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The Untold Stories
Ch 9 The Last Meal

Ch 9 The Last Meal

Chapter 9: The Last Meal

The marketplace was alive with the scent of spices, sizzling meats, and the hum of a hundred voices bartering and laughing. In the middle of the chaos stood Jonas, a man in a worn apron that had seen too many battles with grease and flame. His stall was small, overshadowed by the larger establishments selling fine wines and exotic delicacies, but his food had something the others lacked—a soul.

“Step right up!” Jonas called, flipping a seared piece of fish in his cast iron pan with practiced ease. The aroma of butter and thyme drifted through the air. “Best food you’ll ever taste. Maybe your last if you’re heading north!”

The joke earned a few chuckles from passersby, though many glanced nervously at the storm clouds gathering on the horizon. The warlords were advancing, and no one knew how long their town had before the fighting reached their gates.

A young soldier stepped up to the stall, his armor dented and dirtied from weeks of patrols. “I’ll take whatever you’ve got, old man,” he said, slapping down a coin.

“Old man?” Jonas snorted, his grizzled face breaking into a grin. “I’m thirty-eight, thank you very much. You soldiers think anyone over twenty’s ancient.”

The soldier laughed, though his eyes betrayed exhaustion. “Fair enough. Just give me something good, yeah?”

“Something good…” Jonas muttered, pouring a ladle of thick soup into a bowl. “Kid, every meal I make is good. But this?” He set the bowl down in front of the soldier with a flourish. “This’ll make you forget whatever hell brought you here.”

The soldier raised an eyebrow, taking a tentative spoonful. His eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. “By the gods, that’s incredible. What’s in this?”

Jonas leaned in conspiratorially. “Love,” he said with a wink, before turning back to his stove.

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The day passed in a blur of orders and chatter. Jonas cooked without rest, tossing diced vegetables into pans, slapping dough onto sizzling skillets, and sprinkling pinches of spices with the flair of a magician casting a spell. He knew most of the customers by name—merchants, farmers, a few weary travelers—but there were always strangers passing through, faces he’d never see again.

As the sun dipped lower, the marketplace began to empty. The distant sound of drums echoed faintly in the wind, a reminder of the army moving closer. Jonas ignored it, focusing instead on cleaning his stall.

“Busy day?” a voice asked.

Jonas turned to see a cloaked figure standing at the edge of his stall. The stranger’s hood obscured their face, but their voice was smooth, almost melodic.

“Could’ve been worse,” Jonas replied, tossing a rag onto the counter. “You looking for a meal?”

The figure nodded. “Something special.”

Jonas raised an eyebrow. “Special, huh? I don’t have much left, but I can whip up something for you.”

“Not just any meal,” the stranger said, lowering their hood. Their face was pale, almost otherworldly, with eyes that seemed to pierce straight through him. “I’m looking for a dish worth remembering.”

Jonas hesitated, unsettled by the stranger’s presence. But he shook it off. “You’re in luck,” he said, grabbing his knife. “I’ve got one meal left in me tonight, and it’ll be the best thing you’ve ever tasted.”

He worked in silence, the crackle of the fire the only sound as he prepared the dish. He seared cuts of tender meat, deglazed the pan with wine, and added a rich sauce that simmered and thickened to perfection. He paired it with roasted vegetables, their edges caramelized, and a loaf of warm, crusty bread.

Jonas plated everything carefully, the dish a masterpiece of colors and textures. He slid it across the counter, watching the stranger’s reaction.

They took a single bite, and for a moment, the world seemed to pause. The stranger closed their eyes, a faint smile tugging at their lips.

“This is…” They opened their eyes, their gaze softer now. “Extraordinary.”

“Damn right it is,” Jonas said, leaning against the counter. “You won’t find better in this town—or any other.”

The stranger ate slowly, savoring every bite. When they were done, they set the fork down with a deliberate motion. “Thank you,” they said, their voice quieter now. “I’ve had many meals in my time, but none like this.”

Jonas grinned. “Well, I aim to please.”

The stranger stood, reaching into their cloak. They pulled out a single gold coin and placed it on the counter. “For the meal. And the memory.”

Jonas blinked, stunned by the generosity. “This… this is too much.”

The stranger smiled faintly. “You don’t know what you’ve given me.”

And with that, they disappeared into the shadows, leaving Jonas alone in the empty marketplace.

It wasn’t until later that night, as Jonas sat in his small home, that he realized what was bothering him. The coin on his counter wasn’t just gold—it was etched with a symbol he recognized from old tales. A mark of death, given only by the Reaper.

Jonas shivered, the weight of the encounter settling over him. The Reaper, they said, could take many forms, but one thing was certain: anyone who saw them didn’t have long to live.

Jonas glanced around his quiet home, the shadows seeming deeper than before. He thought of the meal he’d cooked, the care he’d put into every detail. If that had truly been his last supper… he was proud of it.

And perhaps, he thought, that was the point. To live each day—and cook each meal—as if it might be the last.