Ethan led her down a winding dirt path to a sturdy stone building with a soot-stained chimney.
The rhythmic clang-clang-clang of a nearby waterwheel filled the air.
"Home sweet home," Ethan said, pushing open a heavy oak door. "It's not a palace, but it's dry."
Ava stepped inside and immediately felt her nose twitch. In Inferna, the air smelled of ozone and ancient magic.
Here, it smelled of hot iron, coal dust, and... old socks. She followed him to a small back room behind the main forge.
When Ethan opened the door, a literal cloud of dust puffed out.
Ava stared. There were spiderwebs in the corners that looked like they hadn't been disturbed since the First Era.
A stack of empty charcoal sacks sat in the corner, and the "bed" was a simple wooden frame with a straw-filled mattress.
Is this a joke? Ava thought, her eyes widening. Is this where humans keep their prisoners? Or perhaps their livestock?
The "Luxury" Adjustment
Ethan didn't notice her horrified expression. He grabbed an old broom and started whacking a rug, sending even more dust into the air.
"Sorry about the mess," he coughed. "I haven't had a guest in... well, ever. Just give me a second to clear out these crates."
Ava looked at the straw mattress.
She couldn't do it. Her body was used to silk woven from moonlight and mattresses stuffed with the feathers of phoenixes.
If she slept on that, her back would snap like a dry twig.
She waited until Ethan turned his back to shove a crate out the door.
"Don't Just Stand There!"
Ethan turned back around, wiping sweat from his forehead with a dirty sleeve.
His eyes were on a pile of iron scraps near the door.
Ethan walked back in and tossed a heavy wooden broom toward her. Ava caught it purely by reflex.
"Hey, don't just stand there staring at the floor like it's going to clean itself," Ethan said, already grabbing a coal shovel.
"I've got to prep the forge for a big order tomorrow. If you want to stay here, you've gotta pull your weight. Sweep the cobwebs and clear the dust, and I'll make sure you get a hot meal."
Ava looked at the broom. Then at the dust. Then at the man who was actually giving her orders. His face was determined.
He was actually serious. He expected her to sweep.
"You... want me to use this... stick... to move the dirt?" she asked, her voice trembling with suppressed pride.
"It's called a broom, Ava," Ethan laughed, oblivious to the fact that he was three seconds away from being turned into a shadow-statue. "And yeah. Start in the corners. It builds character!"
Character? Ava gripped the handle so hard the wood creaked. I have plenty of character! I have the character of a Conqueror!
"I do not... sweep," Ava said, her voice trembling with a mix of confusion and indignation.
"Well, you do now," Ethan laughed, turning back to his crates. "Unless you like sleeping with spiders. Come on, Ava! Teamwork makes the dream work!"
Ava gripped the wooden handle of the broom.
I could turn this stick into a spear and pin him to the wall, she thought.
I could summon a Gale-Spirit to blow this entire house into the next county.
But then, Ethan looked back and gave her a bright, encouraging thumb-up.
She let out a long, frustrated huff and awkwardly poked at a spiderweb.
If Korg or Zale ever see me like this, I will have to execute them. There can be no witnesses to this humiliation.
The Struggle is Real
For the next hour, the Queen of the Inferna ,engaged in the most difficult battle of her life. Not against an army of angels, but against a persistent spiderweb in the corner of the ceiling.
Every time she swung the broom, dust flew into her face, making her sneeze.
"Curse this world," she whispered, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "Curse the sun. Curse the dust. And especially curse that man and his 'character-building' sticks."
She looked at her hands. They were covered in grey soot. Her royal skin, which usually glowed with an ethereal light, looked... human. Dirty.
And yet, as she looked around the room she had (mostly) cleaned, a strange feeling hit her. It wasn't the satisfaction of winning a war. It was something smaller. Simpler. She had actually done something without magic.
"Done yet?" Ethan poked his head in, leaning on the doorframe.
He looked at her soot-smudged face and messy hair, and his expression softened into a warm, genuine smile. "Not bad for a city girl.
Come on.
The stew is starting to smell like actual food instead of just boiling water."
Ava leaned the broom against the wall, her muscles aching in a way she had never felt before. "I expect this 'stew' to be magnificent, Ethan.
"I have worked harder in this hour than I have in the last century."
"A century, huh? You're a dramatic one,"
Ethan joked, waving her toward the kitchen. "Wash your hands first. You look like you've been mining for coal."
Ava didn't just sit; she collapsed into the small wooden chair by the hearth.
Her muscles, which had once wrestled abyss-serpents, felt like lead.
She had never known that "tired" could feel like this. In Inferna, exhaustion was a sign of weakness—a vulnerability that got you killed. But here, in the dim orange glow of the kitchen, it felt… earned.
She looked at her hands. A broken nail. A smudge of soot that refused to come off.
In her palace, a dozen handmaidens would have been executed for allowing her skin to look so "common." Yet, looking at the clean corners of the room, a spark of pride—smaller than her usual arrogance but sharper—flickered in her chest.
"Wipe that look off your face," Ethan's voice broke through her thoughts. He placed a wooden bowl in front of her. "You look like you just fought a dragon and lost."
"A dragon would have been simpler," Ava muttered, the steam from the bowl hitting her face.
The stew was simple—carrots, potatoes, and a thick, savory broth.
She picked up the spoon—heavy, iron, and unrefined—and took a hesitant bite.
Her eyes widened. The flavor hit her like a physical revelation.
In her Palace, she dined on Essence-Fruits and Soul-Marinate, foods designed to provide power, not pleasure. They were cold, efficient, and tasted of ancient magic.
This? It tasted of earth, salt, and hours of patience. It was warm—not the burning heat of hellfire, but a comforting radiance that seemed to mend the very fatigue in her bones.
It's better than the Palace, she realized, her heart skipping a beat. A man who hits metal for a living makes better food than the Royal Chefs of the Abyss.
She looked up at Ethan. He was already halfway through his own bowl, eating with a rugged, unbothered appetite. He wasn't watching her to see if she was impressed.
He wasn't waiting for a compliment. He was just... there. Steady as the mountain, warm as the forge.
"Why?" she asked suddenly, her voice low.
Ethan paused, a piece of bread halfway to his mouth. "Why what?"
"Why give me this? I am a stranger. I have no copper. I am... 'sloppy' at cleaning. Why help me?"
Ethan shrugged, the movement of his broad shoulders casting a large shadow on the wall. "Because the sun is going down, the wolves are out, and nobody should have to face the dark on an empty stomach."
" It's not that complicated, Ava. Around here, we look out for each other. That's just the way of the world."
The way of the world, Ava thought, taking another slow, savoring bite. No... it's just your way, Ethan.
She realized then that her "Character Building" had only just begun.
She wasn't just learning to sweep; she was learning what it meant to be human.
And for a Queen who had lived for century in the cold silence of a bone-throne, the warmth of a simple kitchen was the most dangerous magic she had ever encountered.
He just treated her like she belonged there.
As the firelight flickered on the walls, Ava felt a peace she couldn't explain.
She didn't know that miles away, the fabric of reality was already tearing.
She didn't know that Inferna was screaming for its Queen. For now, she just wanted to finish her stew.