A soft chime signaled the arrival of a service drone—a slender, spindle-bodied construct with six delicate arms, each tipped with a different tool. It hovered at perfect eye level, its voice a smooth blend of warmth and precision.
"Welcome, honored guests. Your biometric signatures have been synced. Would you like the standard Sovereign breakfast set, or shall I tailor the experience to your preferences?"
"Tailor it," Max said without hesitation, leaning back as the chair reshaped to support him like a throne.
The drone's central lens glowed faintly, scanning each of them. Holographic menus blossomed above the table, each one shifting to match the person it faced—Mu Qing's was filled with delicate porcelain dishes of steamed buns and fragrant teas, Lan Xue's with highland broths and finely sliced vegetables, Gwen's with sharp cheeses and cured meats. Rize blinked at the display of neon-colored desserts, and Malaika's showed rich, spiced stews plated like art.
Max's own menu was the shortest—three items, all without labels, represented only by shifting geometric symbols. His lips curved slightly. They'd given him the hidden-tier options.
The girls were too distracted by their menus to notice.
Beyond the glass walls, the city stretched on in every direction, light and shadow flowing like an ocean. But here, in the booth's perfect stillness, it felt like they were outside of time.
Lan Xue ran a hand over the crystal table's constellations, watching as a faint arc of stars shifted under her palm. "It's beautiful," she murmured.
Mu Qing was less impressed by the view. She glanced at Max. "You really think this whole place runs without cracks showing?"
"Oh, there are cracks," Max replied softly, his gaze fixed on the distant arc of the orbital elevator. "You just have to know where to look. And when you find them… you don't fill them in—you use them."
A second drone drifted in, carrying a carafe of water so pure it refracted into faint rainbow bands. The sight alone was enough to draw a few curious stares from other booths nearby—most people in the city couldn't get water this pristine without paying dearly for it.
Max didn't miss the way their booth was drawing subtle attention now—hushed glances, faint head tilts toward the Prime Sovereign badge glowing faintly at his collar. He ignored them, letting the weight of rank do its work.
The first wave of dishes arrived, gliding in on thin anti-grav trays that set themselves down without the faintest clink. The aroma hit like a slow tide—steam carrying the essence of spices, rich oils, and the freshness of ingredients that, in most places, would be impossible to find in the same hemisphere, let alone on the same plate.
Mu Qing's tea shimmered faintly, not from any additive, but from the micro-filtration of the leaves. Lan Xue's broth released ribbons of fragrant steam, its golden surface unmarred by even a speck of dust. Gwen had already claimed a slice of cheese, eyes narrowing in approval at the way it softened against her fingers.
Max's tray, however, bore no immediately recognizable food.
Three minimalist plates, each holding a single item—a translucent sphere no larger than a grape, a square of black glassy material, and what looked like a folded paper crane made entirely of shimmering silver threads.
The service drone's voice lowered, just enough to ensure no one nearby could hear.
"Your selection: Memory Fruit, Void Crystal, and Thread of the First Dawn. The chef recommends consuming them in that order."
Max's fingers brushed the edge of the plate. "Noted."
Rize was leaning forward now, eyes flicking between her dessert tower and Max's strange, abstract course. "Why do yours look like… alien artifacts?"
"Because," Max said mildly, "they are."
Malaika chuckled under her breath, swirling her stew. "And you just… eat them?"
"Eventually," Max replied, though his gaze was elsewhere—tracking the subtle movement in the far corner of the restaurant. A man pretending to scroll through a holoscreen hadn't looked at his device once in the last thirty seconds.
He lifted the Memory Fruit, holding it between finger and thumb. "But first… we see how the morning's going to taste."
The sphere burst the instant it touched his tongue—not with juice, but with a rush of sensation, a flood of warmth that carried scents, sights, and whispers from a place he'd never been. For a fraction of a second, he was standing in a sunlit field, wind tugging at his coat, the laughter of someone familiar just out of sight. Then it was gone, leaving only a faint sweetness behind.
He set the empty plate aside. "Mm. Promising."
The man in the corner shifted slightly, his posture tightening. Max didn't look at him again. Instead, he picked up the Void Crystal.
That was when the restaurant's outer glass dimmed ever so slightly—an atmospheric filter adjusting without being triggered.
And Max smiled.
The service drone's voice lowered, just enough to make the moment feel oddly formal.
"Your selection: grilled steak with herb butter, fresh-baked sourdough, and a side of sunberry compote. The chef recommends starting with the bread while it's still warm."
Max nodded. "Sounds good."
Rize was leaning forward now, eyes flicking between her stack of golden pancakes and Max's more traditional breakfast. "Why does yours look like something out of an old Earth diner?"
"Because," Max said mildly, "it is."
Malaika chuckled under her breath, spooning another bite of her spiced porridge. "And you just… eat all that this early in the day?"
"Eventually," Max replied with a smirk, picking up a slice of the crusty sourdough and tearing off a piece. The steam rising from it carried that unmistakable smell of fresh bread—simple, grounding.
He spread a little butter on it, letting it melt before taking a bite. "Mm. Promising."
Rize stabbed her fork into her pancakes, cutting off a fluffy wedge and drizzling it in syrup. "You know, I think I could get used to breakfast like this."
Malaika smiled, sipping her tea. "Careful. Once you get spoiled, going back to ration bars is going to feel like punishment."
Max just carved into the steak, the rich aroma mixing with the faint sweetness of the sunberry compote nearby. "Then I guess we don't go back."
***
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