Chương 24: Cooking(2)

Vale sat beneath the five black suns once more. Their dim, heavy light poured over the onyx counters and gleaming steel of the immense kitchen that now stood upon the surface of the bloody sea. Somehow, weirdly enough, it didn't sink. For a moment, Vale had believed that only living things could remain above the crimson waters, but this kitchen proved otherwise.

'Of course it does,' he thought with a quiet huff. If that were truly the rule, half the books around them would've vanished long ago. He sat upon a tall, comfortable stool, elbows resting on the counter, watching the chained man cook. The kitchen itself was elegant in a way that felt wrong for this place, black stone polished to a mirror sheen, metal fixtures that looked newly forged, and faint golden light radiating from unseen lamps above.

The air was warm, carrying the unmistakable scent of sizzling meat and herbs. Ember sat perched on Vale's shoulder, chirping softly now and then. When Vale raised his arms and rested them upon the counter, the hatchling curiously began to climb down. It stepped onto Vale's metallic right arm, testing its balance with delicate, unsteady claws. Every few steps, it wobbled dangerously close to slipping off.

Vale chuckled quietly as he felt the creature's nervousness ripple through their bond, a mix of surprise and determination.

"Careful, Ember," he murmured.

"You're not flying yet." He lifted his gaze toward the chained man, who stood at the stove, his tall frame and long dark hair obscuring most of what he was cooking. Still, the smell gave it away, something between beef and bacon, savory and rich.

"So," Vale said lazily, resting his chin on one hand, "will I finally get to see you without that ominous mask today?" The man turned slightly, just enough for Vale to see his dark onyx mask.

"No," he replied simply, his voice deep and resonant, like the echo of metal against stone. Vale blinked, feigning offense.

"Didn't you say we were going to eat, then?"

"I meant you," the man said, shrugging once before turning back to the pan.

"I'll just keep you company." He let out a low sigh, though whether of amusement or exhaustion, Vale couldn't tell.

"Any problem with that?" Vale scoffed softly.

"No, no problem," he said, though his tone carried a hint of sheepishness. By now, the three smaller creatures had gathered on the counter. The tiger had taken the form of a small white cat once more, and the black lizard and crimson centipede climbed up beside it. They surrounded Ember with curious eyes, and before long, all four were darting playfully across the counter's polished surface.

Ember's tiny claws clinked faintly against the metal as he chased them, his laughter, a strange mixture of chirps and hisses, echoing in Vale's head through their link. Vale couldn't help but smile. It wasn't just their playfulness, it was the purity of it all. After so long in this realm of silence and blood, that tiny pulse of joy felt almost holy. The chained man worked quietly, the sound of sizzling filling the air. When he finally turned, he carried not one but five plates.

Each was set with neat precision before Vale on the counter, meat, vegetables, and something that looked suspiciously like bread. Vale raised an eyebrow.

"Five plates?" The man met his gaze, obsidian mask glinting faintly in the red light.

"The others might want some as well." Vale glanced at the small creatures, who were already sniffing curiously at the dishes.

"Didn't you say Ember only needed Atum?"

"I did," the man replied, tone unreadable. He gave a slight shrug.

"But that doesn't mean he won't enjoy the rest." That was the end of the explanation. Vale had long since learned that pressing further was useless, the chained man's answers were never more than what he intended to give. So he picked up his fork instead. The bacon sizzled faintly even as it cooled, crisp and golden. He poked a piece, then took a bite. The taste was divine, salty, smoky, and warm in a way that felt almost impossible in this place. He blinked, a surprised laugh escaping him.

"God," he said under his breath, "that's good." This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it. Beside him, Ember finally decided to try his food. Vale could feel his hesitation at first, then sudden delight as the creature began devouring the small morsels of meat on his plate. Through their resonance link, Vale could feel the sensation of satisfaction and comfort, a deep, instinctive pleasure that filled him as if he were eating twice.

The other three creatures soon joined in, each eating from their plates with surprising civility. For a time, the kitchen was filled only with the sounds of quiet eating, the crackle of cooling metal, the soft hum of the stove, the rhythmic tapping of claws on stone. Within minutes, all five plates were completely empty. Vale leaned back in his chair, sighing contentedly.

"God," he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"That was incredible. I didn't know you could cook like that." A faint smirk tugged at the edges of the chained man's hidden lips.

"I'm good at many things," he said simply. Vale smiled, his voice softening.

"Yeah… I know." For a brief moment, the silence that followed was peaceful. Ember, full and satisfied, curled up on the counter and promptly fell asleep. His small, steady breaths made faint ripples on the onyx surface below. Vale glanced at the empty plates and tilted his head.

"Should we clean these up?" The chained man didn't answer immediately. He lifted one gloved hand, snapped his fingers once, and the plates vanished without a sound, like they had never existed at all. Vale blinked.

"Show-off," he muttered, but his tone carried only fondness. The chained man leaned back in his chair, his dark silhouette framed by the five black suns. For a while, neither of them spoke. The world was still, quiet, suspended in that strange space between death and life. And for the first time in what felt like eternity, Vale realized he wasn't thinking about escape, or the past, or even survival.

He was simply there, sharing a meal with a man bound by chains, beneath suns that no longer burned, while a sleeping celestial beast dreamed beside him. For now, that was enough. So for a while, he simply stared ahead, his thoughts drifting through idle questions that would never be answered. Who was the chained man, truly? What was this place beneath the five black suns? And why, despite everything, did it sometimes feel… peaceful? He exhaled softly, half a sigh, half a laugh.

It wasn't often he allowed himself to think for the sake of thinking, simple entertainment, as he called it. Eventually, his wandering mind quieted, and his gaze fell upon the small pale hatchling on the counter. Ember was still asleep, its tiny chest rising and falling in slow rhythm.

"Truly still a hatchling, huh…" Vale murmured, his tone gentle. The little creature didn't stir. Beside Ember, the other three companions, the white cat, the crimson centipede, and the black lizard, had also fallen asleep. Their small forms were curled up close together, an unlikely family of strange beings resting in a world that offered no rest. Vale leaned back slightly on the stool.

'They don't even need to sleep,' he thought.

'They just choose to.' Somehow, that thought comforted him. When he lifted his gaze again, he found the chained man already watching him. The man's stare was steady, silent and unwavering. It was the kind of gaze that could make even the strongest warriors feel as though they'd been seen through completely. Vale blinked, feeling a twinge of awkwardness. He waited, but the man didn't speak. Finally, Vale broke the silence with a faint grin.

"So… you want a rematch?" he asked. It had been several days since they last fought, longer than Vale was used to. But lately, he'd been focused on caring for Ember, who was too fragile for the chaos of battle. Now, though, the hatchling seemed sturdy enough to be left alone, if only for a little while. The chained man's reply came after a pause, his voice deep and measured.

"I would love to." As he stepped away from the stove, his chains faintly rattled, soft, metallic echoes beneath the hum of the black suns.

"But," he said after a long moment. He reached out as he passed the counter, his gloved hand grasping the weapon that rested beside Vale, the bone-like sword He had forged from his own heart. Its pale surface shimmered faintly in the dim light, veins of crimson energy pulsing beneath its surface. The man walked past Vale without another word. Vale turned on his stool to follow his movement, confusion flickering across his face. Then his eyes caught sight of the horizon, and his heart froze for a beat.

Far beyond the kitchen, beyond the bloody sea and the mountains of black stone, the Obsidian Mountain pulsed faintly. Its surface rippled, as if reality itself were bending around it. A goliath was rising from its base. The chained man stopped at the middle of the crimson sea, raising the blade before him. His voice came low, heavy with intent.

"It seems," he said, his tone carrying the weight of command, "we have an uninvited guest." Vale's eyes narrowed.

"Guest?" The man didn't answer. Instead, he tilted the blade downward. A sharp hum filled the air, then suddenly, a brilliant surge of light erupted from the weapon. Vale flinched, covering his eyes. The beam tore through the stillness, the bloody sea reflecting its radiance like a shattered mirror. When the light dimmed, the sword was gone. in its place stood a spear, long and terrible, carved from the bones of some ancient colossus. Its surface was etched with faint golden veins that pulsed like a heartbeat.

The chained man let the tip of the spear sink down until it touched the surface of the crimson sea. The water hissed and parted around it, the red waves trembling in quiet submission. When he spoke again, his voice was different, colder, filled with something that felt almost divine.

"I'll take care of this one," he said. A pause followed, heavy and endless.

"Myself." The air stilled. Even the five suns seemed to darken, their black light dimming as the world held its breath.