Riley was still laughing by the time he managed to exit the den.
He had been holding it in since Orien started worrying—genuinely worrying—about whether he could eat another burger within the next two centuries.
Two. Hundred. Years.
And Riley thought that was peak exaggeration until Kael, in all seriousness, decided to explain.
"No. Humans have those buildings that sell the ingredients. And considering how short their lifespans are, most of those items must grow in less than one hundred years."
Orien gasped, scandalized. "Uncle, less than a hundred years? That can't be right. Even that special moss we tried needed one hundred fifty years! And it tasted extremely vile. So how could those round things take less time?"
"Use your head. If it takes that long, who would make another batch after he's long gone?"
Riley, who had just sat down to rest his spine, nearly keeled over again.
Were they seriously calculating his lifespan based on burger-making viability?
