Fire.

All-consuming.

Indiscriminate.

It burns man and monster alike.

You remember the fire.

A distant half-memory, yet as real as today.

You remember your skin crackling.

Your fingers, shrivelled and charred.

Grasping at the spear driven through your heart.

Blood.

Gushing from your open wound.

Your beating heart only hastening your end.

Gasping your last breath.

You can’t remember. Was it the fire, or the blade that took you?

Was it burning alive, or bleeding out?

It wasn’t both. It can’t have been both.

You burned.

You bled.

You don’t feel the pain.

Your burning fingers are icy cold.

Your bleeding heart burns with fire.

They did this to you.

They did this to you.

They will burn.

They will bleed.

You promise it to yourself.

They will suffer for what they did to you.

…

Urghh…

My head…

I did not sleep in a good position…

My wings weren’t fully dry, so they didn’t want to get back in the cloak so my shoulders are all stiff…

Sit up, stretch…

…

Wings, are you… awake?

Do they sleep independently of me?

My wings shudder, rising up a little to greet me. So you do sleep on your own.

Are you asleep all the time you’re inside the cloak?

They don’t move, pretending they didn’t hear the question. Alright then.

My new and presumably permanent room, besides the library, is a little nicer than the first one I was in. If anything it’s a little… cramped, what with the bookshelves lining the walls. I have a chest at the end of the bed for personal items, not that I currently have anything personal to put in it. It’s the thought that counts.

Judging by the noise outside, it’s probably mid-morning. Due to the towering cliffs on all sides, the daylight hours down here are short, but there’s always that uncomfortable red glow no matter what time of day, giving the air an eerie backlight. At least, right up against the cliffs, that red glow is a lot less prominent than it was on that hill I woke up on.

At least, my room and the adjacent library are quiet.

Maybe too quiet.

Today’s when I officially start as the Chief’s… assistant, I guess. I should probably get out of bed.

As I go to get out of bed, the door to my room suddenly swings open, and the Chief bursts in with a smile on her face.

“Good moooorning, sleepyhead~!” She sings out in an uncharacteristic tone.

I’m now clinging to my blanket, startled by her sudden entrance, and very concerned over the Chief’s sudden overly friendly demeanour.

This is a trap.

She looks directly at me, or rather through me, still smiling.

“You’re late.”

“... How la-”

“Two hours. Twenty-two minutes. Forty-six seconds. Seven, now. Eight…”

Her smile fades into an unimpressed stare.

“That’s two hours, twenty-two minutes and forty-eight seconds of water-carrying duty. You’re lucky I’m not taking your breakfast as well, if you’re not out of your room this instant.”

She turns and leaves after saying her piece, so I spring to my feet, hurriedly following her out the door-

Only for my wings to get caught on both sides of the doorframe, nearly making me fall flat on the ground before I just catch my balance, my wings clinging close to my sides in apparent shame.

The Chief watched all that happened, thoroughly unimpressed by it.

“It seems my hopes were misplaced if you’re defeated by a simple door frame…”

Rather than sputtering out a half-baked response, I just stand back up, carefully walk back through the door, grab my cloak and tie it on, fix my hair, fully button my shirt and walk back out looking much more presentable. The Chief gives a nod of approval before turning and walking up the stairs.

“Come, before it gets any colder.”

“Eh? Are we not eating in the tavern?”

She stops halfway up the stairs, turning back again with an annoyed look on her face.

“Would you rather be harassed than eat? Because it certainly seems like that is your goal with these constant interruptions.”

“I… No, I would… like to eat.”

She turns back around, marching up the rest of the stairs.

“Good. I hope you like porridge. If you don’t, you’ll learn to.”

At the top of the stairs sprawls perhaps the best-furnished room in all of Haven. Finely-carved bookshelves, more ornate than those on the ground floor, are lined with old books, some wrapped in plain brown leather and others with intricately detailed covers. Several large tables span across the room, all covered with books, loose bits of parchment, quills, and clay ink pots. A fireplace warms the room, and before it is a smaller table with two bowls, a few simple chairs, and one noticeably larger lounge chair that’s actually padded. By the gods I’ve never seen something so comfortable looking.

Naturally, the Chief walks over and sits on the lounge chair, quietly asserting that that chair is hers. Fair enough, I sit across from her by the fire, and the Chief starts eating like it’s nothing.

“Is this…”

She looks up at me.

“What?”

“Is this something I should get used to…? This feels very… high-class.”

She sighs, putting down her spoon.

“It isn’t, but this is the only suitable arrangement currently. I will be blunt, Marina; people here are afraid of you. You have giant red wings with swords in them, and you cut a man’s face. The only reason you’re still here is that I’ve convinced the townsfolk that you are my prisoner and pose no threat to them under my watch. For you to truly become part of Haven, you will have to earn a lot of goodwill amongst people before they’ll start to trust you.”

“Well, is water-carrying a place to start earning that goodwill?

She smiles a little, starting to eat again.

“It’s a place to start.”

The rest of our meal is consumed in peace. While I have comfortable enough lodging and wings with swords to keep me safe, neither of that matters much if I’m going to be living here from now on. For what it’s worth, this is a new life in a new town. I should do my best to make the most of it, even if this time the sky is more red than I’d prefer it to be, not that I can do much about that.

Once we finish eating, the Chief insists on taking our bowls away herself and leaves me in the quiet comfort of her room for the time being. As much as I’d love to go browsing through the books up here, it’s probably best that I stay seated and only do what I’m told in here. At least the fire’s warm. You’d think warmth wouldn’t be an issue with the naturally occurring fire around here, but the nights are bone-chillingly cold regardless.

…

She’s been gone for a while.

Some of the books have titles written on the spines in Giornovan or Drachensprache, but the rest are either blank or written in a strange, blocky text that I can only assume is a language native to the Underlands beyond the cliffs of this abyss. Given the loose bits of parchment and quills on the tables, it wouldn’t be a stretch to assume that some of these books are quilled by the Chief herself. If I have the time, it would be beneficial to learn the written language of the Underlands so I could read more of these books, if… the Chief lets me. Given she lives in the library, she probably has final say over who gets to read what.

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Honestly, being surrounded by this many books but not being allowed to touch any of them is kind of getting to me. Books weren’t exactly rare in my previous life, but I never had this many to choose from.

I shouldn’t. I mean, she sat us at the only table in this room that isn’t half-buried in books.

There is one bookshelf almost in arms reach. Maybe. Maybe if I just…

“Marina.”

The Chief’s voice startles me, jumping out of my chair and standing up stiff and straight to attention.

“Y-Yes Chief!”

“Why are… nevermind. Anton needs you for something.”

“Anton needs me for something?”

“Yes, I do.” Anton suddenly answers.

Anton’s voice makes me spin on the spot, finding that Anton is standing beside the Chief, looking nonplussed over my startled reactions. He then continues,

“You know how to cook, yes? Good. Giselle burned her hand yesterday, so you’ll be filling in as the soup chef for this week.”

“Soup chef? For the week?! But I-”

“The Sovrana Republic is known for its vegetable-based soups, yes? We’ve run out of meat, and you should be capable of making something palatable enough for this week’s soup.” Anton continues like he never heard me open my mouth in the first place.

Seeing my bewilderment, the Chief sighs lightly and fills in the gaps Anton didn’t cover.

“What Anton means is you make a big pot of soup that’ll usually last the week. You make it, then we just leave it on a low heat for whoever wants it. I mean, it’s soup. Anyone can make soup.” The Chief shrugs.

“Can you?” Anton asks.

“Besides the point.” The Chief deflects.

“Well I… suppose… I could do something, but, if people don’t like me, would they eat the soup I make?”

“You’ll be in the back of the kitchen, and the other chefs have been informed of your confidential assistance. No one will know.” Anton dismisses my concern out of hand.

“Wait, already informed? So you came here having already made the decision that I’m helping in the kitchen?”

Anton looks me straight in the eyes. His small, dark blue irises and spectacles only intensify the harsh, bright white of his judgemental pupils as I try my best to maintain eye contact.

“Are you presuming you’re in a position to negotiate?” He questions.

“... No.”

“Good. Come with me.” Anton turns to leave down the stairs.

Hesitant, I look at the Chief, who nods in the direction of the stairs, so I follow Anton down alone through the main room of the library and out the back door. We head along a back path that winds from behind the library around to the far side of the town hall-slash-tavern-slash-canteen-slash… the village’s main building, out of sight from the main street. From the front it looked fairly uniform, but around the back it looks far more disorganised, with rooms jutting out at every angle as they’re needed, showing a constant rate of expansion since the structure was first built.

Anton stops in front of a door, turning on the spot to face me. I don’t notice this as I’m gawking up at the building until I nearly walk straight into him, shrinking back under his focused gaze. Gods, does everyone down here have to stare so much?

“To be clear, before we enter the kitchen, you are a competent cook, yes?”

“I can cook without poisoning anyone, at least. As for what I’m good at making, well… from what I briefly saw in the gardens when Tiff dragged me through it, I might be able to make some form of minestrone…”

Anton’s dour face lights up upon hearing the magical word “minestrone”, smiling as he opens the door.

“Ah, magnificent, there may truly be hope for us after all…”

Anton steps through the door, and I go to follow him in only to be hit by a wall of light and a rush of fragrance. The first thing you notice about the kitchen is it’s the brightest room in all of Haven. Pale blue crystals hang from the ceiling, five in all, shining as bright as daylight over the bustling kitchen below. A wood-fired oven dominates the centre of the room along the back wall, with iron stoves flanking either side of it. Pots and saucepans of differing heights and sizes are spread across the stovetops, with the smells of baked goods, roast vegetables, and enticing spices filling the room. Two men, one lean and tall like Anton and the other burly with broad shoulders, tend to the various pots on the stoves, while a short and thin dark-haired woman watches over the oven.

“This…”

“You’re arrived here in GC 1541, yes? The last year of my life was GC 1764. Cooking, at least in the western Giornovan Empire, has advanced significantly in the next two centuries, and I have done my utmost to bring those future improvements to Haven.” Anton says, smiling proudly.

“How did you get so much metal to make the stoves? Isn’t that really scarce here?”

“At first it proved difficult, but once the people had a taste of my menu, the previous Chief had to step in before every weapon in Haven was melted down for the kitchen’s sake. However, we don’t have the time to continue with the tour, so we’ll be straight to work. Larousse!”

The broad-shouldered man lifts his head up at Anton’s call, still chopping vegetables on a wooden chopping board while he talks.

“Yes, chef? Is this about the fill-in? Her station’s clear down the end. We’ve got the leftover produce ready there.” He says.

‘Larousse’ has the same accent as Anton, only less judgemental and more gruff.

“Good. Marina, with me. Don’t touch anything outside your station.” Anton says, stepping forward into the kitchen.

Anton moves through the kitchen, effortlessly weaving through the chefs toiling at their stations as I follow as closely behind him as possible so I don’t bother any of the people walking around with knives held outwards very unsafely but I’m definitely not the person to tell anyone here that. I’m taken to the farthest stove from the door I entered in, with a tall soup pot full of water ready on the stove, and an assortment of… what I assume are vegetables on the table opposite it.

I can recognise what looks like beans, but it’s difficult to recognise or even describe the other ones. One looks like a yellow cucumber, another almost normal-looking celery except it’s bright red, some root vegetables that I hope taste like carrots… they smell like carrots, something that feels onion-y, one very green leafy looking… thing, and normal looking, yellowy, shell-shaped pasta! Okay, I should be able to do something with this.

“Miss Retali.” Anton’s curt statement of just my surname snaps me back to reality.

“Y-yes! Sorry I was just, uh, familiarising myself with these… ingredients. I think. Are these more or less like the vegetables they look like from the uh, Overlands…?”

“If you are familiar with celery, cucumber, carrot, the common onion, cabbage, and…”

Anton lists off the ingredients, before brushing aside some of the leaves of the cabbage and picking up a bright red, unmistakeable,

“Tomato!!”

“Is… that what you call it? Is this wolf peach reminiscent of something from the Sovrana Republic? I wasn’t aware of any produce from that region resembling this bizarre berry… it grows like a fruit, yet it has a far richer taste and is wholly unsuited to take part in any fruit salad. They grow wild around here, so I started picking them to examine their worthiness for cultivation, although I’ve had some difficulty incorporating them in anything besides soups…”

Anton explains in great length his opinion on this ‘wolf peach’ as he calls it. No, we didn’t have tomatoes around my village, but that’s definitely a tomato.

“Yes, we call them tomatoes, we, uh, used them for soups and as a sauce, notably with pasta…”

“Did I just hear you say with pasta?”

The short woman… or, girl by how young she looks, turns away from the oven, walking up beside Anton and taking the tomato from his hand to look closely at it. Her hair is pitch black with a straight-cut fringe and a short braid at the back, with a single red streak and bright red eyes that are, thankfully, a lot more rounded and softer than most other people here. Finally, someone who doesn’t look like they want to kill something all the time…

“And waste perfectly good pasta with this rotten false-fruit?! I’m not letting this “tomato” anywhere near anything I’ve baked, pastry or pasta!!”

She scowls, and her soft face hardens into an angered glare directed at me. Gods, why… Why are all the women here so scary-looking…

“Now, Minegumo, I’d already put aside some pasta for this week’s soup to give it some more weight given we’re short on meat, so consider it a trial run for the compatibility of “tomato” and pasta.” Anton continues, closely inspecting the wolf peach in his hand.

“You WHAT?! After I just-” Minegumo starts, stamping her foot in anger.

“We can discuss this later, Minegumo, we still have things to get ready for lunch lunch…” Anton sighs lightly.

Anton guides the angered Minegumo back towards the oven, leaving me to my own devices with a soup pot and an array of ingredients before me.

Right. I have a soup pot, I have soup ingredients, time to make a killer soup that’ll get everyone to maybe, not be so afraid or hostile towards me. Easy enough.

Besides the vegetables, I have some dried herbs that smell enough like oregano and thyme, and something somewhat… garlicky…

Actually, you know what, for the sake of it, let’s just pretend this is a normal minestrone. I adored my mother’s minestrone, and she made full use of that whenever I was sulking off or generally unhappy. No two minestrones are ever quite the same, yet they all have that same heartiness to them that I just can’t get enough of. It’s fundamentally a dish made with whatever vegetables you have laying around, with meat, pasta, or rice if you have any to spare, but the time and effort it can take makes the care put into it shine through.

I was a bit of a reclusive child. I’d get upset easily and then I’d spend the whole day hiding in my room. Few things did a better job at getting me to come back out than the smell of minestrone wafting through the house.

Since we’re here, let’s establish the groundwork of what makes a good minestrone, shall we?

Marina’s Makeshift Minestrone

Hello and welcome to Marina’s Kitchen. Today we’ll be attempting to cook a classic vegetarian minestrone with vegetables I barely recognise and no meat because we don’t have any. Fortunately, we have beans, and beans are the proper base of any good minestrone. You’ll need the following ingredients in any volume you wish, plus a decent amount of patience as we don’t have pre-made stock to speed things up.

Minestrone is, after all, more of a process than a set recipe, so use whatever you want, in any volume, so long as you have plenty of vegetables and plenty of herbs. The main thing you need is something to use as a base stock; this can be meat-based, but traditionally, beans are used for the core of the soup. As it’s more of a process than recipe, you can use as much or as little of each ingredient as you like. You don’t need to put pasta or rice in the soup, but a bit of carbs go well with such a hearty meal. No need to measure, just trust your feelings! Throw in every vegetable you have, it’ll work wonders.

Now without further ado;

You will need:

* Beans, preferably kidney beans or any starch-heavy bean

* Salt

* Onions

* Carrot

* Celery

* Tomato

* Garlic

* Cabbage

* Spinach

* Rosemary

* Parsley

* Oregano

* Thyme

* Pasta or rice of any variety, although small-sized pasta works best

* Extra-virgin olive oil

1. Combine the beans, onions, carrot, celery, garlic, rosemary, and parsley in a large pot of water. Add salt, bring up to a boil, then reduce to a simmer until the beans are cooked, in about 45 minutes to an hour. Remove the vegetables, then drain out the beans while reserving the liquid. Place the liquid aside.

2. Heat the olive oil in a large stockpot. Dice all the vegetables, and add the onion, carrot, and celery to the pot, season with salt and cook until softened. You can re-use the vegetables from step 1 for this, or you can use fresh vegetables instead. Add more oil if needed to prevent the vegetable from sticking.

3. Add garlic and cook until fragrant. Add the tomato last, stirring until the mixture starts to fry. You’ll know when it’s finished when the vegetables start to crackle as they fry.

4. Add the bean-cooking liquid from step one, and then the beans. Simmer for 10-15 minutes.

5. Add the pasta, and cook until tender for about 10 minutes. Add the cabbage and spinach, reducing the soup to a simmer.

6. Add any remaining herbs and salt as seasoning, serve immediately, or allow the soup to simmer for a few more hours to bring out more of the flavour. Can be served over a long period of time or several days, let the soup cool overnight and reheat the next day until consumed.

And with those six easy steps, the soup is ready to reserve and I am absolutely exhausted. I managed to get it ready just before midday, so Anton let me return to the library via the back path.

Now, I just have to hope people like it, and that I didn’t misuse any of the vegetables while I was assuming they tasted like what they look like.

The Chief isn’t in the library and I don’t have any other responsibilities for the day, so maybe I can retreat to my room and get some rest…

Well.

I think I got like, half an hour’s rest.

Now the Chief’s sitting on the end of my bed, looking at me with an extremely threatening smile.

“... Chief?”

“Marina.”

“... Should I-”

“This isn’t the Sovrana Republic, yes.”

I sheepishly get out of bed, sitting on the end opposite to the Chief.

“You mentioned you can read and write, so that will be your job for the rest of the day.”

“What am I going to be writing, exactly…?”

“Your soup recipe. It’s proved quite popular. Even Minegumo liked it after all her protestations.”

The Chief stands up, leaving the room but calling back through the doorway;

“You’ll find parchment, quills, and ink ready for you on the first floor. I’m going back to get another serving.”