It was Sunday dinner at the House of Human Folly, and the siblings were already at war.

“Let’s get this straight,” said Pain, sawing at his steak like it owed him money. “I am the cornerstone of human culture. Without me, there’s no art, no wisdom, no growth. Religion? Born from suffering. Philosophy? Born from questions about suffering. Even love—they only write poems about heartbreak. I break them so they can rebuild stronger. Humanity worships me.”

“Oh, please,” scoffed Addiction, swirling her wine glass with a sugar-dusted finger. “You’re just a brute they try to avoid. Painkillers, therapy, endless distractions—humans spend their lives running from you.” She took a long sip. “Me? I’m the one they crawl back to. Sugar in childhood, caffeine in college, booze in middle age, Instagram till the grave. I don’t teach—I seduce. I don’t break them—I own them.”

“Adorable.” Hypocrisy didn’t even look up from her avocado toast. Her scarf was Fair Trade; the tag said Made in Bangladesh. “You two are obvious. Humans might fear Pain and whisper about Addiction, but they wear me like perfume. They scream about saving the planet while wrapping dog crap in plastic. They rage against greed while scrolling through influencer hauls. I’m not their vice—I’m their default setting.”

Pain snorted. “Default setting? Without me, they’d never even know what growth is. I am their awakening.”

Addiction smirked. “Awakening? That’s rich from a guy who gets blocked out with Netflix and Xanax.”

“You’re both so… messy,” said Hypocrisy, inspecting her nails. “I am refinement. A moral illusion wrapped in compostable packaging.”

“Refinement?” Addiction barked a laugh. “You’re a PR stunt. At least I don’t pretend to be good.”

The argument grew louder. Forks clattered. A glass toppled, red wine blooming like blood on the tablecloth.

Then came a quiet voice from the doorway.

“You’re all wrong.”

They turned.

Disagreement stood there, the youngest brother, slight and sharp-eyed. His shirt was wrinkled, his hair sticking up like he’d been laughing in the dark.

“Humans don’t worship any of you,” he said softly. “They worship me.”

Pain sneered. “Cute. Go play with your toys, little brother.”

“Really?” Disagreement stepped forward, his voice calm but cutting. “Why do wars happen? Why do revolutions erupt? Why do artists cut off ears and saints starve in deserts? You think you’re the spark, Pain, but they only feel you because of me. Without me, there’s no fight over what’s fair, no struggle over who deserves to suffer.”

Pain frowned.

Disagreement turned to Addiction. “And you. You don’t thrive because they love you. You thrive because they can’t agree with themselves. Discipline says no. Desire says yes. That civil war in their skulls? That’s me.”

Addiction blinked.

“And you, sister Hypocrisy—” Disagreement’s eyes gleamed, “you’re nothing but disagreement between words and actions. You exist because they can’t make peace with who they are.”

Hypocrisy’s smirk cracked.

“Humans can’t even agree on what’s true,” Disagreement went on. “Or what’s good. Or who they are. That’s why they invented gods, built laws, wrote books, started empires. I am the friction that makes them move. You three are just the smoke. I’m the fire.”

Silence.

Pain leaned back. “Damn,” he muttered. “The brat’s right.”

Addiction sighed.

Hypocrisy folded her arms. “This is absurd. I’m not conceding to you.”

“Of course not,” said Disagreement. “You can’t even agree with yourself.”

And just like that, the siblings were shouting again.

Disagreement pulled out a chair, sat down, and smiled as the table descended into chaos.