An eternity must have passed. My stomach had already drafted a plan to seize the kitchen by force when the old woman finally shouted:

  "READY!"

  I was jolted upright. I jumped up and started joyfully stomping my feet on the floor.

  "Pie! Pie! Pie!"

  The old woman pulled it out—golden-brown, steaming, and smelling so good that for a second, my mind went hazy. She took a knife and began to cut. Slowly. Too slowly.

  "The first piece..." she squinted craftily, looking at my impatient face, "is for the old man. He earned it."

  "Fair enough," I said, my eyes glued to the baking sheet.

  "The second piece..." she paused again, "is for me. The hostess must know what she’s serving."

  "The third piece is for Aurora. She needs to gather her strength."

  I froze, holding my breath. Мои fists clenched.

  "And the fourth..." the old woman smiled, "is for you, Zenhald."

  I snatched the plate before she could even set it down. I shoved the whole piece into my mouth, burning myself and barely chewing. The dough melted, the raspberries exploded with sweetness...

  "Mmm-mmm..." I groaned, closing my eyes. "Delicious."

  "You really are just like a child, Zenhald," the old woman sighed sadly, watching me lick the fork. "You have a hard life, kid. So much power in your hands, yet you find joy in simple dough."

  I didn't answer. Food is the only honest answer to all the world's questions.

  "Which way is the Sultanate?" Aurora suddenly asked. She had already finished her portion and now looked suspiciously serious.

  "To the east," the old woman waved a hand toward the window.

  Aurora frowned, staring at her finger.

  "And where is this 'east' of yours?"

  The old woman froze with her mug in hand. She looked at Aurora as if she had asked why the sky was blue.

  "Child... how can this be? Where the sun rises—that is the east. Have you really never looked at the sky?"

  "Poor things, poor things..." the old lady muttered. She went into the room and returned with a tattered book bound in leather. "Here, take this. It’s a survival guide. It says how to navigate the world, which herbs are edible, and how to find your way home. Read it; it’ll be good for you."

  Aurora took the book, turned it in her hands, and quietly confessed:

  "I don't know how to read."

  Silence hung in the kitchen. The old woman turned her gaze to me.

  "And you, Zenhald? Are you lettered?"

  "I am," I responded lazily, sprawling out on the bench. "But I’m not going to read. I’m lazy. Too many letters, makes my eyes tired..."

  "Then at least teach her," the old woman said sternly. "It isn't right for such a strong being to be blind to the wisdom of the ancestors."

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  "If she asks—I’ll teach her," I shrugged. "But only if she actually wants to."

  "Why are you so persistent?" I grumbled, noticing how the old man and the old woman exchanged a look.

  "Because you’re young," the old man smiled, pulling his old lady close by the shoulders. "Remember us, old girl, in our years? We also flew along without checking the road, thinking we knew everything."

  They smiled at each other again—so warmly and sincerely that I felt that urge to go hide somewhere again.

  The day came to an end. When we were saying our goodbyes, the old man clapped me on the shoulder in a friendly way and said we could always drop by for a chat or to pick up some work if needed.

  I walked back along the forest path, practically skipping with joy. My stomach was warm from the pie, and the world didn't seem like such a hopeless place. But Cloudy... I mean, Aurora... walked beside me like a thundercloud before a hailstorm. Serious, cold, immersed in some dark thoughts of her own.

  "So, what do you think of them?" I couldn't help but ask, trying to infect her with my mood. "Tell me, aren't they awesome dudes? Real people."

  "Weaklings," she spat, not even looking at me.

  I froze. The pie inside me felt like it turned to stone.

  "What do you mean, weaklings? What’s wrong with you? They were kind to us, fed us, gave us clothes, offered help..."

  Aurora stopped and looked at me with her white eyes.

  "Kindness is the lot of weaklings. They waste resources on strangers instead of strengthening themselves. They are defenseless. Anyone with a musket or a drop of mana can erase them from reality. It’s pathetic."

  I felt unbearably sad. And then—annoyed.

  "YOU’RE WEAK TOO!" I shouted in her face. "By your standards, you’re nothing right now! They lived a long life, kept some light in this hole, and you... you’re just angry at the whole world. They gave us warmth when we were nobodies!"

  "They are a relic of the past," she cut me off, continuing on her way. "Pathetic, dying elements of a system that no longer works."

  I followed behind, feeling a prickling sensation right where my heart should be. Like hundreds of tiny needles were being driven into the flesh with every word she spoke.

  Why is she like this? Why does she have to break and devalue everything?

  The world around me turned gray again. I looked at her straight, proud back and thought: What a grumpy-pants. A real, prickly grumpy-pants.

  It hurts.

  It really hurts. But you can't explain that to her. To her, pain is just another sign of weakness.

  I just went silent. I’ll just walk and be quiet. Let’s see how she likes a silence that doesn't even have my stupid questions in it.

  When we returned to our stone "suite," Aurora’s first move was to grab the book. She opened it and spent five minutes drilling into the page with a gaze that seemed to try and incinerate the letters with sheer willpower.

  "I don't understand," she finally squeezed out.

  I wanted to go over and help, but I remembered just in time: I’m mad at her. She’s a grumpy-pants. And I’m a proud master with a delicate soul. No way—not until she asks will I lift a finger.

  I pointedly stared at the ceiling. A minute passed. Two.

  "Teach me to read," came from Aurora’s direction. She didn't even look at me; she just tossed the phrase into the air.

  "Of course!" I responded joyfully, instantly forgetting all my grudges.

  I sat down next to her, took a stick, and started drawing symbols right on the packed earth.

  "Watch closely. This is 'A'. This is 'B'. This is 'V'."

  I drew letter after letter until I reached the end of the alphabet. Aurora repeated after me with a kind of frightening zeal. But seriously, how do you confuse 'G' and 'Zh'? One looks like a poker, the other like a squashed bug! How?!

  "Is this 'M'?" she asked, pointing at 'K'.

  "No, that’s 'K'."

  "Is this 'P'?"

  "Yes, that’s 'P'. I’m not going to praise you; that one was obvious."

  The process was grueling. She sat for two hours, monotonically repeating the sounds until my eye started to twitch. Where did this being get such a thirst for knowledge? She’s the Demon of Oblivion; she should want to erase everything, not record the alphabet into her brain!

  Morning arrived far too abruptly. I was woken up by an unceremonious poke in the ribs.

  "Zenhald. Zenhald!" Aurora was whispering directly into my ear. "This... this is read as 'food'?"

  I cracked one eye open. The book page was waving in front of my nose.

  "Mm-hmm," I grunted. "That’s right. Let me sleep."

  "And this? 'Ragamuffin'?"

  I yawned, nearly dislocating my jaw.

  "Actually, you pronounce it 'Rag-a-muffin.' The stress is on the first syllable."

  "But it’s written with an 'O' here!" she protested. "Why 'O' if it sounds like 'A'?"

  I sat up on my bedding and rubbed my face with my hands.

  "Because the dudes who invented this language decided it would be funnier that way. We write one thing, say another, and think a third."

  She didn't answer. She buried herself in the book again and began slowly, syllable by syllable, dragging herself through an entire sentence.

  "The... for-est... can... be... dan-ger-ous..."

  I lay there listening to her voice. In this cave, to the sound of her clumsy reading, I realized that for the first time in a long while, I wasn't bored.