September 6, 2025, hit like a humid slap in Ashton's cramped backyard, the Ohio sun baking the grill where ribs sizzled, grease popping like gunfire, the air thick with charcoal smoke and the faint metallic tang of a distant paint rift's echo. The family reunion buzzed like a dive bar at happy hour—Lucina flipping burgers in her faded *Teen Titans* tee, wolf ears twitching under a ball cap, her smirk sharp as she nudged Zreri, who deadpanned over a beer, gray fur catching the light, her claws tapping the bottle like a drum. Kael and Lila chased each other with foam rifles, their laughter a chaotic heartbeat, while Jenna and Mori argued over cornbread recipes, Tala vaulting a picnic table for laughs, Breeze climbing the fence like it was nothing. Henry stood regal in a Hawaiian shirt, his dragon aura warm as he passed plates, Hartiel's bracelets clinking like a storm as she served potato salad, her priestess grin fierce: "Eat up, dipshits, or I'll hex your asses."
Ashton's granddad, Emanuel St. Perez, sat in a lawn chair like a throne, his weathered face scarred from jungles long gone, eyes sharp under a faded tiger stripe boonie hat, his ERDL camo jacket slung over the armrest, medals glinting like forgotten stars. At seventy-eight, he moved with a ranger's ghost, his stories a lifeline to the past, his voice gravelly as he cracked a beer: "Gather 'round, you young retards. Time for some real shit." Ashton sat beside Lucina, her hand on his knee, Zreri on the other side, their non-monogamous bond a quiet anchor. Emanuel eyed Lucina and Zreri, his grin sly: "You two remind me of some old squadmates—wolf anthros, tough as nails, looked young as hell despite the years. Hell, I ain't much different from you, kid," he told Ashton, clapping his shoulder. "Vietnam wasn't just Charlie and rice paddies. It was diabolical tropical hell—monsters in the mist, rifts cracking open like wounds. Let me spin you the yarn."
The group hushed, ribs forgotten, as Emanuel leaned in, the sun dipping low, casting shadows like jungle vines. "It started in '68, deep in the A Shau Valley, LRRP team—Long Range Recon Patrol. We were ghosts in tiger stripe camo, ERDL patterns blending into the green hell. But the real enemy? Barnacle hippos with tongues like chameleon whips, giant leeches sucking souls, crab spiders the size of jeeps. And yeah, paranormal shit on our side too—anthro rangers, spectral advisors. Buckle up, assholes."