Rice in a Vicks

As we approached the grand archways of the Dining Hall, the majestic structure loomed before us, its stone carvings intricately depicting scenes of ancient feasts and legendary battles. The air was crisp, carrying the faint scent of roasting meats and spiced vegetables that wafted from within. However, the ambiance was abruptly disrupted when Grandma Hyejin, who had been walking steadily beside me, suddenly staggered.

She clutched her chest, her breaths becoming shallow and labored. Her usually vibrant eyes, filled with wisdom and warmth, clouded with discomfort. The onset of an asthma attack was unmistakable, and a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach.

"Lucien, Grandma needs help immediately. Could we get a healer?" I asked, my voice tinged with urgency. The reality of our situation in Valeraine was sinking in deeper with each passing moment.

Prince Lucien, ever composed, nodded thoughtfully. He swiftly raised his hand, and within moments, a royal attendant hurriedly signaled for the healer. The heavy stone door to the Dining Hall creaked open, revealing a man adorned in pristine robes, his expression grave yet professional. He carried a large pouch filled with various herbs and potions, symbols of the local medicinal practices.

"These herbs will warm your body and clear your sinuses, milady," he announced, presenting the pouch to Grandma Hyejin with a hopeful smile.

Grandma Hyejin, however, was not easily placated. She snatched the pouch from his hands, examining its contents with a skeptical eye. "Herbs? Really? Where's the ginger tea? And the Vicks?" Her tone was a mix of disbelief and frustration, the latter underscored by her stubborn insistence on familiar remedies.

The healer's brow furrowed in confusion. "Vicks?" he echoed, unfamiliar with the term.

Overhearing the exchange, I-seo couldn't resist injecting her own playful sarcasm into the situation. "Even in another world, we can't escape Vicks supremacy!" Her voice dripped with amusement, lightening the tense atmosphere momentarily.

Grandma Hyejin shot back, half-joking but with an edge of seriousness, "You call yourself a healer? Vicks cures everything. Cough? Vicks. Cold? Vicks. Broken leg? Toothache? Vicks. No Brain? Certainly Vicks!"

Damiel, always quick with a joke, chuckled and suggested, "Maybe the healer can mix Vicks with these herbs for a new remedy—'Herbal Relief.'"

Laughter rippled through the room, the tension easing as humor bridged the cultural gap between us and the healer. However, the healer remained puzzled by our references, his unfamiliarity with Vicks highlighting the extent of our dislocation in Valeraine.

Eventually, Grandma Hyejin relented, agreeing to try the herbs while muttering about the lack of her preferred remedies. She settled onto a nearby chair, pulling her shawl tighter around her as the healer began to prepare the concoction. The juxtaposition of old-world stubbornness and new-world solutions was stark, embodying the struggle we all faced in adapting to this unfamiliar land.

Watching Grandma Hyejin handle this blend of traditional and foreign remedies made me realize the depth of her resilience. Her stubbornness was not mere obstinacy; it was a reflection of her wisdom and her unwavering connection to the comforts of home. Her ability to adapt, even begrudgingly, was a beacon of strength for us all.

As Grandma Hyejin was taken to rest under the watchful eye of King Kael, ensuring she received the best care possible, the rest of us exhaled a collective breath of relief. Yet, beneath the surface, lingering worry remained. It was time to address another pressing issue: our dinner.

The Dining Hall stood magnificent before us, its high ceilings adorned with intricate stone carvings and guardians in the form of gargoyles perched ominously along the walls. The grandeur of the hall was juxtaposed with the simplicity of our immediate concerns. As we entered, the air was thick with the aroma of roasted meats and spiced vegetables, a vivid reminder of the feast laid out before us. However, my mind was preoccupied with a simpler, more personal craving.

"Prince Lucien, do we have rice?" I asked, hoping for a taste of home, a comforting staple that was absent in this medieval-like setting.

His response was a gentle shake of his head, a subtle yet clear denial that only deepened my frustration. "J-Just call me, Lu like you used to call me in Korea, and Damiel just Miel," Prince Lucien replied, attempting to bridge the cultural gap with familiar names. He maintained his poise, eating gracefully despite the underlying tension.

Meanwhile, I felt a surge of irritation, likening myself to a desperate dog searching for her favorite bone. "Then how are we supposed to survive in this world?" I lamented, leaning against the cool stone of the entrance. My voice echoed slightly in the vast hall, drawing a few curious glances from nearby diners who seemed engrossed in their own conversations.

Damiel's smirk didn't help alleviate the tension. "Oh, if you ask, even noodles don't exist here," he teased, his tone light-hearted but tinged with genuine concern for our predicament.

I-seo joined in, her laughter ringing out as she suggested humorously, "We'll need a guide—'How Asians Will Survive in Valeraine 101.'" Her joke sparked a brief smile from me, momentarily easing my frustration. However, it was Damiel's playful challenge that shifted my mood. "Maybe you can introduce us to some new grains. Valeraine's food is all about trying new things."

Despite the banter, a pang of loss for the simple comforts of rice and noodles pierced my heart. The absence of these staple foods was a poignant reminder of how far we were from home and the challenges we faced in this new environment. Prince Lucien, or rather 'Lu', noticing my discomfort, draped his cloak over my shoulders, a gesture of warmth and solidarity.

"Perhaps this will make you feel more comfortable," he said kindly, his touch a silent promise of support.

"Thank you, Your Highness. It helps," I replied, genuinely touched by his thoughtfulness. His gesture was more than mere politeness; it was a bridge between our worlds, a symbol of the camaraderie that was slowly forming among us.

As we settled into our seats, the hall buzzed with lively conversations and the clinking of utensils. The array of unfamiliar dishes laid out before us was both daunting and intriguing. Each taste was a new adventure, yet none could truly replace the simple satisfaction of rice. My longing for the familiar was palpable, yet I knew adaptation was inevitable if we were to thrive in Valeraine.

Throughout dinner, the earlier exchange about remedies and the absence of rice lingered in my mind. The cultural clashes we faced were not just about food or medicine; they were emblematic of our broader struggle to find our place in this strange new land. Yet, amidst the challenges, the bonds between us were strengthening, laying the foundation for resilience and hope.

As the meal concluded, I couldn't shake the feeling of being torn between two worlds—the comforting embrace of home and the uncertain possibilities of Valeraine. The evening ahead promised more adjustments and discoveries, but for now, I found solace in the support and understanding of those around me. Together, we navigated the complexities of our new reality, each step forward a testament to our collective strength and adaptability.

With a hopeful heart, I looked forward to what tomorrow would bring, knowing that with friendship and perseverance, we could bridge the gap between our past and our present in this enigmatic land.