The disguise felt light except a little difficulty moving his cheeks.

  Paley walked through the mid-morning bustle of Gouon, the sensation of the city washing over him differently than before. He wanted to keep his head down, shoulders hunched, to hide the crimson alarm of his eyes. But he steadied himself; Bacha's alchemy had painted him. His hair was a brilliant white, his eyes a soft, non-threatening purple.

  He expected to be ignored.

  Instead, people looked.

  A merchant paused in his shouting to watch Paley pass. A group of women near a well stopped their conversation, their gazes lingering with startling, open admiration. It made his skin crawl. He felt like an exhibit.

  He stopped by the community notice board near the central plaza. There, peeling at the corners and faded by the sun, was the rough sketch of a boy with black hair and red eyes. A wanted criminal.

  Paley stood right next to it. He looked at the criminal on the paper, then at his reflection in a shop window. They feared the boy who had risked his life to save a sister, yet they smiled at this fabricated prince who had done nothing but walk down the street. People were hard for him to understand.

  "Excuse me?"

  Paley flinched, his hand instinctively twitching to prepare an earth spell, but he caught himself. He turned slowly.

  A girl, no older than him, stood there holding a basket of white daisies. She looked nervous, twisting her apron with one hand.

  "Would... would you like one, sir?" She squeaked, holding out a flower. "I- My mama said you looked like a prince, so..."

  'Sir?' Paley looked at the flower, then at the girl. 'What does she want?' He analyzed for any hidden transactions or tricks. But looking at her earnest face, there were none.

  He remembered Madella's words that kindness was never devalued, so he offered her a respectful nod instead of staring at her suspiciously.

  "I don't have much coin on me," Paley said.

  "It's free," She beamed. "Because it's a nice day."

  Paley hesitated. To take without giving felt wrong, burdensome even. He reached into his pocket and found a copper coin. With his right hand, he accepted the flower, handling the fragile stem with care. "A gift for a gift," he said, pressing the copper into her palm. "Thank you."

  She giggled and ran back to her mother. Paley stood, tucking the daisy into his tunic pocket. He felt strangely human in that moment. Like he was part of this community. Though it wasn't the real him that they saw or adored.

  He continued to the library, the interaction, albeit without honest foundation, leaving a warmth in his chest.

  Inside, the smell of old parchment and dry ink greeted him. The Librarian today was a stern-looking woman with spectacles. "The third floor is restricted," she said automatically, then paused as she actually looked at him. Her scowl softened into confusion. "Are you perhaps of a noble family?"

  "I'm..." In this version of himself he had to be honest, any lies attributed to this appearance would be detrimental, "I'm not. I have coin. I'd like to borrow something on Culinary Enchantment. The basics."

  The Librarian blinked. She looked at his almost ethereal appearance, clearly expecting him to ask for high-tier spells or ancient history. "Cooking? Are you sure?"

  "Quite sure."

  "That would be in the domestic arts section. Row four."

  He found it: Jon Favalgard's Hearth: Fundamentals of Culinary Enchantment. It was thick, heavy, and cost two silver coins to rent for the month. Paley winced. Two silver. That was three Tier I hunts. That was almost a hundred loaves of bread.

  'It's for the long-term', he told himself.

  He paid the fee and walked out, holding the book like a baby.

  "You're overthinking it."

  Madella stood by the stove, arms crossed, watching Paley's intense staring match with a pot of simmering water. The kitchen was joined with the living room; it made a summer's day even hotter, filling it with the humidity of boiling potatoes.

  Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

  "It says I need to put salt in exactly when it starts bubbling then cast the Tastify Spell." Paley muttered, reading from the open grimoire on the table.

  "Paley," Madella said, stepping in without pushing him aside; she just placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "Food's not a super complex thing. Food's easy; it's about comforting the soul."

  "But I want to get the most flavour-"

  "Forget about the max for a second," she said. She picked up a wooden spoon. "Wash the vegetables. Thoroughly. To respect what the earth gave us. Start with that intention."

  Paley set the book down with a frown, took the carrots and washed them, scrubbing away until the water ran clear. He sliced them with focus rather than magic.

  "Now," Madella said. "Use your magic. But don't use it to force the food. Use it to help be what it wants to be."

  Paley closed his eyes. He extended his senses into the pot. He could feel the broth, the rigid cell walls of the vegetables, the suspended grains of salt, the flavour slowly releasing and mixing. He visualized the essence of the carrot - the sweetness of it - and gently coaxed it all out out. He used a tiny flicker of Fire Magic to efficiently brown the onions floating on top, caramelizing the sugars in seconds. Then came the Tastify spell. Gently, he cast it almost like it was a seasoning by itself.

  A smell wafted up: pure richness. It smelled like how a hug felt.

  "Wow..." Madella whispered as Paley opened his eyes. The broth had turned a deep, golden brown and the fragrance was so blissful that the orphans all came closer to smell it. "That's incredible, Paley." Madella kissed him on the forehead. "When you stop worrying about things. Good things come."

  Dinner was usually noisy, but tonight, there was a stunned silence.

  Adimia sat with his spoon halfway to his mouth, his eyes wide. He took a bite, chewed, then slowly slid down his chair until he was sitting on the floor.

  "I have ascended," Adimia declared.

  "Get up, dummy," Jurie laughed, though she was eating with uncharacteristic speed. "Paley, this is... incredible."

  "It's really really really good!" Bacha chirped, her face smeared with gravy. "Did you put a love potion in it?"

  "I hope not," Teerom said, looking at the stew suspiciously before taking another massive spoonful. "Is it safe? Cooking with magic? We won't burn from the inside out, will we?"

  "It's safe," Paley said, watching them eat. A sense of satisfaction swelled within him - different from the relief after a hunt. This was quieter and warmer.

  Reben, eating from the outside of his plate to the centre, nodded as though the food was singing a song to him.

  Paley looked at the quickly emptying pot. He looked at the happy faces. The gears in his head, always turning, always looking for the next foothold, slammed.

  "We can sell this," Paley said suddenly.

  The table went quiet.

  "What do you mean?" Adimia asked, climbing back into his chair.

  "The ingredients cost us maybe forty coppers," Paley said, his voice speeding up. "The taste must be better than the tavern in the city, and they charge two silver a bowl. If we set up a stall near the bridge where lots of people walk, we could sell a lot. Magic would help me prep quickly for even better food. We could pay the school fees in a month if I do this when I'm not hunting."

  He looked at Madella, expecting praise and for her to be on board, but she wasn't smiling. She slowly lowered her spoon. The warmth in the room seemed to drop - not from anger, but rather sadness.

  "Paley," She said gently.

  "I can build the cart with Earth Magic," Paley continued, missing the cue. "Teerom can help refine it. Bacha can-"

  "Paley."

  Her voice was firm enough to snap his mouth shut. She stood up, walked around the table, and took his face in her hands. Her thumbs brushed his cheeks, wiping away a smudge of water from the pot.

  "You hunt monsters. You fix the leaky roof. You clean. You help with the cooking. And now you want to run a restaurant?"

  "I want to help," Paley said, confused. "I want to be useful."

  "You're not an asset," Madella said, staring into his crimson eyes. "You aren't a tool we got to fix our problems. You don't need to earn your seat at this table, Paley. You don't need to buy us. You are my son."

  Paley froze. The word 'son' hung in the air heavier than any hunt he had hauled.

  "Calm down," She whispered. "Don't spread yourself so thin, you're already so skinny you might just vanish hahaha... We will all figure out the money. Just..." She looked at his cooling bowl, "Enjoy the stew we made."

  She kissed his cheek and sat back down.

  Paley stared at his bowl. His throat felt tight, a lump forming from the urge to cry from joy. He took a shaky breath and picked up his spoon.

  "Okay," He whispered. "Okay. Maybe next year..." He gave her a sly smile. His first joke.

  Later that night, the house was silent.

  Paley stood in the kitchen, illuminated by the dying embers of the hearth. The pot was cleaned completely but some of the vegetable sides remained. He stared at them. In the morning, they would be spoiled. A waste. To let good food rot felt like a sin against the effort it took to make it.

  "Preservation," he muttered, recalling the word from the culinary book.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a smooth, flat river stone he'd picked up weeks ago. He placed it on the counter.

  "Hig said that runestones are made by pouring your magic into them." He whispered to himself, placing his hand over the stone. He focused on Water Magic, trying to imbue the stone with it, to just see if he could make it work. He knew that the colder that food was, the longer it lasted, maybe he could learn a Magic Type that let him control temperature and create a runestone that automatically stores food at low temperatures. Salt was far too expensive in bulk to preserve food.

  He did everything he could think of, visualisation, focusing his mana, to just try and get it to function a little.

  CRACK.

  The stone splintered down the middle, crumbling as a small cups worth of water released from within it. "What am I missing?"

  He looked back at the pot. He had the flavor. He had the method. He had the means. But he lacked the vessel. He couldn't do it all - he couldn't be the hunter, the cook, and the merchant. He needed someone else. Someone who understood the business of food as well as he understood the magic. AND he needed runestones on top of that.

  He covered the pot and the vegetables with a cloth, resigning to the waste, then went to bed.