The morning sun peeked gently through the trees surrounding Elderwood, casting golden light over the village square. It was once a quiet place where only the sound of rustling leaves and passing wagons broke the silence. Now, the rhythm of Elderwood had changed.
Market stalls brimmed with fresh produce, handmade crafts, and warm breads. Children ran past with wooden toys in hand. Even the old, creaky sign at the entrance had been replaced with a carved wooden arch that read:
"Welcome to Elderwood – A Taste Worth Traveling For."
From the open window of her kitchen, Noura watched the bustling street with a quiet smile. Her eyes moved over the colorful tents, familiar faces, and a few new ones—travelers, adventurers, traders. Elderwood was alive. And somehow, it all started with food.
She wiped her hands on her apron and turned to face the organized chaos inside her kitchen. Sizzling oil. Pots steaming. The smell of spices she had adapted to mimic rendang and gulai swirled through the air.
"Two orders of mushroom croquettes ready!" called Lira, balancing two plates with practiced grace. She winked at Noura. "And the pickled root salad is a hit again!"
"Great. We'll need to prep more zanthera later," Noura replied, stirring a pot of stew thick with ginsara and herbs. "This one's for the traveler from Kalden—they asked for something hearty."
The bell over the door jingled, and a customer stepped in. There was a waitlist today. Again.
When Noura first opened her stall, she couldn't get a single person to sit down. Now, her eatery bustled from morning till late afternoon, serving hungry villagers and visitors alike. She barely had time to breathe, but her heart was full.
***
By late afternoon, as the sun began to dip low in the sky, Noura finally closed her shutters and stretched her arms. The warm scents of the day still clung to her skin—fried shallots, grilled root, a whisper of cinnamon-bark leaf.
She stepped outside just in time to see a cart arrive, pulled by a shaggy brown beast and driven by a stranger with sun-darkened skin, a half-unbuttoned linen shirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat.
"Is this where I'll find the lady who turned a sleepy village into a trading post?" the man called, hopping down and brushing dust from his trousers.
Noura approached cautiously. "You're not a merchant from the capital, are you?"
"Far from it," the man laughed, bowing slightly. "Name's Harun. I'm from Dalenmoor, the village south of here. Heard about Elderwood's new culinary sensation and figured I'd come see for myself. I grow vegetables, raise small game, and I'm one hell of a spice-forager. If you're looking for a steady supplier, I might just be your man."
She blinked, then smiled. "You came all this way… for vegetables?"
"I came for opportunity," he said plainly. "And because someone passed me a slice of your spiced root cake last week. It changed my religion."
***
Harun's cart was filled with things she couldn't believe were grown in this world. Strange, fat-podded legumes with a garlicky aroma. A crate of acairis bulbs that resembled turmeric. Flat-leafed herbs that smelled like coriander and young lemongrass. Even dried proteins—jerky made from wild fowl and smoked river fish, cleanly packaged in oil-leaf.
"I usually supply to the outer trade posts," Harun said as she examined a deep green gourd. "But the buzz around your kitchen has made Elderwood the new destination."
They negotiated prices and quantities quickly, both practical, both eager to build something new. But when Noura offered to pay upfront, Harun waved it off.
"Let's call this first round a gift," he said. "You feed the village. I help feed you. Fair trade."
That night, she added some of Harun's spices to her sambal and marinated strips of dried venison with crushed acairis and honey-glaze. She wasn't just cooking anymore—she was evolving.
***
As evening set in, Elderwood began to glow.
Lanterns lit the trees and walkways in amber and gold. Children placed handmade candle-lights around the square, each one reflecting on the cobbled stones. The entire village gathered around the central fire pit for the Summer Harvest Fest, a new tradition the villagers had started in honor of the season—and, as many whispered, in honor of Noura.
The bonfire blazed, tall and bold, its sparks shooting like fireflies into the darkening sky. Smoke curled gently into the air, mingling with the scent of roasted meat, stewed roots, and sweet cakes.
Noura stood with a bowl of warm stew in her hands, watching families laugh, friends dance, and couples share small bites from wooden skewers.
"She's right there," a little girl whispered to her friend, pointing at Noura. "That's the food lady!"
Lira appeared at her side, cheeks pink from laughter. "Told you we should've sold tickets."
Noura chuckled. "I can't believe this is happening. I remember thinking I'd never fit in here."
"Now people ask if your food can cure heartbreak," Lira teased. "You've worked hard. And you made this place feel like home—for all of us."
The music began, soft at first—a lute, a flute, and someone drumming a clay pot in rhythm. The villagers circled the fire, clapping and swaying. Children danced in and out, laughing.
The village elder, Sema, raised her hand and silence rippled outward. She stood, old but regal, a shawl draped over her shoulders.
"We were once a forgotten village in the wood," she said. "But through effort, kindness, and the warmth of shared meals, Elderwood has found its heart again. Tonight, we celebrate our second harvest. But more than that, we celebrate community."
Her eyes sought Noura's in the crowd.
"And tonight, we welcome Noura as one of our own—not just a cook, not just a traveler, but a daughter of Elderwood."
Gasps rose from the crowd, followed by applause. Sema stepped forward and gently draped a handwoven sash across Noura's shoulders—dark green and burnt orange, dyed with leaf and root.
Noura stood frozen, emotions welling up too fast to catch. The woven threads were warm from Sema's hands. The fabric smelled of cedar and sun.
"I…" she tried, voice cracking. "Thank you."
Lira pulled her into a sudden hug. "You're going to cry and ruin your mascara, oh wait—you haven't worn any since you got here."
Noura laughed, breath hitching. Her heart was full.
***
The night stretched on in a swirl of warmth and wonder. Food was shared from long tables draped in leaves and cloth. People danced, sang old songs, invented new ones.
Harun sat beside the fire, telling ridiculous foraging tales to a group of curious teens. "And that's when the lizard spat blue juice into my face," he finished, gesturing wildly. They howled with laughter.
Noura sat beside Lira, a clay cup of warm spice brew in her hands.
"You're staying, aren't you?" Lira asked quietly.
"I think I already have," Noura said.
She looked up at the stars. Somewhere far from this world, there was another life—skyscrapers, motorcycles, the smell of rain on pavement. She still missed it. She always would.
But here… was something else. Something real. People who saw her not as an outsider, or an anomaly, but as a friend, a sister, a cook.
As family.
***
Later, when the fire had dimmed and most had gone to sleep, Noura helped clear the square. She stacked clay dishes, tied up leftover food for early risers, and wiped down wooden benches with warm water.
Harun approached, holding a basket of gourd seeds.
"For your garden," he said.
"I don't have a garden."
He grinned. "Then I guess you're going to need to start one."
She took the basket, her fingers brushing the smooth seeds. "Thank you, Harun."
He nodded, more serious now. "I've seen many people try to change the world by chasing gold, glory, or power. But you… you changed this village with a ladle and a smile."
She smiled. "I'll take that over gold any day."
He offered a casual salute and walked off into the night, his cart clinking with jars and tools.
***
Back in her room above the kitchen, Noura sat by the open window, breathing in the night air.
On her desk lay a small letter—Elias's neat script, smudged slightly by travel. It had arrived earlier that week, and she'd already read it twice.
"The mountains are colder than expected, but the map is intact. I'll return before the snows, I promise. I miss your cooking more than I miss my sword, and that's saying something. Don't forget to smile for me every morning."
Noura pressed her fingers to the paper, then set it down.
Tomorrow, there would be breakfast to make, soup to simmer, and a shipment from Harun to sort. She might try a fermented fish broth recipe she'd been mulling over, or teach the kids how to make simple pandan sweets.
But tonight, Elderwood had spoken.
She was no longer just the girl who fell into another world.
She was Noura of Elderwood.
Cook, friend, builder of bridges—one spoonful at a time.
And for the first time in a long while, she was truly, deeply at peace.
***
"In the heart of a forest, beneath stars and firelight, she had found something more than just a second chance—she had found a beginning."
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