Arlene sat still on the sofa, watching him cook. The aroma struck her nose in an explosion of spice. It was captivating, her mouth hung open, caught by the smell. “What are you making?”

  Wattyson continued to stir a pan filled with onions, diced tomato and other assorted ingredients. “Shashukah” he answered while his entire focus remained on the pan. His gre was intense. Arlene could feel it even though his back was turned to her. She could feel the heat and it wasn’t from the sizzling pan. It was from him focusing solely on the matter at hand, cooking. Huh?

  “Uh huh” her voice trailed. This intense feeling alone was usually found from a person in their st stand. Yet here, in this autumn forest in a secluded cottage there was someone having a st stand with their culinary skills.

  She shook her head, dismissing the thought. “Anything I can help?”

  “Yeah, can you throw me a few eggs? It’s in the basket on the dining table.”

  Arlene rose to her feet and looked around. There it was, the basket, resting on a dining table covered in red checker cloth. She made her way there, her steps were as light as a feather considering her armoured attire. Her fingers tched onto the eggs, it felt cold and smooth.

  “You want me to… throw it?” her mind wrestled with possibilities of the eggs nding firmly into the ground because of her throw. She had faced death many times and survived many battles. Why was something so mundane and normal felt so… wrong and terrifying?

  “Yeah, throw me a couple. Five of them”

  Arlene focused her attention, her egg holding arm to the back and swung it forward in an underhanded throw. It flew over the counters and to Wattyson who wasn’t turning around to catch it. “Why isn’t he catching it?!” she muttered to herself.

  Bewilderment clouded her mind and filled her thought mixed with annoyance. Until suddenly, the egg just started to float upright to the side of him, gently hovering onto the counter. Huh?

  “I don’t see the remaining four eggs”

  “Right sorry.” Arlene then threw the remaining four to which Wattyson didn’t turn to catch and somehow floated to his counter nearby. “Ok… how do you do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “That! How are you making the eggs float?”

  “Telekinesis?”

  “So it is magic! Then how are you doing it?”

  “Arlene, I’m in a constant strain of mind trying to cook. I don’t understand your question!”

  “Magic usually involve chanting! O-Or magic circle! Like if I want to use my holy magic, I have to chant it! I don’t ge-“

  “I seriously do not understand your question”

  Arlene frowned and flustered before relented, “Ok questions for ter. Please continue your cooking.” She paced back and forth between the comfy sofa and the dining room. Each times she noticed more and more of how messy the cottage was. More papers, more scrolls, more tomes lying about. Wands, knives, even swords were just hanging about. “Can I… help you with organizing your stuffs? Maybe all your uhh... intricate weapons?”

  “Hmmm? Oh sure, put them at the back in the storage room.”

  Arlene unbuckled her longsword and left it on the dining table. She swept through the room, holding the sheathed knives and wands close to her chest. “Where’s the storage room?”

  “Just go straight from the entrance door, you’ll see it at the end,” he paused as heat sizzle from the pan fred. “At the end to your left”

  Arlene nodded and strode her way there. “To my left… that’s an odd design.” In front of her stood a door with intricate icon of a flower on top of two urels. She reached for the handle with one hand, and shoved her shoulder into the door.

  The room was filled with weaponry: gives, swords, nces, spears, even something resembling muskets pistols. All of them were named too. At the back she rolled her eyes upon discovering it, row of white robes and staffs side by side. Too eccentric even for her, but she brushed it off and id the knives and wands in a neat order.

  She wiped her hands and stood proud at the neat knives and wands she organized, her two hands on her hips and puffed her chest out. She allowed herself this small moment before heading back to the dining room, finding Wattyson already id out the dishes.

  “Hey. Come, sit! Let’s partake dinner!”

  “Why are you speaking like that?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Never mind”

  Arlene took a seat across of him, a bowl of rice and a pot of shashukah in front of her. Wattyson took his seat and already began swooping the pot with a dle into his bowl. “May I do something first?” her eyes searched Wattyson’s face.

  Wattyson pushed the rice to the side and let the dle filled the other bowl with shashukah. “For sure, what is it?”

  “It’s nothing... just a custom from my family” she murmured, voice low and sincere. She cpped her two hands together and said aloud “Thank you for the meal.”

  Wattyson eyed her, something about it was familiar to an eastern culture. He wouldn’t do the same, but he waited for her to begin the meal first. Which she did, a spoonful of rice and shashukah burst into fvours of mild spices and sweetness. This was something she hadn’t had since she began her Chosen One’s quest. And so the two ate in silence, enjoying their dinner.

  Arlene finished her meal, leaned back into a rex posture. “Hey, Wattyson” she asked, lowering her guards. “Seriously though… who are you really?”