Cake and competition!

And there stood Nimih with her long white hair tied in a large high ponytail, wearing a yellow floral apron holding a large bowl with cake batter and a wooden spoon while Pie'rre the small magical oven opened and closed its little door anxiously waiting to be used.

"I know I can do this without using magic." She said as she began to move the cake batter inside the bowl resting on her belly with the large spoon while peeking at an old book open on the kitchen table. "It can't be that hard."

Duchess the white-furred cat was sitting next to the book looking at her owner with a judgmental look as if the creature's efforts were minimally foolish.

"After five minutes..." She peeked at the book. "I just need to arrange it in the pan..." She looked at the cake pan already greased with butter and flour. "And add the apples." She pouted and intensified the movements to mix the cake batter.

"Milk, eggs, flour, baking powder..." She reviewed the ingredients of the batter as she walked through the kitchen being followed by the magical broom that seemed as anxious as she was.

In the living room the boys' club seemed to be complete.

Rath was sitting in the large red armchair reading the news from one of Silvermoon's newspapers as the morning began to bring life to the city which was being observed by the small Whelp with his large curious eyes sitting on the living room window with the cat Flame beside him. Apparently the two had some magical connection. Perhaps the cat's flames were as hot as the small whelp's flames or the feline was merely curious about the presence of the small and silent whelp.

The magical mop with Kaja'cola-colored bristles cleaned the room spinning while leaving a wet trail that dried in seconds. A smell of lavender rose in the environment leaving the atmosphere pleasant.

"We'll hunt in the late afternoon." Said Rath raising his gaze to the small whelp over the newspaper. "We'll start with mana wyrm." He returned his gaze to the newspaper reading the classifieds section while now searching for a new plumber since his favorite orc plumber was missing and the bathroom drain insisted on clogging.

The small whelp looked back tilting his head with a curious expression offering a nod to his father before returning his gaze to the square in front of the window. A group of elves argued about the prices of the nearest bakery, a large Tauren woman bought flowers from a Forsaken and a group of visitors with a troll with large tusks an orc and a vulpera was being guided by a somewhat impatient elf.

"BUT WHAT THE F-" Nimih's voice echoed along with a flaming coal ember certainly coming from the magical oven Pie'rre that flew through the kitchen door toward the living room followed by a sequence of swear words that the small whelp still didn't understand.

"Your mother is cooking... or trying." Said Rath without taking his eyes off the ad from a goblin offering services as a teacher, plumber, mercenary and babysitter. "And we only worry if something explodes." He said as the kitchen door was violently closed by a giant red draconic tail while the sound of pots and chairs echoed as if the kitchen was being turned inside out.

The whelp looked at the smoking ember burning the rug by the kitchen door, looked at flame who also fixed his gaze on the ember now with pupils wide as if he was seeing the perfect ball of yarn and finally the whelp looked at the magical mop on the other side of the room which seemed to have become aware of the ember.

The competition was set.

The three magical creatures moved at surprising speed toward the smoking ember.

The small whelp opened his wings and swooping down flew toward the smoking ember. The cat Flame jumped with feline grace and reached speed toward what his almost wrinkleless brain judged to be the perfect toy while his flames burned leaving a trail of dust and finally the magical mop floated at high speed leaving a trail of lavender-scented disinfectant throughout the room.

The adrenaline! The imminent clash! The three were going to collide! Who would manage to grab the smoking ember first?

That's when a black shadow moved in a fraction of seconds. The humanoid figure transforming into large black scales taking the form of a considerable-sized dracthyr jumped before the three toward the smoking ember using his tail in a quick movement to try to push all the other competitors with a somewhat colossal force.

The whelp agile managed in the air to perform a maneuver worthy of the blood running through his veins and dodge his father's tail. The cat Flame managed to stop his run and sliding for a few centimeters, stopping before being hit by the homeowner's tail. The mop unfortunately couldn't stop and being hit by Rath's tail was thrown through the window leaving a trail of purple disinfectant throughout the entire room.

And there stands Rath with dilated pupils like a large feline holding the smoking ember with two claws as if he were a large feline catching a precious ball of yarn. He now boasted years of practice. His companions in the Valdrakken Accord were proud of him. Could he have killed the whelp and the cat with his tail? Maybe? But it was a matter of survival, the little whelp would have to learn.

The whelp flapped his little wings and sat on the floor looking at his father in a complete state of ecstasy, admiring of the speed strength and draconic figure of his father. The cat simply turned his back and returned to the window while hearing the screams of the group of elves irritated with the mop that had fallen from the sky dirtying everyone around with lavender-scented disinfectant.

Raht finally came to himself breaking the fixation on the smoking ember and before he could say anything the kitchen door opened in a small crack.

Red scales from a giant draconic creature moved and could be seen through the small gap in the door. A vile golden draconic gaze peeked at the scene narrowing in a tone of judgment.

"You are all grounded." The draconic voice echoed. "No apple cake for both." The door closed violently.

Rath looked at the whelp, the whelp looked at his father, the dracthyr looked at the window.

"She couldn't make the cake." He grumbled and picking up the whelp in his arms, he walked to the window to observe along with Flame the confusion created by the mop that now used its green Kaja'cola-colored bristles in an attack position to threaten the irritated elves.

The whelp curled up on his father's lap, smelling the scent of burnt cake coming from the kitchen, and closed his eyes, letting the sound of the elves screaming lull him to sleep.