"Is something burning?" Lyra sniffed the air as she pushed open their cottage door. The warm glow of the hearth welcomed them home, but there was definitely a suspicious smell mixing with the usual delicious aromas.
"Dad's cooking again!" she giggled, nudging her mother's arm.
"I heard that!" Oren's voice boomed from the kitchen, followed by the clatter of pots. "And for your information, young lady, nothing's burning. It's... caramelizing."
Elara and Lyra found him frantically stirring a bubbling pot, his dark hair dusted with flour and his favorite apron covered in mysterious stains. Their small kitchen was chaos - herbs scattered everywhere, bottles of essence tipped over, and what looked suspiciously like failed attempts at bread turned to charcoal.
"Oh honey," Elara tried not to laugh, "you didn't try using essence in the cooking again, did you?"
Oren's cheeks flushed red. "Maybe a tiny bit? I thought just a drop of Moonflower essence might enhance the flavor..."
"Last time you did that, the soup started glowing," Lyra reminded him, peering into the pot. "And singing. It literally sang, Dad."
"That was one time!" Oren protested, but he was grinning. "And you have to admit, it was a pretty good tune."
Elara waved her hand, and the scattered ingredients lifted themselves back into their proper places. "What would you do without an alchemist wife to clean up your messes?"
"Probably poison myself with my own cooking," Oren admitted cheerfully. He pulled Elara close and kissed her cheek, leaving a smudge of flour. "But lucky for me, I married the most talented essence wielder in all of Moonhaven."
"Eww, gross!" Lyra pretended to gag at their display of affection, but she was smiling. She loved seeing her parents like this - happy, playful, so clearly in love after all these years.
They settled around their old wooden table, which Oren had somehow managed to set beautifully despite the kitchen chaos. Lyra's nose twitched as she studied the steaming bowl before her.
"Dad... is the stew supposed to be sparkling?"
"Ah, well..." Oren scratched his head. "Consider it festive?"
"Speaking of essence," Elara smoothly changed the subject, "I think it's time we talked about something important, Lyra."
Lyra perked up, recognizing her mother's teaching voice. "Is this about the Crutons you mentioned last week?"
"Smart girl!" Oren beamed. "You see, Crutons are like tiny sparks inside everyone. They're what let us use essence in the first place."
"Like little seeds?" Lyra asked through a mouthful of surprisingly tasty (if slightly sparkly) stew.
"Exactly!" Elara's eyes lit up. "And between ages ten and seventeen, those seeds start to grow. That's when people develop their essence abilities."
"Is that why my hand tingled when I touched the Lunar Lily earlier?"
"Mhmm," Elara nodded. "Your Crutons are starting to wake up. Soon you'll be able to do more than just feel essence - you'll be able to work with it."
"Like make potions that don't glow in the dark?" Lyra teased, looking pointedly at her father's creation.
"Hey!" Oren protested. "I'll have you know that glowing food is very fashionable in some circles."
They all laughed, and Lyra felt warmth spread through her chest that had nothing to do with the stew. Here, in their cozy kitchen with her mother's gentle wisdom and her father's loving goofiness, she felt ready to face whatever challenges learning essence might bring.
"Just promise me one thing," she said suddenly, looking between her parents. "When I start learning for real... can Dad still cook sometimes? Even if things get a bit... musical?"
"Of course, Moonbeam," Elara smiled, reaching across to squeeze her husband's flour-covered hand. "Some of the best essence magic happens by accident. Just look at how I met your father - he was trying to make tea with moonflower petals and somehow turned all his hair blue for a week."
"Best mistake I ever made," Oren winked. "Got the prettiest alchemist in town to notice me, didn't it?"
They finished their meal sharing stories of Oren's past cooking disasters, each tale more ridiculous than the last. And if the stew started humming halfway through dinner... well, that just made it more memorable.