The cabin door closes behind me with a soft click.
Jyne stands in the doorway, damp hair clinging to her shoulders. The warmth of the cabin softens her edges—less storm, more quiet evening breeze. Her presence feels lighter, like the air itself is relieved.
She watches me step inside with a faint, almost uncharacteristic ease.
Donny is already curled up in the corner, eyes half-lidded, breathing slow. He looks content. Like he's found the perfect spot to claim as his own.
I open Storage and pull out the raw, freshly butchered meat. The smell of iron and wild blood fills the air.
[Wright] "Okay. I'll get this ready."
Jyne glances at the meat and then at the stove.
[Jyne] "You're actually going to cook that?"
[Wright] "Of course. What, you thought I'd just eat it raw?"
She looks skeptical—like she can't quite believe a former god knows how to use a kitchen.
Little did she know about the greatness of manga!
I set the pot on the stove and turn the flame low. The pot warms slowly, the metal emitting a soft, steady hiss.
I begin prepping the ingredients.
I slice wild onions thinly—each cut releasing a sharp, clean scent that instantly fills the cabin. The aroma hits the air, sharp and sweet at once, like a breath of spring.
I toss the onions into the pot. The sound changes: a soft sizzle as the oil warms and the onions begin to soften.
I add root tubers next, cutting them into chunky pieces. Their earthy scent rises, grounding the air. Then carrotroot—crisp, bright, and sweet. The colors brighten the pot, turning it into something that looks like it might actually feed a person.
A pinch of spiceleaf follows—peppery, slightly bitter. The smell stings just enough to make my nose twitch.
[Jyne] "You're making... a stew."
[Wright] "Yep."
[Jyne] "Why not just grill it? That's simpler."
[Wright] "Because stew is better. It takes time, but the flavors develop. Everything melds together."
I glance at her.
[Wright] "Patience is rewarding. You'd know that if you ever slowed down."
Jyne's expression tightens, like she's trying not to smile. She fails, just a little.
I take the boar meat and place it in a pan to brown. The sizzle is loud in the quiet cabin, the sound of raw wilderness becoming civilized.
The meat develops a dark, caramelized crust. The smell of grilled boar fills the room—rich, smoky, primal.
I pour the juices and browned bits into the pot with the vegetables, letting the flavors mix. The stew turns deeper in color, thicker in body, and the smell becomes almost intoxicating.
[Wright] "Okay. Now we wait."
Jyne's gaze shifts to the pot.
[Jyne] "You're... doing all of this for me?"
I pause, hand on the spoon.
[Wright] "For both of us. And Donny, though he'd eat rocks if I served them."
Donny churrs indignantly from the corner.
She doesn't respond immediately. Just watches the stew bubble, steam rising in soft curls.
[Jyne] "I don't deserve this."
[Wright] "Why not?"
[Jyne] "I yelled at you. Accused you of breaking my world. I was... harsh."
[Wright] "You were protecting something you built. Something beautiful."
I give the stew a slow stir, letting the spoon scrape the bottom to pull up any hidden flavor.
[Wright] "And you were right. I needed to hear it."
I glance at her.
[Wright] "Besides, everyone deserves to eat. Even stressed-out goddesses who forget to take care of themselves."
Her expression softens, something vulnerable flickering across her face before she looks away.
The air grows warm, cozy.
Jyne's eyes flick toward the bathroom door.
[Jyne] "I still can't believe you let me use your bath."
[Wright] "You needed it."
She looks at me.
[Jyne] "I did."
The silence hangs between us. Then I take a breath.
[Wright] "Before we eat..."
Jyne's eyes shine with a bit of curiosity.
[Jyne] "What?"
I set the spoon down.
[Wright] "I want to speak to whoever it is that body belongs to."
Jyne stiffens.
[Jyne] "Why?"
[Wright] "Because I feel bad."
Jyne's eyes flash.
[Jyne] "You shouldn't."
[Wright] "I do."
Jyne's expression shifts—annoyance and sadness layered together.
[Jyne] "Fine."
She closes her eyes. The air shifts. The faint breeze that always follows her presence swirls through the cabin.
Sylphaeris speaks, calm and slightly amused.
[Sylphaeris] "You're... cooking."
There's wonder in her voice, like she's witnessing something miraculous.
[Wright] "Guilty as charged."
[Sylphaeris] "It's nice to finally meet you properly, Lord Wright. My name is Sylphaeris, Spirit Queen of Wind and Nature."
[Wright] "The pleasure's mine. And please, just Wright. The 'Lord' thing makes me feel ancient."
A soft laugh escapes her—light as rustling leaves.
[Sylphaeris] "You are ancient."
[Wright] "Rude but fair."
[Wright] "Thank you for letting Jyne borrow your body. I know it can't be easy, sharing your existence like that. But it meant a lot to catch up with an old friend."
[Sylphaeris] "It's... been an experience." Her voice carries gentle amusement. "I've learned more about my goddess in one day than I have in centuries. She mutters to herself when she's thinking. Did you know that?"
I laugh.
[Wright] "She always did that. Even when she was just starting out designing her first world."
[Sylphaeris] "It's oddly endearing."
[Wright] "Don't tell her that. She'll stop."
We share a quiet chuckle. Then I sober slightly.
[Wright] "But seriously—it must be difficult. Containing that much presence inside you for hours. Are you really okay?"
Sylphaeris's voice softens, touched by the genuine concern.
[Sylphaeris] "Yes. It's... tiring, but I'm managing. Thank you for asking. Most wouldn't think to."
I nod.
[Wright] "How about I make a new body for Jyne? That way you can have yours back, and we can all eat together."
[Jyne] "You can't."
Jyne abruptly takes back control, her voice sharp.
[Wright] "Sure I can. I just need to use Creation Magic for—"
[Jyne] "Absolutely not."
Her face stiffens with anger.
[Jyne] "Do you know how much energy it takes to create life? Even a simple body? The amount of world energy you'd need to—"
She stops, takes a breath.
[Jyne] "No. This world is already stressed. I won't let you drain it further just so I can have a tea party."
[Wright] "It's not a tea party. It's lunch. There's a difference."
[Jyne] "Wright."
Her tone brooks no argument.
[Wright] "Fine, fine. What about Crafting then? I can make a body out of wood."
Jyne pauses.
[Wright] "It won't be alive—just a vessel for a fragment of your consciousness. You won't be able to eat or feel much, but you could sit with us. Talk without borrowing Sylphaeris."
[Jyne] "...A wooden doll."
[Wright] "A very nice wooden doll."
Jyne's expression softens slightly.
[Jyne] "It will break."
[Wright] "Then we'll make it strong. The trees around here are dense with mana. I can compress it with Alchemy."
Jyne looks at me, really looks at me—like she's trying to solve a puzzle.
[Jyne] "Why are you doing this?"
I smile faintly.
[Wright] "Do I need a reason?"
[Jyne] "Yes."
[Wright] "Alright. Honestly? It helps me too. I'd like to keep talking to you. Catch up properly. But I'd hate for Sylphaeris to lose her body every time you visit."
Jyne's eyes widen.
[Jyne] "Visit?"
[Wright] "Yes. Visit."
She looks away, something uncomfortable flickering across her face.
[Jyne] "Why would I come visit you?"
[Wright] "Because you're stressed. Because managing an entire world alone is exhausting. Because sometimes you need someone to talk to and unwind."
I meet her eyes.
[Wright] "I can lend you an ear. Just like old times. Back when you'd complain about your designs over drinks."
Her expression softens—walls crumbling just a little.
[Jyne] "...You remember that?"
[Wright] "Of course I do. You were passionate. Brilliant. Frustrated when the math wouldn't work." I smile. "You once manifested a thunderstorm in the divine realm just to throw lightning at Caelum."
Despite herself, Jyne laughs—short and startled, like she'd forgotten how.
[Jyne] "He deserved it. He kept suggesting I 'simplify' the cycle."
[Wright] "He was trying to help."
[Jyne] "He was being condescending."
[Wright] "That too."
The tension breaks. Jyne's shoulders relax.
[Wright] "So. Visits. What do you say?"
She's quiet for a moment.
[Jyne] "...Fine. But no Creation Magic."
[Wright] "Deal."
I check the stew—it's simmering nicely, the lid slightly ajar to let steam escape. The flavors will continue to meld while I work.
Then I step outside.
I scan the forest. There—an old oak, thick-trunked and dense with mana.
I raise my hand. Wind blades form and slice cleanly through the trunk. The tree falls with a heavy thud that echoes through the clearing.
Jyne and Sylphaeris watch from the doorway. Sylphaeris's expression shifts to something between reverence and sadness—a Spirit Queen of Nature witnessing one of her charges fall.
I activate Alchemy.
The wood responds to my will. I see its structure—cellulose fibers, lignin, trace minerals, pockets of stored mana. I compress it, removing impurities, condensing the fibers until they're packed so tightly the wood becomes hard as stone.
The massive trunk shrinks, compresses, until I'm left with a smooth, medium-height block of concentrated wood.
Sylphaeris makes a soft sound—not quite grief, but acknowledgment.
[Sylphaeris] "That tree was three hundred years old..."
[Wright] "And now it's going to serve a goddess. Not a bad retirement plan for a tree."
Jyne snorts despite herself.
I activate Crafting. The wood begins taking the form of a willowy body—slender limbs, graceful proportions, a face waiting to be defined.
I step back.
[Wright] "Okay. Done!"
Jyne approaches the wooden form, studying it like an artist examining a canvas.
[Jyne] "This can work... It's pretty weak, so I'm only able to transfer a small wisp of my divine consciousness."
Then she places both hands on its chest.
Her presence flickers—not leaving Sylphaeris entirely, but splitting. A fragment of divine consciousness peels away like morning mist.
The wooden vessel trembles.
Wind swirls around us—not strong, but purposeful. Leaves flutter upward in spirals, drawn by invisible currents.
Donny pokes his head out from the cabin doorway, eyes wide and curious. He churrs softly, watching the transformation.
The wood begins to change.
It glows softly from within, like sunlight through amber. The grain shifts, flowing like water, as the rigid form softens into something more... alive.
The face sharpens into severe, elegant beauty—high cheekbones, a straight nose, lips that suggest authority rather than warmth.
Long pale-blue hair grows from the crown, cascading down to shoulder length in silken waves.
The wooden texture smooths into skin—still pale, still faintly luminous, but supple now. Curves form where there were only angles. The body takes shape—willowy, graceful, unmistakably feminine but not soft.
The eyes open.
Deep blue with a faint yellow glow at the center—like looking at the ocean with the sun behind it.
Jyne blinks. Flexes her new fingers. Tests the weight of the body.
[Jyne] "This is... strange."
Her voice comes from two places now—the wooden vessel, and Sylphaeris's borrowed body.
Sylphaeris exhales in relief.
[Sylphaeris] "I can feel my body again. Fully."
Her form solidifies as Jyne's consciousness retreats from it—tall and willowy, pale birch skin returning to its natural state, moss-green hair settling into familiar waves, emerald eyes clearing of yellow light.
Natural beauty, unforced and ancient.
Jyne's voice is quiet.
[Jyne] "Good. Thank you for letting me borrow your body. I appreciate it."
Sylphaeris smiles.
[Sylphaeris] "It is my honor to help the goddess. You were even considerate enough to give it a deep clean before returning it."
Jyne ignores the comment and takes a few tentative steps, getting used to the new body. It's lighter than her divine form—less substance, more suggestion. Each movement feels deliberate, like learning to walk again.
[Jyne] "It can't handle much, but it's fine for walking. This isn't half bad."
[Wright] "I'm glad you like it."
The sun shines down on the three of us—warm and calming.
[Wright] "It's such a nice day. Let's eat outside."
[Sylphaeris] "Yes, it's very pleasant."
[Jyne] "I can't eat, but I'll stay. I want to talk."
I nod and head inside.
I grab the pot, table, chairs, bowls, and utensils, then store them in Storage for easy transport. I call out to Donny.
[Wright] "Donny, we're eating outside!"
Donny stretches, then follows, tail swishing like he's enjoying the breeze.
We find a sunny clearing near the cabin—close enough for convenience, far enough to feel like an escape.
I pull the table and chairs from Storage, setting them up on soft grass. The pot of stew goes in the center, still steaming, flanked by bowls and utensils.
Donny settles beside us, tail curled contentedly around his shell. I set his portion down—a generous helping of meat and vegetables. He digs in immediately, churring with satisfaction.
Jyne lowers herself carefully into a chair, still adjusting to the new body's weight and balance.
[Jyne] "It's... lighter than I expected."
Sylphaeris sits across from us, eyes bright with curiosity. She leans forward slightly, inhaling the steam rising from her bowl.
[Sylphaeris] "It smells... incredible. Earthy and rich and—is that spiceleaf?"
[Wright] "Good nose."
I ladle a generous portion into my own bowl and settle into my chair with a contented sigh.
[Wright] "Alright. Eat before it gets cold."
Sylphaeris lifts her spoon carefully, like she's performing a ritual.
The first bite makes her eyes widen.
[Sylphaeris] "Oh."
[Wright] "Good?"
[Sylphaeris] "I've eaten for centuries, but I've never... this is..."
She trails off, taking another bite. Then another.
Jyne watches with what might be envy—or maybe just wistfulness.
[Jyne] "I forgot what it's like. Having a body that can taste."
[Wright] "You could always borrow Sylphaeris again."
[Jyne] "Absolutely not. She's suffered enough today."
[Sylphaeris] "It wasn't suffering."
[Jyne] "It was close enough."
I smile and take a bite of my own stew. Warm, rich, the flavors melding perfectly after the long simmer.
The forest hums quietly around us. Birds call from distant branches. Sunlight filters through leaves, dappling the clearing in gold.
For a moment, no one speaks. We just... exist. Together.
Then Jyne breaks the silence, her voice thoughtful.
[Jyne] "The world is unstable."
And like that, lunch becomes a council of gods discussing the state of reality.
But somehow, it feels less like divine business and more like friends catching up over a good meal.