The group trudged back through the sunset-lit path, Ember and Sylas talking quietly while Bug and Spirit schemed and whispered like two tiny, maniacal generals plotting the next great catastrophe. "Another war," Bug said, tapping Spirit's shoulder. "Mini summons. Total chaos. Complete—"
"Shhh," Spirit interrupted. "We don't want them noticing yet."
Nyxar and Vespera, strolling calmly like statues of judgment, glanced down occasionally at the insect duo, their red eyes glinting like two perfectly cut rubies reflecting the sunset. Somehow, even the potential for a prank seemed slightly terrifying when coming from them. Belos tagged along, wide-eyed, occasionally shivering when he realized exactly how much "chaos potential" was walking alongside him. Ember laughed. Sylas shivered. Classic group dynamics.
By the time they reached the village, the sun was dipping behind the mountains, casting long orange shadows across the cobblestones. Sebastian and the driver had already claimed their rooms, and everyone was hungry. The innkeepers had begun to bustle in preparation, but Sebastian raised his hand, serious as a judge. "Can we… make our own food?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant but failing spectacularly.
The owners looked wary but agreed on one condition: they had to taste it. That was the only line in the sand they drew. Enter Nyxar and Vespera, who immediately got to work, Ember assisting by reading ingredient names and giving directions. Somehow, Ember felt simultaneously proud and deeply sad — she was basically just a sous-chef, while these two "siblings" (or whatever they were pretending to be) dominated the kitchen.
And dominate they did. Garlic bread, tomato bisque soup, roasted chicken, sweet buttered corn, herb-basted potatoes — it was a banquet that could feed a small army, and it looked like something straight out of a fantasy cookbook. Nyxar wielded a knife with terrifying precision; Vespera moved like poetry through the kitchen. Ember handled the more delicate details, like herbs and seasoning, but mostly they just let the siblings shine.
When the food was ready, Sebastian's eyes widened. "Why did you make… this much?" he asked, incredulous.
Nyxar and Vespera, in perfect unison, pointed to the owner like they were blaming him. "We were told to make more."
"The owner… said more, not three times more!" Sebastian groaned. Both Nyxar and Vespera shrugged, completely unbothered, then casually sat down to eat. Ember followed, quietly mourning her lost moment of culinary glory.
The feast was incredible. Every bite impressed the owners, who were both baffled and flattered. After dinner, the group went to their rooms: the driver alone in quiet, Sebastian with Belos, Vespera with Sylas, and Nyxar with Ember. Everyone naturally gravitated to "their person" — which in this case meant safety, warmth, and a subtle threat of death to anyone who might try to intervene. Ember curled up in Nyxar's arms, Sylas next to Vespera's more protective spider form. Comfort was mandatory.
The next morning, Ember and Sylas woke early to find Nyxar and Vespera already up, stretching and silently judging the room. Ember whispered, "They need a makeover," and promptly dragged them into a chaotic grooming session. A few yawning hours later, Sebastian, a sleepy Belos, and the driver woke up to the sounds of the group bustling about. The innkeeper approached.
"Could you… make yesterday's food again?" she asked hopefully.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Well… no. We aren't the chefs."
The innkeeper's explanation was simple: their food had attracted more customers than ever, and people were asking for seconds, thirds, and in one case, even fourths. Apparently, these "siblings" had unknowingly started a culinary revolution.
Meanwhile, Ember and Sylas had embarked on a shopping spree. Every outfit Nyxar and Vespera tried was rejected. "No matching cloth," Ember said. "No fancy noble outfits. No shorts. No sportswear." Half a day later, still nothing suitable. Finally, Ember threw up her hands. "What do you want?"
The siblings exchanged a single look. "Clothes that allow complete freedom — cooking, running, hunting, fighting."
Ember blinked. "Adventure clothes."
And that, of course, meant dragging the whole party to an adventurer's store stocked with swords, spears, shields, and gear for the apocalypse. The receptionist raised an eyebrow. "Are you… siblings?"
Nyxar and Vespera nodded in perfect unison. The narrator piped up: "Cut. This isn't true. They're just trolling everyone."
Eventually, two outfits were chosen: Nyxar's dominated by black with red accents, Vespera's the opposite — red with black. They posed dramatically. Ember and Sylas cheered, taking all the credit for "selecting the perfect clothes." That is, until Vespera casually asked Nyxar, "Can Ember fight Sylas?"
A pause. Silence. Ember froze. Sylas froze. Nyxar tilted his head, thinking very deeply. "I… don't know. She's never used weapons or… 'magic' or anything that could be considered a fight."
Ember deflated.
"And Sylas?" Vespera pressed.
"Not really. He can heal and control plants… that's it."
Sylas slumped. Ember did a motion that looked like laughing. The narrator chimed in: "Okay, talking behind someone's back is bad, but talking literally behind their back is… fine? Maybe? I don't know."
And with that, the group continued their walk back, plans for future chaos already brewing in the minds of Bug, Spirit, and the ever-scheming siblings, as Ember and Sylas silently questioned how they ended up surrounded by people who were terrifyingly competent, yet somehow still relied on them for everything.