Raizen stared at the pile of flour on the table. It sat there in a perfect, white mound - two cups measured precisely, leveled with the back of a knife just like the cookbook instructed. The grains were fine and soft, almost powdery, and when Raizen ran his finger through the edge, they scattered like snow.
Simple. Innocent. Completely unthreatening.
The cookbook lay open beside it, the page worn smooth from use, stained with old fingerprints and what looked like a smear of dried tomato sauce. The instructions were written in neat, cramped handwriting:
"Combine 2 cups flour with 2 eggs. Knead until smooth and elastic, approximately 10 minutes. Rest for 30 minutes. Roll thin and cut into sheets."
Four sentences. Raizen had fought Nyxes. He'd survived the Underworks. He'd trained under Kori until his muscles screamed. Surely, he could make pasta.
He rolled up his sleeves, the fabric bunching at his elbows.
