The fire crackled softly, painting long shadows over their faces. The night had settled thick and silent around them, too silent for comfort. Then, from beyond the treeline, a voice drifted in. Calm. Unhurried. As if the man owned the darkness itself.

  “Smell was so good, I ran all the way here,” he said, stepping into the light. “Can’t remember the last time I ran for anything.”

  James frowned. “You a glutton or something?”

  The stranger laughed, rich and genuine, the kind of laugh that didn’t belong in tense moments. “Lad, do you know what the only real joy in life is?”

  “Women, money, fame?” James guessed.

  Another burst of laughter. “No. Eating something delicious every single meal.”

  Marty and Gerrard exchanged a quick glance. Gerrard gave a slight nod, and Marty shrugged.

  “Huh. Didn’t think I’d agree with a random stranger on our first meeting.”

  “Another worshipper of food,” Gerrard muttered.

  The man grinned, raising both hands slightly. “For the record, I don’t like uninvited guests, and I never thought I’d become one myself. But that smell…” He tilted his head toward the fire. “What are you cooking?”

  “Pizza,” Gerrard said.

  The man blinked. “Pizza?”

  “Pizza,” Marty repeated.

  “Never heard of it,” the stranger said, curiosity flickering in his eyes. “Mind if I try some?”

  “Be my guest.” Marty picked up a slice and handed it over.

  The stranger turned it in his hand, inspecting the crust as if it were a fine gem. He leaned in, inhaled deeply, and made a sound halfway between surprise and reverence. Then he took a small bite. For a heartbeat, he froze. His eyes widened. And then, without hesitation, he shoved the entire slice into his mouth.

  “Ah,” he said through a full mouth, “I think I didn’t quite catch the flavor. May I have another?”

  James stepped forward, voice sharp. “Oh no. No, no, no. Absolutely not.”

  The others turned to look at him.

  “I’m not usually this petty,” James went on, “but you, sir, appeared out of nowhere, interrupted our night, and now you want free food? Sorry, charity hours are over. You’re late.”

  The stranger’s easy smile thinned. “You should watch your tone, boy. I asked nicely. Don’t make me—”

  “Don’t make you what?” James cut in, pointing toward Gerrard. “That guy’s a mage.”

  Gerrard rose to his feet, brushing dust from his hands. “And that one,” he said, nodding toward James, “is a warrior-chef who once fought goblins completely naked.”

  The stranger blinked. Once at Gerrard, once at James. Then again. And again. His gaze shifted to Marty, who was sitting very still by the wagon.

  “Don’t look at me,” Marty said quickly. “I’m just a merchant. Perfectly normal. No weird hobbies.”

  The stranger’s laughter rolled out again, genuine and unrestrained. “Alright then.” He reached into his coat, pulled out a small pouch, and tossed it lightly toward James. The sound of coins jingled in the air before landing beside the fire.

  “I don’t carry much,” he said, his smile returning. “But I hope that’s enough for a slice.”

  The pouch hit the ground with a heavy thud. Its sound carried weight, the kind that promised gold or trouble. James crouched and untied the string. When he pulled it open, light spilled out like liquid metal. The pouch was filled to the brim with coins of gold and silver, and tucked among them were a few gems that caught the firelight in flashes of red and blue.

  He stared, half-amused, half-suspicious. “What are you, a dragon?”

  The stranger looked genuinely delighted by the question. “Oh!” He lifted his head, sniffing the air twice like a curious hound. “Wait… are you blessed by the gods? New ones, or old?”

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  “New? Old? There’s a difference?” James asked.

  Gerrard leaned forward, poking at the fire with a stick. “I think he means the forgotten ones.”

  “Forgotten gods?” James frowned. “You people collect them like titles?”

  Marty sighed, shaking his head. “James, your ignorance keeps reaching new heights. Are you sure you’re not the dragon? Because that would explain your hoarding instincts and your obsession with shiny things.”

  The stranger chuckled. “I doubt it.”

  All three turned to look at him. After a pause, they shrugged in unison.

  “Hey,” James said, spreading his arms, “stop acting like I’m the outsider here.”

  Gerrard smirked. “You just got a pouch full of gold. You’re allowed to be happy.”

  “I am,” James said, “but we’re out of ingredients. This is the last pizza. I’m fine either way, but if you plan to share, that’s on you.”

  Marty sighed. “My father always said, never let a traveler go hungry or cold.”

  “Now that I’d drink to,” Gerrard said.

  “Sadly,” Marty muttered, “we’ve got nothing to drink.”

  The stranger smiled, almost slyly. “Then let me fix that.”

  He reached into thin air, and with a faint shimmer, pulled a dark glass bottle from nowhere. The liquid inside gleamed like rubies in the firelight.

  Gerrard whistled. “Lucky bastard. You’ve got inventory access.”

  Marty’s eyes widened. “My dream! If I hit level fifty, maybe I’ll unlock it.”

  James blinked. “Hold on. Not everyone has one?”

  All three turned toward him slowly, faces blank.

  “This kid,” Marty said flatly, “is hopeless.”

  “Utterly hopeless,” Gerrard agreed. “Doesn’t even know the basics.”

  They whispered among themselves for a moment until James cleared his throat. “You know I can hear you, right? Keep talking like that, and you’ll be eating dry bread tomorrow.”

  The three of them straightened immediately, hands raised in mock salute.

  “Ah, James is the best,” they chorused, breaking into laughter.

  James rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his grin. He divided the last pizza, handing each of them a slice. Marty rummaged through the wagon and produced a few wooden cups. The stranger uncorked the bottle and poured deep red liquid into each one.

  James lifted his cup and sniffed. “Wine?”

  “The good kind,” Marty said, smiling.

  “Best I’ve seen in years,” Gerrard added.

  James tasted it, warmth spreading down his throat. “Pizza goes well with wine,” he murmured.

  The fire popped softly. The stars had begun to crowd the sky, and for the first time that night, the stranger looked at ease, just another traveler sharing a meal by the road.

  The stranger picked up another slice, turning it in his fingers like a craftsman inspecting his own work. He brought it to his nose, inhaled once, then took a slow bite.

  “Try it with the wine,” James said. “It gets even better.”

  The stranger obliged, sipping from his cup. His eyes widened slightly, as though he had just stumbled on something rare.

  Marty raised his brow. “Wow. He’s right. It is better.”

  Gerrard nodded thoughtfully. “The pizza was good on its own, but with the wine… the flavors sharpen each other.”

  The stranger smiled. “Yes. It’s like they were made for each other, one sweet and sharp, the other warm and smoky. Each fills what the other lacks.”

  James leaned back, smirking. “Sometimes I look at you all and feel like you’ve been eating rocks for years.”

  Gerrard chuckled. “Unlike you, not everyone can cook miracles out of scraps.”

  “I’d give anything to eat like this every day,” Marty sighed.

  The stranger glanced at James. “Where did you learn to cook like that?”

  A faint hint of pride crossed James’s face. “Where I’m from, meals like this are normal. You haven’t even tasted the good ones yet.”

  “Normal?” Marty barked a laugh. “I bet kings would march their armies for a single slice of this.”

  The stranger tilted his head. “And where might that be? I’ve traveled across half the continent, yet I’ve never heard of a place with food like this.”

  “Me?” James hesitated, pretending to think. “A small island called Manhattan.”

  “Manhat-tun?” The stranger repeated carefully. “Never heard of it. Where does this island lie?”

  “Oh, far away,” James said quickly. “Doesn’t matter. You still haven’t told us your name.”

  The stranger blinked, then smiled with a polite nod. “You’re right. Forgive my manners. My name is Villen.”

  “Marty,” the merchant said, raising his cup.

  “Gerrard,” the mage added. “Pleasure.”

  “Villen, then,” James said, lifting his own. “And thanks for the gold.”

  Villen chuckled. “You’re welcome. So, where are you headed?”

  “Min City,” Marty answered.

  “Truly?” Villen looked pleasantly surprised.

  “Yes,” Gerrard said. “We left Wood’s End this morning.”

  “Ah, unfortunate,” Villen said, rubbing his chin. “My path didn’t take me through there, but I’m bound for Min as well. If it’s no trouble, may I join you?”

  “Traveling alone’s never easy,” Marty said.

  Gerrard shrugged. “As long as you don’t cause trouble, why not?”

  James groaned, shaking his head. “Great. Everyone else gets beautiful companions for their journeys. I get three old men.”

  The others burst out laughing, the sound mingling with the soft crackle of the fire and the faint, sweet scent of cooling pizza. The night stretched quiet and kind around them. For a brief moment, James forgot about monsters, quests, and coin. Forgot why he even started cooking in the first place. There was only warmth, laughter, and the taste of something human.

  “You know,” Marty said, already a little drunk, “if I ever open a tavern, I’ll name it The Naked Chef.”

  Gerrard choked on his drink. “That’s… a terrible name.”

  “Not if James works there,” Marty grinned.

  “You’re not wrong,” Villen added, dead serious. “He’d make a fortune.”

  James sighed. “Remind me never to share my recipes with you lot again.”

  They laughed, the firelight flickering over their faces, until even James had to smile. Somewhere, an owl called in the woods, and the night felt lighter than it had in days.

  James stared into the fire, the wine dulling the edges of his thoughts. Cooking had always been easy, muscle memory, instinct, the only thing that ever made sense. Yet lately, every dish he made felt like he was chasing something he couldn’t name. A memory maybe, or a promise.

  He smiled faintly. “As long as it tastes good,” he muttered. But the words rang hollow.

  The laughter of the others filled the air, but for a fleeting moment, the warmth didn’t quite reach him. He wondered if he’d ever try to cook his way back home. Even though there was nothing waiting for him.