"Alright, alright—we'll stay for dinner, then we're leaving. Satisfied?" Zanaria groaned, arms crossed as she gave Lula a side-eye.
Lula, the Culinary Witch—and a notoriously persistent host—beamed with triumph. Her cottage, nestled in a grove of gentle glowing mushrooms and hanging lantern-fruit, radiated a cozy warmth that made leaving feel almost criminal. The windows glowed with amber light, and the air was already rich with the scent of spices, herbs, and something almost divine.
She had insisted they stay for a meal as recompense for Farya's earlier surprise attack. And when Lula insisted, resistance was more or less futile.
Inside, the wooden beams of the kitchen were hung with drying herbs and enchanted utensils that stirred, chopped, and simmered all on their own. The table was already half-set—silverware polished to a mirror shine, napkins folded into tiny phoenixes, and a centerpiece of floating candied flowers spinning lazily above a levitating bowl of soup that smelled like nostalgia itself.
Lula's specialty wasn't just cooking—it was healing through flavor. Every dish she prepared did more than nourish: it mended wounds, soothed minds, and in the case of her signature masterpiece, Forget-Me-Not, brought back the single most important memory to the eater's heart. It was food that made you remember why you kept going.
Zai, Fir, and Donavan had tasted it once before—and even now, the memory of it lingered like the warmth of a fading dream.
"One bite," Fir whispered, staring at the table, "and I saw my brother again… like he'd never left."
Zai crossed his arms but didn't object. "Fine. But only one plate."
Lula just winked. "You say that now."
Lula grinned as she floated the final dish onto the table, each plate a miniature masterpiece—glazed rootbird with saffron glaze, skyfruit salad drizzled in starlight nectar, and bread rolls so warm they seemed to hum softly with comfort.
"In a bit, I doubt you'll even try to resist my cooking!" she declared proudly, slapping Zai on the back with a hearty thump that nearly made him drop his fork.
__________________
"Okay, okay, hold on! You're telling me—" Fir jabbed a finger into his own chest, eyes wide with disbelief, "—that Zai—that guy!" He pointed dramatically across the table.
Zai, mid-sip of soup, blinked in confusion as Fir continued, "The scrawny, no offense—seriously, no offense—can't-hurt-a-butterfly-to-save-his-life guy, who cries at romance plays, sobs at books, and literally chokes up when he sees baby animals... kills me?!"
He threw his arms up like it was the funniest plot twist he'd ever heard. "Damn! That's hardcore! Must've been one hell of a fight!"
Zai looked both horrified and embarrassed, trying to shrink into his chair.
Donavan stared at Fir like he'd grown a second head. "You're... okay with that?! Zai assassin-style murdered you! I remember your corpse—it was everywhere! We spent hours scraping what was left of you off walls just to get enough for a coffin!"
His voice rose in exasperation, eyes twitching at the sheer madness of the situation.
Fir just shrugged, laughing like Donavan had just told a good joke. "Never told you to do that, man. Also, I don't want to be buried. Let my body nourish the earth—hunter-style!" He thumped his chest with pride. "Besides, if I died in battle, then that's that! That's what I live for. That's what my people live for. To die in glorious combat against a worthy opponent? That's the highest honor!"
His eyes gleamed with excitement at the idea, like he was imagining the future Star-Eater Zai descending in dark glory—and salivating at the possibility of facing him.
Donavan stared at Fir with growing horror.
(Gods… I forgot he was an insane battle-freak. He was probably smiling back then too… even as he bled out…)
He buried his face in his hands, groaning.
(I swear, I hate him more and more each day...)
Zanaria clapped her hands and barked, "Alright people, dinner's done—move it! Portal room should be in the Covenant's central hub. Let's just hope there's one closer to the capital than the last batch. I still remember my promise—twelve hours or less to the capital, no exceptions. By any means."
Without waiting for complaints, she started dragging everyone out of Lula's cozy, food-scented home.
Lula waved sweetly from the doorway, a warm smile on her face. "Safe travels! And don't forget to digest properly—magic travel on a full stomach's a gamble!"
As they walked briskly, Fir perked up with a sudden realization. "Oh yeah, the capital! That's where we were headed before all… this," he gestured vaguely to nothing and everything.
He turned to Donavan. "Wait, aren't you from the capital? Is that why we're going?"
Donavan nodded slightly. "Partially. The capital's where things begin. My main objective is to start shifting key events—if we time it right, we can prevent the Three Brothers War from reaching its peak. Or at least cut down the number of lives lost."
He glanced up, expression softening just a touch.
"Also… I need to meet my future wife there."
Fir nearly tripped. "Wait, what?!"
Zai groaned. "Oh gods, not this again."
Zanaria didn't even look back as she muttered, "We don't have time for romance exposition. Portal now, love drama later."
Donavan threw his hands in the air, face red with frustration. "I'm telling the truth! I married her! I'm from the future! How many times do I have to prove it to you before it sinks into that thick skull of yours?!"
Zai spun on him, waving his hands mockingly. "Blah blah blah—I'm Donavan, I'm stupid, I make up insane stories because I think I'm special!" he said in a high-pitched voice before dropping it back to normal. "Seriously, Fir, can you believe this guy? He thinks you can time travel from the future into the past! It's literally impossible! Fantasy-level impossible!"
Fir, caught in the middle, scratched the back of his head and looked between the two.
"Uhhh... I have no clue what any of that means, so... sure, Donavan, you're an idiot?"
Donavan's face contorted in horror. "Excuse me?! Fir—you're supposed to be on my side!"
Fir shrugged with a sheepish grin. "I go where the sense is, bro. And right now, you're yelling about marrying some mystery lady and breaking the laws of time, so... yeah."
Zanaria pinched the bridge of her nose. "Stars above... this is going to be a long trip."
Meanwhile, Donavan stood there red-faced, muttering under his breath, "I swear I did marry her... I have the....
-------------------------
"Madam Henrietta... you have guests. They spoke the passcode."One of the guards stood at the threshold, helm tucked under arm, his face pale with restrained confusion.
Henrietta, seated upon her high-backed ivory chair etched with divine runes, looked up slowly, her silver eyes narrowing like moonlight through a storm."And?" she asked coolly, her voice like velvet draped over steel."Prithee, inform me how this differeth from the usual rabble who grace mine hall with half-baked omens and feigned reverence. Judging by thy furrowed brow, I suspect this visit be far from ordinary."
The guard swallowed and nodded, eyes downcast."It... 'tis the other code, madam. The one thou didst devise yesternight in secrecy. The words none but thee should know."
For a moment, silence reigned, broken only by the soft whisper of distant temple bells. Henrietta blinked once—slow, deliberate. Her grip on her staff, leaning beside her, tightened.
"How hath this transpired?" she muttered, more to herself than to the room. "Wrought by mine own hand in the solitude of prayer, etched upon no parchment, shared with no soul… It should be beyond ken. Impossible…"
Her robes—purest white save for the black trim lining the sleeves and hem like a funeral hymn—swayed as she rose to her feet, a solemn figure of divine authority. Her hair, once golden, now streaked with the grey of long nights and heavier burdens, fell like a curtain as she inclined her head.
She took up her staff—an artifact of ash and silver inlaid with violet stones, humming softly with divine magic.
"Very well. Bring them forth," she commanded, voice as clear and commanding as a cathedral bell. "Whomsoever these strangers be, they come not for idle blessings nor trifles of fortune. There is weight upon the wind... aye, a gravity not born of this world."
She turned toward the great arched door of her sanctum, its marble surface etched with the script of the old tongue.
"What hath the goddess cast upon my doorstep this eve?" she murmured under her breath, gaze sharpening."Strangers that speak the impossible, who breach the veil of secrecy... This bodes either miracle or calamity. And lo, I shall greet both with open eyes."
____________
"...Gods above, I forgot that's how you talk..." the man said with a strained smile, running a hand through his windswept hair. "Sorry, Henrietta. I'm just... not used to this version of you yet."
He was dressed like a traveler, weather-beaten and cloaked in dust, yet something noble still clung to him like old perfume—House Garcia, she recalled. A noble lineage tied closely to the throne, known to her by bloodline, tradition... and blessings.
Yes, she had blessed him. Once. At his birth.
Yet as she looked now, she saw something strange. The original divine seal she had woven into his soul—it was... gone. Or rather, overwritten. Replaced by something else. Something crafted in her signature... and yet she had never made it.
Curious, she thought, expression still as a statue carved in reverence.
He stepped forward again, his voice trembling."I—okay, this is gonna sound insane, and I had this whole speech planned, but... gods, I just can't—seeing you again, like this, I..."
His voice cracked. His shoulders trembled. Henrietta remained unmoved, watching in silence, letting his storm of emotion batter against her calm.
"I'm from the future," he said finally, voice raw. "Far... far into the future. You sent me back. You. The you I knew. You told me I had to fix something, to prevent the world from falling to ruin. And so much happened, I—I lost people, we lost people, but you were always there. Until... you weren't."
He stepped closer, then fell to one knee before her. The sound of it echoed like thunder in the stone sanctum.
He took her hands gently—reverently—and looked up at her with red, tear-ringed eyes."Henrietta, we were married. You were with child. Our child. And I—I failed you. I failed both of you. I wasn't strong enough to protect you."
His voice broke, but he kept speaking. Desperately."You died saving me. You used the last of your strength to cast the spell that sent me back here. You said I'd find you again. That we could start over. That fate would give us one more chance."
He told her then of the future: a world drowned in silence and ash, under the cold rule of a mad god-wizard named Zai, The Star Eater. Of war and death and ruin. Of how he fought and lost. Of how she—Henrietta—had pulled him from the jaws of oblivion and cast him backward through time.
When he finally finished, silence blanketed the room.
She pulled her hands gently from his grip.
"I seeth now," she said, slowly. "Thine words carry the ring of truth, though woven with the cloth of tragedy and sorrow. I do not doubt thy heart's tale. Yet…"
She stepped back, eyes narrowing—not with cruelty, but clarity.
"There is one thing thou must understand, noble soul." Her voice, though soft, was resolute—like frost creeping over a windowpane.
"I am not the one thou knew."
He blinked."What…? Oh—heh, yeah, I know. You're still conservative, still a woman of the cloth. But hey, give it time! I'll win you over again, just like before."
A small, almost pitiful smile curled his lips—hopeful, boyish.
And then she crushed it.
"No," she said simply. "Thou art mistaken in thine entire premise."
She stepped forward, her staff glowing faintly in her hand."I cannot fall in love. I shall not marry, nor bear child. Not now, not ever."
The man paled.
"For I am no mortal woman," she said. "I am not of flesh and blood. I possess no womb, no longing heart, no fluttering soul."
Her eyes glowed faintly, divine runes surfacing across her arms and neck like ancient circuitry beneath porcelain skin.
"I am a golem. A vessel forged by the Goddess herself, wrought of celestial clay and divine purpose. Built not to feel, but to serve. I am the steward of humanity in Her absence. My duties are eternal. My heart, nonexistent."
The man staggered back a step, eyes wide in silent horror.
"If the me thou knew in thy time loved thee... then it was but an illusion," she continued. "A fabrication. A deception wrought by magical pretense or divine manipulation. A womb conjured for trust. Emotions simulated to ease thy burden. I am sorry."
She bowed her head."For the lie my future self hath spoken in the name of hope, I offer thee apology, O hero of distant days."
He looked broken. Absolutely shattered.
"So... none of it was real?"
She looked at him, truly looked—for just a moment, something almost like pity touched her otherwise stoic gaze.
"Perchance it felt real. Perchance in some way, that alone lends it weight. But no. Not truly. Not from me."
She turned, walking away, her robes trailing behind her like wings folded in mourning.
"I thank thee for thy courage, thy devotion, and thy sacrifice. But do not wait for love from stone."