Eyes snap open at the sound of crowing.

  Frigid air courses through the open skylight, enough to make him shiver.

  Lazily, he gets out of bed, scanning around the garret. Wood creaks beneath his feet as he walks to the narrow staircase, taking each step carefully. Nearly stumbling, he grabs on to the simple railing, tightening his grip.

  The sound of crackling can be heard nearby, drawing his attention. Brick ovens line the wall to the right, their mouths glowing deep orange.

  [Come on. I need help with the others.]

  Helma stands in front, her back to him as she picks a bundle of sticks from a stone table. He approaches, doing the same before scattering them inside an oven.

  The fire rages as it consumes the fuel, lighting his dark eyes.

  He stares at the flame attentively, lost somewhere in its glaring light.

  [Hurry up, Hinozu.]

  The command snaps him back, and he steps away to grab more bundles.

  After half an hour of stoking, they begin working. Helma prepares the dough. Sifting flour and kneading with lard and water. Another batch rests beside, mixed with eggs and sugar.

  Hinozu grabs a washed pear and a small knife, staring blankly at the fruit. Blinking, he starts peeling it with sloppy, automated movements.

  Once peeled, he slices it in half, then drops the knife before scooping out the core with a spoon.

  He repeats the process with a bunch, throwing each into a pot. Once done, he grabs the pot, putting it on the hearth clumsily.

  Flinching as he burns his finger, he silently stirs with a wooden spoon, adding a spoonful of sugar in the process. A small pot of milk simmers on the side, a few cinnamon sticks inside.

  After a few hours, the ovens blaze white-hot. Helma rakes the embers with an iron hook, while Hinozu cleans the empty hearth with a wet mop.

  Several items are baked and prepared in the course of three hours, with fruit tarts, flans, meat pies, and biscuits lining the counter.

  Customers rush through, buying tarts or pies, as well as gingerbread figurines for their children.

  Soon enough, the morning rush ends, with the shop empty.

  The bell rings as the door slides open, closing with a soft thud.

  [So you are doing well.]

  [Both of you.]

  Amber eyes gaze around the shop.

  [Kanell sent me here.]

  Walking towards the counter, she sets a leather pouch down. Helma frowns, pushing it away.

  [We don’t need it.]

  [Sure.]

  Her fingers wrap around the item, taking it away. Her eyes fix on Hinozu.

  [You look better. We’re leaving tomorrow at dawn, North Gate. Kanell said he’d like to see you, so pay him a visit.]

  The boy stays silent, staring somewhere. Clearing her throat, she steps slowly to the door, leaving the shop.

  Helma’s hand wraps around the other, mind lost in thought.

  Snapping back into reality, she moves quickly, disappearing into the door behind. Shortly after, she opens it, peering her head at the frozen Hinozu.

  [We need to make preparations. I need your help.]

  This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

  Slowly twisting his neck, he walks, following her towards the ovens.

  [Boil some sugar on the hearth. I need to work on the dough.]

  She walks towards the workplace, setting dough on the stone surface. Layering the dough, she encases butter between each layer before letting it rest, repeating the process several times.

  Hinozu places a bronze pot on the hearth, adding sugar and water before stirring. Helma glances over her shoulder, turning away shortly after.

  His right arm tires itself immediately, forcing him to switch.

  A few minutes later, he takes the pot away, waiting for it to cool before delivering the caramel to Helma.

  Threads of molten sugar twist into ribbons and spirals, each done by hand as she works thoroughly.

  He watches closely, attempting to replicate the movements. Ultimately, he decides to give up, unable to follow for too long.

  [You’ll need a lot more experience to be able to do this.]

  [Though, you’re improving fairly well.]

  She mouths, gaze still fixed on the confectionery.

  Helma’s hands move briskly, almost obsessively, as she twists and loops the items.

  An hour passes between boiling sugar, shaping caramel, and kneading and layering dough.

  Another, spent in baking and confectionery. Hinozu starts to wear out, staying still until Helma’s commands.

  He paces breathlessly across the room, helping out in what feels like a dozen tasks at the same time.

  Boiling.

  Crushing.

  Watching.

  Raking.

  Cutting.

  Kneading.

  Cleaning.

  With brand new items lined across the ship, Helma stands behind the counter, waiting. Her eyes set on a small marzipan figure, resembling a bat. Once silent, now the bell rings a dozen times a minute as customers rush in.

  Women shopping for the household, servants carrying baskets, and children buying biscuits.

  Hinozu stays in the back, patiently glazing a copious amount of candied fruits before starting to pack them in wooden boxes lined with cloth. Red ribbons brush through his fingers as he ties each sloppily.

  Failing to tie one, he stops, disoriented. Glancing to his right, he tries to copy the other boxes, ending up with an even worse result.

  His hands lower to his sides, giving up on the task.

  A soft click, before the door slides open.

  Helma rushes to an oven, taking out a dozen brioches. From another, a large pie shaped like a castle.

  And with the caramel, a delicate swan tinted with saffron.

  Three hours of straining work, placed neatly on stone.

  The girl sighs deeply, a glint of awe in her eyes.

  [We still have 2 hours before delivering. Go rest.]

  Silence finally settles over the shop, though the crackling of the ovens is still present. Hinozu turns around, walking up the narrow staircase.

  Orange light spills over the garret, comforting to the eyes.

  He steps tiredly towards his bed, lying down.

  His breaths calm, eyes fixed on the ceiling, though lost within his mind.

  An acrid smell intrudes his nose. Trying to scrunch it, he fails, feeling the numbness coursing through his face.

  His heart seems to vibrate, almost.

  His teeth rattle, almost.

  Stuck in stillness.

  Uncomfortable, though indifferent.

  The cold air and the presence it carries with it.

  A hand wraps around his.

  [I pity you.]

  A figure stands next to his bed.

  Raven-black hair.

  Obsidian eyes.

  A serious, almost mature, expression.

  [Everyone does.]

  [That’s a problem. You know?]

  [You and I, we both know.]

  [How much time have you spent at this bakery?]

  [Three days?]

  [And on this world?]

  [Five?]

  [That’s not a lot of time.]

  His gaze darkens, eyes narrowing aggressively.

  [Not nearly enough to forget.]

  [You died. And it was your fault.]

  [Afraid of being inferior to others.]

  [Seen yourself as nothing more than a hamster on a wheel, running infinitely for the people’s entertainment.]

  [Every single thing you did led to this.]

  His grip tightens.

  [The training. The hate. The failures. The faint hope.]

  [When you failed to become better than a random, white-haired nobody.]

  [When you failed to pass the Assessment, even after everyone saved you, like the lost puppy you were.]

  [When you lied about giving up, acting like everything was okay.]

  [Every single thing you did let to… you.]

  [And I’m disappointed.]

  Hinozu blinks, unsure if he did the action.

  [What we did… What I did, was beautiful.]

  [A small, insignificant child, made into someone fighting for a dream.]

  [A precious dream.]

  [We… I grew. Unlike anything I had ever seen. No powers, no money. No privileges, just sheer effort.]

  [I didn’t fail, Hinozu. You did.]

  [I didn’t give up. You did.]

  [I didn’t hate myself. You did.]

  [All the while I strived to become better. I showed up. I held my head high.]

  [And you…]

  [You decided it was a good idea to push him away instead of crushing his face.]

  [You decided to run the other way instead of surpassing every little nuisance in front of you.]

  [You decided to jump from that building, instead of ripping the vocal cords of those who dared speak ill of your dreams and aspirations.]

  The hand turns cold, gripping tightly until the veins threaten to burst.

  Then, it travels upwards, resting on his neck.

  His eyes widen.

  [How does it feel?]

  [Are you happy baking pretty little cookies?]

  [Mixing water and sugar?]

  [Following orders like some farm animal being led to a barn?]

  Fingers pressing against muscle.

  [Let me take care of this.]

  [After all…]

  [You’re not Hinozu.]

  [I am.]