Val stirred from sleep slowly, painstakingly. His body ached like he’d been run through a flour mill, and as he looked up at the roof of his apartment he realised that he’d fallen asleep on the couch again.

He lifted his legs off the arm of the chair, grunting as his hyperextended knees ground and popped their protestation. The sofa was about a foot shorter than he was, and he was paying a brutal price for not dragging himself to bed the night before.

What is that smell? he thought, nostrils flaring, Hell!

He leapt up off the couch, grinding joints forgotten as he recognised the unmistakable burning acridity spilling from the kitchen. No smoke, blessedly, but something was on the verge of catching aflame.

“No!” Theodora yelled as he crashed into the tiny cooking area.

She was standing up against the bench, peering into the toaster oven, but spun toward Val as he entered, her expression outraged.

“What’s -” Val began, but Theodora cut him off.

“You’re not supposed to be in here!” she yelled, “Get out!”

Val paused, assessing just how critical this crisis had become, and whether he needed to get involved. His eyes moved from the toaster oven, which was thankfully smoke free, to Theodora’s dead serious face, and back again.

“Just, hm,” he chose his words carefully, “I’m sorry, I thought I smelled smoke. Is something burning?”

“No,” Theodora returned, with a no-nonsense tone, “Nothing is burning. Go back to sleep.”

He took a breath.

“Alright,” he said, level and calm as he could muster, “But if you see any smoke, you’ll call me, right?”

Theodora grew more exasperated, somehow.

“Okay, yes,” she shot back, the words clipped and short “Just go, I can do this!”

With one last glance around the kitchen, which he now realised looked as if a bomb had gone off, he nodded and backed out of the room.

Reluctantly, he sat back down on the couch, and waited.

After five excruciating minutes, he heard the toaster oven ding. A few moments later, Theodora entered the room carrying a plate.

Val’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the blackened lump on the plate, though he had guessed correctly what was coming. With that said, even if he hadn’t, a short glance past the plate itself at Theodora’s resolute face, her mouth set and her eyes serious, would have given him the same pause. A small, melancholy smile made its way to his lips.

Thoedora placed the plate in front of Val and sat down on the sofa beside him, and Val looked down at what could only be in the absolutely most generous terms called a sandwich.

Theodora knew he had spent the night before with Uncle Ned, his former brother-in-law, and slept on the couch, which historically meant that he had imbibed a heroic amount of duty free bourbon. Theodora also knew that in those moments, her mother would prepare an enormous croque monsieur, banking on the medicinal and alcohol absorbing qualities of the one of the world’s most balanced sandwiches, in terms of luxury to home cook viability.

She wasn’t allowed to use the stove or the oven and, he assumed, only had a best guess of the ingredient list from observing her mother’s work, but the item on the plate was, from a distance, a passing analog of the sandwich she’d seen made.

He examined what was leaking from the black-edged bread. Ham, she’d got that, whatever cheese was on the lowest shelf in the fridge, what was either mustard or maybe a yellow relish from somewhere in the depths of the fridge. She couldn’t have made a bechamel so, and Val was getting less confident in his guesses now, he assumed from what he was seeing she had mixed mayonnaise and… Marshmallow spread?

Good lord, he thought, careful not to allow the shock to show on his face, I hope it’s just mayo.

“Thank you, Teddy,” he said, turning to face her, “This looks really good.”

Theodora smiled, but there was a nervousness to her expression.

As Val picked up the sandwich, he was deeply thankful that the reason he’d visited Ned was to help him move a couple of large pieces of furniture, rather than to toast his return from one of his overseas research junkets. Whatever was about to happen, a hangover would not have improved it.

He glanced over as he took his first bite, seeing the look of expectant terror on Theodora’s face, and worked to keep his expression neutral.

“It's bad, isn't it?” she asked, her voice thick.

He chewed, swallowed, and placed the remainder of the sandwich back on the plate. Honestly, it was pretty good, considering it was made by a seven-year old with no culinary training. He was sure, considering he couldn’t remember how long that jar of relish had been in their refrigerator, that if he finished the sandwich he’d end up paying for it, but he’d suffer worse for Teddy’s sake.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

He’d also finally learn to cook, he resolved. They’d basically eaten take out every night since his wife had passed, and it was clearly sending the wrong impression about gender roles in the home.

He turned to Theodora and put his hand on top of her head.

“Hey,” he told her, “You did your best, and I’m proud of you.”

Theodora’s smile broke wide, a mix of relief and joy, and her eyes shone with pride.

He mused to himself that if he’d had a hangover, one look at Teddy’s shining face right now probably would have cured it.

“Good girl,” he said, tears stinging his eyes.

—

Val’s eyes snapped open on the hard earth of the first floor of the labyrinth. The sun was just clawing its way through the trees surrounding the small campsite, and the sight of the blue sky high above gave Val a momentary pause.

Somewhere up there was the kingdom of Al’Lachia and thousands of its citizens, but the magic of the labyrinth showed those who came searching it for glory or riches a clear, unblemished sky. When Val and Katya had entered the labyrinth the night before, he had seen a vista of shining stars and a waning moon, but the effect had been lost on him.

The fire had burned down to nothing, and the acrid scent of the blackened wood reminded him of the smell of burning bread in an unsupervised toaster oven. He covered his eyes with his hands, trying to hold on to the dream for as long as possible, trying to remember each joyous bite of the worst sandwich he had ever eaten and every square millimetre of Teddy’s beautiful smile.

He removed his hands from his face and looked over at the blonde girl sleeping on the other side of the dead fire, next to a pile of silver armour and a sword that Val was sure he could not even lift, let alone fight with. She was wrapped up in the thick leather of the wool-lined sleeping bag he had brought for himself, the lap of absolute luxury compared to the two thin blankets he had slept on. Even then, the balmy climate of the first floor meant the night was not uncomfortable, even on the unyielding forest floor.

Val took a deep breath and sat up.

Katya stirred just as Val cracked a fourth egg into a cast iron pan atop the newly restored campfire. She watched him silently as he stirred the eggs and melted beef tallow together with a small wooden spatula and scraped it out of the pan onto two pieces of thick bread, already browned in the pan. She said nothing as he sprinkled ground rock salt from a small pouch and a splash of thick, golden oil onto each of the meals from a stoppered bottle with spicy pink berries suspended in it.

“Breakfast’s up,” he said, meeting Katya’s eyes.

She sat up, pulling herself out of the sleeping bag and sat on top of it.

One night in and he’d already burned through twice the amount of food he had planned for, so not the strongest start. Val shook his head, handed Katya’s breakfast to her, picked up his own plate and sat back next to the fire. At least he’d had the forethought to bring an extra plate with him, though he’d only expected, or at least hoped, to have to reimburse an extra set of hands with his cooking on a much lower level.

Katya picked up the piece of toast and put it up to her mouth, but paused when she noticed Val staring at her. She shot back a quizzical look, but his blank expression did not change.

“What?” she asked him.

“Oh, no,” he replied, “Nothing.”

He looked away and took a bite, and she furrowed her brow.

She wasn’t sure what his problem was, but also didn’t have the inclination to ask. Dismissing the thought, she bit off a large mouthful of eggs and toasted bread and chewed it briefly, then froze. Her eyes widened.

“Oh my good gods,” she murmured, through a full mouth.

She looked at Val with a kind of shocked awe, and he stared back, totally confused.

“What?” he enquired, “Is something wrong?”

She shook her head, swallowing aggressively.

“This is good!” she declared, “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

“Oh, well,” Val responded, “I kind of… Taught myself.”

Katya missed the dark tone change at the end of Val’s statement, or chose not to acknowledge it, and returned to her meal. Quiet noises of satisfaction from her periodically grabbed Val’s attention, and he allowed himself a small prideful smile as he ate his own.

The area around the entrance to the labyrinth was as civilised as any area below Al’Lachia, with high wooden walls and a number of inns, watering holes and purveyors prepared to supply the needs of the adventurers entering the abyss, though at a significant mark-up compared to the vendors above. However, for Katya, and now by accessory Val, the risk of pursuit by any member of the Terminus guild resourceful enough to procure a guildmark meant they had to forgo the comforts of the small town colloquially known as ‘Abyssia’ and rough it in the woods for the night.

Regular guild traffic and patrols of royal guardsmen kept the area around Abyssia free of the monsters that haunted the rest of the labyrinth, so Val and Katya were able to sleep soundly, and enjoy their breakfast, with little fear of danger.

Val found himself again looking at Katya’s greatsword. The weapon was enormous, obviously, but as he ran his eyes along the blade, he couldn’t help but notice the heavy notches and deep shears in the blade that spoke of heavy and vigorous use. Each break was welded and mended expertly, fine craftsmanship even to Val’s untrained eye, and the blade somehow looked more dangerous for all of its war wounds.

“It belonged to my great-great-grandfather,” Katya offered unprompted, swallowing the last of her meal, “Ebid of the Ten Thousand Blades.”

Katya looked at him expectantly, but Val didn’t really know how to respond.

“That’s a lot of blades,” he tried, taking a shot in the dark.

Katya looked at him as if he were a simpleton.

“You’ve never heard of him?” Katya asked, incredulous.

Val shrugged, and Katya scowled at him.

“So, are you any good with that thing?” Val asked, trying to break the tension.

It didn’t work. Katya’s eyes blazed with righteous anger. Val was a deer in headlights, he had a hundred pounds and a foot and a half on this girl, but he had the distinct feeling he didn’t want to anger her any further.

However, rather than exploding, she compressed her anger down down to a seething ember.

“Get your things together,” she snarled through her teeth, “I’ll show you what I can do.”