The kitchen was a battlefield.
Not in the way most would imagine—no clattering of swords, no shouts of warriors.
Instead, the scent of rare spices thickened the air like a magic spell, the flickering candlelight casting strange shadows over the towering shelves of ancient cookbooks and jars filled with ingredients that defied logic.
The void serpent egg—an obsidian-black behemoth veined with eerie purple cracks—sat in the center of the marble countertop like a dormant storm, waiting to be awakened.
Leora stood beside it, rolling up her sleeves, her chef's uniform immaculate despite the chaos she was about to unleash.
I, on the other hand, still felt groggy from being yanked out of bed and thrown into this insanity.
"This egg," Leora began in a tone both reverent and mischievous, "contains raw magic. You break it the wrong way, and we'll be scraping bits of ourselves off the ceiling."
