Cal shouldered into the doorframe.

  The Hearthsong kitchen stretched before him—polished stone, gleaming copper, the massive hearths radiating heat from the lunch service. Myriad rune lights burned above the prep tables, bathing the room in a golden glow and illuminating the savory dishes the staff were toiling over.

  His knees buckled. The combat high had evaporated the moment he left the training yard, and now the bill was due. He felt like a condemned structure on the verge of collapse, held upright only by the friction of his body against the wood.

  Leo stood near the ovens, hands working dough with practiced motions. The boy hummed something soft and tuneless, his shoulders relaxed in a way they never were during drills.

  The humming stopped as Leo's head looked up. Color drained from his face as he took in Cal's condition.

  Cal tried to smile. His hand slipped from the frame and he stumbled forward, catching himself on the edge of a workstation.

  "Cal?" Leo's voice cracked. "What—"

  Weighty footsteps preceded Gareth as he emerged from the cold storage with a butcher's knife and leather strop. His eyes swept over Cal in a single glance, but the half-elf said nothing. Setting down the knife and strop, he turned to the serving counter and selected the largest plate before he began loading it with food. Thick slices of roast beast, a mound of gravy-drenched potatoes, and roasted root vegetables glazed with honey and herbs. Aged cheese. Two pieces of dark bread with crusts so evenly baked they gleamed.

  Gareth crossed the kitchen and set the heaping meal directly on the table nearest Cal. Their eyes met for a heartbeat, then the chef turned back to his work.

  Cal collapsed onto a stool, hands shaking as he picked up the fork and dug in. His world narrowed to the ceramic circle in front of him because his healing had cannibalized his reserves, begging for fuel with a ferocity that made his fingers spasm.

  Fork. Mouth. Chew. Swallow. Repeat. Mechanics overrode manners, and he could barely appreciate just how delicious it was.

  His friends filtered in around him and watched on. Leo left his station and dough, while Corinne slipped through the back entrance and stopped beside her father. Her mouth opened, but Cassia—who had appeared from the office—laid a gentle hand on her daughter's shoulder.

  The only sounds were metal scraping dish and Cal's ragged breathing between bites.

  The potatoes disappeared, then the vegetables and the cheese. One piece of bread after another. Halfway through the roast beast the desperate edge of hunger finally dulled. His grip on the fork loosened, and his pace eventually slowed.

  Cassia moved first. She pulled a stool close, her warm brown eyes filled with concern. "Corinne returned a bit ago, yet she refused to explain the bruises on her wrists. She insisted on waiting for you." Covering his scraped knuckles with her palm, she said, "Tell us what happened, dear."

  The words swam through the fog of Cal's exhaustion as he blinked, his mind struggling to find the thread after the metabolic crash from the day's encounters. He stared at her, the context slipping past him.

  "The alley," Corinne said softly.

  Cal turned to her.

  "She means the alley, Cal." Corinne dragged a seat over and settled next to him, facing her mother. "We were ambushed."

  She recounted the narrow passage, Narbok's crew, the positioning, and the words exchanged. Cal's kidney wound. Her own restraint. The desperate reversal and intimidation. Each detail came out careful and detached, like it happened to another person. Her recent experiences had already reshaped how she processed violence, turning terror into after-action analysis.

  My fault. All of it.

  He looked at Corinne. Really looked at her. The dark marks circling her forearms where they'd held her. The way she sat with one hand unconsciously resting on her ribs, protecting the spot where Durk had struck.

  "Corinne." His voice came out raw. "I am so sorry—"

  "Stop it."

  The words cracked across the kitchen like a whip.

  Her eyes blazed. The gentle girl who served drinks and collected stories from travelers was gone. Someone harder sat in her place, forged by the reality of what she'd chosen to become and the world she lived in.

  "Don't you dare apologize for my choice." She leaned forward, voice tight with frustration. "I'm registering with the Guild, remember? Violence is part of the job. Or did you think it was all going to be harvesting spirit herbs and avoiding threats?" Her lips pinched together. "I'm not a package you have to protect. I'm going to be an adventurer."

  Her rebuke stung, but it wasn't unwarranted.

  He'd been seeing her wrong, treating her like Katie—like someone who needed shielding from violence.

  Corinne had chosen this path. And he'd been dismissing that agency with every protective instinct, every guilt-laden apology.

  Cal straightened on his stool, his mind clearing. He gave Corinne a slow, deliberate nod.

  "You're right."

  The anger in her expression softened, and she settled back, satisfied.

  "But that doesn't mean it's okay," he continued.

  His gaze shifted from Corinne to her parents. In his old life, this was the part of the conversation he dreaded: acknowledging the trouble he'd brought to another family.

  "She was targeted because of me," Cal said, his voice level as he held Gareth’s stare. "Narbok used her to get to me. Corinne has made her choice clear, and I respect it. Her decision, however, isn't necessarily yours." He paused, wanting to emphasize his next words. "If my presence here is putting your family or your business at too much risk you have every right to tell me to leave, and I will."

  For a while, Gareth said nothing. He set down his strop and picked up a heavy meat cleaver, its polished surface reflecting the rune lights as his knuckles whitened on the handle.

  It was Cassia who spoke, and the maternal warmth in her voice was gone, replaced by something cold and hard as winter ice. "Our daughter is not a child. She has made her choice, and we will not dishonor her by forbidding it."

  Her eyes, usually so kind, bored into Cal. "But that doesn't mean we will stand by while she is used as a pawn in your conflicts. This will not happen again. Ever. Am I understood?"

  Cal averted his gaze, grimacing internally. "Of course."

  She leaned forward slightly, her voice dropping dangerously low. "Narbok isn't the primary issue, though. So tell me, Cal. Do you have a plan to solve this problem you brought to our door? Or do we need solve it for you?"

  Cal gave a bitter smile. "Aurelian requires specific D-tier reagents to maintain his niche, but I lack the strength to survive where they grow. Zarven, on the hand, operates on volume, and he always has numerous foraging contracts open for common spirit herbs on the Guild board." Looking back up at her he slapped his fist into his palm. "I'm going to fulfill them."

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  Leo made a small, strangled sound while Corinne's eyes widened. Cassia remained perfectly still, her expression unreadable.

  Cal continued. "It comes down to simple asset management. Right now, I am a liability to Zarven, a loose end he wants to cut off. If I supply him with the raw materials Aurelian ignores, I become a revenue stream. Zarven is too greedy to destroy a source of profit."

  The innkeeper studied him for a long moment, her clever merchant's mind dissecting the logic.

  "A dangerous gamble," she said finally, her voice quiet. "You are buying a ceasefire with utility."

  The truth of it hung in the air between them.

  "Zarven may accept the profit, but he will also see it as a sign of submission. The moment he believes he owns you, the dynamic shifts. Use him for the coin and the safety, but remember that his power is the only law he respects."

  Cal nodded slowly. He'd seen the same pattern play out in corporate acquisitions. The friendly partnership that slowly transformed into hostile takeover when one party thought they had enough leverage.

  "But let this be known." She held Corinne's stare, her voice lethally calm, then looked to Cal and Leo. "If that man or his thugs ever lay a hand on my daughter again, all the coin in Deadfall won't be enough to shield them from the consequences."

  Gareth, who had returned to his workstation and begun sharpening the meat cleaver, paused. He lifted the blade to examine its edge in the rune light's glow before bringing it down on the chopping block.

  Thump.

  "I've already sent word to Gareth's father," Cassia added. "A formal report detailing Zarven's actions. He needs to know the kind of man operating in this village, but it will take time. The provincial capital is far, and a Courier's services are beyond our means."

  The finality of her words settled over the kitchen, a dark blanket of pragmatism. Help was not coming soon.

  The silence that followed was as thick as Gareth's stew. In it, the small sounds of the kitchen—the low crackle from the hearth, the slow bubble of a simmering stockpot—seemed magnified. Cal's attention drifted to Leo wiping his flour-dusted hands on his apron. The boy who so often seemed to shrink from the world stood straighter here; in his own element. The young baker broke the silence.

  "Come on, Cal," he said. His voice was quiet and steady, a balm of unexpected confidence in the tense atmosphere. "Let me show you what I've been working on."

  Cal blinked. He looked at Leo, saw the offering in his friend's expression, and felt something in his chest unclench.

  "Yeah… Yeah, I'd like that."

  Leo smiled and gestured toward his personal station near the ovens. Cal pushed himself up from the stool. His legs protested, muscles stiff and aching, but he followed Leo across the kitchen.

  The boy's workspace was a study in organized passion. Small clay jars labeled in Leo's bold handwriting lined a shelf: Cinna-bark, Sweet-Root Extract, Crystallized Honey. A worn notebook lay open, filled with recipes and observations. Measuring cups hung from hooks in ascending size.

  The prep table held a large wooden bowl. Inside, the ball of dough had risen since he'd left it.

  The young baker's entire demeanor changed the moment he reached his station. His hunched shoulders straightened, and the nervous stammer may have never existed.

  "This is a sweet dough." He gestured to the bowl. "The yeast... it's alive, you know? You have to respect it. Feed it warmth and sugar; give it time and it transforms." He carefully lifted the dough from the bowl, placing it gently on the floured surface. "Most people think baking is just mixing and heat. But it's more than that. It's understanding how ingredients talk to each other."

  Cal leaned against the counter, genuinely fascinated. Leo was a different person here.

  "The kneading is important." Leo demonstrated, hands moving in a specific pattern. A push with the heels of his palms, folding the dough over itself, a quarter turn, repeat. "You're building structure. Aligning the binding strands so they can hold the gas from the yeast. Too gentle and it stays weak. Too aggressive and you tear it."

  Cal watched the motion with the same intensity he'd brought to observing Vane's strikes. His Impartments were always active, always learning. Push. Fold. Turn. The rhythm was hypnotic. The way Leo's weight shifted from back foot to front, channeling force through his core and into his hands. The precise angle of the fold. The timing of the rotation.

  "Want to try?"

  Cal nodded eagerly and stepped over to a washing basin. He tapped a glowing red rune for hot water, scrubbed his hands with a block of tallow soap, and quickly dried them before approaching the floured workspace.

  Positioning himself at the table, Cal planted his feet to mimic Leo's stance, then lightly dusted his palms with flour and found the dough, using Leo's example as a guide.

  Push. The heels of his palms compressed the dough, driving air through its structure. Fold. His fingers curled, lifting and turning the mass over itself. Turn. A quarter rotation, resetting the position for the next cycle.

  The rhythm established itself quickly. The dough yielded with a smooth, elastic response.

  [New Skill Gained: Kneading (F) - Novice]

  Leo stared, his mouth falling open.

  "How did you... that took me hours to learn properly."

  Cal shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Prodigy, remember? Besides, I had a good teacher."

  The boy's expression transformed into something radiant. They worked in comfortable silence for several minutes, Cal following Leo's gentle corrections as they prepared the dough for its final rise.

  As they waited, Cal's eyes drifted to the ingredients on the shelf. Butter. Sugar. Ground cinna-bark. The sweet-spicy scent tickled something in the back of his mind.

  Late afternoon sunlight streaming through a kitchen window, turning everything gold. The angle of light catching in blonde hair, illuminating each strand like spun metal. A smudge of flour on a cheek. The comforting scent of cinnamon and yeast, and underneath it, the distant sound of children's laughter from the living room. A voice filled with gentle amusement as he reached for a piece of dough. "Hey, you. Stealing a taste again?"

  Cal's hands froze on the flour.

  The memory was so vivid, so achingly real, that for a heartbeat he forgot where he was. The Hearthsong kitchen faded and the smell of cinna-bark became cinnamon, as the stone floor gave way to linoleum.

  Then it snapped back.

  He was here. In Veraxus. A universe away from everything that memory contained. The ache in his chest was a familiar companion, but it still had the power to steal his breath. He hoped that pang was never lost.

  Leo noticed immediately. "Cal? Are you okay?"

  Cal blinked, forcing himself back to the present. He looked at his friend, at the concern written plainly across the boy's face, and made a decision.

  "What if we tried something... different?"

  Leo tilted his head. "Different how?"

  Cal responded quietly, almost hesitantly. "A recipe from... that I overheard some traveling delvers discussing a while back."

  Leo's eyes widened in excitement. "Really? What is it?"

  Cal turned to the shelf and gathered ingredients. Butter. Sugar. The cinna-bark. A pinch of salt.

  "They're called cinnam—cinna-bark rolls. You flatten the dough, spread a filling, then roll it into a log and slice it. They bake into spirals."

  Leo's expression shifted from curiosity to intense study. "Show me."

  They worked as a team. Cal, operating from the flawless blueprint in his mind, directed. Leo, with his superior understanding of local ingredients and the quirks of the Hearthsong's ovens, executed. Cal measured the spice, sugar, and softened butter, mixing them into a paste, while Leo rolled the risen dough into a thin rectangle.

  "Spread it evenly," Cal instructed. "All the way to the edges except for one long side. Leave that clean so it can seal."

  Leo worked the filling across the dough with a wooden spoon, tongue poking out slightly in concentration.

  "Now we roll."

  Working from opposite sides of the table, Cal demonstrated how to turn the dough over itself into a tight spiral, and Leo mirrored the motion exactly. At the clean edge, Cal showed him how to seal the seam with a light brush of water, leaving the completed log before them as an even cylinder of layered dough and filling.

  "And now?"

  Cal picked up a thin knife. "We slice it."

  Slicing the log into thick rounds, each piece revealed a beautiful swirl. Together, they arranged the parts in a greased pan with space to rise before Leo slid the pan into one of the smaller ovens and adjusted the vent.

  They sat side by side on stools, watching the oven door, waiting for the telltale scent that would signal the rolls were ready. Around them, the kitchen had returned to its normal rhythm. Cassia had retreated to her office, and Corinne sat at the main prep table, polishing silverware and humming softly. Gareth worked at his station, preparing ingredients for tonight's service.

  The timer—a small hourglass Leo had set—ran out.

  Leo opened the oven, and the smell that poured out was transcendent. Sweet and spicy, rich with butter and caramelized sugar, layered with the rich warmth of cinna-bark. It wasn't exactly like cinnamon. The spice had a sharper edge, a hint of something almost peppery. But it was close enough that Cal's throat tightened.

  Leo carefully extracted the pan and set it on a cooling rack. The rolls had risen and browned beautifully, spiral patterns clearly visible, filling oozing slightly at the edges.

  [New Skill Gained: Baking (F) - Novice]

  Cal smiled at the notification. He'd taken something precious from his old life and brought it here. Shared it. Made it real again.

  Footsteps approached.

  Gareth appeared at Cal's shoulder, his massive frame throwing a shadow over the table. Without a word, he plucked a steaming roll from the pan and observed the unfamiliar creation with a critical eye before raising it to his nose to inhale deeply, his features betraying nothing.

  Then he took a bite.

  They held their breath.

  Gareth chewed slowly. His green eyes remained fixed on the middle distance, face a mask of neutral assessment.

  Five seconds passed.

  Ten.

  He swallowed.

  And nodded. A single, decisive dip of his chin.

  Leo's face split into a wide smile. Cal leaned back against the counter, aching muscles forgotten. Around him, the busy kitchen hummed with quiet life. The smell of the rolls filled the air.

  Corinne appeared at his elbow, snagging a roll for herself. She bit into it and made an exaggerated sound of pleasure, grinning at Leo.

  "If the adventuring thing doesn't work out, I'm opening a bakery with you."

  Leo laughed, the sound bright and unrestrained, taking a roll for himself.

  Cal closed his eyes, letting the warmth of the moment seep into his bones.

  Dkat for the kind review update! I'm so glad you're still enjoying the story! Made my day :)