Ewan blinked. Silence stretched between them for a moment, filled only by the chirping of insects in the surrounding grass.
Ewan weighed his options. He wasn't exactly a master chef himself. His knowledge was purely theoretical, gleaned from years of ghostly voyeurism. "I'll give it a try." He said finally, though he added a quick disclaimer: "But I can't guarantee it will be restaurant quality, alright?"
"That's fine." Asher replied with a shrug, seemingly relieved to be absolved of culinary duties: "I'll clean and dress the pheasant for you. You handle the cooking."
With the division of labor established, the two men set to work. Asher took the pheasant outside to pluck and gut it, while Ewan headed into the kitchen to prepare for his culinary experiment.
The kitchen was primitive, a relic of a time before automated nutrient dispensers and molecular gastronomy. There were no gas ranges, no induction plates, and certainly no voice-activated ovens. It was a wood-fired stove, stark and utilitarian. Fortunately, it wasn't so archaic that Ewan had to strike flint against stone to spark a flame. There were fire starters available, saving him from an embarrassing struggle.
Ewan filled a large pot with water and set it over the growing flames. As the water began to heat, transitioning from a quiet stillness to a low rumble, Ewan racked his brain, trying to retrieve every detail of the cooking processes he had observed in his past existence.
Ginger. Onions. He rummaged through the meager pantry and found what he needed. He smashed the ginger to release its aroma and roughly chopped the onions. By the time Asher returned with the clean, pale meat of the pheasant, the water was reaching a boil. Ewan slid the chicken into the pot, adding the aromatics and a pinch of salt.
Then, he stood by the stove, watching the pot with the intensity of an alchemist brewing a potion. As the water boiled, grey scum began to rise to the surface. Ewan grabbed a ladle and meticulously skimmed the foam, discarding it into a bowl.
Truth be told, Ewan didn't fully understand the chemical science behind why this step was necessary. He simply remembered seeing people do it. The cooks he had watched in his spectral form always skimmed the foam to ensure the broth was clear and the flavor pure. It was a mimicry born of observation, a case of monkey-see, monkey-do. But as the grey impurities were removed and the steam began to carry a cleaner, savory scent, Ewan felt a surge of confidence.
He continued to follow the steps he had memorized, adjusting the heat and covering the pot. While the soup simmered, transforming from simple water and meat into something magical, Asher took the opportunity to head to the bathhouse to wash off the grime of the forest.
When the hunter emerged some time later, clean and dressed in fresh, loose-fitting clothes, a rich, mouth-watering aroma greeted him the moment he stepped out of the bathroom. It was a smell that spoke of warmth, comfort, and home, a scent rarely found in the bachelor pad of a solitary hunter.
"That smells incredible." Asher remarked, inhaling deeply. He couldn't help but let out a low sigh of appreciation.
He walked into the main room just as Ewan was ladling the steaming stew into large ceramic bowls. Ewan had also taken the initiative to prepare the staple grain, a mix of wheat extended with corn. It was a common, somewhat dry filler food for the working class of the Empire, but looking at the glossy, golden sheen of the chicken soup, Ewan was optimistic. The rich broth would surely make the coarse grains palatable.
In fact, looking at the feast, Ewan felt he could devour the entire pot.
"You're done? Perfect timing, we can eat now." Ewan said, his face flushed slightly from the heat of the stove.
He carried out another dish, a chicken salad. Since the pheasant had been quite large, Ewan had shredded some of the cooked meat, blanched a handful of wild vegetables he found in the kitchen, and tossed them together with the shredded chicken and a few spices. It was a simple, refreshing side dish to cut through the richness of the soup.
Seeing Ewan bustling about, Asher stepped in to help. He took the ladle and filled a bowl to the brim with soup and meat, placing it firmly in front of Ewan.
"Eat." He commanded gently.
The meal proceeded in silence, but it was a comfortable silence, lacking the awkward tension that had plagued them earlier. Ewan dug in with enthusiasm. He felt a swell of pride in his own craftsmanship. For a first attempt, it was remarkably successful. He had managed to remove any gamey odor from the meat, leaving only a sweet, savory richness.
The chicken was tender, falling off the bone, and the broth was unctuous and fatty, coating the tongue and making the dry corn-wheat mixture slide down the throat with ease. It was delicious.
However, as the meal went on, Ewan's enthusiasm began to wane. He had been so busy cooking that he hadn't noticed the signals his body was sending him. Now, as he sat still, a wave of exhaustion crashed over him.
He had barely finished half his bowl when the fatigue turned into something else. The delicious taste of the chicken faded, replaced by a lack of appetite. A strange, dry heat began to bloom from his core, radiating outward to his limbs. He felt restless, an uncomfortable prickling sensation under his skin.
It must be the summoning, Ewan reasoned silently, trying to steady his breathing. I summoned all five Slimes today and kept them active for hours. I must have overdrawn my mental energy.
Speaking of the Slimes, the five elemental blobs were currently bouncing around the front yard, absorbing ambient elemental particles to recharge themselves. Ewan let out a mental sigh. He needed to find a way to cultivate, to increase his spiritual capacity. This weak constitution was going to be a problem.
Fighting through the haze in his mind, Ewan forced himself to finish the grain in his bowl, though it felt like swallowing gravel. Finally, he set his chopsticks down, unable to take another bite.
"I'm sorry." Ewan said, his voice sounding a bit breathless to his own ears: "Could you... could you help me clean up? I... I'm feeling really tired."
He knew it was rude. He was a guest in this house, living here for free, and asking the host to wash the dishes after cooking seemed presumptuous. But his limbs felt heavy, as if lead had been poured into his veins. He truly didn't have the strength to stand at the sink.
Asher looked up from his bowl. His sharp eyes immediately zeroed in on Ewan's face. The young Omega's cheeks were dusted with an unnatural flush, his eyes slightly glassy.
The Alpha paused, his instincts flaring. He seemed to realize something, perhaps sensing a shift in pheromones or recognizing the early symptoms of a physiological cycle common to Omegas.
"Go and rest." Asher said, his voice dropping to a lower, more serious register. He stood up immediately: "I'll bring you some medicine in a bit. Leave the bowls, I'll handle everything."
Ewan nodded vaguely. His ears were ringing slightly, and Asher's words sounded like they were coming from underwater. He mumbled a thank you and stood up, swaying slightly as he made his way toward his room.
However, halfway down the corridor, Ewan stopped. He looked down at his clothes. He had been trudging through mud and fields all day. He felt sticky, gritty, and gross. The thought of climbing into his bed in this condition was unbearable.
Despite the heaviness in his legs and the heat burning in his blood, Ewan turned around. He bypassed his bedroom door and headed toward the back door that led to the courtyard.
He needed a bath. No matter how tired he was, he couldn't sleep like this. He would wash off the day's filth first, then he would collapse.