The graphite pencil fell onto the stack of papers with a dull clink, finalizing a series of calculations that occupied the last page of Carlos's notebook. He leaned back in the wooden chair, which groaned under his weight, and stretched his arms in a long, deep stretch that made every joint in his shoulders and spine pop. The air in the office, once charged with tension, now felt lighter, merely imbued with the familiar letterhead paper, and the fine dust that drifted in through the slightly open window.

  A genuine sigh of relief escaped his lips.

  "Finally..." he murmured to the silent books and empty walls. "I can breathe. The army has a plan, it's being equipped. We got more blacksmiths, carpenters, skilled workers from the liberated sugar mills... the specialized labor is starting to show up. Food? We have stocks. Money... well, we still have the luck (or foresight) from what I saved from the steel sale before the embargo really started to bite."

  He rubbed his fingers over his eyes, feeling the accumulated fatigue of months at his fingertips.

  "And the adaptation projects for the steam engines for the new production lines... all drawn, reviewed. Now it's up to Nia and her gang of grease-stained engineers." A tired smile appeared on his face. "That means, after months of racing against sleep itself, maybe... just maybe... I can close my eyes without dreaming of production graphs or front lines."

  Peace, however, was a fleeting visitor. Before he could even contemplate the idea of a nap, a sharp cry laden with indignation tore through the corridor's silence.

  "Carlos!" The voice was unmistakable: feminine, yet somehow deep.

  The approaching footsteps were quick and decisive, bare feet meeting the concrete floor with the rhythm of an irritated march. The office door, which wasn't locked, was pushed open with force, making it hit the wall with a dry thud.

  There stood Tassi. Her simple, practical striped dress seemed to vibrate with the energy of her frustration. Her eyes sparked with a fire Carlos hadn't seen in a while. The air around her seemed warmer, and a faint smell of earth—the characteristic aroma of the plant magic she commanded—entered the room with her.

  "I can't believe you did the new weapons tests without me!" she launched the accusation like a dart, crossing her arms over her chest.

  Carlos let out an internal sigh. There goes my peace and quiet..., he thought, resigned. Tassi had Swiss watch timing for appearing during moments of precarious calm.

  "Of course I did, Tassi," he replied, keeping his voice calm. "You were out of the settlement, supervising the new grass adepts working at the new mills. I couldn't halt the tests of new weapons of war to wait for the return of our chief expert in magical agriculture, as important as you are."

  "But I wanted to see!" she insisted, advancing to the desk and placing her hands on the wooden edge, her knobby fingers pressing the surface. "It's not just about necessity, Carlos. It's... it's seeing the fruit. I helped feed the people who built these factories. I wanted to see with my own eyes the power that we, this crazy community, are creating with our own hands!"

  Carlos watched her. It wasn't just curiosity or caprice. There was a glint of wounded pride and a desire for belonging in her complaint. She, who had been a warrior, a slave, and now one of the pillars of the Republic, wanted to be an integral part even of its darkest aspects.

  A mischievous, almost teasing smile appeared on Carlos's face.

  "Too bad, Tassi, that wanting is not the same as having," he said, with calculated levity. "And besides, you've already seen the 'devil's artifacts.' Remember the firearms we bought from the Church, those old pistols and shotguns? Yeah. Those are from my world, and they're much more impressive than the ones we just made here. You didn't miss much besides a deafening noise and an improved smell of sulfur."

  He waited for the effect. Tassi furrowed her brow, assessing whether he was trying to downplay her curiosity or telling the truth.

  "That's not the point and you know it!" she retorted, not letting herself be fooled. "I wanted to see a weapon made by us. From here! From the Republic! I wanted to see the power we built, not what we imported or stole. It's different."

  Carlos held the smile for a second longer, then let it dissipate into a longer, more genuine sigh. He raised his hands in surrender.

  "Alright, alright..." he said, his voice softening. "You're right. It was a collective achievement, and you are part of that collectivity. My bad for not letting you know, but the time window was tiny." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "I'll make it up to you somehow. I promise."

  Tassi, still with her arms crossed but with the fire in her eyes dimming to an ember of satisfied curiosity, raised an eyebrow.

  "Make it up? How?"

  "I don't know yet," admitted Carlos, genuinely thoughtful. "But something worthwhile."

  ***

  A few days later, Carlos invited her to dinner at his house.

  It was a full moon night, and the sky was starry, without a cloud. The warm, humid forest air was cut by the gentle coolness descending from the nearby stream. Inside the house, the warm light from the gems glowed on their wooden shelves, casting dancing shadows on the wattle-and-daub walls. The smell of tomato, cheese, and herbs emanated from the kitchen, where Carlos was putting the final touches on dinner, humming softly a melody from a time only he knew.

  She's going to like it, he thought, stirring the sauce. The way she likes food.

  The sound of discreet knocks on the door interrupted his preparations. Carlos wiped his hands on a cloth and went to answer.

  Upon opening it, the air that escaped his lungs was more a sigh of surprise than a breath. Tassi wasn't wearing her usual striped work dress, but a long moss-green silk gown that fell in soft folds to her feet. The cut reminded him of European dresses that arrived in the capitals, but the fabric had the texture and sheen of the finest cloth produced in the republic. Carlos also noticed her hair was longer.

  If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

  "Wow, Tassi... you look stunning," said Carlos, the words coming out before he could filter them.

  He glanced quickly at his own clothes—a simple cotton shirt and loose trousers, stained with flour—and a pang of embarrassment hit him. What a stupid idea, inviting her for a 'casual' dinner at home. Her dressed for court and me looking like a kitchen helper...

  Tassi smiled, a little shyly, her fingers playing with the edge of the dress.

  "Thank you. It's... different. I saw it in the shop window, on one of the wooden mannequins I made, and I loved the color right away, but I don't know if it suits me..."

  "It suits you perfectly," Carlos stepped aside from the door, gesturing invitingly. "But if it were a deeper shade, a bright emerald green, I think it would be even more striking. It would match the shine in your eyes. Actually, you should buy earrings that color."

  "Emerald?" she asked, entering and looking around with curiosity. The environment was cozy, fragrant, so different from the austere simplicity of most dwellings in the quilombo.

  "It's a precious stone. Rare and beautiful. Like your eyes." The phrase came out naturally, without pretense, but upon seeing the shyness in her face, Carlos realized the weight of the compliment. I said too much.

  She averted her gaze, lightly touching the solid wood table.

  "It's strange, isn't it? A woman with my history... wearing a dress like this. Sometimes I feel like I'm wearing a skin that isn't mine."

  "The skin you wear is the one you chose," said Carlos, gently pulling out a chair for her. "And what matters is if you feel good in it. And you seem... yourself. Just... radiant. Please, sit."

  She accepted the seat, still with a slightly displaced air, but the initial discomfort gave way to curiosity when her gaze landed on the set table. An irresistible aroma emanated from the center.

  "So, what did you cook up in the kitchen that smells so good? I'm starving."

  Carlos sat down across from her, a wide smile on his face.

  "It's compensation and a memory. Something I loved and hadn't made in centuries... Lasagna!" He lifted the ceramic lid protecting a rectangular tray, revealing golden layers of pasta interleaved with bright red sauce, bubbling melted cheese, and dark filling. Steam laden with the aroma of basil and meat rose up to them.

  Tassi's eyes widened. The cheese formed golden, elastic strings as Carlos served a generous portion onto her plate and then onto his.

  "Back where I'm from, we even ate it with rice sometimes," he explained, laughing. "The dish is Italian, but the tomato... that came from the Americas. A tasty cultural exchange."

  She barely heard the explanation. With her fork, she cut a small portion and brought it to her mouth. The flavor was an explosion: the acidity of the tomato, the richness of the seasoned meat, the creaminess of the cheese, and the finishing touch of the herbs. Her eyes closed for an instant.

  "Wow, Carlos..." she murmured, swallowing. "This is... divine. It reminded me a bit of pizza, just... more."

  "Italians really don't mess around," he agreed, satisfied.

  He stood up suddenly, as if remembering something crucial.

  "And speaking of them... they usually pair it with this." He went to a low cabinet and returned with a dark glass bottle and two delicate goblets. He poured a ruby liquid into the goblets and handed one to Tassi.

  "Wine. Try it."

  She smelled it, then took a cautious sip. The flavor was dry, fruity, different from the potency of cacha?a or the refreshment of fruit juices. She made a slight grimace.

  "It's... interesting."

  "It goes with the food," he encouraged, sitting down again. "Little by little, the palate gets used to it."

  As they ate, a comfortable silence settled, punctuated only by the clinking of cutlery. Carlos, however, seemed to have sunk into his thoughts, his smile giving way to a contemplative and somewhat somber expression.

  Tassi noticed.

  "What's wrong?" she asked, lowering her fork. "Did the cheese burn your tongue?"

  "No, nothing like that," he replied, forcing a smile. "It's just... all of this. The wine, the house with running water, the comfort... In my world, we have a saying: 'power corrupts.' Sometimes I wonder if comfort isn't also corrupting me. While most of the Republic still lives with the basics, I have this."

  To his surprise, Tassi let out a low, muffled laugh.

  "What are you laughing at? I'm serious!"

  She took another sip of wine, more confident now, and stared at him.

  "Shadow told me that, before I stormed into your office that day, you were almost asleep on top of the blueprints. You worked for months without stopping, Carlos. You didn't even play soccer, you didn't show up at the little square. You built the infrastructure, planned the factories, trained us. If anyone here deserves a toilet that isn't a hole in the ground, it's you." She pointed her fork at him, emphatic. "Not to mention this house was your lab. I remember at least three times when your 'hydraulic revolution' flooded the entire floor and you had to run to clean up the mess."

  Carlos let out a genuine laugh, the weight on his shoulders lightening a bit.

  "You have a point. But the mind wanders, you know? In peacetime, dealing with numbers is one thing. But when the war returns... every casualty will be a number too. Will I be able to handle that?"

  "You'll handle it the way you always have: by doing your best to make it the smallest number possible," said Tassi, with a serenity that surprised them both. "Now stop souring the wine. You're ruining dinner."

  Carlos raised his hands in surrender.

  "Okay, okay. By the way, I almost forgot the most important part!"

  He stood up and went to a strange ceramic piece of furniture leaning against the wall—a "refrigerator" powered by cold gems, which needed to be reactivated every two days, unlike the house's light gems that Quixotina could activate at the start of each month—luckily, there were many more adepts of ice gems than of light in the republic. He opened the door, and a puff of cool air came out from inside. From there, he carefully took out a round mold.

  "Remember when you said corn was bad?" he said, placing the mold on the table. It was a pudding, of soft yellow color and wobbly texture. "I said you could make wonders with it. This is the proof. Creamed corn pudding."

  Tassi's eyes lit up. The lasagna was delicious, but there was always a space reserved for dessert. This time, she didn't even wait to be served. She grabbed the spoon and cut a generous portion, placing it on her dessert plate.

  Bringing it to her mouth, the soft sweetness and velvety texture of the creamed corn completely won her over. A sigh of pleasure escaped her.

  "This is... incredibly good. But it's the dessert that's good, not the corn. Anything with this much sugar would be."

  Carlos laughed.

  "Stubborn even in praise. But this settles my debt for the weapons test, right?"

  She licked her lips, thoughtful, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

  "Hmmm... I don't know. I think a single dinner, however good, is small payment for a humiliation like that. Maybe I need a series of dinners... biweekly, at least."

  "Oh, really?" Carlos stood up again, a mischievous smile on his lips. "Maybe I have something that will change your mind."

  He went to the bedroom and returned with a rectangular box, wrapped in yellowish paper (a precious commodity) and tied with a red cotton ribbon. He placed it ceremoniously in front of Tassi.