Chapter 10 – Lyra’s Catastrophic Cooking and a Suspicious Letter
The next morning started off suspiciously peaceful, which—by Aeron's standards—meant something terrible was about to happen.
He was lounging in the sunlit garden behind the Valtoris estate, reading a fantasy manga, when Lyra marched toward him like a general heading to war, wearing an apron that said "Kiss the Chef" in bold pink letters.
"We're cooking breakfast today," she declared with terrifying determination.
"We?" Aeron raised an eyebrow. "As in you cook and I call the fire department?"
Lyra squinted. "Very funny. But not today. Today, you're my assistant. We're bonding."
"The last time you cooked, the stove needed therapy," he muttered but followed her inside anyway, curious about what kind of disaster awaited him.
---
The Kitchen of Chaos:
Aeron stood by the counter, holding a cutting board, while Lyra cracked eggs into a bowl like she was breaking the necks of her enemies.
"Gently," Aeron said. "We're making breakfast, not an action movie."
She ignored him and began whisking furiously.
Soon, smoke started rising.
"Why does it smell like despair?" Aeron asked, sniffing the air.
"I just turned on the oven!" Lyra snapped.
"Did you check if there's anything inside the oven first?"
A loud poof sounded, followed by a small fireball. Both of them jumped back. Lyra grabbed the fire extinguisher, screamed "DIE, DEMON!" and sprayed it at the oven like a knight slaying a dragon.
Aeron coughed through the foam. "Welp. Breakfast's canceled."
"No!" Lyra pointed dramatically. "We're making pancakes next."
"Pancakes don't deserve this," Aeron whispered as if apologizing to all the innocent flour in the world.
---
Meanwhile, Elsewhere in the Mansion...
Selene was seated on the balcony, sipping her morning tea when a servant whispered something in her ear. Her calm expression faltered for a moment.
"Smoke from the kitchen?" she repeated.
"Yes, milady. Miss Lyra is... cooking."
Selene exhaled. "Should I alert the insurance company in advance?"
---
Back in the Kitchen:
Eventually, something vaguely pancake-shaped landed on a plate. Lyra looked proud. Aeron looked concerned.
"Go on," she said, pushing the plate toward him.
"I'm not suicidal," Aeron said seriously. "I still have unfinished manga."
But after some intense glaring from Lyra, he picked up a fork and cautiously took a bite.
His soul left his body.
"...You added salt instead of sugar, didn't you?" he croaked.
Lyra blinked. "There's a difference?!"
Aeron slowly got up. "I need holy water."
---
Later That Day…
After barely surviving breakfast, Aeron returned to his room. To his surprise, a black envelope was sitting on his desk—unmarked and sealed with red wax bearing a strange crest.
He stared at it.
"Please don't be cursed," he muttered, poking it cautiously like it might bite him.
When he finally opened it, his silver eyes scanned the contents:
> "To Aeron Valtoris,
You have been formally invited to the Midnight Masquerade hosted by House Nightveil.
Attendance is expected. Wear black.
P.S. Bring a partner. Or don't. We like surprises."
Aeron blinked.
"Who the hell is House Nightveil?"
Just then, Lyra barged in. "I made lunch! You'll love it this time!"
"Let's talk about that later—someone just invited me to a masquerade ball."
Lyra froze. "Masquerade? As in rich people, wine, and creepy music?"
"And possibly a murder mystery," Aeron added cheerfully. "It's from House Nightveil."
Lyra turned pale. "That's the family known for shadow magic and turning people into frogs when they're bored."
"Oh cool," Aeron said. "I always wanted to be amphibious."
She glared. "Don't you dare go alone."
"You volunteering?"
"Of course! Someone needs to keep you from getting cursed or kidnapped or... or turned into a mushroom."
Aeron looked touched. "Aww, you do care."
"I just don't want to babysit your cursed ghost."
---
Later That Evening…
Selene was sitting in the drawing room, swirling her wine when she overheard their conversation through the cracked door.
"…Masquerade at House Nightveil?" she muttered.
She stood, eyes narrowing.
"No one invites him without going through me."
She snapped her fingers.
"Prepare my dress. I'm going too."