They hadn't walked more than a few steps into the entrance hall before Pearl's tail gave a small, thoughtful twitch.
"This place is enormous," she murmured, eyes tracing the high ceiling and branching corridors. "But I doubt even this mansion could contain all the food storage I'll need."
Kurohana snorted.
"Of course that's your first concern," she muttered. "Not the bedrooms. Not the defenses. The pantries."
Pearl shot her a sideways look.
"Says the oni who nearly cleaned out my entire larder in one sitting."
"That was research," Kurohana protested. "I had to know if your cooking was worth the trouble of fighting you."
"You didn't even pay."
"I was considering paying," Kurohana argued. "With violence."
"That's called robbery."
Mercer coughed lightly, smiling.
"If food storage is the concern," he said, "then I think I know exactly where to start the tour."
Kurohana lifted an eyebrow.
"Let me guess," she said. "The kitchen."
"Exactly," Mercer answered, already turning toward one of the hallways. "This way."
Pearl followed, still holding the crystal orb that contained her restaurant, her wings tucked in tight to avoid knocking anything over. As they went deeper, the air subtly shifted—cool and faintly metallic near the entryway, then growing warmer as they approached the back of the mansion.
Mercer stopped in front of a pair of swinging doors.
He pushed them open.
Pearl stepped through, and for a moment, she forgot how to breathe.
The kitchen was immense.
Wide stone counters lined the walls, polished to a shine. A central island big enough to prepare a feast for a hundred people dominated the room, complete with sinks, built-in cutting boards, and racks hanging overhead loaded with pots, pans, ladles, and knives. There were multiple ovens—some conventional, some arcane, their runes faintly glowing—along with stoves powered by enchanted flame. A cold room door sat to one side; beside it was a walk-in pantry door with a carved sigil in its center.
Every tool gleamed. Every tile shone. The room hummed with potential.
Pearl stared.
Kurohana eyed her.
"Uh oh," the oni muttered. "She's having a moment."
Pearl slowly set the crystal orb on a clear section of counter, then took a few steps into the room like she was entering a sacred temple.
"This…" she breathed. "…this is perfection."
She practically floated across the floor, running her claws along the edges of the counters, opening drawers and cupboards with something like reverence. Each time she found another neatly organized set of knives, or intricate measuring tools, or high-quality pots, her eyes lit up even more.
"I could create culinary masterpieces in here," she whispered, wings giving a little excited flutter.
Kurohana twisted her lips.
"So this is what it takes to impress you," she said. "Fancy countertops."
Pearl pivoted, eyes bright.
"This isn't fancy," she corrected. "This is properly equipped. There's a difference."
Kurohana shrugged.
"As long as the results are edible."
Pearl's eye narrowed dangerously.
"Do you want to go back in the other kitchen?" she asked sweetly.
Kurohana's shoulders stiffened.
"…You know what? This looks like a fine kitchen," she said quickly. "Five stars. Very shiny."
Mercer smiled as he watched Pearl practically dance around the space.
"I'm glad you like it," he said. "When I created this kitchen, I wanted to make sure every guild member had what they needed to create their best meals."
Pearl stopped, turning to face him fully. Her eyes sparkled.
"You've truly outdone yourself, guild master," she said. "This kitchen is more than I could have ever hoped for."
She gestured dramatically at the room.
"I can already imagine the feasts I'll prepare here."
Mercer brightened.
"Then how about we start now?" he suggested. "We should celebrate the founding of the guild—and both of you joining—with a proper meal."
Kurohana perked up immediately.
"Now you're speaking my language," she said, leaning her club against the wall. "I'm starving."
Pearl smirked.
"You're always starving," she said, then added, with a little glint, "but I suppose you deserve a proper introduction to my cooking that doesn't involve you becoming stew."
"Finally," Kurohana muttered. "That's all I wanted. An honest meal without surprise digestion clauses."
Pearl stepped closer to her, eyes narrowing playfully.
"Tell me, oni," she said, circling her slowly. "What's your favorite dish?"
Kurohana eyed her warily.
"Why?" she asked. "If this is some elaborate setup to season me better—"
Pearl rolled her eyes.
"I'm not asking for marinade preferences," she said. "Just answer the question."
Kurohana hesitated, then sighed.
"…I like anything with a good amount of spice," she admitted. "Something that bites back."
Pearl's smile turned predatory.
"Perfect," she said. "I have just the recipe in mind."
She turned toward Mercer.
"Guild master," she said smoothly, "would you be so kind as to show me where the pantry is?"
He pointed.
"It's on the left side of the wall," he said. "Near the cold room door. It's a walk-in pantry."
Pearl's eyes practically glowed as she headed toward it.
"Stay right there, oni," she said as she reached for the handle. "This won't take long."
She slipped inside. The door swung closed with a soft click, leaving Kurohana and Mercer alone in the warm kitchen.
The sounds of clinking jars and rustling bags drifted out from behind the door.
Kurohana sighed, glancing toward it.
"What exactly is she planning?" she muttered.
Mercer grinned.
"I don't know," he said, "but I'm honestly really excited."
"You seem awfully cheerful about this," Kurohana said. "Aren't you even a little worried about what she might be cooking?"
"Not at all," Mercer replied. "She is a cook. And you did eat a lot of her food before you ended up becoming a meal for her."
"That was different," Kurohana grumbled. "I was paying for it. Eventually. And I had every intention of fighting my way out after I was finished."
The pantry door opened.
Pearl emerged, arms full of ingredients—vegetables, jars of spices, bottles of oil, sacks of rice, and something that smelled fiery and promising. She carried everything with the ease of someone who'd worked in a kitchen all her life.
"Found everything I need," she announced.
She set the ingredients gracefully on the central island, then made a little show of flexing her fingers as if rolling up sleeves she didn't actually have in dragon form.
"Now, oni," she said with a smirk, "prepare to have your taste buds ignited."
"Hey," Kurohana muttered. "That better be a metaphor."
Pearl didn't answer. She was already moving.
She fell into a rhythm almost immediately: washing, chopping, stirring. She grabbed herbs from one basket, peppers from another, tossing them into a pan with oil that sizzled as soon as it touched the surface. The air filled with the aroma of garlic, spice, and something smoky.
Her tail swayed behind her in time with her motions as she worked, humming softly to herself.
"This is going to be a masterpiece," she murmured. "The perfect blend of flavors."
Mercer watched for a moment, then turned to Kurohana.
"While Pearl's cooking," he said, "do you mind if I bring you to the training room?"
Kurohana's eyes lit up.
"You have a training room?" she asked.
"Of course," Mercer said. "Several, actually. But I think you'll like the main one."
She grinned, electricity crackling faintly over her shoulders.
"Lead the way, guild master."
Mercer looked over at Pearl.
"Is that all right?" he asked. "If I take her to the training room while you work?"
Pearl glanced up from the pan, scales glinting in the kitchen light.
"Go ahead," she said. "Just make sure you bring her back in one piece. I want my first official guild dinner to have all its members present."
"Understood," Mercer said.
He snapped his fingers.
The kitchen vanished around Kurohana in a blink of light.
She reappeared in a wide, high-ceilinged room.
On one side were racks of weights, bars, and benches—workout equipment in neat rows. On the other stood dozens of training dummies, lined up and waiting like silent opponents: some wooden, some stuffed straw, some clearly enchanted.
Kurohana slowly lowered her club from where she'd brought it up on reflex.
"…Impressive setup," she said, eyes roaming over the space. "Though I doubt these things will be much of a challenge for me."
Mercer shrugged.
"Go ahead and give them a fight with your club," he said. "Consider it… calibration."
Kurohana grinned.
"With pleasure."
She planted her feet, electricity flaring around her weapon. Then she surged forward with a roar, swinging the spiked club in a powerful arc.
The nearest dummy exploded into splinters.
She pivoted, slamming another. It flew across the room and stuck halfway into the wall.
"Is that all?" she taunted.
The room hummed.
More dummies slid out from compartments in the walls. Enchanted glyphs glowed faintly as additional targets wheeled into position, filling the floor in front of her.
Kurohana's grin widened.
"Oh," she said. "Now we're talking."
She spun, club lighting up with crackling arcs as she swung. She shattered one dummy, then flipped her grip and smashed another. Electricity rippled outward from each strike, frying a small cluster at a time.
As she moved deeper into the crowd, more dummies clicked into motion—stepping, pivoting, even swinging padded arms in her direction.
"Is this supposed to be a challenge?" she shouted over the crashes. "Because if it is, you're going to need more dummies!"
Mercer watched her work with quiet satisfaction.
Her movements were raw but powerful, like a thunderstorm trying to learn choreography. Every swing carried intent; every strike tested both force and stamina.
"Looks like she's having fun," he said.
Satisfied, he glanced once more to make sure the enchantments were functioning correctly, then stepped out through a side door that led back toward the kitchen.
He appeared in the doorway.
The aroma hit him like a welcoming spell.
"Wow," he said. "That smells amazing."
Pearl was at the stove, scales gleaming faintly with a sheen of effort. A pan simmered in front of her, steam rising from it in fragrant curls. She sprinkled something into the mixture, then stirred.
"Just in time," she said without turning. "I'm almost done."
"Do you need any help?" Mercer asked. "Anything I can grab?"
She considered for a moment.
"Yes," she said. "Could you fetch that spice jar on the top shelf for me? The one labeled 'Cajun seasoning'."
She pointed toward a high shelf above the counter.
Then she remembered how small Mercer had looked back at the diner and internally winced.
"Oh, wait, you might not—"
When she turned, he was already casually reaching the top shelf without any difficulty, plucking the jar from its spot and handing it to her.
Pearl froze.
"…How did you…?" she asked.
Her eyes darted from his face to his height, then back again. He was noticeably taller than he'd been earlier. Not huge—but a comfortable, average human height instead of his earlier compact form.
"You were much smaller earlier," she said slowly.
Mercer blinked, then smiled.
"Oh! Right, sorry," he said. "I forgot to mention. My size is very flexible."
"Flexible?" Pearl repeated.
"Yeah," he said. "A while back, when I was learning how to manipulate my form, I realized condensing myself helps me regulate magic better while also making me seem less threatening. That's why I usually take my short form. But I can change to whatever height or shape I need."
Pearl stared a little longer, then laughed softly.
"…Fascinating," she said. "You can manipulate your size at will."
She took the jar from him and sprinkled a measured amount into the pan, stirring as the dish deepened in color.
"That must be useful in combat situations," she added.
"It has its advantages," Mercer said. "But most of the time I use it to be less scary."
"Being underestimated is its own kind of weapon," Pearl said. "You get to decide when to reveal what you really can do."
She gave the dish one last stir, then turned off the heat.
"There," she said. "Done."
The dish she had prepared gleamed invitingly: vibrant colors, glossy sauce, steam rising in lazy wisps. The scent of spices and heat danced on the air, not just hot, but layered—complex.
Mercer leaned in, eyes sparkling.
"We should get the table ready," he said. "I'll set things up and then go grab Kurohana."
Pearl nodded.
"I'll plate everything," she said. "Make sure the presentation matches the taste."
They moved in easy tandem.
Mercer conjured a long, polished table into one corner of the kitchen's adjoining dining space—nothing fancy, but solid and welcoming. He laid out plates, utensils, and glasses with quick, practiced motions.
Pearl carefully portioned the food, placing each serving with attention to balance and color. She moved with the same grace she'd had in the diner, but here, in this vast kitchen, every step seemed lighter.
When everything was ready, Mercer stepped back and admired it.
"It's perfect," he said.
He snapped his fingers.
Kurohana appeared in the seat nearest the end of the table, mid-swing.
"—WHO PUT MORE OF YOU IN HERE?!" she shouted, club raised.
She blinked as the training dummies, gym equipment, and battle echoes vanished around her. The club froze just shy of clipping the plate.
She glanced down at the food.
She glanced up at Pearl and Mercer.
"…Warn a girl next time," she grumbled, lowering her weapon. "I almost turned dinner into confetti."
Pearl took her seat at the head of the table, gesturing at the dish in front of Kurohana.
"A proper meal for a proper member," she said with a smirk. "And a token of my culinary skills."
Kurohana eyed the plate suspiciously.
"It better not be poisoned," she muttered—but her stomach betrayed her, growling loudly at the aroma.
Pearl laughed, scales rippling with amusement.
"Please," she said. "If I wanted you dead, I'd do it much more creatively than poisoning your food."
She picked up her own fork and took a bite.
"Now eat," she said. "I worked hard on this."
Mercer had already taken a bite and was practically melting.
"Wow," he said between mouthfuls. "This is really amazing. You really know how to cook."
Pearl preened, pride warming her expression.
"Of course I do," she replied. "I'm the best chef you'll ever have the privilege of eating with."
Kurohana watched them both for a moment, torn between suspicion and hunger.
"…Fine," she muttered, picking up her fork. "If I burst into flames, I'm haunting both of you."
She stabbed a piece of food, lifted it, and took a bite.
Her eyes went wide.
This time, the electricity that danced along her shoulders wasn't from anger.
"…This…" she managed after swallowing. "…This is incredible."
Pearl's smirk turned smug.
"I know," she said. "I did tell you I was exceptional."
Kurohana took another bite. And another. The initial reluctance vanished with every forkful.
Mercer smiled as he watched the two of them eat, the warm light of the kitchen casting a soft glow over the scene.
They sat together—dragoness, oni, and magician—sharing a meal in a mansion that hadn't existed in this field an hour ago.
The air was filled with clinking cutlery, low rumbling chuckles, and the occasional insult.
"You know," Pearl said casually between bites, "for an oni, you're not completely insufferable."
Kurohana snorted, pointing her fork at her.
"And for a dragon, you're not entirely hideous."
Pearl scoffed, but she was smiling.
Mercer leaned back slightly, watching them with satisfaction.
"I'm so glad to have you two as part of this guild," he said. "And I can't wait to see who else joins."
Pearl raised an eyebrow.
"Others?" she asked. "How many more are you planning to recruit?"
"More than enough," Mercer said, grin returning. "So that whenever someone hears about the Covenant of Fire, it brings them joy and wonder—and the desire to join automatically."
Kurohana tilted her head, curious despite herself.
"And what makes this guild so special," she asked, "that people will just… join automatically?"
"The camaraderie," he answered simply.
The two women exchanged a look.
"That's it?" Pearl asked skeptically. "Just camaraderie?"
"Of course," Mercer said. "Even though I want this place to be a hub for survival, it should also be for friendship. For growing together and forming bonds that won't break."
Pearl tried to scoff, but the sound lacked bite.
"Sentimental nonsense," she muttered.
Kurohana stared at her plate, expression unreadable.
"…Maybe," she said quietly. "But the fact is… we're here. And by all rights, we should be fighting."
She glanced at Pearl.
"You swallowed me."
Pearl lifted her chin.
"You tried to rob me."
Kurohana smirked.
"And yet," Mercer said gently, "instead of finishing that fight… you're eating together. And enjoying each other's company. Even if you're insulting each other while you do it."
Pearl rolled her eyes.
"The food has temporarily distracted us from our differences," she said.
Kurohana nodded slowly.
"It's… different," she admitted. "But not unpleasant."
Mercer suddenly laughed, light and bright.
Pearl and Kurohana both turned to glare at him.
"What's so funny?" Pearl demanded, scales flushing faintly.
"Nothing," he said quickly, still smiling. "I'm just happy. You're my first two members."
Pearl huffed, folding her arms.
"Don't get too excited," she said. "We might still end up killing each other tomorrow."
"Only if you can catch me first, dragon," Kurohana shot back.
Pearl smirked.
"Oh, I will catch you," she purred. "One way or another."
Mercer just laughed again, warmth bubbling in his chest.
Outside, the sun dipped below the horizon, and evening settled over the grassy plains of Omnilith.
Inside the mansion, under the glow of gently enchanted lights, three unlikely allies shared their first meal together as a guild.
It didn't look like destiny.
It looked like dinner.
But for the Covenant of Fire, this was where destiny quietly began.