His eyes glistened and his taste buds crackled like fireworks. A nostalgic taste rocked his taste buds and brought him back to his childhood. The days of going to the mall and throwing pennies in the fountain, making silly little wishes. His parents swinging him by the arms as they walked. Riding that indoor carousel. Begging for ice cream, but being told it was winter, and subsequently being introduced to the most wonderful thing he ever tasted.

Soft Pretzels.

Every time he went to the mall, he would beg his parents for a pretzel. It became an event that must occur. He would watch through the glass window in amazement as the bakers pounded the dough, rolled it, twirled it and shaped it. It was magic in a magic-less world.

The soft dough turned golden, covered in salt. Bellavarn would spend a dozen minutes picking off the extra salt grains, one by one, so only the perfect amount remained. Too little and it tasted off. Too much and it scratched his gums. By the time he finally finished, the pretzel was lukewarm.

The heat wouldn't matter as he looked up at his smiling parents. He offered them each a piece of his pretzel. He wouldn't eat any unless they ate first. He giggled as his father played with the food, twirling it in his fingers before popping it in his mouth. Mother would tease father before playing with hers afterward. Only then would Bellavarn dig in, beaming as wide as possible with his chubby cheeks.

For years after, Bellavarn would continue to request soft pretzels. Eventually, his parents stopped playing with him. Sometimes they were in a hurry and couldn't buy one. As he grew older, he came to the mall with friends from school. Sharing a delicious treat; they could never truly understand. They were nice even if they didn't feel the same ingrained love for pretzels. It was a treat filled with happy memories—a memoir of his life.

He remembered the end of pretzels.

The days where he could no longer go to the mall with his parents or otherwise. Bellavarn fought for their life insurance, but he was never taught how. He lived oblivious to the real world. He only received a sliver of what he should have. No extended family would take him in at 18.

He was listless and unprepared for life alone. He sold the car first. Why would he need it if he didn't go out? A brainless and childish mistake. He sold the old game consoles and electronics. The extra couches and chairs carrying an invisible weight. His parent's bed. Their clothes. Memorabilia.

Bellavarn was evicted from his family home at 19. He didn't know where to go, so he walked the miles to the mall.

The stares he got were different from before. No longer the happy child swinging from his parents' arms. No one looked on him with fondness. Sitting down where a wishing fountain was removed, he imagined what it would be like to taste another pretzel. To share a meal with his family again.

Out of luck and having no skills, he was truly homeless.

He wandered for six months. Starved himself and became gaunt. He had no purpose. No family or calling. No drive.

Funnily enough, the homeless were territorial. Claiming spots for themselves. Most were crude and mean, but Bellavarn just attributed it to anger at their circumstance. Bellavarn was angry too. For having such bad luck.

A sweltering summer night, it dawned on him that it wasn't his luck. It was him.

He never tried to find a job. He never reached out to his former friends. He failed to visit his parent's graves since their passing. What a shitty son he'd been, blaming all his misfortune on a cruel fate rather than taking responsibility.

Bellavarn searched for aid. There were shelters for support, and there were good people looking to help. He managed to finagle a construction job doing heavy lifting and hauling. He learned how to work with tools and machinery. Bellavarn worked tirelessly to get himself back on his feet. Finally, he received his first paycheck. It was selfish and unreasonable, but his first purchase with his hard-earned money couldn't have been anything else.

"Is it that bad? Dear me, I thought it was halfway decent. I'll throw it away."

Bellavarn caught Misses Vale's hand.

"No! No. It's delicious and exactly how I remember it. Your kind of magic is my favorite."

"Experience and skill trump magic any day. Though, Ii you're feeling extra wowed, I suppose a few more coins in my pocket wouldn't hurt. My youngest wants to be a wizard. Even though wizards don't exist outside of his book, I didn't have the heart to tell 'im the truth."

Bellavarn laughed heartily.

"We'll make him the best wizard who ever existed. You can count on me. In exchange for your skills? I will alter the very laws of magic!"

"Don't you start. Ma' husband is saying the exact same things. I don't need the two of you encouraging Len when I plan to break the news."

There was a crack in her expression and she broke eye contact.

"Eventually"

Bellavarn grinned. Misses Vale had six children. The youngest being four and the oldest at twelve. She had a lot on her plate, being the breadwinner of the family. Her husband stayed at home to watch the kids, a retired knight. He used to work under Bellavarn's grandfather, so employing Misses Vale when they came to the capital was an easy choice.

Bellavarn would make sure to keep them all happy. They were good people.

At the moment, he had a different project to work on. Bellavarn was waiting for his new batch of greenware to finish firing, so he needed something to fill his time. This was the second reason Bellavarn was in the kitchen with Misses Vale. She held the most sway with the rest of the cooking staff.

"Misses Vale, have you ever tried to cook Stink Weeds?"

"Four times. Failed every time. Stubborn lot. Why? Did'ja figure out a way to cook it?"

It hurt his pride that she guessed. She didn't even look surprised. The staff are becoming over-expectant of him lately.

"Sort of. There was this old book in the library, Fish and Rods, incredibly boring and benign. Except for one passage that described a type of ration that the author ate when he couldn't catch anything. It didn't tell me how he cooked the thing, but the descriptors matched Stink Weed."

=

"By the gods, this reeks."

Bellavarn handled the gross stuff.

"What are those four methods you already tried?"

Misses Vale looked unfazed as she handled the weeds.

"I tried diluting it water. Boiled it. Squeezed it into a juice. And finally, baked it. The last one was a disaster. The stench remains no matter how it's cooked and is indigestable."

Dear lord! She ate her experiments?

"Ma' husband doesn't trust anything I don't cook in front of him.

Misses Vale was the only one who could make Mr. Vale do something he absolutely didn't want to. Ester's stories about Misses Vale and Mr. Vale caused sympathetic shivers to run down his spine. Marriage could be cruel.

"What about mashing it into paste? Like baby food?"

"I reckon we give it a try."

=

Bellavarn emptied the contents of his stomach. It tasted worse than a three-day-old burger out of a dumpster. No one could eat that. Why was it so attractive to equines?

It was his idea, so Bellavarn accepted the task of taste-testing the mushed up stink sauce. Misses Vale was having too much fun at his misery. Wiping his mouth, groaning, he stated.

"You know. The book said it was hard and crunchy. Maybe... Hurp..."

Bellavarn covered his mouth and swallowed the bile. When it was safe, he spoke again.

"Maybe I jumped the gun in suggesting we make it into a paste."

Misses Vale looked entirely unsympathetic while being equally driven.

"If it is supposed to be crunchy, it needs heat."

"You said you tried baking it. How did it turn out?"

Misses Vale made a face that Bellavarn would rather forget. Moving on...

"Alright. If baking doesn't do it, there are other options. Steaming. Smoking. Roasting."

=

Bellavarn was becoming used to throwing up. His tastebuds never numbed, and it somehow seemed worse every time. Misses Vale was turning sympathetic.

Bellavarn didn't know the correct method. He just read that someone had eaten it. Therefore, there must be a way to cook it.

"I trust you, but watching you throw up gets worrying after the fifth time."

Bellavarn held his stomach.

"Um... I don't assume we have access to a microwave. No, forget I said that. A fisherman wouldn't have access to such a thing either."

Bellavarn wrinkled his nose, trying to think about how a fisherman would cook something. Turning it over a fire? Placing it in a fire?"

The author was from the south. Past the badlands and deep into the sandy seas. How did he fish in a desert? Why did he never address that like it was the natural? Did he fish in an oasis? There shouldn't be enough life in an oasis to fish, right?

He had no clue.

The current clues were: Desert. Fishing. Heat. Stinkweed.

Stinkweed in a desert?

His hands dragged down his face at the completely nonsensical string of information.

"Is there such a thing as magic cooking?"

"Cooking using magic tools? Of course! Some restaurants think they're all fancy-schmancy with all their magical equipment. It doesn't taste the same. It is too..."

She spun a hand.

"...manufactured."

"What if we just dry it out?"

Misses Vale made another face. A more mild yet equally disturbing sight.

"In the winter? It would never happen. If this were summer, maybe after a several days it would work."

"How about speeding the process up with magic. I can use the heat spell. Reverse the longevity portion to make a controlled burst of heat."

=

"It worked. Sort of."

The duo leaned over, cheeks nearly touching as they observed the sample. The weed dried up a fraction. Bellavarn couldn't tell if it smelled better. His nose quit a while ago.

The spell shape worked, but it was inefficient. The only way to get a better result would be to create a brand new spell or to brute force it.

Bellavarn would normally be all for the first option. However, it has been a rough week, and he was tired of failing. He cracked his knuckles.

"Hold on; I'll at least evoke a sizzle."

Placing his hand on the spell shape, he poured his entire mana pool forthwith.

*Tttssss*

The sight of the weed writhing like a living being was disconcerting, and the hiss was more like a scream of agony, but the results were glorious. Bellavarn let out a breath. The weed was now a fourth the size it once was. Tentatively, Misses Vale poked it with a spoon. It didn't react or jump out. She determined it to be safe.

"Would you like the honors, Misses Vale? I can't smell it anymore."

She gave him a side-eye. But after seeing Bellavarn's pale face, she relented. Taking the tiny piece up in her fingers, she popped it in her mouth and chewed. Bellavarn could hear her teeth grinding. He waited.

She gulped.

"Well?"

Misses Vale grimaced.

"It tastes like cardboard. But it is edible."

"Really?"

"Do ye' see me throwin' up all over?"

"Good. Good."

She smiled genuinely and warmly.

"Well done, Master Bellavarn. I knew you could do it."

Bellavarn nodded too many times.

"Good. Good."

"Master Bellavarn?"

His eyes rolled up.

"Good..."

He fainted.

Mana-drained.