Somewhere in the trees off to Aloise’s right, a bird was singing. She tilted her head a little bit to listen, trying to put a name to the bird’s lilting, cheery carol. A robin, she thought, even if she wasn’t quite sure.

Either way, the sound made her smile, and she found herself humming along as she walked past. The afternoon sun was warm on her face, and the large bottle of milk she carried tucked beneath one arm felt cool against her skin. The contrast was pleasant.

She was still puzzled by Lys’s request that she go to the market for milk. After all, she would have sworn that she had seen a nearly-full bottle in the icebox that morning at breakfast. But the day was a pleasant one, and she enjoyed visiting the market – particularly at this time of the season – and so she hadn’t objected when Lys had sent her out on the errand.

But, as she rounded the final bend leading up to the little cottage which she and Lys called home, she felt a sense of alarm wash over her as the house came into view. Great gouts of thick, black smoke were pouring out from the cottage’s brick chimney, and even more smoke seemed to be billowing out from the kitchen window.

Aloise covered the final hundred or so yards to the house at a run. When she reached it, she threw the front door open and dashed through.

Once she was inside, what she found in the little cottage’s front parlor stopped her dead in her tracks. And, in her surprise, she very nearly dropped the now-forgotten milk.

Sitting on the chintz-covered sofa in the middle of the room was Fisco Vane.

Once the initial shock of the planeswalker’s unexpected presence subsided, Aloise’s attention was immediately drawn to two unusual things about his appearance.

First, he wore the grumpiest facial expression which she had ever seen on the shadowy little man, which was saying something.

Aloise guessed that this first aspect of Fisco’s appearance had something to do with the second one – namely, that he was also wearing a little paper party hat atop his slicked-back hair. The pointed hat was blue with gold stripes, and had a small gold tassel at its top.

At the sight of the blonde mage, Fisco shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

“You’re back early,” he grumbled. Then, with a little shrug of his shoulders, he said: “Surprise, I guess. Happy birthday.”

Aloise’s previous expression of concern vanished beneath a broad smile.

“I didn’t think anyone would actually come,” she said, as she dashed across the room and wrapped Fisco up in a big hug, much to the seated man’s surprise.

“Yeah, well, your friend in the kitchen insisted,” he said, fidgeting nervously until Aloise let go. Reaching up, he tugged a little bit at the thin string which looped beneath his chin and back up to the paper hat.

Aloise took a step back and studied Fisco’s appearance, trying and failing to suppress a giggle as she did. “That’s a good look on you,” she said, pointing to the hat. “Very fetching.”

“Yeah, well, your friend in the kitchen insisted on that, too,” he said.

Aloise turned to look in the direction of the kitchen, the door to which was closed. Worrying wisps of smoke were filtering into the room from below the door and through the gaps around its sides. It sounded like a small battle was being fought inside.

“What’s going on in there?” Aloise asked.

“Your friend, the flambé gourmet, is either baking you a cake, or burning your house down,” Fisco said. “My money’s on the latter.”

Aloise set the bottle of milk she was still carrying down on the parlor table. She took a few nervous steps across the room and opened the kitchen door.

As she did, a physical wave of heat seemed to come bursting out through the doorway and wash over her, so that she practically had to throw an arm up in front of her face and turn her head slightly to one side. The tiny room was so full of smoke that it was difficult to see, but she could make out the short, thin figure of a black-haired woman in an apron who was literally glowing from the strength of the various protective wards and barriers around her, and who appeared for all intents and purposes to be fighting a life-or-death duel with Lys’s oven.

Aloise could feel sweat beading on her forehead as she watched the bizarre scene unfolding before her. The oven door was open, and its inside glowed red-hot, like an open portal to some distant, molten world. Meanwhile, the woman standing in front of it, with oven-mitt-clad hands outstretched, seemed to be pouring magic into the appliance’s smoldering maw.

The woman must have heard the door open behind her, because she turned her head briefly to look back at Aloise. Her hair was streaked white with flour, and her scarred face was smudged with soot.

“Don’t come in here!” Beryl shouted, before turning back to her attempt at baking.

“Are you alright?” Aloise asked, turning further away from the intense heat and light.

“I’m fine,” Beryl called back, sounding anything but. “Everything’s fine. It’s just… not ready. Yet. It needs time to cool.”

“Okay,” Aloise said. “I guess I’ll leave you to it, then?”

“Happy birthday!” the pyromancer said in between spells. “I’ll be out in a minute – just close the door!”

Which Aloise did.

As she walked back into the parlor, she was surprised to see a green-eyed, tan-skinned man, with delicately-pointed ears beneath his raven hair and a green-and-white paper party hat atop it, emerge from a nearby hallway.

As Aamir’s eyes alighted on Aloise, a startled look appeared on his face.

“Oh dear,” the prince said. “My lady, we weren’t expecting you for some time, yet.” He bowed gracefully in Aloise’s direction. “Please accept my warmest regards on this day as we honor the anniversary of your birth.”

“I can’t believe you came!” Aloise said. She crossed the room quickly and wrapped-up the half-elf prince in a hug. “You didn’t have to go to all this trouble.”

“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” the prince said, smiling. Then, looking over Aloise’s shoulder, he asked: “Is the cake ready?”

Fisco shook his head. “The pyromancer appears to be fighting a duel-to-the-death with the cake as we speak,” he said. “And the cake appears to be winning.”

Aamir raised an eyebrow. “That doesn’t seem possible,” he said. “The recipe only has six ingredients.”

Fisco shrugged. “Show her your present,” he said.

“Ah, yes, well, if you would kindly follow me,” Aamir said to Aloise, sweeping one arm in the direction of the hallway he had just come out of.

Aloise followed him down the hall to the washroom, the door to which was closed. As she drew close, she could hear strange, honking calls coming from inside.

“I hope this will please you,” Aamir said, as he swung the door open. When Aloise saw what was inside, she gasped a little bit, and drew her hand up in front of her mouth.

“A flamingo!” she said. Then, a moment, later, she corrected herself. “Two flamingos?”

From inside the washroom, two large, long-necked, long-legged pink birds stared back at her. They stood inside her half-filled bathtub.

“They’re very social animals, actually,” Aamir said. “This pair objected mightily to any attempt at separating them, so I brought them both.” He frowned a little bit. “Actually, the trip across the aether seems to have discombobulated them slightly. So, once I cleaned up the mess, I brought them in here, on the theory that an aquatic-type environment might soothe their disquiet, which it seems to have done.” He gave Aloise an apologetic look. “Obviously, I will have a proper habitat constructed here on your charming estate as soon as time permits.”

“I think they’re wonderful,” Aloise said. “Thank you, Aamir.”

“It’s my pleasure, I assure you,” Aamir said. He closed the washroom door, and the two of them returned to the parlor.

As they re-entered the front room, Fisco walked over. He was holding a bottle in his hand, which he offered to Aloise.

“And, uh, this is from me,” he said.

Aloise looked down at the bottle, which was filled with dark, brown liquid.

“Whiskey?” she asked.

“Good whiskey,” he said. “Figured you wouldn’t have anything worth drinking if I didn’t supply it.”

Aloise could see Fisco looking longingly down at the bottle, which he still held in his hand.

“Thanks, Fisco,” she said. “Would you like a drink?”

“Please,” he said, and he pulled the bottle’s stopper.

“I’ll get you a glass,” Aloise said.

But, as she turned towards the kitchen, she saw that its closed door was now rattling against its hinges.

“Or maybe I won’t,” she said.

Just then, a bright burst of light appeared around the edges of the kitchen door, and a strange, loud sucking noise emanated from the room beyond it. A second later, the door swung open, and Beryl emerged from behind it. The expression on her face was sheepish, and she avoided making eye contact with Aloise as she walked over to stand next to Fisco.

The top of Beryl’s red-and-silver party hat was singed black, and a tiny trail of smoke curled up from its pointed tip towards the ceiling.

The scarred woman whispered something into Fisco’s ear. An incredulous look crossed the short man’s face.

“How did you manage that?” he whispered back, slightly too loud. “The recipe only has six ingredients.”

Beryl whispered something else in response, which made Fisco frown. Grumbling, he dug around in his pocket, and dropped some coins into Beryl’s outstretched hand.

“That’s twice now you owe me,” he muttered.

Turning to Aloise, Beryl made an apologetic face.

“Sorry,” she said. “I need to step out for just a second.” She ran a hand through her flour-dusted hair. “I, uh, want to freshen up a little bit.”

The scarred woman closed her one green eye and, with a little flash of light, was gone.

Before Aloise could say anything in response, there was a knock at the front door. As the blonde mage walked across the room to answer it, she peeked through the small window which was set into door at roughly eye level.

At least, it was set at her eye level. But, instead of eyes, what she saw on the other side of the glass was a set of impossibly-broad shoulders.

She smiled in recognition even as she opened the door.

“I can’t believe you’re here!” she said to the towering man on her doorstep. She looked up at his face, which was framed by dark blonde hair and inset with intense, mismatched eyes. His party hat was white with pink dots.

As Aloise hugged Raef, the larger man seemed surprised to see her.

“I didn’t think you would be here, yet,” he said. “I meant to be here when you arrived.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Aloise said, as she ushered the big planeswalker into the parlor. He had to duck slightly to fit through the door, and the hilt of the massive sword slung across his back still nearly scraped the lintel as he passed below it. “I’m just so pleased that you’re here now.”

“I was here earlier,” he said, “but I didn’t realize that people were bringing presents, so I had to step out to get something.” He handed her a small package wrapped in colored paper. “Happy birthday,” he said. “I hope you like it.”

Aloise pulled away the paper to reveal a small, exquisitely-made porcelain doll. The doll’s painted blue eyes resembled her own, and she admired the craftsmanship of the brightly-colored clothes it was dressed in.

“It’s beautiful,” she said.

“I was worried that you might think you were too old for dolls,” Raef said, sounding relieved.

“Here, that’s a good question,” Fisco said. “How old are you, anyway? I’ve always been unclear about that.”

Aamir shot a fierce look over at the Shark. “That is a most improper question to put to a young lady,” he said.

Fisco opened his mouth and looked like he was about to argue that point, but the moment was hijacked by Beryl, who suddenly reappeared in the room. She no less disheveled than when she had left, but she now carried a large box made from thick, gold-leafed paper.

“Happy birthday, Aloise,” she said as she handed the box to the blonde woman. “I wanted to make the cake myself, as my present to you, but mine turned out a little... overdone.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Aloise said. She lifted up the box’s lid, and couldn’t help but laugh as she studied what was inside.

Beryl gave Aloise an inquisitive look.

“Happy birthday, Astria?” Aloise asked, reading aloud the message which had been written on the top of the cake in piped icing.

“The bakery was closed,” Beryl said. The one-eyed woman blushed deeply. “I had to improvise.”

“In that case, I want my money back,” Fisco said.

The pyromancer handed the borrowed coins back to the Shark, who stuck them back into his pocket.

“I’m sure it tastes wonderful,” Aloise said, setting the cake down on the table. “And, fortunately, we have plenty of milk to go with it.”

“Make mine a whiskey,” Fisco said, sitting back down on the sofa.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Beryl said. She ducked back into the kitchen, returning moments later with an armful of plates and glasses, which she wiped clean of soot as she passed them out to the assembled guests.

“Raef, would you do the honors?” Aloise asked, gesturing towards the cake.

“Certainly,” Raef said. He drew his massive sword. “I assume everyone wants a slice?”

All heads nodded.

Raef leaned forward to cut the cake, when Aamir held a hand up to stop him.

“Wait,” the prince said. “Shouldn’t we have candles?”

“No!” Beryl said, loudly enough that everyone around the table flinched. “We’re not having any fire anywhere in the vicinity of this cake, thank you kindly.”

“It’s okay,” Aloise said. “I never like it when the wax drips on the frosting, anyway.”

Then she nodded at Raef, who began the delicate process of slicing the cake using a sword which was bigger than Aloise herself. His motions were smooth and adept, though, and soon enough cake-laden plates were being passed around the table.

As Aloise handed Fisco his plate, the shadowy man studied his piece of cake with an inscrutable look.

“What’s the matter?” Aloise asked.

Fisco nodded at Raef, who was wiping icing from the edge of his sword. “His slice is bigger than mine,” the Shark grumbled.

“I’m bigger than you are,” Raef said.

“Here, my piece is too big for me, anyway,” Aloise said, and she switched plates with Fisco, who looked slightly less perturbed.

The Shark’s fork was halfway to his cake when Aamir asked: “Shouldn’t we at least sing, then?”

“Yes, please,” Aloise said.

The half-elf prince cleared his throat, raised his arms in the air like a conductor, and then counted down from three.

When he got to one, he dropped his hands to his sides, and he, Fisco, Beryl, and Raef all began to sing,

The trouble was, each of them started to sing a different song. Birthday songs, it transpired, vary from world to world.

Aloise didn’t mind. To her, it sounded as beautiful as the robin.