The walk back from the seashore was a blur of shadows and staggering footsteps. The city of Mirveren was asleep, but to August, the silence felt deafening. Every time he blinked, he saw geometric grids overlaying the cobblestones. The golden light that had surged into his mouth now felt like a warm, humming engine settled deep behind his ribs.
His internal thoughts were a chaotic storm of rationalization. It was a hallucination brought on by malnutrition and grief, he told himself. The boy was a projection of my subconscious. The light was just a localized electrical phenomenon. But the logic didn't hold. His mind felt sharper, faster—as if someone had taken the cluttered library of his brain and organized every book by height, weight, and subject matter in the blink of an eye.
He reached the heavy doors of Bruno's Tavern, fumbling with the keys until he slipped inside. He didn't light a candle. He didn't check the larder. He bolted the door with a trembling hand and practically sprinted up the narrow stairs to his small bedroom above the kitchen. He collapsed onto his bed, still wearing his salt-stained cloak, clutching his chest.
What have I become? he wondered, his heart hammering against the mattress. Am I cursed? Is this a sickness?
Suddenly, a voice vibrated through his skull—not through his ears, but from the very center of his consciousness.
Hey, August! Relax, will you? You're vibrating so hard you're going to shake the teeth right out of your head.
August bolted upright, his eyes darting around the dark, empty room. "Who's there? Where are you?" he hissed, his voice raw. "Show yourself!"
Don't panic, it's me. Aeon! The voice was unmistakable—that melodic, bell-like clarity he had heard on the beach.
"What? Where are you, kid? Did you break in?" August scrambled off the bed, grabbing a heavy brass candlestick to use as a club.
Aeon's laughter echoed inside August's mind, a bright, cascading sound that made August's head throb. I'm in your consciousness now, August! I'm tucked right in between your parietal lobe and your sense of dramatic timing. You can put the candlestick down. Unless you plan on hitting yourself in the forehead, it won't do much good.
August dropped the brass holder, his knees buckling. He sat on the floor, clutching his hair. "What are you doing to me? Why are you in my head? Get out!"
I'm here to help you, isn't it obvious? Aeon laughed again, though this time it was softer, almost comforting.
"Don't play with me!" August shouted at the empty air. "I'm a man of facts! This isn't a fact! This is madness!"
Stop shouting and screaming, you silly boy! Aeon scolded, and August felt a sharp, tingly sensation in his ears. The neighbors might hear you. Do you want to be called crazy on top of being called a bad cook? Talking and shouting to no one in the middle of the night... that's really pathetic, you know. Very bad for the brand.
August's face turned a deep, hot crimson. He forced himself to take a slow, shuddering breath, lowering his voice to a strained whisper. "So... what is your deal? What do you want from me?"
I told you, I'm a guide. Think of me as a cosmic consultant, Aeon replied. I am a guardian of a portal to a world called Earth. It's a place far from Castellanza, a place where they have mastered the very things you lack. And I am going to show you how you can use this to your advantage.
"Earth? I've never heard of such a province," August retorted, his skepticism fighting through his fear.
It's not a province, it's an entire world, August. And I'm not bringing you there—that would be a mess. Instead, I've installed a window in your mind. A window that will give you the best ideas and resources for your Renaissance. You want to save Bruno's Tavern? Well, Bruno used intuition. You are going to use... Global Logistics.
"I can't comprehend... a window? To another world?"
Watch, Aeon commanded.
Suddenly, August's vision went dark, and then, a glowing rectangle manifested in the air before him. It wasn't made of glass or parchment. It was a shimmering, translucent screen that floated with perfect stability.
"What... what is this magic?" August reached out, his hand passing right through the light.
This is what they call an Online Supermarket, Aeon explained, his voice swelling with pride. Think of it as a market square that holds the bounty of an entire planet, accessible with the flick of a finger.
As August watched, the screen began to scroll. Images appeared—vibrant, high-definition pictures that made the illustrations in his father's old cookbooks look like charcoal scratches.
Look at the food section, August. Look at the categories, Aeon urged.
August leaned in, his eyes wide. He saw a section labeled Fresh Produce. There were vegetables he recognized, like onions and carrots, but they were perfect—symmetrical, vibrant, and free of the rot he usually found in the Mirveren stalls. There were others he didn't recognize: purple stalks, spiked fruits the color of the sun, and greens that looked as delicate as lace.
Then came the Meat and Poultry. Slabs of beef with marbling so intricate it looked like a map of the stars. Glistening fish that looked like they had been plucked from the water seconds ago.
And here, Aeon said, the screen shifting, is the Ready-to-Eat section.
August's mouth began to water. He saw pictures of golden-brown pastries, succulent roasted meats glazed in dark, rich sauces, and bowls of noodles swimming in broths that looked like liquid gold. There were "Takeaway" meals from cultures he couldn't name—spices that seemed to radiate heat even through the image.
Then there are the condiments, Aeon continued. Bottles of oils infused with truffles, vinegars aged for decades, spices ground into powders so fine they looked like colored smoke. You see, August? This world has solved the problem of flavor. They have turned it into a science. Your science.
August was overwhelmed. The sheer volume of choice was staggering. He saw the "Dairy" section with cheeses that looked like wheels of ivory and gold. He saw the "Grain" section with rices of every color and breads that seemed to defy gravity with their fluffiness.
"These... these can be used for me to gain back the glory?" August whispered, his finger tentatively hovering over an image of a perfectly seared steak topped with a compound butter.
Exactly, Aeon replied. You can't cook like Bruno because you don't feel the ingredients. But with this, you don't have to feel. You can select the perfect component. You can study the composition. You can bring the peak of another world's culinary evolution into this dusty little tavern in Mirveren.
August began to explore. He moved his hand, and to his shock, the screen responded to his gestures. He scrolled through the "Flavoring" section, mesmerized by the rows of jars. He saw Saffron from lands across the sea, Smoked Paprika that looked like pulverized rubies, and Vanilla beans dark and oily.
He felt a surge of hope, but with it came a sharp, cold spike of logic. He was a mathematician, after all. He knew that you couldn't get something from nothing.
"How?" August asked, his voice trembling. "How will I use this? This is a window, a picture. I can't feed a picture to a hungry merchant. I can't cook a ghost. If this is another world, how do I bring these things here? What is the cost? What is the equation for bringing a star into a kitchen?"
He looked at the glowing screen, the vibrant colors of the "Earth" produce reflecting in his eyes. He saw the potential for his Renaissance, but he also saw the terrifying complexity of the bridge he was about to cross.
"Aeon," August said, his voice gaining a sudden, sharp clarity. "How does the delivery work? How do I make these things real?"
The screen flickered, a small loading icon spinning in the center, and the silence of the room felt like it was waiting for an answer that would change the history of the Kingdom of Castellanza forever.