Chapter 40 Morning Ritual

Earlier that morning—before they stepped into the streets and headed for the guild—Kai was already in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled to his elbows. A pot of seasoned broth simmered low and steady. Eggs sizzled in a pan. A loaf of bread waited for the knife. Sunlight slipped through the shutters and laid quiet gold across the table.

The rhythm calmed him. The scrape of the blade. The slow press of the spatula. The hiss from the pan. It wasn’t just cooking. It was memory.

He had done this a thousand times before this world. Before monsters and guild halls. Back when love was counted in breakfast plates and sticky hands. Four boys—ten, eight, four, and two—thundering in on bare feet.

He could still hear them.

The oldest asking for seconds before the fork touched the plate.
The middle two teasing about whose eggs were fluffier.
The little one clutching his cup with both hands, grinning like breakfast was treasure.

“¡Gracias, Tata!” one would say, kissing his cheek with egg on his chin.

That was the good part. The part that still glowed.

Then came the other part.

“Thanks,” she’d say—flat, quick, sometimes not at all. The sigh when the seasoning was off. The smile only when she needed something. Gratitude like a line read for show.

She had told him more than once he was lucky she stayed. That the world didn’t want a quiet man who felt too much. He believed her.

Until now.

By the time the food was ready, the table was set. Bowls of hot broth steamed in their places. Bread sat sliced and warm. Eggs were soft but not runny. Tea steeped nearby.

He looked at the empty chairs and knew how they would fill.

Fara’s chair, always half-tucked, with her red-golden hair and fox ears peeking through. Her tails would curl around the legs.
Skye’s seat at the far end, back straight, trying to copy manners she was never taught.
Revoli’s chair turned a little sideways, feet tucked under, never still.

They came down one by one.

Skye first, hood low, golden eyes blinking at the light. She sat and wrapped her hands around the bowl as if to warm her fingers before dipping her spoon into the broth.

Fara followed, steps measured, hair brushed back with her fingers. She ate neatly and slow, dunking a small piece of bread, steam rising against her cheeks. Her fox ears twitched when the bowl clinked.

Revoli last, sleeves too long, hair everywhere. She yawned until it squeaked, then tore a heel of bread and dunked it deep into the broth like it owed her money.

They ate in near silence. Spoons. Bread. The soft knock of ceramic on wood.

Kai leaned on the counter with a mug of tea. He didn’t sit. Not yet.

Revoli spoke first. “You always cook the same way,” she mumbled around bread. “Every little slice perfect. Like you’re feeding a royal family.”

Kai shrugged. “I’m feeding my family.”

The room held its breath.

Fara’s eyes lowered. Skye’s tail looped tight around her ankle. Revoli stared at her bowl.

Kai cleared his throat, trying to ease it away. “I used to cook like this back home,” he said. “My kids loved it. Always cleaned their plates.”

“You had a family?” Skye asked, quiet.

“I still do,” he said.

“Oh.” Skye looked down at her cup.

He watched the tea circle in the mug. “They made me feel like a king,” he said. “Cheered for pancakes. Kissed my hands. Meant it. I’d live a thousand lifetimes to feel that again.”

Fara’s voice was soft. “And your wife?”

His jaw set. He let out a slow breath. “She expected it. Like breathing. Like taxes. ‘Thank you’ felt like punctuation, not feeling.”

No one spoke. He didn’t need them to. But all three heard him. And they learned something true.

Fara stole a glance at him through her lashes. He’s a father. A real one. He gave everything and kept giving. Strength like that isn’t loud. It endures. That’s the kind of man I want.

Skye’s ears dipped. He knows what hurt looks like. That’s why he’s careful with us. That’s why his words feel safe. Maybe I could be something new to him—something that heals.

Revoli curled her fingers in her sleeves. He could’ve laughed at me. He didn’t. He sees me. Not a burden. A person. I want to be wanted like that.

They didn’t say any of it out loud. But the quiet warmed.

Kai stood. “Finish up. We’re going to the guild. I need to talk to Lockwood.”

Revoli paused mid-bite. “Are we in trouble?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But something’s coming.”

They stepped out into the streets. The girls stayed closer than usual. Fara’s tails brushed his side. Skye walked at his elbow. Revoli held the corner of his jacket.

He noticed. He said nothing.

They passed guards arguing with a baker. A woman sobbed near a fountain, clutching a broken necklace. Two boys wrestled in the dirt; one’s nose bled, and no one stopped them.

This wasn’t their city anymore.

The fog had left its stain.

And whatever came next—they would face it together.