He passed her the wet pot. Their fingers brushed. The contact sent a tiny spark through him, grounding him.
"Hey, Rebecca," Lencar said, deciding to push past the surface pleasantries. "What about you? What's the dream? Do you want to work at The Rusty Spoon forever? Waiting tables for Gorn?"
Rebecca paused. She looked down at the pot in her hands, drying it slowly, methodically. Her eyes went unfocused, looking past the ceramic and into a future she rarely let herself visit.
"No," she admitted quietly. "I mean, Gorn is great. He's been good to us. But... it's not mine."
She looked up at the window, staring at her faint reflection against the dark night outside.
"My dream... I want to open my own place," she said, her voice gaining a little strength. "Nothing fancy. I don't want a noble's banquet hall. Just a small restaurant. With good food and warm fire. A place where people feel safe. A place where the bread is always fresh and the soup is always hot."
A smile spread across her face, soft and hopeful. It was the smile of someone describing heaven.
"I want the kids to help," she continued, getting lost in the vision. "Marco can wait tables when he's older—he's got the energy for it. Luca is already learning to bake; she has a touch for pastry. And..."
She hesitated. The smile faltered for a second, then returned, shy and vulnerable. She glanced at Lencar, then quickly looked back at the plate, a faint blush rising on her cheeks.
"...and I want us to run it. Together. You, me, the kids. We'd make a good team, don't you think? You handle the kitchen, I handle the front. We could... we could be happy."
Lencar froze. The sponge stopped moving.
Us.
She hadn't just included him in the workforce. She hadn't just said "I want to hire you." She had included him in the foundation. In the picture of her perfect life, the core pillar wasn't just the restaurant; it was him standing right there beside her.
It hit him harder than any spell. It hit him harder than the realization of his own power.
He looked at her. She was busying herself with the towel, nervously drying the same spot on the pot over and over, afraid to look him in the eye now that the words were out.
Lencar felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. It wasn't the cynical smile of the Sovereign. It wasn't the mask. It was the soft, stupid, terrified smile of a boy who realized he was wanted.
"That's a beautiful dream, Rebecca," Lencar said gently.
She looked up, meeting his eyes, searching for rejection.
"You really think so?"
"I do," Lencar nodded. He leaned against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, relaxed. "It sounds perfect. The best restaurant in the Common Realm."
He paused, letting the silence hang for a beat, a mischievous glint entering his eyes.
"But... aren't you forgetting someone?"
Rebecca blinked, panic flickering in her eyes. "Who? Did I forget one of the kids? Noah? Mia?"
"My parents," Lencar teased, his grin widening. "If we're running a family restaurant, don't you think Rion and Marta should be involved? My dad tells terrible jokes, the customers would love him. And my mom makes a potato stew that rivals yours. If we're going to be a... unit... we need the grandparents, right?"
Rebecca's face went scarlet. The blush started at her neck and raced up to her hairline.
"I... I didn't mean... I wasn't implying..." She stammered, her hands fluttering. She realized exactly what he was saying. By including his parents, the "family" dynamic became explicitly... marital. It moved from "business partners" to "in-laws."
Lencar laughed. It was a warm, rich sound that filled the small kitchen.
"Relax," he said, stepping closer to her. The teasing faded, replaced by a sincere intensity that made Rebecca stop stammering.
"I'm joking, Rebecca. Breathe."
He reached out and gently took the towel from her hands, placing it on the counter. He wanted her to look at him, not the chores.
"But Rebecca?"
She looked up at him, breathless, her green eyes wide.
"I'm serious about the dream," Lencar said. His voice dropped an octave, losing the playful lilt and gaining the weight of a promise. "I have... resources. Saved up. From... side jobs. One day, I'm going to make that happen for you. I promise. We won't just dream about it."
He looked around the cramped, borrowed kitchen.
"We'll get that sign. 'The Scarlet Kitchen'. Or maybe 'Lencar and Rebecca's Place'. I will build it for you. Brick by brick if I have to."
Rebecca stared at him. She saw the truth in his eyes. He wasn't just flirting. He wasn't just comforting her. He was making a vow. And looking at Lencar—at the quiet, intense strength he carried—she believed him. She believed he could move mountains if he decided to.
"Lencar..." she whispered, her voice trembling.
The air between them was thick, charged with something unspoken but deeply felt. It was the gravity of a future being written in real-time.
Then, the clock on the wall chimed the hour. Dong. Dong.
Lencar pulled back slightly, breaking the spell. He saw the fatigue in her eyes, beneath the hope.
"It's late," he said softly. "You should sleep. You have a dream to prepare for, and Noah is going to wake up in four hours for a feeding."
Rebecca blinked, snapping out of the trance. She nodded hurriedly, clutching her hands to her chest.
"Right. Yes. Sleep. Goodnight, Lencar!"
She turned and practically ran out of the kitchen, her footsteps light and quick on the floorboards, as if escaping a fire she wasn't ready to touch yet. Her door clicked shut a second later.
Lencar stood alone in the kitchen. The lamp flickered.
He turned back to the sink. He picked up the last plate.
He smiled.
"Naive," he whispered to himself, shaking his head. "I'm thinking about world domination, spy networks, and magical singularities... and all she wants is a kitchen with a warm fire."
He felt his grimoire tremble in his pouch. A warm, steady pulse against his hip.
"Yeah, yeah," Lencar muttered to the book. "Even you think it's cute. Don't rub it in."
He finished the dish, drying it and placing it in the rack. He turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness.
As he walked to his room, he realized that the "inefficiency" of his life in Nairn wasn't a bug in his system. It was a feature. It was the safety valve. It was the reason he could walk into a room full of monsters and not become one of them.
"I'll build her that restaurant," Lencar decided in the dark hallway. "Even if I have to burn down the rest of the kingdom to clear the land. She gets her dream."
He entered his room and closed the door. He went to sleep, not dreaming of artifacts or wars, but of a wooden sign hanging over a door, and the smell of stew that belonged to them.