A Nice Meal Atop Leakage

After a night of war, after a feast of victory, after the revelations of history—life simply continued.

That was the beauty of survival. No matter how heavy the weight of knowledge, no matter how harrowing the truths unveiled, the world moved forward. And so did my bastion.

The cafeteria was quieter now, though not empty. It still carried the warmth of lingering embers from the grand banquet earlier. The overhead Theotech lanterns cast a soft, golden glow over the polished floors, the long tables still boasting the remnants of a celebration well-earned.

Thanks to my brilliant foresight—or rather, my overenthusiastic approach to cooking—there was still an abundance of food left from the feast. 

Nothing wasted, of course. All preserved and ready to be retrieved whenever needed.

And at this moment, someone was indeed retrieving it.

Ishmael.