Chapter 49 — A Taste Worth Chasing
The walk back to Greyhaven the following day gave Arlen ample time to think through the practical questions Ember Touch raised, though he found his mind returning, more often than not, to the simpler pleasure of the meal itself rather than the strategic complications that came with it.
He stopped partway through the return journey at a familiar bend in the trail, close enough to a small stream that he could properly clean the remaining lizard meat he’d packed away, and found himself, despite everything else weighing on his mind, genuinely looking forward to experimenting with it further once he reached the guild’s kitchen facilities.
He’d learned, over these past months, that the guild maintained a modest set of shared cooking stations behind the tavern proper, available to any adventurer willing to bring their own ingredients and clean up properly afterward. He made use of them that evening, working through a proper preparation of the remaining ember-tailed lizard meat with considerably more care than his rushed camp cooking had allowed.
"That smells unusual," said a voice behind him, and Arlen turned to find one of the tavern’s regular cooks, a heavyset woman named Ysolde who ran the guild kitchen with brisk, no-nonsense efficiency, peering curiously at his preparation.
"Ember-tailed lizard," Arlen said. "Caught it out past the eastern trail. Wanted to try preparing it properly rather than just spitting it over a camp fire."
Ysolde leaned closer, studying the meat with a professional eye. "Don’t see that one come through the kitchen often. Most hunters skip it — too much trouble catching something that small for the meat you actually get."
"Worth it, I think. Tastes rich. Smoky, almost like it’s already partly cooked from the inside." Arlen worked in a bit of the sharp vinegar he’d finally managed to purchase from a market stall, cutting through the richness the way he’d wished he could during his first taste out in the clearing. "Better with something to balance the flavor."
Ysolde watched him work a moment longer, genuine curiosity replacing her earlier skepticism. "You’ve got a proper hand for this. More than most adventurers who just want something filling before heading back out."
"I like doing it well, when I have the chance," Arlen admitted. "Feels like part of the whole point, honestly — not just surviving out there, but actually enjoying what the world has to offer while I’m at it."
"That’s a rare attitude, for someone your rank." Ysolde’s expression softened slightly. "Most rookies eat like they’re refueling, not like they’re actually tasting anything. You ever think about documenting this properly? Guild’s got that Monster Cuisine section in the archive, mostly gathering dust these past years. Could use someone who actually cares about it."
Arlen turned the suggestion over as he finished preparing the meal, the idea settling into him with more genuine appeal than he’d expected. He’d been keeping his own private notes on taste and preparation for months now, scattered through his journal alongside everything else — abilities, quests, the strange, ongoing mystery of his own hidden nature. The thought of formalizing that habit, of contributing something concrete and lasting to the guild’s own records, felt like exactly the kind of quiet, meaningful work that fit the life he was building for himself.
"I might," he said. "Didn’t realize the guild kept records like that."
"Barely does, these days. Used to be more popular, decades back, before most adventurers decided coin mattered more than good eating." Ysolde shrugged. "Eldrin might know more about it. Scholarly types tend to appreciate that kind of documentation more than the rest of us."
Arlen filed the suggestion away carefully, alongside the growing list of small, deliberate improvements he’d been making to his life these past months — the formal training with Garrett, the careful cataloguing of his abilities, and now, perhaps, a more structured approach to the food that had always mattered to him more than simple survival.
He finished his meal that evening with genuine satisfaction, the flavor considerably improved by the vinegar’s sharp counterpoint, and found himself, sitting alone at his usual corner table, opening his journal to properly document the experience the way Ysolde’s suggestion had inspired.
Ember-Tailed Lizard
Habitat: Warm, sulfurous clearings near old volcanic activity, outer forest’s eastern reaches.
Threat: Rank 2, though individually not dangerous — colony behavior worth noting if encountering more than a few at once.
Meat Quality: Surprisingly good. Rich, faintly smoky, almost pre-seasoned by whatever internal heat the creature carries. Benefits considerably from a sharp counterpoint — vinegar, citrus, anything to cut the richness.
Best Cooking Method: Slow, even heat. Doesn’t need much seasoning beyond salt and something acidic. I’d guess it pairs well with a light herb crust, though I didn’t have the right ingredients to test that properly this time.
Potential Ability: Confirmed — Ember Touch, controlled minor heat generation. (Species Assimilation notes kept separately, per usual.)
He read back over the entry with quiet satisfaction, the small, careful documentation feeling like its own kind of accomplishment separate entirely from the strange power underlying it. This was the part of his life, he reflected, that had nothing to do with secrets or careful cover stories — simply the honest, uncomplicated joy of tasting something new, understanding it properly, and recording it for whatever future version of himself, or anyone else, might benefit from the knowledge.
He thought, briefly, of the promise he’d made himself dying in that other life — I’ll taste every strange food the world has to offer — and found the memory settling over him with a warmth that had nothing to do with Ember Touch at all.
I keep coming back to this, he wrote, beneath the more formal catalogue entry. The abilities matter. The strength matters, especially after Millbrook. But this — the taste, the careful preparation, the simple pleasure of eating something the world has never properly documented before — this might matter just as much, in its own quieter way.
I promised myself I’d see everything, taste everything, explore every corner this world has to offer. Getting stronger is part of that promise, because the world doesn’t wait patiently for someone unprepared. But I don’t want to lose sight of the rest of it, either — the wonder, the curiosity, the simple joy of a good meal earned through my own hunt and my own hands.
Maybe I will speak to Eldrin about that Cuisine archive. Feels like exactly the kind of quiet, lasting contribution that fits who I actually am, underneath everything else I have to keep hidden.
He closed the journal, the tavern’s ordinary evening noise settling comfortably around him, and allowed himself, for the length of that quiet moment, to simply enjoy being exactly where he was — a Rank E adventurer with three hidden abilities, a growing skill with Aura, and a meal in his stomach that had tasted, by any honest measure, exactly as good as he’d hoped it would.