Back at the restaurant, Draden found Marcus and Coradine already deep in discussion as they worked their magic. With the wards in their capable hands, Draden retreated to the kitchen and began to prepare for the delivery that should be arriving soon.

  The rattle of a cart on the dirt road outside announced the arrival of his supplies. Draden wiped his hands on his apron and headed out, stepping into the bright afternoon sun. It wasn’t the usual merchants, but a lanky young man with a spray of freckles across his nose, his eyes wide with a mixture of curiosity and nervousness.

  "Delivery for the restaurant," The young man announced, his voice cracking slightly. He gestured to the cart laden with crates of vegetables, sacks of plucked chickens, several large sacks of flour, and jugs of fresh milk and cream. "The usual lads were swamped. Sent me instead." He wiped some sweat from his brow. It was a hot day out, and the mule he had pulling the cart had been a finicky sort of annoying.

  "No problem," Draden said, his gaze sweeping over the goods, checking to ensure that everything he had ordered had properly arrived. "Looks like it’s all there. Do you mind helping me get it to the kitchen door?"

  The boy nodded. “Part of the job.”

  Together, they moved the supplies, the silence broken only by the scrape of crates and their steady breathing. The young man kept stealing glances at the restaurant, at Draden, at the sword still strapped to his back beneath the apron. The stories that had begun to circulate about this place in the city were wild. Food that could heal wounds, no matter how old, and a chef who was a former cultivator mercenary.

  The man before him seemed… normal. A bit tired, maybe, but normal. Certainly not someone who could make food that healed, or had once been a powerful cultivator and mercenary. Well, as long as you ignored the sword, but plenty of people had those.

  Once everything was stacked near the kitchen entrance, Draden handed the boy a small tip for his help. "You look like you've been working all morning. Hungry?"

  He shifted on his feet, surprised. "I, uh, I couldn't."

  "Nonsense," Draden said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "It’s bad business to let someone who brought you good ingredients leave with an empty stomach. Come on."

  He led the hesitant young man into the kitchen and, with a few deft movements, assembled a couple of street tacos from the meat he was going to use for everyone’s lunch.

  He had run out of chicken the night before, but he still had some beef and was using that instead. He warmed a tortilla on the flat top, the surface blistering and puffing with heat. He piled on shreds of the marinated steak, its savory aroma filling the small space. A sprinkle of diced red onion, a shower of fresh cilantro, and a quick squeeze of lime finished it. He folded each carefully and handed them over with a smile.

  "Here. On the house."

  Licking his lips, the young man took them, his eyes wide. He’d never seen food prepared like this. He took a cautious bite. His eyes shot open. The warmth of the tortilla gave way to the incredible tenderness of the steak, its deep, smoky flavor infused with a complex blend of the marinade. The sharp, bright crunch of the onion cut through it all, and then the burst of lime juice lingered on his tongue, making his entire mouth crave for another bite.

  Then came the qi. It wasn't a violent rush, but a gentle, pervasive warmth that spread from his chest outwards, chasing away the bone-deep weariness from a morning of hauling crates. The ache in his lower back from lifting several particularly heavy loads the day before eased. It wasn’t gone, not yet, but he could tell that by the time he finished eating the tacos, it would be.

  "What… what was in that?" He stammered, staring at the half-eaten taco as if it were a magical artifact.

  Draden just smiled. "Just a taco. Now, you'd better get back before your boss thinks you ran off."

  The boy nodded dumbly, devouring the rest of the first taco in two more massive bites before practically fleeing, his mind reeling. He had a story to tell, and it was even better than the rumors.

  Draden watched him go, a thoughtful expression on his face. Every person who ate his food became a ripple in the pond, spreading the story of his restaurant further. It was both his greatest asset and his most pressing danger.

  He returned to the kitchen and began moving the new supplies into the fridge, where they wouldn’t spoil. He had a lot of food prep to do and not much time to do it in; this was going to be a busy night for him. As much as he disliked admitting it, it was a good thing that he didn’t need to stop and pick up his daughter from school that day. It was a reprieve that felt strangely hollow.

  He moved with a focused, almost frantic energy, his hands a blur of motion. Crates were unstacked, vegetables washed, and sorted. The rhythmic thud of his knife against the cutting board became a steady beat against the backdrop of the quiet restaurant. Onions were diced with precision, their sharp scent stinging his eyes. Celery stalks were sliced into thin, pale green crescents, and bell peppers were cored and chopped into a colorful medley. He worked through the large sacks of chickens next, rinsing each one before setting them aside, a testament to the sheer volume of gyros, wraps, and tacos he expected to sell.

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  The kitchen quickly transformed back into its normal state of busy chaos. The air grew thick with the mingling aromas of herbs, simmering meat, and the clean scent of fresh produce. He kept up a steady intake of his almond snack balls, needing to force each one down. Each one sent a jolt of qi through his system, renewing his energy and battering at the deeper injury of his prime meridian.

  He paid special attention to the food he was preparing for everyone’s lunch. He needed to make sure it would all be ready in time for when the mages left to retrieve his daughter and speak with Mirna and Dajra.

  There was a lot to do, and not much time to do it. The chicken needed to be cut and marinated. The beef for the stew needed to be tenderized and cut. The endless vegetables needed to be prepared, and that was just for the main meals. There were also the items for the desserts and the biscuits.

  So much needed to be done that time flew by, and before he even realized it, a little strawberry-blonde-haired terror was glomping onto his leg.

  “Daddy!” Leah cried out as she climbed up him like a monkey and wrapped her arms around his neck, while her legs entwined themselves around his chest. “Did you miss Leah?”

  Draden tried to nod, but failed miserably, due to the tight hold she had on his neck. “Of course I did, sweetie. I always miss my cute, wonderful daughter whenever she is away from me, but she does need to go to school and learn new things.”

  The girl rested her head on his shoulder and sighed happily.

  Drying his hands on his apron, Draden peeled the girl from off his shoulder and gave her a hug and kiss on the cheek. “Did you have a good day at school?”

  She nodded. “There were a few weird people hanging around the gates of the school that teacher Mirna was really, unhup… unhappy about though.”

  Draden’s heart seized, a cold fist clenched around it. The warmth he had felt from holding his daughter evaporated, replaced by an icy dread. He struggled to keep his expression the same, a mask of calm the former Draden would have managed with ease, while he struggled. He might have inherited the memories and absorbed that fragment of his soul, in essence making them one and the same. There were still some things where his modern mind fought against the one he had inherited.

  “Weird people?” He asked, his voice carefully level.

  Leah scrunched up her nose and nodded. “Teacher Mirna told Miss Dajra about them, and she stood by the gate the entire day.”

  Two men. Just watching. It was the classic first step. Reconnaissance. Gauging the defenses, the routines, the target’s own awareness. The fact that Mirna and Dajra had noticed and reacted confirmed their competence, but it did little to soothe the buzzing in Draden’s gut. They were observing his daughter at her school. The one line he would not allow to ever be crossed.

  Before he could ask another question, there was a motion from the kitchen door as Marcus and Coradine stepped in from the dining area. Coradine’s face was a thundercloud, her usual fiery energy banked into a simmering, dangerous heat. Marcus looked grave, his lips a thin, tight line. They both stopped when they saw the look on Draden’s face and the way he was crouched in front of Leah.

  “She already told you,” Coradine stated, her voice tight with anger. It wasn’t a question.

  Draden nodded slowly, his gaze not leaving his daughter’s innocent face. He gave Leah a gentle squeeze and patted her head. “Why don’t you go wash your hands, sweetie? The others should be here soon, and I want to hear more about your day before they arrive.”

  “Okay, Daddy!” She chirped happily. She scampered off toward the small washroom, humming a little tune she’d learned at school.

  The moment she was out of earshot, the atmosphere in the kitchen dropped twenty degrees. Draden rose to his full height, his apron suddenly looking like a flimsy disguise over the hardened warrior beneath. The last few months had been good for him, and the softness he had gained from lazing about in pain had disappeared, replaced by muscle that grew harder and more pronounced the more he swung his sword.

  “How did the meeting go today? Did Dajra and Mirna have anything to say about these men?” He asked coldly.

  Marcus sighed and held up his hand, asking for a moment. He left the doorway and returned a moment later with chairs for himself and Coradine. “It was a mess, and not only because of the men.”

  “Mirna’s mother was there, and everything was going fine, until the City Lord made his appearance.” Coradine sighed. “Apparently, he required his wife’s presence at a sudden meeting with some nobles. He finds her presence stabilizing. Another point in favor of our theory.”

  Marcus was leaning forward and had steepled his hands. “The three took the opportunity to mention what was wrong with him. To say it did not go well would be an understatement.”

  Coradine nodded. “As for the men who were hanging around the school, they didn’t belong to Tavian, but some of the regular nobles inside the city. They will need to be taught a lesson soon, in what they can and cannot touch.”

  “So, Macron isn’t willing to accept that he has suffered a qi deviation or that he needs help in order to get better. The city nobles are circling my daughter like vultures, and Tavian may or may not still be a problem as well.” He summarized each of the problems they were facing. “Why would they choose to tell him now? I thought we were waiting until your friend arrives and can confirm the diagnosis.”

  Marcus ran a hand over his tired face. “It was not the ideal time for it to happen; no. However, Macron’s unpredictability is the immediate problem. He’s lashing out; his family helps to stabilize him, but he also sees them as a weakness. He knows Leah is Mirna’s student, so when you invited them to the grand opening, he targeted her instead.”

  “They will be dealt with,” Coradine’s voice was sharp, a promise etched in steel. “Marcus and I will make a few… inquiries. A quiet word in the right ears can be more effective than a drawn sword. We’ll remind them that some territories are best left undisturbed, and who we are. How we earned our names.”

  “And while you two play protectors, what am I supposed to do?” Draden asked, the frustration raw in his tone. He felt a familiar, bitter helplessness creeping in, the same feeling that had haunted him after Lorna was taken. He was stronger now, yes, but only just; he still was not strong enough.

  “You do what you do best,” Marcus said, his eyes meeting Draden’s with a surprising intensity. “You cook. You build your influence here, not with the sword, but with your food and the loyalty of your customers. Every person who leaves this restaurant healed, stronger, and satisfied will become an ally. Every guard who feels the ache leave his bones, every merchant whose fatigue is washed away… Every person who can finally connect with their dantian. They will become your first line of defense. Tavian and Macron have power, but you are creating something else entirely.”

  The words settled in the quiet kitchen, profound in their simplicity. Draden looked around at the space he’d built, the gleaming countertops, the organized shelves, the lingering scent of spices and baked biscuits. It wasn't just a kitchen; it was his armory. His food was his weapon.

  A slow, determined nod was his only reply.

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