I was eating chocolate.
And not the sentimental kind—this was full-on civil-war-in-my-mouth chocolate. The same world where I'd once downed coffee brewed with unicorn semen, now had chocolate. How does a universe that hands out magical semen coffee also serve Dairy Milk? Logistics, I guess. The cosmos has weird catering choices.
The chocolate didn't melt. It sat in my hand like a tiny, delicious anvil. Solid as a tombstone, tasty as a sin I'd never confess. I shouted—because when chocolate appears, basic human decency dictates volume escalation—and everyone turned toward me like I'd just proposed nationalized naps.
A prisoner, blinking slowly, asked, "This is called chocolate, Lord Hero?"
"Yeah," I said, like a man who'd discovered gravity but still wasn't thrilled about it.
He inspected his bite like it was some alien artifact. "It's tasty. I've heard Aliens eat different things than us. But I didn't know they ate tastier food too."
