Arbor walked briskly through the corridors of Atheria's tree, their face set in a scowl. The glow from the sap-lined walls cast flickering shadows over their sharp features. They gripped the staff tighter, its carved sigils warm against their palm.
"Why did I agree to this?" they muttered under their breath.
The memory of the meeting clung to them, heavy and suffocating. Atheria's aura had pressed down like a storm, making it impossible to think clearly.
"Throughout half the meeting, her aura was pressing down on me. The room felt heavy." Arbor's grip tightened on the staff. "Did she do that on purpose?"
A sudden smell broke through their thoughts—savory and warm, curling through the air like a beckoning hand. Arbor's ears twitched, and their stomach growled. They turned toward the scent, their steps slowing.
"Guess I'll deal with this mess after I eat," they muttered, following the trail.
Arbor leaned against the doorway of the bustling kitchen, arms folded loosely as the savory scent of food wafted out toward them. The rhythmic clatter of chopping filled the room, and the faint steam curling from the pots made their stomach rumble. They watched the chef work, their movements quick and precise.
"What do you want?" the chef snapped, not looking up. "Can't you see I'm busy?"
Arbor shifted, unsure if they should even respond. "Just... seeing what's cooking," they said, trying to sound casual. "Smells good."
The chef didn't break stride, their knife slicing through a carrot. "If you've got time to stand there sniffing, you've got time to help. Grab those carrots and start peeling."
Arbor blinked, caught off guard by the bluntness. Their eyes drifted to the pile of vegetables on the counter, then back to the chef. "Peeling?" they muttered under their breath, barely audible. "Not exactly my specialty."
The sharp sound of the knife hitting the cutting board made Arbor flinch slightly. The chef looked up, their expression hard. "It's not difficult," they said flatly. "Just start. I'm feeding everyone here, not handing out snacks to freeloaders."
Arbor stiffened, a flicker of irritation bubbling up. But as their gaze lingered on the chef's hunched shoulders and the bags under their eyes, the sharp retort they'd considered died on their tongue. Instead, they sighed quietly, stepping into the kitchen. "Alright, alright," they muttered. "I'll give it a try."
They grabbed a carrot and a knife, hesitating for a moment before making their first attempt. The peel didn't come off cleanly, and Arbor frowned at the uneven strips curling away from the vegetable.
"Not bad for a first-timer," the chef said, their tone softer now but still brisk. "Keep going. You can do the potatoes next."
Arbor huffed quietly but kept at it. Their hands felt clumsy, and the knife didn't cooperate, but they tried to focus. The air in the kitchen was warm, the scent of herbs grounding them in the task.
"You've never done this before, have you?" the chef asked without looking up, a faint smirk tugging at their lips.
Arbor glanced at the pile of poorly peeled carrot in their hand, their ears flicking back in mild embarrassment. "Not really," they admitted, setting the knife down for a moment. "Guess I'm learning as I go."
The chef let out a soft chuckle, returning to their chopping. "Good. You've got time to get better."
Arbor nodded silently, picking up the next carrot.
After several minutes, Arbor's arms ached, and sweat covered their forehead. Their fingers, clumsy at first, had found a rhythm, though their technique left much to be desired. The pile of peeled vegetables beside them wasn't much, but it was theirs, and that felt like something.
The chef glanced at the pile. Without a word, they served a portion of stew into a wooden bowl and slid it across the counter toward Arbor. "Alright," they said, their tone gruff but not unkind. "Hard work's over. Eat this and get out. You've slowed me down enough for one day."
Arbor stared at the bowl, momentarily caught off guard. "Wow. Thanks," they said, sinking onto a nearby stool. They held the bowl carefully, as if it might disappear. "And, uh... I guess if you ever need a terrible potato peeler, you know where to find me."
The chef's shoulders shook with a soft chuckle as they turned back to their chopping. "I'll keep that in mind," they said, their tone lighter now.
Arbor hesitated for a moment before taking a small bite. The stew was warm and rich, its flavor spreading through them. They blinked, staring down into the bowl as something in their chest loosened.
Maybe, I can do it after all...
Arbor stepped out of the kitchen, the bowl of steaming stew balanced carefully in their hands. Their muscles ached, and the faint sheen of sweat hadn't quite dried yet, but a small smile tugged at their lips as they looked down at the food.
Alright. Maybe that chef wasn't so bad after all. This smells amazing.
They didn't get far before something—or someone—barreled into them. The impact jolted Arbor sideways, and the bowl tilted in their hands, a small splash of stew flying into the air.
"Whoa, hey!" Arbor snapped, stumbling a step back. "Watch where you're going!"
A blur of movement stopped abruptly, revealing a figure with messy hair and a cheeky grin. Their movements were quick and nimble, like they were constantly on the verge of darting off again.
"Oh, my bad!" the stranger said, their tone breezy and unapologetic. "Didn't see you there."
Arbor scowled, glancing at the stew now dripping down the side of the bowl. "Great. Just great. Half my hard-earned lunch is on the floor now."
The stranger leaned in, peering at the food with shameless curiosity. "Hard-earned? What, did you wrestle the chef for it?"
Arbor huffed, clutching the bowl closer. "No," they muttered. "But it sure felt like it after peeling fifty potatoes." Their eyes narrowed. "Who even are you?"
The stranger straightened, spreading their arms dramatically. "Me? I'm Olive. Elite Legion member, wild tamer extraordinaire, and all-around amazing person."
Arbor squinted, not buying it for a second. "Yeah, you're also a walking hazard," they muttered under their breath.
Olive grinned, unbothered, and pointed at the bowl. "So, about that stew. Smells pretty good. Think I could snag a bite?"
"Not a chance," Arbor said quickly, pulling the bowl closer like it was some precious treasure. "I nearly died peeling vegetables for this."
Olive crossed their arms, pouting slightly. "Wow, stingy much? You must be new. Sharing's kind of a thing around here, you know."
Arbor sighed heavily, the weight of their annoyance battling against some grudging sense of obligation. With a resigned groan, they held the bowl out slightly. "Fine. One bite. But if you take more than that, I'll—"
Before they could finish, Olive produced a spoon out of nowhere and scooped up a bite, grinning as they popped it into their mouth.
"Thanks!" Olive said cheerfully. "You're alright, newbie."
Arbor stared, half-annoyed, half-bewildered. "Where did you even—"
"Mmm!" Olive interrupted. "The chef's been holding out. This is amazing."
Arbor rolled their eyes, though a faint smirk tugged at their lips. "Yeah, yeah. Just remember who earned it."
Olive handed back the bowl, leaning in slightly. "So... peeling potatoes, huh? Let me guess—you pissed off Freya?"
The smirk froze on Arbor's face, their ears flicking back slightly. "I—I didn't piss her off," they stammered. "This was... voluntary. Yeah."
"Sure it was," Olive said with a shrug. "Anyway, welcome to the chaos. See you around, Potato Peeler."
Arbor blinked, watching as Olive waved casually and strode off. Shaking their head, they muttered under their breath, "What's with everyone here being so... weird?"
They glanced down at the bowl of stew, now slightly lighter than it had been, and let out a sigh before taking another bite.