Chapter 07: Of Warm Meals and Mystical Meetings

They say that a watched pot never boils, and by extension, a watched person never wakes up. Yet, there I was, sitting leaned against the counter, eyes darting back to the unconscious girl lying on the bench. The rise and fall of her chest were a steady reassurance that she was alive, but her stillness made time crawl.

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Is this what caretakers feel like? Watching someone breathe and wondering if they’re dreaming about the nonsense you’re muttering out loud?”

She stirred slightly, a flicker of movement that sent a jolt through me. She didn’t wake, but it was enough to convince me she’d come to soon. And if she woke cold and uncomfortable, what kind of host would I be?

“Right,” I said, pushing to my feet. “Time to make something warm.”

Cooking is an act of love—or in my case, an act of appeasing the guilt of dragging an unconscious girl through a beast-filled forest. Either way, the result would hopefully be the same: warmth and comfort in a bowl.

I headed to the modest kitchen I’d set up in the back of the tavern. The place was simple but well-organized, stocked with ingredients I’d either gathered or bartered for.

- Herbs: A mix of soothing and warming varieties, like Wild Sage, Ember Basil, and Misty Thyme.

- Meat: A small cut of the tender boar I’d traded for.

- Vegetables: Forest tubers and carrots, earthy and sweet.

- Broth: A base made from yesterday’s herb stock, light but flavorful.

I started by dicing the vegetables, my knife moving with practiced precision. The carrots’ bright orange contrasted beautifully with the pale tubers, and the herbs added a splash of green.

In a pot, I heated a splash of oil, tossing in the chopped vegetables to sauté. The aroma of caramelizing roots filled the kitchen, earthy and slightly sweet, mingling with the sharp scent of herbs as I added them to the mix.

Next came the broth, a golden liquid that bubbled gently as it hit the hot pan. I stirred it with care, watching the ingredients meld into a harmonious blend. Finally, I added the meat, cutting it into small, tender chunks that would cook quickly in the simmering soup.

As the pot bubbled softly, releasing a mouthwatering aroma, I seasoned the dish with salt and a touch of Ember Pepper—a spice that added warmth without overwhelming heat.

I leaned back, satisfied. “If this doesn’t wake her up, nothing will.”

As I turned back to the bench to check on her, I noticed her eyes fluttering open. She blinked, her gaze unfocused at first, then sharpening with surprise as she took in her surroundings.

“Hey,” I said, raising a hand in a calming gesture. “Take it easy. You’re safe.”

She sat up slowly, her expression wary as her eyes darted around the tavern. “Where am I?”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“My tavern,” I replied, turning back to stir the soup. “Well, it wasn’t a tavern until recently, but let’s not get bogged down in details.”

Her gaze narrowed, suspicion mingling with curiosity. “Who are you?”

“Just a guy who found you unconscious in the forest,” I said, glancing at her over my shoulder. “You’re lucky a beast didn’t find you first. What happened, anyway?”

She hesitated, her hands fidgeting in her lap. “I was… gathering herbs. I must have accidentally inhaled the pollen of a Sleep Bloom. It has… potent properties.”

“That explains it,” I said, turning back to the stove. “Well, you’re here now. Sit tight; I’m almost done.”

I ladled the soup into a bowl, the steam curling upward in fragrant tendrils. Carrying it to the girl, I set it down on the table in front of her.

She stared at it, her expression shifting from suspicion to something softer. “What is this?”

“Soup,” I said with a grin. “Well, technically a forest herb and meat stew, but that’s just soup with extra flair.”

She tilted her head, still cautious. “You made this?”

“Who else would’ve?” I replied, pulling up a chair across from her. “The tavern spirits?”

Her lips twitched, almost a smile, as she picked up the spoon. She paused, glancing at me. “What’s in it?”

“Herbs, meat, vegetables,” I said, ticking them off on my fingers. “Oh, and a pinch of Ember Pepper for warmth. Nothing fancy.”

She took a tentative spoonful, her expression guarded. As the warm liquid touched her tongue, her eyes widened. She froze, the spoon halfway back to the bowl, as if she’d been struck by something profound.

From her perspective, the taste was unlike anything she’d experienced. The soup was simple yet layered, the flavors unfolding like the pages of a well-written book. The herbs sang in harmony, their warmth spreading through her chest like the first rays of sunlight after a cold night.

But it was more than just taste. As she ate, she felt… something. A clarity, a depth of understanding that eluded description. Images flickered in her mind—visions of balance, of the interconnectedness of all things.

In cultivation terms, it was an _insight_. Not into a specific technique or path, but into the essence of existence itself. And yet, there was no spiritual energy in the soup. It was as mortal as its maker.

She set the spoon down, staring at the bowl as if it held the answers to life’s greatest mysteries.

“This…” she began, her voice trembling slightly. “This is extraordinary.”

I raised an eyebrow. “It’s just soup.”

She shook her head, her gaze snapping to mine. “No. It’s… more than that. Who are you, really?”

“Just a guy with a knack for cooking,” I said with a shrug.

Her eyes narrowed, suspicion returning. “You’re more than that. This place—” She gestured around the tavern. “These carvings, this craftsmanship… there’s profound meaning in all of it.”

I blinked, taken aback. “They’re just decorations. I made them yesterday.”

She stared at me, as if trying to peel back the layers of my existence with her gaze. “You’re hiding something.”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Lady, I think you’re reading too much into things. Eat your soup before it gets cold.”

As she returned to her meal, her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. Who was this man who seemed so ordinary yet radiated an air of profound mystery? His cooking, his craftsmanship, even his demeanor—it all pointed to someone far beyond the realm of mortals.

And yet, he seemed completely unaware of the effect he was having.

She finished the soup, setting the bowl down with a sigh. Her condition had improved dramatically—her fatigue gone, her mind clearer than it had been in years.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, meeting my gaze.

I smiled. “You’re welcome. Feeling better?”

She nodded, her expression softening. “Much. I owe you my life.”

“Nah,” I said, waving a hand. “You owe the soup. I’m just the guy who made it.”

For the first time, she laughed—a soft, melodic sound that filled the tavern with warmth.

And so, over a bowl of soup, a connection was forged. One that neither of us fully understood but both sensed would change our lives in ways we couldn’t yet imagine.

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