The cozy teahouse was huddled among towering city buildings. The warm yellow glow coming out of its large windows attracted people inside, who were weary of the crowded street and unrelenting rain. The interior of the teahouse was bathed in bright lights and decorated with colorful floral arrangements, in contrast to the dreary overcast sky outside. Employees called out orders over the murmur of voices and the clinking of spoons against porcelain cups. A fresh, floral aroma permeated the air.

A few customers glanced at the door when it swung open. They felt a slight chill, but they weren’t sure if it was from the chilling wind that blasted inside or the appearance of the new entrant. Even after the door swung closed behind him, they continued staring. The sudden drop in noise led the other customers to glance up. Their attention was drawn to his unusual silver hair and deathly pale skin.

Prometheus took a seat at the square table near to the door. When he glanced around, the other customers averted their gaze. The noise gradually picked up as they returned to their conversations.

A waitress dressed in black and white approached his table. “Welcome back, sir. Will it be the usual?”

Without shifting his gaze from the small vase of pink carnations on his table, he nodded.

“I’ll get it ready right away.” She left the table and returned with a slice of cake and a silver spoon. “Your tea will be ready shortly.”

Even before biting into the cake, his senses were bathed in waves of pleasure. The pastry was a wondrous work of art. From a single look, it was easy to see that it had taken a painstaking attention to detail to render such a splendid creation. It was so beautiful that he wondered if it was really okay to eat it.

He dug a spoonful of cake and brought it close to his nose, slowly inhaling its deliciously pronounced berry scent. One bite was all it took to understand what true baking talent was. The transcendent taste sent his mind and soul into a state of ecstasy. The sweet vanilla icing mixed wonderfully with the sour berry filling to bring the cake's flavor into the realm of the divine.

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The kettle’s high-pitched whistling brought him back to reality.

Moments later, the waitress brought him a dainty cup, paired with an eggshell white saucer. "Sorry for the wait. Here’s your tea."

He gave her a thumbs up.

The steaming hot tea inside the cup was crystal clear and was a bright tan color. A few plump and whole tea leaves floated at the bottom of the cup. When he held the cup of tea close to his nose, the steam warmed his face. He took a deep breath and smelled an enticing and refreshing fragrance.

He lifted the scarf off his face and slurped from the cup, spraying tea into his mouth. The slurping action aerated the tea, unleashing its full flavor and cooling it so that it wouldn’t burn his mouth. He tasted a pleasantly crisp flavor, which lingered on his tongue. A soothing warmth cascaded down his throat. The entire tea tasting experience soothed his mind and body.

A warrior in golden plate armor approached Prometheus’s table. “A man with silver hair and black metal gauntlets - you must be Prometheus, the infamous mercenary everyone in this country seems to know about.”

Prometheus ignored the warrior and continued slurping his tea.

“You don’t deny it? Then you must be him. I can’t believe my luck. Here I was, thinking that I would be returning to Andor empty handed, after losing the Combat Tournament and ending up in a coma. However, if I take your head, then I’ll bring glory to my family. I’ll be known as Gilgamesh, the man who slew the most infamous mercenary in the Dominion.”

“Piss off.”

Gilgamesh's face scrunched up. “You insolent punk!” He reached for his sword.

Prometheus thrust his hand into Gilgamesh’s chest and yanked out a red, pulsating mass.

“Eh?” Gilgamesh’s eyes widened at the sight of his own heart in Prometheus’s hand.

Blood sprayed out of the gaping hole in his chest. He began falling backwards. The moment his body hit the floor, the customers erupted in screams. They rushed toward the door, shoving each other and knocking down chairs and tables. Table vases hit the floor, shattering into countless pieces.

Prometheus wiped the sticky blood from his face, paying no heed to the chaotic scene unfolding around him. He remained calmly seated at his table, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. Lifting his scarf off his face, he took a bite out of the heart. “Tastes like chicken.”