

"Here's the deal my dear readers: If you've ever had relatives like this, you already know the pain. You're expected to sit there, enduring their insults and entitlement, all because your parents say, 'Be nice, they're family.' Meanwhile, you're mentally screaming, Who decided we were related? Is there a return policy for DNA?"

Every time one of them opened their mouths, I could feel my life expectancy drop. At this rate, I'd be lucky to survive until dinner.

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The breaking point came when Zeurianth decided to "help" organize our bookshelf.

"This is all wrong," he declared, pulling books off the shelves with reckless abandon. "You should organize by genre, not by color. Who even does color-coding?"

"Me," I said through gritted teeth. "Put them back."

"I'm helping," he insisted, shoving a cookbook next to a fantasy novel like it belonged there.

I snapped. "Okay, you know what? If you're so smart, why don't you go organize your own house instead of ruining mine?"

Zeurianth gasped, clutching his chest like I'd just insulted his entire lineage. "Wow. No wonder no one wants to hang out here. You're so rude"

"Rude?!" I turned to Zyron, who was watching the chaos unfold with barely concealed amusement.

"Loud and clear," he said, biting back laughter.

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By the end of the day, the house was a disaster zone. Books were scattered across the floor, the couch still bore a faint stain from Kalvireth's juice incident, and my patience had been completely obliterated.

"They're just kids," Dad said as he wiped at the couch with a damp cloth.

"Yeah," I muttered. "Kids straight out of a horror movie"

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Here's the thing. I know family is supposed to be important. I get it. But sometimes, I feel like the people who preach that the loudest are the ones who don't have to deal with *this.* Toxic relatives who treat you like dirt but expect you to bow to them like royalty. Parents who tell you to suck it up because "that's just how they are."

Maybe that's life. Maybe you can't choose your family. But that doesn't mean you have to like them.

So here's my advice to anyone dealing with relatives like mine: Stay cool, stand your ground, and if all else fails... fake a stomachache and lock yourself in your room. Trust me, it's the only way to survive.

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_To Be Continue_