Ren sat beside Nicole, his dryad classmate, after getting kicked off grilling duty. How was he supposed to know cheese would melt and make a mess like that? Whatever.

Nicole was… okay, he supposed. She was kind of annoying, especially around her doll, Mr. Sticky. She carried it everywhere and sobbed when the other kids would take it from her—she just couldn’t take a joke. But after the World Walker, Luka, fixed it, she hadn’t let anyone steal it, joke or not. Even when Ms. Tram told her to put the doll away and pay attention in class, Nicole wouldn’t separate from it.

I guess it’s even more special to her now, Ren thought. Luka can change things—like food!

Earth was an untapped culinary influence, and yet, Luka didn’t seem to care. Ren did, however, and these last few days had been nearly sleepless for the little orc. How was he supposed to sleep at night knowing that the few unique recipes he needed to become a successful chef were planted inside a World Walker’s head?

Ren shook his head. Pizza? It was a fine start, he supposed. Smashburgers? They were simple yet delicious. Ren eyed Luka as the man sliced a link of sausage and threw it onto the grill. The village had been bringing food to the World Walker, practically tossing cured meats and aged cheeses at the man—and yet, Luka didn’t so much as glance at what exactly he was cooking.

Nineteen years aged lioncurd cheese? Ren scoffed at the money and culinary art wasted on something as simplistic as a topping for a “smashburger.”

“Um, Ren?”

He turned, finding Nicole. She held her chin high, showing off her wooden vocal cords. They stretched and pulled as she moved and were only visible because she was losing her leaves. Buds would form soon, and after a while, they’d bloom into a full suit of moss and flowers. The metamorphosis was alleged to be beautiful, but Ren had never seen it. Most dryads ventured deep into their forests for the process.

“What?” Ren asked. Nicole looked away, finding the grass and pulling Mr. Sticky in close. She did that a lot, especially when talking to Ren.

“Do you… um… want to ride the carousel with me?”

“Maybe later. I’m doing something really important right now.”

Nicole eyed his hand-made cookbook. “More notes?”

Ren frowned but turned to face the World Walker. “They’re important to me—just like Mr. Sticky is to you. I can’t let his secrets get away.”

She shuffled the doll in her hands. “My mom always told me to be forward when I want something.”

Ren’s shoulders slumped at the mention of “mom.” Every kid here, and a few of the adults, didn’t have moms. They didn’t have dads. They didn’t have families, nor did they really understand why.

“My mom was quiet. Yours sounds loud,” Ren said, cagey. “I don’t think I would have liked your mom.”

Nicole frowned. “I don’t think I would have liked your mom either.”

Ren turned. “Why’s that?”

“Cause she’s a smelly orc!”

He recoiled. “Rather be smelly than a tree!”

“Nuh-uh!”

“Uh huh!”

The pair scowled at each other, neither backing down. But—like a hairline fracture—Nicole smiled, Ren followed suit a heartbeat later. They giggled quietly, the other kids, and some adults, eyeing them.

Ren took a deep breath and scanned the area. Most of his classmates were off by the carousel, hanging off the roof or leaping between wooden mounts. Others were standing near Luka and the grill, hoping to get seconds or thirds, in some cases. Two were playing with an ant pile.

But something caught Ren’s eye. A man carried an open crate filled with vegetables. Ren recognized him as a fellow villager but not one he knew the name of.

“Where do you want these?” the man asked once close enough to the World Walker.

Dozens of other villagers stood around, most eating but all drinking mead—except for Luka. He sipped a citrus juice the Mystic’s niece, Eve, had brought over, claiming “he doesn’t drink.” The declaration didn’t do great for the scrutiny of the villagers. “Who doesn’t drink?” someone asked, not that Ren thought it mattered.

Chefs don’t drink while cooking for people. Everyone knew that, Ren said to himself.

Luka looked around. Most of the tables outside the courthouse were already filled with various foods—all except one. “On Ren and Nicole’s table.”

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The villagers dropped the crate off. Vegetables. So many vegetables. Ren peeked at Luka. What’s he going to do with them? he wondered, slyly reaching for a head of—

“Ren, get your hand out of there!”

He froze, recognizing the voice—Ms. Tram, the Mayor, and his teacher. Where was she? Behind? Slowly, he turned, looking for her imposing shadow. Why did she always scold him? The other kids were literally swan-diving from the top of the carousel. Why wouldn’t he look through the vegetables?

Ren found Tram leaning out of a second-story courthouse window, watching over the “barbeque” like a mother duck tending to her playing ducklings.

“It’s okay, Tram,” Luka yelled. “I was going to ask him to chop them.”

She scoffed. “Your funeral, then.”

The World Walker rolled his eyes, gesturing lazily with his left hand. Instantly, a dozen pebbles snapped up from the grass and rushed together. They seeped into one another, forming a small paring knife. Luka then controlled the knife to hover through the air to Ren.

“Mind cutting those for me?” he asked. “For burger toppings.”

Ren’s eyes couldn’t get wider. “Yes!”

Nicole cleared her throat. “Um, Mr. World Walker, can I help? Ren promised to ride the carousel with me, and if I help, we can go faster.”

Another dozen pebbles formed into another knife. “That’s very sweet of you. Ren’s lucky to have you as a friend,” Luka said.

Ren pressed his lips flat when Nicole gave him a triumphant smirk. Two can play that game, he thought.

“Luka!” Ren yelped. “I don’t need any help! I need the practice!”

Luka studied the pair. Ren crossed his arms while Nicole beat her eyelashes like a puppy dog. Slowly, he said, “If you let Nicole help then ride the carousel with her, I’ll tell you a recipe from Earth.”

Ren’s hand darted into the crate, snagging two vegetables, one for him, the other for Nicole.

“Don’t cut yourself—” Luka stopped himself when a butterfly landed on the pairing knife then flew over to the other, tapping it with one of its legs. “She so stole two burgers.”

Ren and Nicole both asked, “What?”

Luka just waved them off, going back to the grill and speaking to the other villagers.

“I hate onions,” muttered Nicole as she peeled the skin of one.

Ren gritted his teeth. “I do, too.”

It was hard to say. Orcs were supposed to show strength, never relent, and always speak their mind… but onion? What good was strength when a vegetable could taste so bad? Ren spun his knife through his fingers and chopped a section of a savory silver fruit called a “torrid.” And sliced. And diced.

Similarly to an onion, the torrid made people cry when cut. It dried the eyeballs, forcing them to water. But orcs were supposed to be strong, right? Ren gritted his teeth and cut. He’d never cry because of stinking fruit.

The sound of sizzling meat guided him. The aroma of charring beef soothed him. His dry eyes were only a hurdle on his path—the path of becoming the world’s greatest chef. Ren sliced the torrid perfectly, each and every time.

A hand reached past him, snagging a few rings of torrid. A villager slapped them on his burger, saying, “Thanks, kiddo.” He then grunted as he took a bite, happy with the meal.

I did that, Ren thought. My torrid slices made the meal perfect.

He grabbed another vegetable from the crate, one he didn’t recognize. He cut off a sliver, sampling it. It was bitter, far too bitter for the simplest burger. Ren fished for another veggie, finding a head of lettuce. He got to cutting.

“Luka?” Ren asked. “Can I have another burger? I want to try it with all the veggies.”

In minutes, a steaming burger sat before him. He loaded it up with mayo and cheese, Nicole’s onion, his torrid, and a few leaves of lettuce. Then he sunk his teeth into it. He chewed, then swallowed.

The pain of the torrid’s dryness went away. The confusion around Luka disappeared. Heck, even Nicole’s annoying streak fell away to a wondrous bliss. School? His parents? Again, both were gone, replaced with a perfect dish.

I was wrong.

Three words. They echoed in Ren’s mind. He was wrong. The smashburger wasn’t just “simple, yet delicious.” It was far, far beyond. He took another bite, this time savoring the experience. He chewed slowly, allowing the meat juices to soak into the pungent onion and dull torrid. The crisp lettuce and mayo kept everything moist, even as the bun dried his tongue. The cheese gave everything a little extra funk, too.

Refined, Ren thought, the single word describing the whole dish. It was perfect. It was maddeningly good. It has to go on the menu.

Ren flipped his notebook to the last page. It was a special page, one reserved for only the best of the best—the dishes he’d serve at his restaurant. So far, it only had one entry. But now, now it had two.

He could see it now, people from far and wide would come to eat his burgers. Candle light would illuminate their meal, elevating the romanticism of the evening. Dripping fat would sizzle against hot coals, wafting throughout the room as he and his staff worked inside the open-air kitchen. Sharp cheese would cut through the heaviness of the night, daring customers to experience something new.

Only the softest buns would be served, each expertly toasted in artisanal local butter. Ren could see his herb and veggie garden, one he’d invite customers to stroll through while they waited for their table to be ready. Daily, hand-picked assortments would be the fuel of the restaurant, each dish—each smashburger—topped with only the freshest extras imaginable. Heck, he may even build a chicken coop for quality eggs.

It’s going to be glorious, Ren told himself.

“Good, huh?” the father of the burger, Luka, asked.

Ren almost scoffed at the question. Good? What kind of question is that?

It wasn’t just “good,” it was a masterpiece. It would serve as the foundation of an empire—a culinary empire of cookery and fine dining.

It’s a catalyst, Ren said internally, Earthen food’s reputation will only grow from here. I have to jump on this. I have to—

Ren realized Luka was waiting patiently for an answer. But how could Ren describe something transcendent? He peered around, most of the nearby villagers watched him.

So he said the one thing he could think of.

“Needs more than just salt.”