Night had fallen.
Finally.
The carriage had stopped somewhere between "middle of nowhere" and "exactly where assassins would strike again if they had any sense of narrative timing."
But the group didn't care — they were hungry.
Not metaphorically. Physically, spiritually, emotionally hungry.
Ember: "Alright, we'll stop here. Everyone's starving."
Driver: [Relieved sigh.] "Finally, something sensible."
Sylas: "Great. Dinner. I could use a break from being emotionally tortured."
There was general shuffling, unpacking, and complaining until Nyxar — calm, unreadable, terrifying Nyxar — reached into his massive pack and started… pulling things out.
At first, it was a pot.
Then a pan.
Then another pot.
Then a folding countertop.
Then a stove.
Then what could only be described as an entire miniature kitchen setup that absolutely should not have fit in there by any known law of physics, magic, or sanity.
Everyone stared.
Bug: "How. The. Hell. Did he just—?"
Spirit: "That bag's a war crime."
Sylas: "That's not normal, right? That can't be normal."
Ember: [Wiping a small tear.] "Oh, that? No, that's normal. Just let him cook… He's somehow better than me."
[Another tear falls, dramatically catching the firelight.]
The group froze.
Sylas: "Wait—he's better than you?"
Ember: [Choking up.] "In one week. One week."
Narrator: "Tsk tsk tsk, Ember… You've failed at teaching the cave boy how to read, but somehow created a Michelin-star feral chef."
Meanwhile, at Chef Nyxar's Kitchen, our resident cave man was staring intensely at a recipe book.
Not reading it.
Just… staring.
He flipped the page slowly. The same way an ancient scholar might examine sacred scripture — except he was definitely just looking at the pictures.
Vespera approached quietly, curious, and somehow looking like she was also about to critique the art.
Vespera: "What are you doing?"
Nyxar: "Making food."
Vespera: [Peers over his shoulder.] "You can read?"
Nyxar: "No. You?"
Vespera: "No. Sylas tried to teach me. He failed."
Nyxar: "Same."
Vespera: "Then why are you looking at the book?"
Nyxar: "I'm looking at the pictures. Trying to recreate them."
Vespera: "Smart."
Nyxar: "Thanks."
And that was that. Two unreadable faces, bonding over mutual illiteracy and a shared understanding of cooking purely through vibes.
Cut to the main campfire, where the others were gathered: Ember, Sylas, Belos, Sebastian, the driver, and the chaotic duo Bug and Spirit.
Sylas: [Peering over.] "What are they doing over there?"
Ember: [Another tear forming.] "Nyxar's cooking. And Vespera's… observing."
Sylas: "Why are you tearing up again?"
Ember: [Sniff.] "Nyxar got better at cooking than me in a week. And now Vespera might be learning from him. If that happens, they'll both be better than me."
Sylas blinked, utterly lost.
Sylas: "...What's wrong with that?"
Spirit: "Oh, you sweet summer child."
Bug: "Ember's been trying to get good at cooking her whole life. She thought she was the best until Cave Man Gourmet over there outdid her entire career in seven days."
Spirit: "It's a tragedy, really. A tale of love, loss, and seasoning."
Ember: [Sniffles louder.] "He even made bread once. BREAD!"
Bug: "And it was fluffy, too."
Ember: "Fluffy!"
Sylas finally softened, realizing this was, indeed, emotional damage of the culinary variety.
Sylas: "Oh. I'm… sorry to hear that."
Ember: "It's fine. I'm fine."
[She is not fine.]
There was an awkward silence, broken only by the faint sound of Bella's bells chiming as she settled beside the camp.
Then Sylas frowned thoughtfully.
Sylas: "Now that I think about it… Vespera and Nyxar look kind of similar. Do they have similar pasts, too?"
Ember: "That's… a really good question."
Sylas: "Where did you find her again?"
Ember: "Sylas found her in a cave."
Sylas: "Right. And where'd you find him?"
Ember: "In the wild."
Bug: "But he did come from a cave."
Sylas: "Okay, so—similar backgrounds, similar look, similar personality. Weirdly similar, actually."
Ember: "Yeah, weird."
Sebastian and the driver, sitting off to the side by their own fire, were clearly eavesdropping.
Sebastian: "Coincidence?"
Driver: "Who knows. But there's a line where coincidence stops being a possibility."
Sebastian: "And where is that line?"
Narrator: "Nyxar and Vespera are using that line as a jump rope."
Back at the main fire, Ember's still sniffling, Sylas is questioning his life choices, and Bug and Spirit have started quietly betting whether Nyxar will accidentally invent a new cuisine.
Meanwhile, Belos has decided that now is the perfect time to launch his own side quest.
The kid is crawling between bags, investigating everyone's supplies with his two mini steel bears like a tiny, adorable band of thieves.
One bear distracts. The other steals.
It's disturbingly effective.
Bug: "Hey! Is that kid raiding my pack?!"
Spirit: "He's got an accomplice! Look at the little one—he's rolling the apple away!"
Ember: "Belos! Put that down!"
Belos: [Pouts.] "Hungry."
Narrator: "In his defense, so is everyone else. Half the group's emotional state depends on whether Nyxar accidentally burns something or invents soup."
A few minutes later, a smell drifted through the camp.
Warm. Spiced. Mysteriously delicious.
The kind of smell that whispered, 'maybe it was worth the trauma.'
Nyxar stirred the pot with silent focus. Vespera watched like a student studying divine art.
Ember sat by the fire, staring into the flames, her pride crumbling just a little more with every whiff.
Ember: "He's… really doing it again."
Sylas: "What's he making?"
Ember: [Hollowly.] "I don't even know anymore."
Narrator: "And that's when everyone knew: the night wasn't about survival, or assassins, or destiny—no. It was about one man's war against literacy, and his unholy ability to win anyway."