Chapter Twenty-Seven: Food and Bart

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The great hall sprawled before Jace like a living painting, every detail meticulously crafted to overwhelm the senses. Chandeliers shimmered with countless crystal teardrops, their light dancing across the polished marble floors. Above, the ceiling bore frescoes of gods in triumphant poses, their gazes casting judgment on the revelers below. Silken banners hung from towering columns, each bearing the sigil of a university, their vivid colors glowing in the warm, golden light. The air buzzed with laughter and chatter, voices layered atop each other like the instruments of a chaotic orchestra.

Jace lingered by the entrance, scanning the room. The air was thick with the heady aroma of roasted meats, honeyed breads, and exotic spices, each scent vying for dominance. His stomach churned—not with hunger, but with a gnawing guilt. Earlier, he’d seen the child: skin stretched too tight over brittle bones, eyes too large for such a small face. That gaze lingered now, haunting him even as the wealth of the room flaunted itself unabashedly.

The banquet tables were groaning under the weight of abundance. A golden roast pheasant sat at the center of one, its skin crisp and glistening with juices. Bowls of jewel-like candied fruits sparkled alongside ornate platters of creamy cheeses marbled with herbs. Towers of delicate pastries dusted with powdered sugar stood beside silver trays overflowing with spiced nuts, rich chocolate truffles, and buttery tarts filled with gleaming fruit preserves. Wine flowed freely from crystal decanters into goblets already stained red, while towering cakes with spun sugar ornaments seemed to defy gravity.

Jace stepped further inside, the polished soles of his shoes clicking against the marble. The light from the chandeliers refracted off gold-leaf decorations and crystal goblets, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the room. It should have been mesmerizing. Instead, it felt suffocating, as though every ounce of opulence came at the expense of the world beyond the gates.

“Quite the scene, isn’t it?”

The voice drew Jace from his thoughts. He turned to see a stocky youth standing by one of the laden tables, his plate piled high with an assortment of delicacies. Steam curled from the mound of food, reflecting the soft glow of the chandeliers. The boy’s face was flushed, his round frame wedged close to the table as though prepared to defend it. He held a half-eaten leg of roasted fowl in one hand, the juices dripping onto his cuff without notice.

Jace's eyes flicked from the young man to the table, then back again. The unease in his gut deepened, heavy and unshakable.

“It’s something,” Jace replied, his lips twitching into a faint smile.

“Bart,” the boy said, extending a hand, his other balancing a platter piled precariously high with food. The mix of roasted meats, glistening fruits, and delicate pastries teetered dangerously as he shifted his weight.

“Jace,” he replied, gripping the offered hand. The handshake was firm, the boy’s fingers sticky with what smelled like honey glaze.

Bart grinned, his cheeks puffed with half-chewed food. “They’re pulling out all the stops tonight. If this isn’t worth tuition, I don’t know what is.”

Jace raised an eyebrow, his gaze flicking to the plate. “Depends. Does tuition usually come with a side of opulence guilt?”

Bart snorted, a crumb escaping from the corner of his mouth. “Guilt? Nah. I figure it’s free for the taking, so why not take?” He gestured vaguely at the laden buffet tables. “Besides, this much food could feed a small army. Better in me than in the trash, right?”

Jace forced a tight smile, his unease simmering just below the surface. He tilted his head, amused despite himself. “You’re here for the food, then?”

Bart's face lit up as he waved a fork laden with roasted meat, his enthusiasm contagious. “You have no idea. My dad sent me here thinking the Tower would give me ‘direction’ or something equally noble.” He rolled his eyes dramatically, then grinned, his gaze sweeping over the banquet tables. “Honestly? I’m here for this.” He gestured broadly to the spread before them. “If paradise has a buffet, this is it.”

Jace followed his gaze. The tables stretched in endless rows, gleaming under the soft glow of chandeliers. Silver platters groaned under the weight of roasted pheasants, bowls of exotic fruits that gleamed like polished jewels, and pastries draped in delicate caramel nets. A tower of candied figs sparkled with crystalized sugar, while steaming tureens released the heady scent of spiced broths. Every dish shimmered with an almost otherworldly perfection.

Jace reached for a tart, its buttery crust glistening with a ruby-red filling. He popped it into his mouth, expecting an explosion of flavor. Instead, it was... fine. The tartness was balanced, the sweetness subtle, but something was missing—an almost imperceptible absence that dulled the experience.

“Good, but not great,” Bart said, watching him closely. “Weird, isn’t it? It’s like it’s missing the soul of the thing.”

Jace raised an eyebrow. “Soul?”

Bart shrugged, wiping his hands on a linen napkin embroidered with gold filigree. “Hard to explain. It’s like it doesn’t hit right. Probably because you’re a Traveler.” He gestured vaguely with his fork. “Food doesn’t taste the same to us here.”

“That’s... oddly specific,” Jace said, crossing his arms, his curiosity piqued.

Bart smirked, plucking a skewer from a passing tray and inspecting it like a jeweler appraising a diamond. “I’ve been studying this stuff for years. Food, flavors, the way it all works. Call it a hobby.” He popped the skewer’s contents into his mouth, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. “I’ve got a theory. It’s not just about missing home or some psychological mumbo-jumbo. It’s deeper than that.”

“How so?” Jace asked, leaning in slightly despite himself.

Bart gestured with the empty skewer. “Think about it. You’ve got a new body here, right? Respawning, aether coursing through your veins, all that fancy stuff. Whoever—or whatever—built this place got the mechanics down, but taste? That’s more than just chemistry. It’s memory, instinct, history. And when they rebuilt us for this world, they left something out.”

Jace frowned, glancing at the tart in his hand. “So, you’re saying... what? We’re not wired right for this place?”

“Something like that,” Bart said, grabbing another pastry and inspecting it like a seasoned critic. “Or maybe this place isn’t wired right for us. Either way, I plan to taste-test until I figure it out. For science, of course.”

Jace couldn’t help the slight smile tugging at his lips. There was something oddly endearing about Bart’s passion—something genuine beneath the fork-waving bravado.

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“Built us?” Jace’s interest sharpened, his brow furrowing slightly.

Bart nodded, leaning in as though sharing a secret forbidden in polite company. “Think about it. You’re not in your original body anymore. None of us are. It’s why you can’t bring anything from Earth here—not even yourself. Everything about you gets rebuilt, reprogrammed, whatever it is this place does.”

Jace’s grip tightened on his plate, the weight of Bart’s words settling uncomfortably. “Then what’s the point of inventory stones and the handbook? Just fancy accessories?”

Bart shrugged, his fork waving lazily. “Maybe. Or maybe they’re just tools to keep us moving forward. Shortcuts for the stuff we’re not supposed to figure out yet. But the food?” He tapped the edge of his plate. “That’s different. That’s where things get tricky. Your palate, your wiring—it’s not the same anymore. The only thing that really resonates now is aether.”

“Aether?” Jace asked, suspicion creeping into his voice.

“Yeah,” Bart said casually, popping a morsel into his mouth. “Food soaked in aether—the real stuff—that’s the only thing that truly tastes right to Travelers. Everything else? It’s like listening to music with half the notes missing. Empty, incomplete.”

Jace considered this, then reached into his pocket, retrieving a small vial of shimmering liquid. He uncorked it, the faint, otherworldly glow reflecting off his fingers. Holding Bart’s gaze, he let a single drop fall onto the tart in his hand.

Bart’s eyes widened, the light of the vial dancing in his pupils as Jace took a bite. The effect was immediate. The muted, lackluster flavors exploded, a cascade of sweetness, sharpness, and an underlying thread of something bittersweet and almost mournful. It was as if the tart had woken up.

“What the hell is that?” Bart asked, leaning closer, his fork forgotten.

Jace handed him the vial. “Just a little experiment. Try it.”

Bart hesitated, the skepticism clear on his face, but curiosity won out. He tipped the vial carefully, letting a single drop coat a piece of pastry on his plate. The bite hovered in front of his mouth before he finally popped it in. His expression shifted—confusion, discomfort, then something deeper. He sat back, blinking.

“Wow,” Bart murmured, his voice quieter than before. “That’s... heavy on the aether, but there’s something else. It feels... melancholy. Like tasting a memory you didn’t know you had.”

Jace tilted his head, intrigued. “Melancholy?”

“Yeah,” Bart said, his gaze going distant, like he was trying to put words to a feeling he couldn’t quite pin down. “It’s good, don’t get me wrong. But it’s not just about taste. It’s like... melancholy?”

Jace smirked, one corner of his mouth tugging up in a crooked grin. “I was in a rough mood when I made that batch.”

Bart barked a laugh, shaking his head as he set his plate down. “Somatic Alchemy... I haven’t seen this in ages. Turning emotions into food—it’s rare. Mostly comes up in little villages, out in the cracks between the big zones. You’ve got to teach me how you learned it!” His eyes lit up, practically sparkling with curiosity. “No, seriously, you have to. I’ve got theories, and if I’m right, this could be the key to—”

Whatever Bart was about to say was cut off as Koren, the Regent, approached. His steps were deliberate, each one a study in precision, the kind of grace that didn’t come naturally but was honed through years of practice. He moved like a predator, his polished smile glittering with the same sharpness as the jewels adorning his suit.

His gaze flicked to Bart briefly, assessing and dismissing him in the same instant, before locking onto Jace. The weight of it was palpable, like the sudden awareness of being caught in a spotlight.

“Traveler,” he said, his voice smooth but with an edge beneath the silk. “I trust you’re finding the evening... enjoyable?”

Jace’s expression hardened. He nodded, but said nothing.

Koren’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes gleamed with a cold warning. “I trust everything is to your liking?”

“The food’s fine,” Jace replied, his tone sharp. “Though I couldn’t help but notice the children outside. The ones by the gates.”

Koren’s smile wavered, just for an instant, before snapping back into place. “Ah, yes. The unfortunate little souls. Their parents are... less deserving. Criminals, in most cases. We do what we can for the children, of course. A kindness, really. It’s tragic, isn’t it, what some selfish people will resort to when they have young ones depending on them.”

“An entire town of criminals?” Jace asked, his skepticism unmistakable. “What exactly were their crimes?”

“The worst sort,” Koren said, his tone grave, as if delivering a eulogy. “Sedition. Rotwords, I’m afraird.”

Jace’s nerves prickled at the word. “I’m not sure I’m familiar with the term. Rotword?”

Koren explained as if he was talking to child or a pitied thing.

“I apologize,” Koren said, his tone sliding into the false warmth of a condescending teacher. “I forget how ignorant Travelers can be of our ways. Rotwords—those who speak falsely, daring to malign the Royal Truthsayers—are the worst sort of traitors. Dangerous lies, baseless accusations... they poison the very foundation of our Stronghold.”

His smile was polite, but his eyes gleamed with something darker. “They’ve claimed, if you can imagine, that our defenses against the Dark One are... inadequate. That he could breach the border wall, stroll right into the Stronghold, and slaughter everyone here. As if our efforts—our sacrifices—could ever be so poorly managed.” He gave a soft, airy laugh, the kind meant to dismiss even the thought of such heresy. “They even suggest that funds meant for our protection have been siphoned off, diverted elsewhere. Absurd, isn’t it?”

Koren gestured broadly to the room, his laughter trailing into a lighter chuckle, though his gaze was sharp enough to cut stone. “Terrible, treasonous things. Can you imagine the chaos if people believed such lies? No, no. The Dark One remains securely beyond the border wall, his forces stagnant for centuries. Centuries!”

His voice carried a ring of theatrical certainty as he swept his hand across the room, showcasing the glittering crowd. “I present to you proof! If the Dark One were among us, if he had breached the wall, these fine people—every one of them—would be dead. Does this not reassure you? Does this not silence any doubt?”

The weight of his words hung in the air like a storm cloud, but Jace felt the cracks beneath the polished surface. The way Koren’s laugh lingered a second too long, the flicker in his eyes when he spoke of the Dark One, the overperformance of his assurance—it all pointed to something more. Something rotten.

“So you imprison anyone who questions the Truth?” Jace asked, his voice hard.

“Oh, no.” Koren chuckled softly, as if amused by the notion. “Nothing so crude as that. We offer them the chance to redeem themselves… through labor. They work in the mines, or here, assisting in ways that benefit the greater good. They may even see their families at night. Many of the Nobles thought I was too lenient but alas, I have a poor and weak heart and I’m afraid it gets the better of me at times.”

Jace’s eyes flicked to the servers moving between the tables. The golden cloths covering their mouths and faces, the golden ropes binding their arms—it wasn’t a uniform. It was their caste. Their chains.

The truth of it settled over Jace like a heavy fog. He became excruciatingly aware of the people around him—the servers, the nobles, even Bart shifting uneasily at his side. The golden ropes, the gilded masks—it wasn’t a culture, it was control. And everyone here seemed to accept it. Not just accept it—they moved with the indifference of people who’d seen it a thousand times and stopped seeing it at all.

“As slaves,” Jace said, his voice unwavering, the words landing like a challenge.

Koren’s smile hardened, though the edges of it remained perfectly polished. “If that’s the word you choose to use, fine. But consider this, Traveler: without order, there is chaos. Lies of such venomous intent must be punished. Silencing those voices ensures peace, stability. Surely you understand that.”

Jace’s jaw tightened, but his gaze didn’t waver. “What I understand is exploitation when I see it.”

For the first time, Koren’s composure cracked, if only slightly. His smile stretched thinner, and his voice dropped to a near-whisper, sharp enough to cut. “Careful, Traveler. You’re not in your world anymore.”

He leaned closer, his hand gripping Jace’s shoulder in a gesture that might have seemed amicable from a distance but carried a weight of veiled menace. “You’re new here. And as this world is your new home, it seems, perhaps it would be wise to reserve judgment until you’ve seen the full picture.”

Jace met Koren’s gaze head-on. His voice was steady, a quiet defiance in it. “Oh, I’m starting to.”

For a moment, the air between them was electric, the room seeming to hold its collective breath. Then Koren’s smile reasserted itself, cold and gleaming. He released Jace’s shoulder, turned on his heel, and began to glide through the crowd, his entourage trailing in his wake like shadows.

Bart exhaled loudly once Koren was out of earshot, shaking his head. “You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that. Or a hell of a lot of stupid.”

Jace allowed a small, humorless smile to flicker across his face. “Probably both.” His gaze lingered on Koren’s retreating figure, the polished veneer hiding something far darker beneath.