Marron felt chills down her spine when her fingers brushed against the silver coin in her pocket. It was the dismissive payment the alchemist had thrown at her hours ago, along with those cutting words: "Make me something that won't embarrass this square."
And all without revealing his name!
Now he was back, ceramic horse pawing at the slush, that same haughty expression on his face.
"I still ordered something, newbie," he said, adjusting his silver-laced satchel.
"Will you finally make me something good?"
Marron's hands tightened on her ladle. Behind her, Mokko stepped closer—a silent furry wall of support. Lucy shifted to a determined mint-green at her ankles.
Not for his approval, she reminded herself. For proof.
+
With the morning rush behind her and the frostbitten air finally calming, Marron took her time. She reached into Comfort & Crunch's cold box and pulled out ingredients one by one:
1 Pack of ribbon noodles
10 sardines brined in olive oil
One hard wedge of cave cheese (sweet-spicy)
10 swamp garlic cloves, diced
5 Peppers charred in hearthflame oil
1 Jar of Sun-Dried Mana Tomatoes
She examined the noodles. They were elegantly shaped like thick ribbons, and reminded her of fettuccine.
"This will be the perfect vessel for the sardines."
She boiled the noodles and resisted the urge to throw hot oil at him.
Why am I trying to impress him? He looked down on me.
If that's his attitude, not even the best chef in Savoria could convince him.
But she already knew.
She wasn't cooking the dish to gain his approval. It was to prove a point.
People like him believed emotional cooking was just fluff; sentimentality pretending it was substance.
You don't get any excuses today, alchemist!
Just a damn good dish.
The moment she thought that, her hands moved on instinct.
+
SZZZZZZZZ!
Marron smiled as she gently pan-fried the diced garlic cloves, bringing out their savory aroma. Then she added 5 sardines and peppers in hearth-flame oil. Soon, the fish's briny aroma would be layered with warm spices.
Then she added some sun-dried tomatoes from the jar, and chopped them small.
"It'll look like confetti, with the parsley," she said quietly.
Cooking had a wonderful way of making her stress melt into nothing. Soon, her mood had improved, though she wanted to show the haughty alchemist a thing or two.
By the time Marron tossed the cooked pasta (without the water) in the pan, she sautéed aggressively until all of the noodles were coated with oil and garlic.
Marron drained the pasta and added it to the sauce mixture. When she sprinkled the fresh-cut parsley as a garnish, something changed.
She felt a...tug?
No. It felt like a stretch.
Her Flavor Pulse didn't just receive anymore, but reached. Marron watched as the pulsing energy reached past the ingredients and toward the alchemist himself.
What came back wasn't loud or clear.
But it was a loneliness that penetrated his heart and his stomach. Like being the smartest person in the room and still not being noticed.
"Oh, I see now," Marron murmured as she focused on her plating. "you're mean because you felt overlooked."
The pasta sat in a deep white ceramic bowl, looking like a little mountain. Green olives and red peppers ran through the noodles with bits of sardine. She placed the last 5 sardines on top of the pasta and grated some cave cheese on top.
"Here you are," she said, placing it on her food cart's counter with a fork. "Sardines with tomato and ribbon pasta."
The alchemist took one slow bite.
His eyes narrowed, then widened.
He looked not at the dish, but past it, further than Marron would ever see.
"This tastes like..." The words stopped. His composure slipped like water through stone.
His next words were a whisper.
"How did you know?"
Marron didn't answer.
Because she hadn't known.
Not really.
Behind her, a silence fell over the neighboring stalls. Even the tiefling grillmaster lowered his tongs.
From a few feet away, the beastkin baker blinked and muttered, "Did she just shut him up with pasta?"
A dwarven brothsmith leaned against his cauldron, arms crossed. "That wasn't just food, that was a ritual."
The tiefling raised a an eyebrow. "You think she's licensed for that kind of reaction?"
The grill flames crackled, but no one moved. The square, for a moment, belonged to the girl with the weathered gray cart and the steaming bowl.
Ding!
[New System Trait Acquired: Mirror Dish – You have served a customer a meal that reflects their own buried emotion.
Trait Bonus: +20% XP from meals that echo another's inner state.]
XP Gained: +75 (Emotional Echo Bonus Active)
Coins Received: 40g
The alchemist finished the dish slowly, every bite slower than the last. When he finally stood, his usual sharpness had dulled.
He left without another word—but his homunculus paused, stared at Marron, and gave a small bow.
Mokko approached, brows high. "Did that really just happen?"
"I think I fed someone their own reflection," Marron said, heart still racing.
+
Hours later, as Marron was wiping down her counter for the final time, she felt that warm glow of accomplishment. The alchemist had eaten every bite. No sharp words. No dismissive coins thrown at her feet.
Maybe she was finally earning respect in Frostfall.
Lucy suddenly shifted to deep crimson—a color Marron had never seen from her before.
+
The slime pulled her toward the shadows, where Culinary Guild members had gathered near the fountain. Their voices were low but Marron heard the urgent tones.
She followed Lucy and crept along the darkened wall. When she craned her head for a better look, she saw the alchemist among them. He was gesturing back toward her stall.
"—exactly what I told you," she heard him say. "The food remembers everything. And she doesn't even know what she's doing."
Her stomach dropped.
Mokko appeared beside her, his easy confidence replaced by concern. "That doesn't sound like praise."
Before Marron could respond, one of the guild members—a stern woman with official robes and a clipboard—stepped forward and posted something on the community board near the fountain.
The few remaining vendors gathered around it, their voices rising in alarm.
Mokko returned, his face grim. "Guild Evaluation Notice. All food vendors must demonstrate measurable, controllable magical effects within seven days." He met her eyes. "Anyone serving 'unregulated memory magic' faces immediate license review and potential stall closure."
+
Marron's chest tightened.
The alchemist hadn't been impressed by her skill—he'd been reporting her as a threat.
"Seven days," she whispered, watching the guild members disappear into the evening shadows. "To learn to control something I don't even understand."
Lucy pulsed anxious yellow against her ankles. In the distance, Mielle's warning echoed in her memory: "Some memories bite back."
Marron looked at her cart—her second chance, her new life, her way to honor her mother's memory. Everything she'd built in Frostfall hung in the balance.
Seven days to prove she belonged here.
Seven days to master a gift that felt more like a wild storm than a skill.
Seven days before she lost everything. Again.