Khal woke to the smell of onions.

  He wasn’t cooking.

  That was the problem.

  The village elder, a soft-spoken woman named Baela with suspiciously sharp eyes, greeted him at the chapel steps with a wooden spoon.

  “Morning, child. You're on meal duty.”

  Khal blinked. “…Is that a threat?”

  “Community contribution day,” she said sweetly. “You either cook, or clean the latrines.”

  The fox, ever the traitor, nudged him toward the kitchen hut.

  The place was a mystery of pots, herbs, and approximately four hundred types of root vegetables, all of which looked vaguely resentful.

  Khal stood frozen.

  He had never cooked before. Not in this life. Not in the last. Unless microwaving instant noodles counted—and it probably didn’t in a world where firewood was still a thing.

  A wrinkled old man with one eye handed him a ladle and muttered, “Just don’t burn the village down.”

  Attempt One: The Overconfidence Stew

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  Khal added a little bit of everything.

  A sprinkle of salt. A dash of pepper. A root that may or may not have been spicy potato. And—why not?—a dried petal that looked fancy.

  The stew boiled enthusiastically.

  Unfortunately, so did the pot. And the counter. And part of the floor.

  Khal stared at the bubbling mess, now smoking purple.

  “…I think it’s evolving.”

  The fox barked. Then sneezed. Then passed out dramatically beside the door.

  Attempt Two: The Sad Broth

  “Okay,” Khal muttered. “Minimalism.”

  He threw in three ingredients: water, mushrooms, and a single leaf of something greenish.

  It simmered quietly.

  It also tasted like wet regret.

  A child tried it. Cried. Said it reminded them of “losing a shoe.”

  By noon, Khal was sweating, covered in sauce, and had somehow managed to glue two spoons together with soup.

  Baela returned. Peered into the pot. Stirred it once.

  “…Did this broth offend the gods?”

  Khal sighed. “I think it is a god now. A very sad one.”

  Lira dropped by later with a loaf of bread and a blank expression.

  He handed her a bowl with quiet shame.

  She took a bite. Chewed. Blinked.

  “…This isn’t the worst thing I’ve ever eaten.”

  Khal perked up. “Really?”

  “No,” she said. “Once, I had worm soup in the eastern bogs. That was worse.”

  He smiled.

  Progress.

  That night, despite the catastrophic culinary adventure, no one was poisoned. No fires broke out. And one elder even asked for seconds—though Khal was pretty sure he just couldn’t taste anything anymore.

  The fox, recovered and dramatically flopped across Khal’s lap, sniffed the bowl and gave a single approving nod.

  For the first time in a long while, Khal felt a strange kind of peace.

  He did something.

  Badly. Clumsily. Loudly.

  But he did it.

  [SYSTEM NOTICE: First Cooking Attempt Logged – “Disaster Chef” title unlocked]

  [Heart of Becoming – Trait Enrichment: “Humility Through Flame” (Flavor Bonus Only)]

  [Fox Relationship Status: +1 – “Emotionally Resigned Companion”]

  [You have survived: Soup of Unclear Origin]