The campfire sputtered under a sky bruised purple, casting jagged shadows across the camp as night settled in like a heavy cloak. My hands still buzzed from the heat of the pan, the sticky residue of berries clinging to my fingers, sharp and sweet even now. The air hung thick with the scent of those pancakes—tart, rich, a ghost of warmth that lingered long after the last crumb vanished. Garr sprawled on a log, picking his teeth with a twig, his armor creaking every time he shifted. Lina sat cross-legged, scribbling in a leather-bound book, her quill scratching like an angry insect. Tev perched on a stump, restringing his bow with steady pulls, while Kev paced the camp's edge, dagger glinting in the firelight. Mira hovered near me, red braid swinging as she scrubbed her old pot, muttering about "wasted slop" under her breath. The razorclaw snored beside the cart, its massive chest rising and falling, a low rumble that shook the ground.
I crouched by the firepit, head down, scraping the pan clean with my cracked spoon. My face burned—not from the flames, but from them. All of them. Their cheers still echoed in my ears—"More! More!"—and every glance they threw my way felt like a spotlight I couldn't dodge. I'd fed them, sure, but now what? They'd latched onto me like I was some miracle cure, not just a guy who panicked and threw dough at problems. My stomach twisted, tight and sour. I didn't sign up for this—cooking for a pack of loudmouths and a monster that could snap me in half. I wanted quiet, a corner, anything but this mess.
"Baru!" Garr's voice boomed, shattering my thoughts. I flinched, spoon clattering against the pan. "Quit sulking and get over here!" He waved a meaty hand, grinning like a wolf who'd caught dinner. My legs locked up, but Mira nudged me with her elbow—sharp, insistent. "He won't bite," she said, smirking. "Well, not hard." My throat went dry, and I shuffled over, head bowed, bangs flopping over my eyes. The others looked up—Lina's quill paused, Tev's fingers stilled, Kev stopped pacing. Even the razorclaw cracked an eye open, snout twitching. I hated this. Hated it so much.
Garr leaned forward, elbows on his knees, the log groaning under his weight. "Listen up, kid. That food of yours—it's gold. Pure gold. Guild's gonna lose their minds when they hear we've got a cook who tames razorclaws with snacks." My face flared hotter, and I mumbled, "It's… not that big a deal." He barked a laugh, loud enough to startle a bird from the trees. "Not a big deal? You've got a gift, Baru. We're keeping you." Keeping me? Like a pet? I opened my mouth to protest, but my tongue stuck, and all I managed was a weak "Uh…"
Lina snapped her book shut, the sound crisp in the quiet. "He's right, for once," she said, brushing a lock of dark hair from her face. "That… concoction you made—it's not just food. It's power. I felt it." Her eyes narrowed, studying me like I was a puzzle she couldn't crack. Power? It was just pancakes—eggs, grain, berries. Nothing special. But my chest tightened, remembering how the razorclaw had sat, how Garr's bravado melted into a groan. Maybe she wasn't wrong. Maybe.
Kev sauntered over, twirling his dagger between his fingers. "Town's a day off—Rivenhold. Guild's there. Merchants too. Bet they'd pay a fat stack for a taste of that." He grinned, teeth flashing. "You're our ticket, pretty boy." Ticket? My hands clenched, nails digging into my palms. I didn't want to be anyone's ticket. Mira chimed in, dumping her pot with a clang. "Better than hauling ore or skinning rats. I say we drag him to market." Tev nodded, silent but firm, his bow resting across his lap. The razorclaw huffed, rolling onto its back, paws flopping in the air like it agreed.
"No," I blurted, louder than I meant. They all froze, staring. My face burned so hot I thought it'd catch fire, but I forced the words out, shaky and low. "I… I don't want that. I just… cooked. That's it." Garr blinked, then roared with laughter, slapping his thigh. "Shy as a mouse, but you've got guts! Too late, Baru—you're in deep now." Lina smirked, Kev snorted, and Mira shook her head like I'd said something dumb. Tev just watched, unreadable. I shrank back, wishing I'd kept my mouth shut.
Before I could sink lower, a rustle broke the night—sharp, urgent, from the trees. Kev's dagger stopped mid-twirl, and Tev's bow snapped up, arrow nocked in a heartbeat. The razorclaw lumbered to its feet, fur bristling, a growl rumbling deep in its throat. "What now?" Lina hissed, staff glowing blue as she stood. Garr drew his sword, the scrape of metal loud and raw. "Stay sharp," he barked, eyes scanning the dark. My pulse spiked, and I stumbled back, tripping over the crate of eggs. Great. Another fight I couldn't handle.
Shapes emerged—three, then five, shadows peeling away from the trees. Men, armed to the teeth: swords, axes, a crossbow glinting in the firelight. Their leader stepped forward, a hulking figure in patched leather, a scar splitting his face from brow to jaw. "Well, well," he rasped, voice like gravel. "Heard you've got something tasty out here. Smelled it a mile off." His crew chuckled, low and mean, spreading out to flank us. Bandits. My stomach sank, cold and heavy. That pancake scent—it'd drawn them like flies.
Garr squared up, sword raised. "Back off, scum. This ain't your camp." The leader—Scarface—grinned, yellow teeth bared. "Oh, we ain't here for your tents, big man. Just the cook. Hand him over, and we'll leave pretty." Me? My knees buckled, and I ducked behind the cart, heart hammering. Lina's staff flared brighter, Tev's arrow trained on Scarface's chest, and Kev slipped into a crouch, ready to strike. Mira grabbed her ladle like it was a club, glaring. The razorclaw roared, claws digging into the dirt, but the bandits didn't flinch—too many, too cocky.
"Last chance," Scarface sneered, nodding to his crossbowman. The bolt gleamed, aimed straight at Garr. My mind raced—run? Hide? They'd find me. That smell, that stupid smell, had painted a target on my back. Then it hit me—stupid, reckless, but maybe enough. I scrambled to the fire, hands trembling as I grabbed the pan, still warm from earlier. Eggs, berries, grain—I had scraps left, enough for one more shot. "Baru, what the hell?" Mira hissed, but I ignored her, dumping everything in.
The fight broke out—Garr charged, sword clashing against an axe; Lina's magic crackled, blasting a bandit off his feet; Tev's arrow sank into a shoulder, drawing a scream. The razorclaw lunged, swiping at a swordsman who barely dodged. I tuned it out, fire roaring as I mashed berries into the mix, juice staining my hands red. "Hold together," I muttered, stirring fast, the sharp tang rising over the chaos. No time for finesse—I flattened the dough into a rough slab, slapping it onto the pan, flames licking the edges. The scent bloomed—sweet, tart, a punch of warmth that cut through the blood and sweat.
Scarface faltered mid-swing, nose twitching. "What's that?" he growled, eyes darting to me. His crew slowed, heads turning, weapons dipping. I yanked the slab free—half-baked, messy, but glowing with berry streaks—and hurled it into the air. "Take it!" I yelled, voice cracking, ducking as it sailed over the fight. It landed with a thud in the dirt, steam curling up, and the bandits froze. Scarface dropped his sword, stumbling toward it like a man possessed. "Mine!" he snarled, tearing off a chunk, shoving it in his mouth. His eyes rolled back, a groan escaping, and his crew dove in, scrabbling over the scraps like starved dogs.
Garr blinked, lowering his blade. "You've got to be kidding." Lina's staff dimmed, her jaw slack. Tev's arrow stayed nocked, but his lips twitched—almost a smile. The razorclaw sat back, watching the bandits fight over crumbs, growling low. Scarface licked his fingers, dazed, then glared at me. "You," he rasped, staggering forward. "You're coming with us." My heart stopped—until Garr stepped in, sword at Scarface's throat. "He's ours, filth. Walk away." The bandit hesitated, then spat, waving his crew off. "Fine. But we'll be back," he growled, retreating into the trees, still chewing.
The camp fell silent, save for the fire's crackle. I sank to the ground, legs jelly, breath ragged. "Baru, you idiot," Lina snapped, but her voice shook—relief, maybe. Garr sheathed his sword, grinning. "That's my cook! Feeding bandits now!" Kev laughed, sharp and wild, while Mira shook her head, muttering, "Crazy bastard." Tev knelt beside me, handing me a stray berry. "Smart," he said, quiet but firm. The razorclaw nudged my arm, warm and heavy, purring again.
I stared at the empty pan, mind spinning. That scent—it'd saved us, but it'd also cursed me. Bandits, guilds, towns—everyone wanted a piece now. My hands shook, but my thoughts raced faster. Eggs, berries, more—if I could make chaos stop with scraps, what could I do with a real kitchen? "Uh… we should go," I mumbled, barely a whisper. Garr clapped my back, nearly flattening me. "Rivenhold tomorrow, kid. You're cooking for the big shots next." My stomach sank, but the fire glowed, and the berries winked from the bushes. Trouble, sure—but maybe a chance too.