The courtroom floor was now soup. Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Literally.
A warm, gently bubbling bisque had replaced the marbled tiles of the System Tribunal. Somewhere, a gavel floated.
Somewhere else, so did Kael.
"I take back every time I said 'I want things to heat up,'" I muttered, half-drowning in what I suspected was clam chowder and poor life choices.
To my left, Fluffernox was bobbing like an eldritch buoy, meowing judicially.
To my right, Spoon was perched atop a floating crouton throne, robes of divine starch billowing in the sacred thermal winds. His voice boomed with ancient gravitas:
"Let it be known! The Tribunal has entered the Broth Phase!"
That sentence meant nothing. And yet, everyone in the courtroom—including the robed memory-mages, the glitch officials, and three still-smoldering judges—nodded solemnly like this was a standard Wednesday.
I tried to paddle toward land. There was no land. Only chowder.
"You summoned the Spice Tribunal?" I hissed, narrowly dodging a drifting leek.
Spoon twirled midair. "They were coming anyway. Destiny declared the soup too under-seasoned."
"Is that a divine metaphor?"
He smiled. "Is anything?"
Before I could interrogate the semiotics of soup, a pulse of cumin surged through the broth. The air shimmered. A door carved from ginger root unfolded from the void.
Out walked three new figures—glistening, radiant, and vaguely terrifying.
The Spice Tribunal had arrived.
The first was a cinnamon elemental, eyes glowing with ancient warmth. The second was entirely made of dried chili flakes, barely held together by rage and oregano. The third—oh gods, the third—was a sentient basil plant wearing a monocle.
"Proceedings shall resume," said Basilicus, adjusting his leaf-lens with disdain. "The flavor imbalance must be judged."
I raised a hand from the soup. "Flavor? We're still on trial for... being a glitch!"
"Which tastes bitter," Cinnamon said sadly. "But perhaps salvageable."
"I am not a stew!"
"Everything is stew, in time," whispered Chili, and then set the witness stand on fire.
Spoon nodded. "The Spice Tribunal oversees not just legality, but harmony. Your soul's seasoning is central to whether you are fit to remain in this reality."
"So this is a... flavor trial."
"Exactly."
"And what happens if I'm too salty?"
The entire courtroom looked directly at me.
Fine. Walked into that one.
The tribunal began its next phase: The Tasting.
Fluffernox leapt from the soup, now wearing a judge's powdered wig and a small ascot. With great ceremony, he placed a ladle in front of each Tribunal member. They dipped into the court-broth.
I held my breath.
Chili took a sip. Smoldered. "Chaotic. Raw. Scalding emotional undertones."
Cinnamon took a dainty taste. "Notes of longing. Grief. Unexpected affection. Also paprika."
Basilicus let the liquid touch his leaf. "Too much identity crisis. Not enough thyme."
I rubbed my temples. "Are you judging me or the literal soup I'm drowning in?"
Spoon answered: "Yes."
"Let us proceed to the Confession Phase," Cinnamon declared, and the soup receded into mist—leaving me standing barefoot in a circle of warm steam.
The courtroom shifted. Time slowed. Everything grew quiet.
And suddenly, I wasn't facing the Tribunal anymore.
I was facing her.
Belladonna.
Regal. Raging. Radiating magic like an unstable star. Her dress was slightly singed. Her hair floated in an anti-gravitational fury I had learned to associate with incoming emotional devastation.
"You called me here?" she demanded.
"I didn't—well, technically—Spoon might have—"
"Kael."
Oh no. Full name voice. I was doomed.
She stepped forward.
"We are in the middle of a divine courtroom drama, possibly an apocalypse, and you still haven't said it."
I blinked. "Said what?"
She glared. "The thing. The confession. The emotion you choke on like it's poison."
The room felt smaller. The steam curled around us like fate. The audience faded. Even Fluffernox took off his wig and slowly backed away.
I took a breath. Then another.
"Belladonna... I didn't ask for this. Any of this."
"That is not an answer."
"But I care. I care about you. I care so much it breaks the glitch. It hurts. And every time I run, it's because staying—staying means choosing to matter. And I don't think I deserve that."
She stared.
The steam pulsed. Time held its breath.
Then she slapped me.
And kissed me immediately after.
"Proceedings are now in emotional recess," Basilicus said faintly.
Fluffernox resumed swimming in the chowder.
Spoon applauded. With fire.
Belladonna didn't let go. Neither did I.
The flavor trial was far from over. The spice gods had yet to cast final judgment. Somewhere, a chili portal opened to summon the Grandmother of Recipes.
But for this moment—
I wasn't drowning.
I was held.
And maybe, just maybe...
The soup was beginning to make sense.
Next Time on Kaelverse:"Trial by Fireball: Cooking Class with the Chili Judge!"
spoiler: no spoiler