Following his nose, Luka pushed open the local bakery’s door. A worn bell jingled along the splintered frame, a rusty nail keeping it in place by sheer force of will. And yet, a heavenly aroma poured from a trio of blistering hot ovens and still-steaming bread.

He breathed in deep, yesterday’s worries—and a “mild” case of hallucinations—fading. He was here, in another world, and there was no place he’d rather be.

As crazy as that sounded.

Come to think of it, what was this world called again? Eve said it once, but he didn’t remember… oh well.

A glass display counter held pastries and warm delectables, muffins with craggily sweet bits, puffed dough chock-full of tart fruit, and countless finger foods ranging from familiar to alien. Luka leaned closer to inspect a sliced loaf cake with what looked to be glittering chunks of scarlet crystals inside.

“Oh!” a shout sounded from the back kitchen. “A customer! Sorry I didn’t hear the bell.”

The woman, a middle-aged orc with thinning gray hair and a flour-dusted apron, stepped around a bucket of fresh cream. She stopped at the display counter, hooking her arm underneath. With a flicker and buzz, a dozen small glyphs lit up in a neon blaze. The glass became warm, like a low oven or a hot lamp.

“Sorry, I always forget to turn on the preservation glyphs this early. Most customers come a bit later, and I’m still setting up,” the baker said. “I have a bunch more to bake, but if you want something out already, I can get you that.”

“Am I that early? The sun’s been up for a while now,” Luka said with a smile, drumming his fingers along the display.

“Most of my customers come in mid-morning with a hangover. Drinking across the street at Mr. Todd’s all night does that to a person.”

“I wasn’t drinking and had a pretty early bedtime. Yesterday was a big day, though. I’m still tired.” To punctuate his sentence, a yawn escaped his lips.

“I can see that.” She gave him a curious look over, especially his enchanted clothes and the fading redness of his eyes. “Prismpuff, huh?”

Luka solemnly nodded. “It was my first time, and Franky didn’t think about how ‘mild’ it’d be for a human.”

The baker reached for a cup and twisted a valve on a tapped wooden barrel. “You know Franky?” She asked. “And you can’t go wrong with a morning brew.”

Thick, dark liquid dripped from the nozzle, filling the cup to the brim. She placed it on the counter.

Thinking back to the grilled toad, Luka eyed the drink. “Franky’s a friend.” A bubble breached the surface of the liquid. “What is it?”

She quirked an eyebrow. “You humans sure are strange. Can’t you recognize jrum?”

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he said, “I don’t have any money. I was going to haggle some magic repair work for my order.”

“Take it—friends of Franky don’t have to pay for something as cheap as jrum.” She held out her fist—the orcish punch greeting.

Hesitantly, Luka pressed his knuckles into hers. Again, she stared at him strangely.

“Never greeted an orc before?”

“Can’t say that I have…”

She grunted. “Humans are strange. I’m Iop.”

“Luka.”

“Well then, Luka, friend of Franky, what’s this about haggling?”

“I’d like some unbaked bread dough—and cheese and tomatoes if you’ve got them. Oh! And a bit of flour. Enough to feed all the kids in the village and a few adults.”

Iop shook her head. “Strange indeed. What sort of ‘magical repair’ can you do? My preservation glyphs work wonders.”

Luka hiked his thumb backward. “I was thinking that bell. I can fix the splintered door frame and reattach the bell to ring louder.”

She studied the man before her. “Alright, we have a deal.” She reached her knuckles back out.

Again, Luka gently touched his to hers.

“Franky has some strange friends…” Iop nudged the cup of jrum. “Drink that. It’ll take me a few minutes to round up your order. How long will it take you to fix the bell?”

He picked up the cup, smelling the liquid. Slow bubbles popped at the surface, brimming with a floral but bitter scent. He took a sip. It was no coffee, but it wasn’t bad… he supposed. The thickness made it gross, but then again, the warmth in his mouth made up for that. He took a gulp, radiance falling down his throat. He took another gulp—then another.

“This is pretty good,” he muttered into the cup.

“Of course. I have the best jrum recipe in all of Emberwood village.”

“I think I have to agree—” She smiled at him. “I think fixing the bell will only take me a minute or two. I just have to get the materials. I’ll be right back.”

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Luka went to set the cup down, but Iop stopped him. “Just don’t forget it when you come back.”

And with that, he was outside, the early morning sun still showing streaks of red. Across the street was Mr. Todd’s bar, and beside that, the barn where Leo was resting—or maybe the wolf was out hunting breakfast. Luka wasn’t sure.

He found a nice stick a few meters from the door to the bakery and a dropped nail around the side—perfect materials, he recognized.

Entering the shop, Luka stood in the doorway with a cup of jrum in one hand and materials in the other. Strands of hair-like magic encroached on his vision, connecting themselves to the stick and nail. Fabricating the wood into framed trim was easy enough—matching grain structures was a bit harder. Either way, the door took on a new look within moments, its splintered age only needing a fresh coat of paint.

Luka split his magical focus between the nail holding the bell and the one in his hand. Half of his strands yanked the old one from the wall, keeping the bell in place, while the others manipulated the new one. In seconds, he merged the two nails while scraping away the rusted layers.

The new nail was a bit thicker than the old, but it held the bell up. The only issue was that a dusting of rust littered the shop’s ground. Luka brushed some with his shoe before realizing he was an idiot. He had magic. The strands dragged the rust outside into the grass.

He took another sip of jrum and closed the door—the bell rang perfectly.

***

After gathering his order from Iop, following his nose, Luka pushed open the door to Mr. Todd’s bar. The air inside was thick with the scent of bile, sick, and… cinnamon? Adjusting to the low candlelight, Luka found the source for the first two right away—a drunkard dwarf passed out with vomit running down his hairy chest.

The man sat on the ground in a small cubby, his head slumped over his lap. A bucket of water and a dirty mop lay beside him, along with various cleaners and gritty sponges. Deeper into the cubby was storage, and—yup, Luka spotted a spilled sack of ground cinnamon. The man had dusted himself in the stuff.

“Luka?”

He turned, finding Eve exiting the back room dragging a dwarven woman by the scruff of her coat. She wasted no time rushing the woman to the door, tossing her out with just a shove—the woman shouted obscenities as she landed in the dirt.

Eve slammed the door, wiped her hands off on her pants, muttered something when she saw the passed-out man in the cubby, collected herself, and put on a big ‘ol smile.

“Luka! We were worried about you last night!”

He followed her to the bar top, setting his bakery order down. “When we got back from your aunt’s, I just kinda passed out. Prismpuff might not be for me.”

Eve dunked a mug into a barrel, dropping it before Luka. “Water always helps after a good smoke. That and jr—"

“Jrum,” he said. “Good stuff.”

She eyed the bakery items. “Iop makes the best.”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

Cracking a smile, Eve said, “Because it’s all you’ve ever had.”

He took a sip of water. It was ice cold but had a mineral aftertaste. “Anyways, sorry for ditching you yesterday. I just closed my eyes for a minute, and well, here we are the morning after.”

“Prismpuff can do that to a novice.”

“I can’t tell you how many trees tried to talk to me.”

“Be careful about that, sometimes the trees actually do talk. I’ve gotten pretty paranoid when smoking before, but I later found out it was a dryad messing with me.”

Luka laughed at that. “Strange world you’ve got here.”

Shrugging, Eve asked, “Whatcha got here?”

Baker Iop had put his order in a burlap sack of sorts. Luka opened it. “I got some uncooked dough, cheese, and tomato sauce.”

“Pee-za?”

“Pizza, yeah, for the kids. Figured they’d enjoy making their own.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Can they? They’re kids.”

“There’s nothing to it. Trust me, I used to make pizza with my parents as a kid. They always let me toss the dough on my finger like a ball.”

His eyes glazed over at the thought, the memory coming back to him. But something occurred to him. “Does prismpuff cause nightmares?”

“No, why?”

“I just had this nightmare about…” Pain echoed across the bridge of his nose and temples. “I don’t remember.”

“Still having memory problems?” Eve asked as she wiped crumbs off the stained bar top.

He grunted affirmation, taking another sip of water.

“You should talk to Goddess Tippy about it. Maybe there’s something she can do since she summoned you here and everything.”

“Can I just… talk to a god?” Luka asked, the divine butterfly coming to mind.

Eve slowed down her wiping to think about the question. “I don’t know how it was in your world, but sometimes the gods will respond here. They have a lot of people trying to talk to them every day, however, so to have the best chance, you could visit one of her temples.”

“Do I have to make an appointment?”

“That would help, yeah.”

“I was joking.” Luka muttered, “I didn’t know I could do that.”

“Oh.” She went back to wiping. “Emberwood Village doesn’t have any temples. You’d have to make a trip to the city.”

“I’ll keep that in—” the door opened.

“Luka!”

He turned. “Franky!”

The bald orc was crouched over, his wide hands wrapped around the passed-out dwarf’s ankles ready to drag him out of the bar. “You’re awake!”

“So are you!”

“We were getting worried when you never came in from the barn. But we were getting slammed with customers and couldn’t check on you until later!”

Eve then supplemented, “We gave someone a free beer to make sure Leo didn’t maul you or something. She said you were asleep in the ‘little wolfy’s fur.’ Ain’t that cute?”

Luka reddened, but his embarrassment drained away when Franky dragged the drunk guy out, leaving a trail of puke in his wake.

“Does it always get this trashed?” he asked.

“Nah. A dwarven security convoy stopped here for the night—dwarves can drink, let me tell you, but the fighters always leave a mess. They think themselves to be adventurers or something.”

From the doorway, Franky yelled, “But they always tip well!”

“That’s true,” Eve said, nodding along. “They love to flaunt their wealth. And what better way than to spend a gold piece on a single drink? The fools.”

“Is a gold piece a lot?” Luka asked.

She froze in place for a second. “I always forget you’re new here. A gold piece pays for a round of drinks, not a single drink. But hey, who am I to complain about a massive tip.”

Mop in hand, Franky said, “Just sucks that security convoys don’t come by all that often. Emberwood is in the middle of nowhere.”

In the back of Luka’s mind, he wondered if there was anything he could do about that.