Many months before Wyn’s grand adventure in Eden began, it was a day like any other. The cold winter nights were just starting to creep in, the kind that made the windows sweat and the radiators rattle. Jackets were dragged out from the back of closets for the first time since last winter, smelling faintly of dust and old soap. Despite the rampant warming of the globe, winter was still winter, and cold days always found a way to settle in.

  As many tend to do, Wyn avoided the bitter cold as much as possible, cozying up in her tiny room with her headset and escaping into Elysius. The magical world was brighter, warmer, and far more exciting than her cramped apartment. There, she fired barrages of flaming arrows from the shadows, melted ice giants with pinpoint volleys, and felt powerful in ways the real world never offered her.

  Or at least, that’s what she wished she was doing.

  In reality, she was standing in the entryway with her headset still in hand while her mother called her from the kitchen.

  “Wyn! Get in here and wash your hands! I need you to mash these potatoes!”

  Mashing potatoes. In Wyn’s mind, a fate worse than death. Wyn sighed, logged out of Elysius, and set the headset on the bedside table.

  “Coming,” she muttered with all the enthusiasm of a soggy napkin.

  Truthfully, Wyn loved her family but today was one of those days that required an extra helping of patience. Today was Mom’s favorite holiday. An ancient, half-forgotten celebration called Thanksgiving. A relic from a country that no longer existed, one Mom refused to let slip away no matter how many decades or reorganized geopolitical boundaries stood between her and the past.

  The apartment smelled amazing, though Wyn tried not to let that sway her. Spices, vegetables, and something warm and savory drifted through their tiny home. Real food is increasingly rare, and Wyn savors the smells as they wash over her nose. Despite this, Wyn maintains her stubbornness and paints a look of frustration on her face, determined to return to her game.

  “Mom, why do we even do this stupid old holiday?” Wyn grumbled as she stepped into the kitchen. “People don’t even celebrate it anymore.”

  “That’s simple,” Mom said without looking up from the pan. “The old ways may be gone, that’s true, but we carry the torch anyway. Someone has to remember what mattered. Now mash those potatoes before they get cold.”

  Wyn groaned, grabbed the masher, and got to work.

  Fresh food was almost unheard of in the Gray Zones, which made today’s spread a miracle of careful saving and bartering. Carrots, potatoes, onions; nothing fancy, but all real. The kind of ingredients that made the holiday feel important, even if Wyn wouldn’t admit it yet.

  Rohn wandered in, rubbing his eyes like he’d just woken from hibernation.

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing vaguely.

  “It’s a carrot,” Elzie said from the counter. She was cutting slowly, favoring her left side the way she always did. “You know what a carrot is, Rohn.”

  “I thought carrots were tiny little circles.”

  “This is a real carrot. Not like the ones from ration packs.”

  Rohn gasped. “So I’ve been eating fake carrots this whole time?!”

  The indignation on his tiny face was enough to set Elzie giggling. Wyn cracked a grin, even though she tried not to.

  “The carrots in your ration packs are real,” Mom assured him, grabbing one and slicing it into rounds. “Just processed. See? Circles.”

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  Rohn examined the slice like it might bite him first. Then he popped it into his mouth, chewed, and immediately frowned.

  “It’s all hard and crunchy.”

  “That’s what happens when you don’t cook it,” Wyn said, smothering laughter.

  “Food is weird,” he decided.

  With that settled, Mom pulled over a stool so he could help. Or at least try.

  The kitchen bustled with chaotic energy for hours. Elzie measured spices and worked through the vegetables, even though her chopping was slow and she had to take many breaks. Wyn mashed, stirred, and occasionally got scolded for drifting back towards her room. Mom multitasked like a conductor. And Rohn? Rohn mostly got in the way, but in a helpful sort of way. He proclaimed himself “Official Taste Tester,” a role that involved trying to sneak bites of everything.

  The menu grew bigger than any reasonable family of four could ever eat. A vegetable pie, mashed potatoes, squash soup, sweet cranberry mix, fresh bread, stuffing made with real herbs, a mushroom tart, and at Wyn’s suggestion, simple empanadas filled with spiced lentils and onions.

  “You know,” Elzie said softly as the empanadas came out of the oven, “Abuela used to make ones like these.”

  Mom paused. Just for a breath. Something flickered across her face. Nostalgia, loss, maybe both.

  Rohn looked up innocently. “Did Abuela make Thanksgiving too? What about—”

  Mom stiffened. The room went still. Wyn and Elzie exchanged a quick, urgent look.

  “Hey!” Wyn said loudly, pulling Rohn into a hug. “You wanna steal another carrot slice? I bet Elzie won’t notice if you grab one.”

  “I will absolutely notice,” Elzie said, smiling anyway.

  The tension eased, melting back into the warmth of the kitchen.

  When the food was finally done, the table groaned under its weight. They barely had time to admire it before the first knock sounded at their door.

  Alejandro poked his head in. “Happy uh… what did you call it?”

  “Thanksgiving!” Mom said proudly. “Come in, take a plate!”

  Alejandro brightened and stepped inside. Then came the Garcias from 4B. Then the elderly couple from across the hall. Then the two college students always studying in the stairwell. Then the family with three kids. Before long, their tiny apartment was packed wall-to-wall with neighbors balancing plates and shuffling around each other like a very friendly chaotic tide.

  Wyn manned the vegetable pie station. Elzie ladled squash soup. Mom sliced and served everything with practiced ease. Rohn wandered between guests like a host, explaining confidently: “That’s a real carrot. Did you know they don’t always come in circles?!”

  At one point, Se?ora Arroyo from downstairs presented her “contribution.” A heartfelt but bizarre dish called pan dulce casserole, made of torn day-old sweet bread, rehydrated ration-store milk, and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

  “It’s… unique,” Wyn said carefully as she tasted it.

  “My Abuelito showed me how to make this. Something sweet even when you can’t buy a little chocolate!”

  Elzie whispered to Wyn, “Is it good or bad?”

  “Both,” Wyn whispered back. “In equal measure.”

  But it was made with love, and that was enough more than enough to make up for the slightly odd flavor.

  The apartment filled with laughter, conversation, steam from the pots, and the unmistakable smell of people who had worked all day and desperately needed a warm meal. Wyn found herself sitting for a moment, plate in hand, watching faces she saw every week but rarely truly saw. People who were tired, overworked, worried. People who struggled the same as her family did. Yet here they were smiling, relaxing, and sharing in the joys of good food and company.

  A little ember of something warm settled in Wyn’s chest.

  She thought of Elysius. The parties she adventured with, the NPC towns she’d helped, the magical feasts after victorious dungeons. It all felt real enough. Cheers of joy echoed through the Grecian styled wineries and taverns, just as laughter and joy spread through their tiny apartment.

  But this? This was different. Some unexplainable facet of this place made Wyn feel so very warm. This was hers. Her neighborhood. Her people. Her family. Her home. And despite her earlier stubbornness, Wyn is glad Mom made her stay. This was far nicer than she could have imagined.

  “See?” Elzie nudged her gently. “Not such a stupid old holiday.”

  Wyn laughed. “Okay. Maybe not.”

  By the time the last neighbor left and the final plate was washed, the apartment was quiet again. Warm. Peaceful. Wyn collapsed onto the couch, exhausted but glowing with a fullness that wasn’t just from food.

  Mom kissed her forehead. “Thank you, mija.”

  “For what?”

  “For helping make something special.”

  Wyn smiled. “Yeah. It was special.”

  The family all went to their separate rooms to end the busy day of cooking. And as she curled up under a blanket, listening to the soft hum of the city outside their window, Wyn felt something she hadn’t expected. Thankful.

  Thankful for food, for warmth, for her siblings, for her tired but determined mother.

  Thankful for this one night where, just for a little while, everything felt okay. A rare sweetness in a world that didn’t offer nearly enough of it.

  And sometimes, despite the challenges of it, the real world wasn’t half bad.