CHAPTER 114: WYRMLEAFS

Kaelen lounged shirtless against the mossy rock shaped vaguely like a chair, a cup of spring water in one hand but it wasn’t a cup it was a shoulder piece of armor, a half-eaten squirrel leg in the other.

"This... is life," he murmured with a mouth full of smoky meat. "No cursed relics. No monsters. Just me, squirrel, and the best salad I’ve ever had."

He took another bite of the leaves and groaned in satisfaction. "If Derek knew about this stuff, we’d serve it every day. Every damn day."

The stars were just beginning to appear above the canopy. A firefly danced past his nose.

Kaelen grinned.

Then.. hiccup.

Then another.

He blinked, feeling a warm tingle creep into his skull like someone poured honey into his brain.

"...weird," he said, squinting at the sky. "Why are the stars melting?"

He blinked again.

"Wait. That’s... that’s not normal, right?"

Well Past Midnight...

The Ashen Boar’s front door creaked open.

Derek looked up from behind the bar, brow already furrowed. "Kaelen?"

The boy stumbled in, hair wild, shirt misbuttoned, face flushed with the kind of dreamy satisfaction that only came from good food, or mild poisoning.

He kicked the door shut behind him with a dramatic flourish and held up a large woven basket.

"Best. Damn. Dinner. Ever."

Derek slowly stood, crossing his arms.

Kaelen slammed the basket onto the nearest table and pulled off the cloth.

It was overflowing with the poisonous greens, now wilted from travel, but still oddly radiant.

"I call them Forest Tongue Leaves," Kaelen said proudly. "They taste like roasted basil and dreams."

"...Kaelen," Derek said slowly, "where did you get these?"

"From the moss-boar-spring-place. You know, the one Old Man Parsnip told me about."

Derek walked over and sniffed the leaves.

Then recoiled immediately. "This is Wyrmleaf. It’s poisonous to humans. Lethal, if you eat too much."

Kaelen blinked.

Then burped.

"...Define ’too much’?"

Derek narrowed his eyes. "How much did you eat?"

Kaelen held up his fingers in a vague ’circle’ shape. "Uh... like, a big salad bowl ... plus three wraps... and I might’ve steamed some into the squirrel stew... "

Derek sighed. "You cooked squirrels?"

"Best meat I’ve had all year!"

"You poisoned yourself with garnish on illegal squirrel meat."

"I regret nothing."

At that moment, Kaelen’s legs gave out.

He slumped to the ground, still smiling. "Tell Neal... I died with a full stomach like a real man."

Back Room – Thirty Minutes Later

Kaelen was snoring loudly on the couch, covered in blankets with a bucket beside him. Alira sat nearby, arms crossed, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest.

"Idiot," she muttered, but her lips twitched into a fond smile.

Derek rubbed his temples. "That’s it. He’s banned from shopping. Forever."

The next day.

The sun was still rubbing the sleep from its golden eyes when Neal stumbled down the hallway, hair messy, eyes half-lidded, already stretching his arms as he yawned.

He reached the bottom of the stairs in practiced silence, until something strange tickled his nose.

Sniff.

His stomach growled so loudly it startled a passing mouse near the wall.

He sniffed again, more deliberately this time.

"Is that..." He blinked. "Basil? No... Something... nutty? And sweet?"

Neal stepped into the kitchen.

And stopped.

Kaelen stood at the stove, apron half-tied and falling off his hip, humming some nonsensical tune as he stirred a pan full of glossy green leaves and golden-crusted meat. Steam rose in soft curls, carrying a scent that seemed to reach into Neal’s spine and twist.

"Morning, sunshine," Kaelen said with a wide grin, flipping a piece of sizzling meat. "You’re just in time."

"What the hell is that smell?" Neal murmured, stepping closer like a man hypnotized.

"The secret," Kaelen whispered, holding up a sprig of glistening green with reverence, "is Wyrmleaf. Turns out it’s even better the second time. And I purified it. Probably. Mostly."

"...Didn’t this almost kill you yesterday?"

"Define ’kill.’"

Before Neal could argue, his stomach grumbled again, and Kaelen slid a steaming plate into his hands.

One bite. Just one. Then he’d yell. Then he’d beat the idiocy out of Kaelen like a good brother.

He bit in.

Ten seconds later, Neal was sitting on the kitchen counter, barefoot, shirtless, and laughing for absolutely no reason.

Upstairs

Alira sat bolt upright in bed.

"...What in the hells is that smell?"

She sniffed once.

Twice.

By the third breath, her eyes had glazed over slightly.

It wasn’t even hunger. It was lust. Food lust. That scent was ambrosia.

She staggered down the stairs, hair still messy from sleep, and peered around the kitchen doorway like a starving bandit.

Neal was grinning at nothing.

Kaelen was humming again, flipping more leaves in the pan with rhythmic grace.

"I hate both of you," Alira muttered, but took the offered plate without a second thought.

Five Minutes Later

Derek pushed the door open to the tavern’s main hall, wiping sleep from his eyes. "Alright, rise and shine, you good-for-nothing freeloaders... "

Then he froze.

At the table, Alira was resting her cheek on one hand, dreamy-eyed and softly chuckling to herself like she’d remembered a really good joke. Neal had slumped back in his chair, barefoot and shirtless, absently tracing circles on the table. Kaelen was spinning a kitchen ladle like a sword.

"...What in the abyss happened here?"

Kaelen turned slowly, eyes wide with faux innocence.

"Breakfast?"

Derek sniffed. And recoiled instantly.

"...Tell me you didn’t."

Kaelen pointed to a stack of shiny green leaves. "I sautéed it this time. Low heat. Better flavor. Less... lethal."

"You fed them Wyrmleaf?!"

Kaelen lifted a ladle like it was a divine artifact. "I purified it."

"You’re not a high priest, Kaelen!"

"But I felt holy while cooking it."

Derek pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered a prayer to whatever god might keep these fools alive another day. Then he noticed the glowing aura around Alira’s hair and the strange spark of solar mist trailing from Neal’s shoulders.

"You’re high," he deadpanned. "You three are actually, magically high. What did you do with the Wyrmleaf?"

"I can hear colors," Alira said dreamily, swirling her tea and watching it shimmer.

"I can see the ancestors," Neal mumbled, eyes wide. "They’re smiling at me."

Kaelen blinked. "I just really want to dance."

Derek stormed toward the stove, seized the remainder of the Wyrmleaf basket, and hurled it into the nearby compost bin like it was a cursed relic.

"No more. I mean it. If I catch even one of you growing, cooking, or thinking about Wyrmleaf again..."

"Too late," Kaelen whispered, licking the last bit of glaze from his fingers. "It’s already part of me now."

An Hour Later

The tavern was clean. The trio was finally sober—ish. Kaelen was sweeping with suspiciously chipper energy. Neal was mumbling something about sun gods and shirt laws. Alira was sipping coffee like it could banish all her sins.

Derek rubbed his temples.

This was his family.

Gods help him.