Chapter 63: Toward the Inevitable
Then a month passed, slowly, like a dream suspended between two abysses. A strange month, stretched like a burning breath over a scar that could not fully close.
A month of heavy silence between two storms. During this frozen time, Olfred, true to his impassive nature, responded to each of my requests with the cold and methodical rigor of an administrative specter.
I had asked him for a blacksmith worthy of the name. He presented me with three. Only one seemed truly passionate. He was the one I chose. I didn’t want just another piece of armor. I wanted someone who understood the meaning of metal. Someone who knew how to forge not a weapon... but an intention.
I had asked him for a common language teacher for Lysara. She had to learn. To write. To speak. No longer content herself with silence in public. And she did. With mechanical rigor at first. Then, little by little... with a hint of curiosity. Her first words were dry, monosyllabic. But sometimes, I caught her repeating others’ phrases in a corner of the hallway. As if she were secretly tasting them.
I had asked him for a master artificer. Because I had a project. An object to create, an artifact that would require more than ingredients: science. So I learned. And each day, I perfected my craft, among demons, in a field where precision was more dangerous than fire.
But the surprise came from Lysara herself. One morning, she spoke. Without emotion. Just a statement.
– I want to learn to cook.
I looked at her for a long moment.
And an hour later, Olfred found her the best demonic master chef in the entire inner court: Chef Naard’Zir, called "The Half-Fire."
A tyrant in a red toque, known for having been the cook of three princes devoured by their own ambition. But Lysara did not flinch. She attended every lesson. She wrote everything down. She tasted each dish, not with pleasure, but with an almost scientific attention. And her progress... was clear. She didn’t want to cook to please. She wanted to properly nourish our bodies for the days to come. Each plate became a secret training field, each ingredient an enemy to tame. She hunted perfection, not to flatter the ego, but to arm herself against the unpredictable.
Maybe to control something, in this unpredictable world. Maybe simply... to no longer settle for dried meat. Or maybe... to invent a place for herself, finally, in this daily life she had never chosen.