Chapter 2: The Hero Can’t Cook

The morning began like most in Laphyzel's southern valleys: with sunbeams caught in spiderthread trees, dew humming old lullabies, and one particular village waking up to the sound of burning breakfast.

"Hiro!"

A chorus of voices rang out across the hills.

The villagers of Aluno knew Hiro Brihrest as many things: kind-hearted, strong-armed, sugarcane-obsessed, and, tragically, an optimistic cook. Which was perhaps the worst kind.

From his modest hut at the village edge, a swirl of black smoke rose.

"I followed the recipe this time!" Hiro shouted out the window, coughing. "...More or less!"

"YOU SET RICE ON FIRE."

"I was improvising!"

"You boiled milk in a frying pan! With fire!"

"That's called fusion cuisine!" Hiro called back, a ladle in one hand and a vaguely suspicious mushroom in the other. "And you'll all be thanked when this is over and—OH NO THE MILK IS ALIVE—"

There was a soft blop.

Followed by a pop.

Followed by a small explosion.

Several Hills Over

Dee Megus jerked upright in his hammock, which was actually suspended between two metaphors. He'd named them Sleep and Denial.

The air around him quivered.

He sniffed once.

Then again.

"Oh no," he whispered. "He's trying again."

He somersaulted upright and tore a thread from the air, muttering incantations under his breath. "Calibrating spatial axis… anchoring midline… redirecting smoke... yes, yes, let's not wake the mountain again—"

He twisted, looped, and snapped the weave.

Back at the Hut

The smoke cleared.

Miraculously, nothing was on fire anymore.

The milk had stopped vibrating.

The pot had stopped chanting.

Hiro blinked.

"...That usually doesn't happen."

From behind him, a very tired voice:

"You're not supposed to measure ingredients by 'emotional impulse.'"

"Dee!" Hiro grinned, turning. "You're just in time for breakfast!"

Dee looked at the pan.

The pan hissed.

Dee looked at Hiro.

"You should be exiled for this."

"Not my fault," Hiro said innocently. "It's Vampher's fault. He said—"

"I said nothing about cooking!" Vampher Darquez said, dramatically kicking open the door. He was in full vampire formal wear, which clashed oddly with the very floral oven mitts he was holding.

"I came to supervise," Vampher added, walking in as if he hadn't just climbed out of a portal made of shadow and embarrassment.

"You own oven mitts?" Dee raised an eyebrow.

"No. These were Hiro's. They attacked me at the door."

The mitts hissed.

Again.

The Incident at Breakfast

To no one's surprise, Hiro insisted they try the food.

To no one's surprise, they did.

To absolutely everyone's surprise, they survived.

"Well," Dee muttered, chewing slowly, "I appear to still be conscious. Alarming."

"I think my tongue has evolved," Vampher whispered. "It's grown legs. It wants to leave."

Hiro, completely unaffected, ate happily. "I told you! Secret's in the mushrooms. Found them in the forest near the Threadless Expanse."

Dee dropped his spoon.

"You cooked with what now?"

"They were glowing."

"You cooked with what now."

"They whispered my name in three different accents!"

Vampher, having spit out his food as discreetly as possible, leaned forward. "How many arms did the mushrooms have?"

"...Arms?"

"Ah."

The table was silent.

The mushrooms giggled quietly.

That Afternoon

While Dee detoxified their stomach threads, Hiro offered to "hunt something less cursed." Vampher went along purely to keep Hiro from adopting any more animate vegetables.

The two of them wandered into the woods.

"You know," Hiro said cheerfully, "I think I'm improving."

"Improving at what?" Vampher asked.

"Cooking!"

"You set fire to milk."

"I made emotions edible!"

Vampher sighed. "Remind me again why you don't just live with Dee?"

"Because he yelled at a mountain once and then married a fruit."

"That was one time!" Dee's voice echoed faintly from the hut.

They walked in companionable silence after that. For a moment.

Then—

A twitch.

A gentle pull.

The trees shivered.

Vampher stopped. "Did you feel—"

And then Hiro tripped.

Over nothing.

Except that… he didn't fall.

Something caught him.

A breeze?

A thread?

A shape?

No one saw it. But Hiro blinked, steadying himself.

"Huh. Close one."

Vampher narrowed his eyes.

Nothing around them.

But he was sure something had caught Hiro.

He didn't say anything.

Neither did Hiro.

But somewhere, far above, a thread shimmered and was released.

And a presence smiled.

Later That Night

Dee sat cross-legged beside the river, red threads dancing around his fingers like lazy fireflies.

He rewound Hiro's "soup incident" twenty-seven seconds and found a moment—a flicker of energy not his, not Vampher's, not from this world at all.

And then…

Gone.

He let the thread go.

"Just luck," he muttered.

But he didn't believe it.

Not really.