The kitchen wasn't designed like most others.
It was a sprawling, open space with floating countertops and crystal plates acting as heat sources powered by Heat Runes. A window stretched across the entire eastern wall, revealing a panoramic view of the city lights below and the ocean swallowing the horizon. The stars of the evening sky overhead blinked gently like they were listening in.
Vastarael stood at the counter, his sleeves rolled up, a cutting board in front of him with a bunch of fresh stalks and spice roots. Narisva was humming while slicing bright-orange sea peppers that were absolutely going to set someone's mouth on fire later.
Adelasta had left the kitchen about fifteen minutes ago, giving the most casual wave as she wandered off toward the guest suite.
"I'm gonna go sleep," she had said. "You two need this more than I do. Don't burn the house down. Or do. It's insured anyways."
Vastarael had blinked. "We're on a cliff."
"And?"
Then she vanished upstairs without another word. Now, it was just them.
"So," she said, tilting her head. "Do you love me?"
Vastarael paused mid-chop. She didn't look up. She kept slicing as if she'd just asked him to pass the salt. He stared at the half-diced vegetables for a second before letting out a quiet laugh through his nose.
"I do. I think… I always have. In some form."
She smirked, glancing up at him briefly.
"When did you realize it?"
"I should be asking you that," he countered, giving her a side-eye. "You've always been… well…"
He hesitated.
"Go on. Say it."
"I don't want to disrespect you," he said quickly.
"Oh my gods, just say it. I know I'm cocky as fuck."
Vastarael blinked.
"Alright. You've always been cocky. So it never really crossed my mind that you… liked me. Like, liked me."
She stopped chopping and leaned her hip against the counter.
"You want to know the truth? It was when we met."
"That early?"
"Not, like the deep, eternal love or anything. Just… this calm."
She gestured vaguely at him.
"You were the only person who made my brain quiet. I'm Narisva. I never shut up. I overthink, I talk shit, I process things out loud, I glitch emotionally. But around you? You made me feel…"
Her voice softened.
"Safe. Peaceful. And I hated it."
He raised an eyebrow.
"I'm chaos, Veneri. I'm dramatic. Peace was boring until you died. And I realized too late how much I needed it."
His expression dropped again. That faint shadow passed over his features. That guilt. She caught it instantly.
"Nope," she said, pointing the knife at him playfully. "Don't. We're not doing that again. Stop guilt-tripping yourself. I'm not a tragic love story. I'm just a woman who didn't know what she had until it was incinerated in an attempt to save me."
"That was... weirdly poetic."
"Thanks, I've been writing journals."
He snorted and returned to slicing.
She watched him for a second longer before saying, "I know your love for me isn't as strong as mine for you, or Elyonari's."
He hesitated slightly but nodded. "I know."
"I'll win you over eventually," she said casually, like she was just talking about a bet over dinner.
"You don't have to do that."
"I want to. I'm making it my life's mission now. So until I think I've done enough, you're not allowed to say you love me."
"That's not how emotions work—"
"Shut up, it is now."
He raised his hands in surrender, laughing.
"Fine."
She grinned wide.
"And you should be grateful. You've got three women who want you desperately and you've done the absolute bare minimum. You breathe and we're like: yes, please, marry me now."
"That's not true—"
Then she slid over beside him and bumped his hip with hers.
"You're back," she said again, softer this time. "That's all I ever wanted."
He looked at her.
"I don't care what happened. I don't need your regrets. You're here with me in this kitchen making dinner. That's already better than anything I've had in five years."
He set down the knife and looked at her again and nodded.
"Then I'm staying," he whispered.
"Good," she said, leaning on him. "Because I'll burn this entire planet before I lose you again."
He blinked.
"You really do love fast."
She smirked. "I glitch fast too. You want to test that next?"
He laughed again and for the first time in years, Narisva's laugh followed his without pain echoing underneath. The stars in her eyes sparkled.
"You know," Vastarael said suddenly, looking over his shoulder, "you don't strike me as someone who knows how to cook."
Narisva let out a huff and flicked a piece of fried herb at him with a playful smirk. He caught it with a blink, surprised by her accuracy.
"Excuse me? "I'm insulted. You think I'm just here looking pretty and glitching reality with sarcasm?"
"Yes?"
"Okay, fair, but still, give credit where it's due."
"Alright, then how did you learn?"
She leaned back against the counter her arms crossed, eyes on the bubbling pan. Her voice was casual, but there was a tone of pride in it.
"After I killed my entire family and gave the Dynasty seat to my half-brother, I wandered for a while. Almost three years, actually. I didn't want to be bound to a throne. I wanted to live for a bit. During that time, I passed through all sorts of places. Desert towns, underground cities, I even spent two months in a floating monastery where you could only speak during meals. I learned all kinds of food, how to survive and how to enjoy things that didn't need power or politics."
Vastarael watched her and saw the same woman from five years ago, but now laced with a deeper maturity.
"And then I joined Minafallen nine years ago, because apparently, if you do a few good deeds and help reroute a collapsing leyline, you get a permanent welcome letter."
He chuckled.
"Oh, and by the way," she said, pointing a wooden spoon at him, "Seventh Enlightenment graduated a few days after we came back from the Erna Isles."
Vastarael blinked. She leaned forward, grinning like a teenager again.
"Wait… already?"
"Yup. We're older now. But get this. They built a statue for you in front of the academy because they thought you were dead."
He groaned, facepalming as he shook his head.
"You're kidding."
"I amnot. It's even got your glaive, Calimostria, like you're about to pose dramatically in the middle of a windstorm."
Vastarael exhaled, his shoulders dropping.
"Gods, I hope nobody sees me near it. The irony."
"Alright, your turn. You cook like you've done this before. How do you know how to cook?"
Vastarael stirred the contents of the pot a little slower. When she turned the question on him, it felt fair but his tongue stilled behind his teeth.He blinked once, then glanced down at the small cutting board in front of him. The knife in his hand felt heavier all of a sudden.
"I…"
But the sentence never finished because something opened in his mind.
He remembered the cracked floors and the rattle of old gas stoves. That cold-warmness of waking up to the scent of oatmeal made by a shelter cook with kind eyes. The silence of helping out with dinners not because he was asked but because someone had to. The pots were too heavy for the younger kids and no one wanted to eat food that tasted like sadness so, he learned to fix it.
Stir better. Add salt slower. Taste before you serve.
On Earth, in that long-forgotten life of suffering, he was just a boy in a system that forgot about orphans. Food was one of the only things he could control, the one thing he could make better if only for a while. He hadn't thought about it in years. Not since he told Adelasta after sharing his memories of his past life. Not since Phaenora inherited his memories when they met for the first time.
His fingers had stopped moving.
"Vastarael?"
Narisva's voice was soft this time. A touch of concern nestled under the joke. She noticed. He looked up at her.
She didn't press or pry. She just met his eyes, read the silence and gave a faint nod.
"If it's personal, you don't have to say anything."
He sighed. It anything, she deserved to know. But...