IN THE MORNING
ISABELLA
The morning sun barely touched the cobblestones of Orario's alley when I unlocked the tavern door. My tiny restaurant, wedged between the clanging of the smithy and the faint smell of potion herbs, sat waiting like a newborn, blank and full of possibility. I tied my apron tight and took a deep breath. Today was the day: the official opening. No guild fanfare, no celestial announcements, just me, a stove that wheezed like it had asthma, and the first batch of stew.
"Let's make this perfect… or at least… better than yesterday." I muttered.
I gathered the ingredients: carrots, potatoes, meat, onions, a handful of herbs, and a few magical seasonings I had stashed for emergencies. Nothing extravagant. Simple, honest food. The kind that whispered comfort, warmth, and a little strength into whoever ate it. I chopped the carrots first, slicing them into thin, even rounds.
"Carrots first." I murmured. "Sweetness, texture, color… the foundation of the stew. Not too thick, not too thin. Enough to taste, enough to nourish."
Next came the potatoes, peeled and diced carefully.
"The soul of the stew." I said softly, arranging them in the pot. "Soft enough to melt, firm enough to hold. Balance… everything is balance."
The meat went in last, tender chunks, not too fatty, not too lean.
"Proteins carry energy, flavor, strength." I murmured, adding them gently to the simmering broth. "But not just physical strength… the kind of courage that fills your chest when you think you can't go on."
Salt, pepper, a sprinkle of thyme, a crushed clove of garlic. I stirred clockwise, carefully, feeling the rhythm of the stew.
"Stir with intention… every movement counts. A pinch of patience, a dash of care… a whisper of myself."I said.
And then, subtly, I let a tiny pulse of divine energy seep into the pot, faint but undeniable. Not enough to overwhelm, just enough to hum quietly in the food itself. The aroma twisted and rose from the pot, filling the small tavern with something almost alive: warm, savory, promising more than mere nourishment.
"Simmer… let the flavors mingle, let the magic seep subtly into every bite. Not flashy. Subtle. Mortal palates don't like flashy." I whispered, letting my hands hover over the pot, feeling the simmering energy pulse through it.
Finally, the first bowls were ready. Steam curled from the wooden bowls as I set them on the counter, the faint hum of magic vibrating in the air. I paused to take it in. Perfect. Simple, unassuming… deadly in its understated charm. The bell above the door jingled, and the first adventurers arrived. Two young men, ragged, dusty, eyes wide with exhaustion and hunger. Their armor was scratched, their boots muddy, but their curiosity brought them in.
"Uh… this is… a tavern?" One asked, voice shaky.
"Yes." I said softly, gesturing to the empty tables. "Sit anywhere. Stew's just come off the stove. Filling… satisfying… and maybe a little more."
They hesitated for a heartbeat, then sat. I ladled the steaming stew into bowls, careful not to spill a drop.
"Carrots first, potatoes next, meat last. Taste, feel, and let the warmth of the kitchen fill you. Every bite matters."I explained.
They took their first spoonfuls. The effect was instant. The older adventurer's bruised arm eased as if pain had forgotten it existed. Strength pooled quietly into his limbs. The younger one felt courage rise in his chest, spreading warmth through his body, steadying hands that had trembled with fatigue and fear.
"This… this is incredible." The older one whispered, eyes wide. "I feel… stronger… better."
The younger one nodded, swallowing another bite.
"And I… I feel… brave. I can face a dungeon tomorrow without fear."He said.
I smiled faintly, stirring the pot idly.
"Just stew." I said lightly, letting the magic hum quietly.
"Simple, humble, and enough to remind you that a meal can do more than fill the stomach."I said.
They ate quickly, finishing their bowls in silence, then left a few coins on the table. Their shoulders were straighter, their eyes brighter, and their spirits lighter. Outside, the city roared on, unaware that a small corner of an alley now held something extraordinary. I leaned against the counter, letting the warmth of the kitchen seep into my bones. One pot of stew. One small tavern. And already… the ripple had begun.
"First step… done." I whispered, staring at the empty bowls. "Now… let's see who comes next."
The streets of Orario were loud, chaotic, and relentless. Perfect chaos. Perfect for a forgotten goddess trying to carve her place… one meal at a time. The tavern finally quieted, the last of the adventurers having left with full bellies and lighter hearts. I leaned back against the counter, letting the warmth from the stove seep into my bones. The gentle hum of the leftover magical energy in the bowls was comforting, almost like a soft lullaby.
"First day… survived." I murmured to myself, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
The creaking stairs behind me led to the small room above the tavern my private sanctuary. A narrow bed, a simple chest for supplies, and a tiny window overlooking the alley made it cozy, almost homey. I climbed the steps, careful not to trip over the creaking boards, and sank onto the mattress with a sigh. I let my eyes close, muscles relaxing, the exhaustion of preparation, cooking, and serving finally settling in. For a few stolen hours, I let myself breathe, let myself rest, and let myself be.
Morning came slowly, golden sunlight spilling across the alley and warming the roof tiles. I rose, tying my apron around my waist as I descended to the ground floor. The tavern smelled faintly of yesterday's stew, comforting and familiar.
"Time to start again." I muttered, stretching my arms. "New day, new meal. Let's see what today brings to us."
The streets of Orario were alive: adventurers bustling toward the Guild, merchants calling out their wares, blacksmiths hammering away in steady rhythm. I stepped out into the morning air, the faint hum of magic around me ready to mingle with the chaos. The market was a riot of colors, smells, and energy. Baskets of fresh vegetables, meats glinting in the sunlight, herbs hanging in fragrant bundles, and spices stacked like miniature towers. I moved through it with practiced calm, picking ingredients carefully: tender carrots, firm potatoes, onions with their earthy aroma, a selection of meats that promised flavor and stamina, and a handful of magical herbs I had reserved for when a meal needed a subtle boost.
"Fresh… strong… nourishing." I murmured as I examined each item, feeling the faint pulse of potential in the ingredients. "Everything has its purpose. Everything has its place. A good meal… is a promise."
Carrying my purchases back through the bustling streets, I felt anticipation stirring in my chest. Upstairs, the tavern awaited. The stove, tired but loyal, would soon hiss and bubble as I transformed these raw ingredients into a dish capable of healing, inspiring, and surprising whoever walked through my door.
I returned, stacking the baskets in the small kitchen, and took a deep breath. The rhythm of knives chopping, pots simmering, and the faint pulse of divine energy filled the room. Outside, the city roared on, oblivious. Inside, the tavern breathed with possibility, and I Vesta, stood ready to shape it again, one meal at a time.