A group of four adventurers were slumped beneath a stone ledge. Their packs were open and weapons were half-drawn. All of their faces were streaked with ash, dirt, and blood.
A lanky elf with a half-burned cloak was fanning herself with a torn map. A male centaur with a cracked breastplate was wheezing through a mouthful of straw and jerky.
Marron was hesitant at first, but in the end, her chef's instinct kicked in.
She unhooked the smaller prep crate from the cart, cleared a nearby boulder, and started laying out ingredients.
"Are you seriously cooking here?" Mokko asked, but he was already unpacking the coldbox for her.
"Have you seen those rations?"
"Fair point. I'll chop."
She sautéed wild chive bulbs in garlic oil while Mokko gingerly used a knife to chop yam with precision. He then passed it along to Marron who added it to the garlic oil along with some rehydrated noodles from her emergency stash.
For an extra kick, she stirred in a spoonful of sweetfire relish.
The scent changed the air around them, and now it was chili heat layered over garlic and broth, carried on wind.
The adventurers turned toward her slowly, as if unsure whether she was real.
"You selling that?" asked the elf, blinking hard.
Marron handed her a bowl. "Not today. Just don't die."
The centaur man took a sniff and made a sound that was half-grunt, half-joy. "I've never smelled anything this good in a dungeon outpost."
"It's not dungeon food," Marron said. "It's real. Dungeon adjacent."
A quiet owl-eyed gnome holding a cracked spell rod spoke up in between bites.
"We were in there for six hours. Thought it was just going to be a fetch run. Floor changed on us twice. Almost lost Cailin in a mimic room."
"The mimic was the size of a wagon," the centaur added.
Marron paused, processing that.
"Wait, back up. Thirteen floors?"
"Yeah," the elf said, mouth full of noodles. "But they shift. That's the part they don't put in the brochures."
"It's called a stable dungeon, but it's only 'stable' in that it doesn't collapse into the core. The floors change layout, hazards, and sometimes even themes."
Mokko grunted. "Theme dungeons. I hate those."
"I kind of want to see one," Marron said.
Everyone stared at her.
"You're a cook."
"Yes, but... it's like a test kitchen with monsters."
The elf started laughing so hard she nearly choked.
"Okay, you're nuts, but I love it. You heading to Lumeria?"
Marron nodded.
"Watch yourself. There's a seasonal dungeon outside the city that opens on moonlit nights. They say some chefs use it to harvest rare ingredients, but the cost of entry is... weird."
"Weird how?" Marron asked.
"They say the dungeon doesn't take money. It takes secrets."
+
Later, after the adventurers moved on, Mokko packed up the cart while Marron leaned against the stone ledge, staring at the chasm below.
She felt the pull again—not from the spoon this time, but deeper. Some part of her soul reaching forward, curious. Hungry.
"Mokko?"
"Mm?"
"Do you think food can be brave?"
He paused. "I think food made by someone brave can be."
Marron looked at her hands. Still dusted with flour. Still steady.
She smiled.
+
By the time the city came into view, Marron's feet ached, her last clean apron was now "aromatically seasoned," and Lucy had resorted to slow, exasperated spirals as they climbed the final rise.
But when they reached the top of the hill, the weariness fell away.
Lumeria gleamed like a mosaic.
The outer walls shimmered with inlaid metals—copper, silver, obsidian glass—and archways carved to resemble giant utensils wove between high towers and domed markets.
Colored smoke rose from rooftop chimneys. Aerial drones buzzed overhead, carrying spices between balconies.
And everywhere, scents: black garlic, burnt sugar, citrus ash, seafood grilled over lightning stone, and something she couldn't identify—floral, electric, and faintly haunting.
"Stars above," Marron murmured. "The whole place smells like ambition."
Mokko let out a breath. "And desperation. Try not to confuse the two."
As they passed under a large archway shaped like a half-open cloche, a sign shimmered into existence overhead:
Welcome to LUMERIA — Culinary Capital of Savoria
Where Every Bite is a Duel. Every Meal, a Stage.
Marron couldn't help it. She grinned.
"Now that's a city motto."
+
They made their way toward the Culinary Guild's traveling chapter, a pop-up registry located just inside the gates, where chefs, bakers, brewers, and edible enchanters filed their licenses before entering the city proper.
A sour-faced harpy with reading glasses perched on her beak served as the clerk. When she saw them, she tapped her stylus against a crystal clipboard.
"Name?"
"Marron Louvel."
"Class?"
"Chef."
"Subclass?"
She hesitated. "...Pending."
The harpy raised a feathered brow but kept writing. "Affiliated cart or stall?"
"Comfort & Crunch."
The stylus paused. "Oh. You're the one from Whisperwind."
Marron blinked. "Uh… yes?"
"You're late. We expected you three days ago. Word travels fast."
Before Marron could ask what else had traveled fast, the clipboard pulsed once and chimed.
[Guild Entry Confirmed – Region: Lumeria]
Chef Marron Louvel
License Tier: Active / Traveling
Local Access: Tier C (limited)
Temporary Market Zone: Block 7E
Entry Quest Added: [First Flame – Enter the Exhibition Stage Arena]
Marron's system pinged.
She opened the interface.
[New Quest: First Flame – Enter the Exhibition Stage Arena]
Objective: Complete a Trial Dish to earn access to permanent vending space
Optional Objective: Impress a Lumerian Critic
Rewards: Arena License, Recipe Module Slot, ???
Deadline: 3 Days
"Oh. No pressure," Marron muttered.
"Three days is generous," the harpy said, already calling the next name.
"You'll be lucky if your stove isn't sabotaged by sunrise."
"...Thanks?"
Mokko stepped up beside her as they walked toward the temporary vendor district.
"Still feeling good about this?" he asked.
"No," Marron said. "I feel like I'm walking into a pot of extra-hot broth."
"Good."
She turned to him. "Good?"
He shrugged. "A little bit of pressure never killed anybody. You're a chef. You serve food every day no matter how you feel inside."
They rounded the corner.
And Lumeria rose before them in full: a chaos of colors, carts, and cacophony.
There were steam clouds, flaring spices, laughter, barking hawkers, and sizzling oil on stones older than history.
It was a city-sized kitchen.
And somewhere inside it…
Was Emily Spritz.
Marron reached into her apron pocket and touched the silver spoon.
It pulsed—soft and certain.
"Let's see what you're really cooking," she whispered.