Cooking (V)

He moved faster than most could see, subconsciously using skills to clean every surface he passed, cutting and dicing things with such expertise that one might have thought he was purposefully doing it with such flourish when it was, in fact, merely a by-product of his skill. Meat was rent by his hand, vegetables sliced and every proper spice needed was deposited in the exact amount required. All without the slightest effort.

Years of cooking for himself. Years of being on the run, forced to cook using only the barest finds of the woods. He became an expert in cooking using only exactly what he needed.

Of course, after his party no longer required his culinary services, he stopped. Food didn’t taste good anymore, and he was alone. Cooking for no one but oneself is the loneliest pursuit of all.

But that wasn’t true anymore. Now, he fried and flambéd with purpose. Now, he was cooking for someone. And it felt fantastic. This was his true purpose, yes. Not fighting selfishly for himself. Fighting for someone. That was-,

No, no! Not at all! That wasn’t it! He didn’t want to fight at all! Be it for his family or his friends or any master that might try to subjugate him! Killing was no longer his purpose, war wasn’t his only avenue of life! There was more to him. Being a slave of death… He wouldn’t allow it anymore. Of course not. Hadn’t he decided that he’d had enough of killing?

...Yes. That was it.

He took the food off the stove. In a single sweeping motion, he removed the charred food from the table and placed the food he’d made there instead. His masters had been served. And now, while they ate, he would wash the dishes. Just like how Priest Lin Mu had taught him all those years ago. He brought the dishes over to the sink. Now, he would clean them. Clean and clean and-,

“Kreig? Aren’t you going to join us?” Sam asked.

Kreig turned to her. She seemed so distant where she sat, and yet her eyes were close. Too close. He felt like her eyes would swallow him whole, those eyes that welcomed him to sit down and be right next to them, right next to the people he loved as dearly as all his former masters. Did he deserve to sit there? He hadn’t deserved to sit next to the White Pope. He hadn’t deserved to sit next to the Emperor.

George seemed peeved. “Just sit down, Kreig. You’re acting strangely.”

A valid point. Kreig sat down, albeit hesitantly, his back hunched as he tried to level his gaze with his siblings. It didn’t work too well, but Sam gave him a little smile, likely to encourage him. Then, she turned to the actual food. They’d been waiting for him. Just a short while, but… Now that it was over, they turned on the food like a pair of rabid wolves. Though, George seemed more hesitant than Sam. She went at it without pause, scarfing it down as if it was her final meal.

George poked at it a few times, seemed to question if it was edible at all, and took a bite. He just kept going from there.

“This is really,” Sam took a bite, “good, I thought you,” she swallowed it down, “were just making,” she took another bite, “a show? For no,” swallow, “reason. Like just showing off without any actual skill. But this is really good! Like, I don’t think I’ve ever had anything better! Except for that time I went to a real restaurant to celebrate my graduation, but that was… Actually, this might be a little better. Maybe.” So she spoke, all the whilst shovelling more food into her mouth than humanly possible. Kreig might have been flattered, had he not had such a hard time understanding what she said.

George didn’t say a word, merely nodding in agreement. Until, finally, he glanced up, and with hard eyes, said: “yes. Kreig, from now on, you’re the cook of the house.”

Kreig happily accepted his new duty.

Dinner concluded without any much further ado. But just as Kreig made to stand (in order to wash the dishes or help otherwise), Sam urged him to remain seated, a mischievous spark in her eye. He didn’t like the look of that, but he couldn’t reject her. So, he remained seated. All the while he unhappily watched how George and Sam washed the dishes and chattered into each other’s ears about things Kreig chose not to listen in on. It was their privacy, after all.

That was why when George left Sam and Kreig in the kitchen and went down the hall and into his room, Kreig didn’t have a single clue what was happening. Sam gave him an equally mysterious smirk as she excused herself from the room as well.

Leaving Kreig alone. Alone, and very scared.

Something was happening. He could smell it. George was in his room, close to a wooden cupboard. Opening it, removing something from inside. Something old and worn and dusty. Sam had wandered into her own room. It smelled sweet in there. Then, that sweet smell was replaced with fire. Fire and wax. Candles? Must be. If it wasn’t, Kreig wouldn’t hesitate to fly from his seat to put it out. She and the fire approached her door. There was excitement in the air. She gave two soft knocks at the door. George replied with three knocks.

Kreig swallowed deeply. What in the hell was-,

““Welcome home!!”” Sam and George shouted in unison as they exploded from their rooms, Sam holding a chocolate cake lit with candles atop it, George timidly clutching what seemed to be a large book to his chest. Kreig froze. Sam and George both shared a glance before walking down the hall, side-by-side, until they were close enough to place both the cake and the book on the table in front of Kreig. He stared at it, mouth agape, eyes trembling.

‘Happy birthday, champ.’ And a seven beneath.

Sam and George sat down on either side of him. “Come on, blow it out!” Sam said with a crescent smile. A single candle burnt atop the cake. It was beautiful. A pretty little flame dancing just for him. Lighting up the dark room and the dark world with its glow. Just beyond the candle, he saw the face of his siblings. His broadly grinning sister, so happy and excited the air seemed to fuzz with joy around her. His brother, carrying a more subdued, yet equally fond smile.

Welcoming. As warm as the candle’s glow.

The world started to blur. The candle’s flame stretched out towards the darkness as the tears pooling in his hollow eyes distorted the world with beautiful deformed joy. It was everything and nothing. Even as a tear fell, briefly showing the world as it truly was, clear and true, it was quickly replaced by another, equally heavy, equally needed.

Sam and George’s features seemed to twist in care and concern. Expressions he hadn’t been given in… In long. In too long. There was no pity to give him under his religion. Nobody to pity him in the Empire (he was a soldier, after all). And after that… After that, anybody faced with him could only pity themselves. “Kreig, you alright?” Their voices were melodic. Caring and pitying in a way that Kreig had sorely needed.

“No,” he confessed. “I am not alright. Haven’t been for a long time...”

George and Sam both shared a look, though Kreig could barely see it. “...We know,” George said. “We read your letters. I’m afraid we did not quite treat you right when we met. I hope, I sincerely hope, that you will accept us as your family with this.” He smiled a tender little smile. “As we will accept you.”

And for once, the smile Sam gave was neither exaggerated nor large. Merely enough.

And Kreig cried. He sobbed and he wept and he was home. Two hands fell on his shoulders, just like before, but now… Now, these hands were so warm. Warm like little docile flames, domesticated like candles burning, warm like the loving embrace of home.

He was home. He was finally home.

Not just on Earth, not just among people he liked.

Home.