Momma Goddess of Stew

Meredi pulled a pot off the stovetop with a wide grin, steam curling around her head like she was summoning a soup-based spirit.

“I still can’t believe it,” she said, turning with a sloshing ladle in one hand and a mitt on the other. “You actually showed up for dinner.”

She had tied her thick blacksmith’s apron around her waist over a sleeveless shirt, and the heat of the kitchen had added a soft sheen to her olive skin. Her single amber eye gleamed with surprise, her scarred eyelid twitching slightly as if her missing eye yearned to see the sight.

I gave a casual shrug, already sitting at the dinner table. “You make an open invitation enough times, eventually someone takes you up on it.”

She let out a soft laugh and shook her head. “Sure, sure. I was starting to think I’d have to drag you here myself with a pair of tongs.” Then she placed the pot in the middle of the table and gave its contents a firm stir. “Stew’s good to go. Bread’s in the warmer. If you go poking around the workshop after dinner, I’ll toss you out headfirst. There’s nothing in there for you, you hear?” she said with a wink.

“Oh, come on, I’m an alchemist, not a thief,” I said, letting my voice drip with faux offense.

She raised a brow as she walked to her cutlery drawers. “If you spent less time hanging around my sister, I’d be more willing to believe that.”

“This is no way to treat a guest,” I joked.

“You’re family, not a guest.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, and that means you do the dishes,” she continued, sticking her tongue out.

God, she was cute. I don’t care how many times she smacked me with a ladle in those memories—Meredi being domestic was just too damn good. I knew it. I just knew these girls were fleshed out. I hated that those devs made me miss out on a domestic route with her.

That one eye always looked like it was trying to figure out if I was playing some game or was here for real. And when she grinned while stirring the pot, like now, it was… it was devastating. Aww damn it! I wanted her to know that I really was here to spend time with her! She deserved it.

My eyes drifted across the cramped but cozy space. Her house smelled like cooked onions, charred metal, and oil. But, to be fair, the forge was right beside us, separated by an admittedly sturdy stone wall.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” she said, glancing at me while grabbing two bowls from the shelf. “Word was you hadn’t left your shop since… well, the last time you saw Elsie.”

“Elsie—oh! You mean Lady Elsbeth.”

Meredi shuddered so hard she almost dropped the bowls. “It’s odd hearing you call her that.”

“Yeah, I’ll get it out of my system, but no. I wasn’t disturbed because of her or anything.”

“So what was it then? Drinking more of those piss-colored drinks again?”

I sighed. “I know what you’re trying to do. I did not drink piss of any sort.”

She grinned and chuckled. “So what then? If it’s not Elsie, and it’s not your piss drinks, then what?”

“Studying.”

“No kidding?” she said, sliding into the seat across from me. “You told me last year that you had studied everything that was available in this layer and the one above. Elsie smuggled something to you? Oh, and Cynth is going to be a bit, probably, so we can just get started.”

“I’m surprised you think Elsbeth and I had such a great meeting. It really was just her greeting me.”

“Well, you be careful, okay? She’s the Lord’s wife. Last thing I want is for that man to find out his wife is sneaking out to see an antisocial alchemist down here.”

We dug in. The stew was hearty and thick, with real vegetables and strips of some sort of meat that definitely didn’t come from a rat. Meredi was a better cook than the game ever gave her credit for. Oh, and the vegetables? As it turned out, the city had sunlamp installations that allowed people to grow crops. The vegetables from the higher layers were still better, but the people of the lower middle “Saint Giselle” layer were still crafty buggers.

“So,” she said between bites, “you come here just to eat my food and enjoy time with family, or is there a catch? Do you need something?”

Our eyes met. I just knew immediately that she was putting on a brave face. She was trying to make it seem like she didn’t mind, but she was really hoping I was here out of a sense of family. I was about to shatter her hope.

I swallowed my mouthful. “I won’t bullshit you. I want a weapon.”

She blinked. “A what now?”

“A weapon,” I said again. “Whatever you give to the guys that go to the swamps outside—I want that too, please.”

Her eye narrowed slightly. And then she burst out laughing. That heavenly laughter went on for a couple of minutes. I didn’t think it was so funny, but the amount of joy it brought her—I could die happy right now.

Finally, she wiped the tear from her eye.

“Okay, okay, sorry, Tim. But you’re the last boy I expected to come here asking for a weapon.”

“Please remember that I’m a 32-year-old man—”

“And for the last 14 years, you've been the exact same person.”

I grinned. “Great, I’m overdue for some positive development in my character.”

She leaned back in her chair, arms folding loosely. “Timaeus, you sell potions to kids with fevers and old ladies with gout. What do you need a blade for?”

“And to some of the guards. I sell potions to some of those brave, foolish men.”

“I’ll ask again. What do you need a weapon for?” Her head tilted, and she leaned in. “Did someone threaten you? Do you need protection? Hey, Tim. You tell us if someone’s threatening you. Your aunt and I will handle it.”

I leaned in and met her gaze. “I want to hunt Gloomspawn.”

She didn’t blink. Just stared at me like I’d grown an extra eye. Then she gave a short laugh—soft but incredulous.

“Well, shit,” she muttered. “I almost believed you could handle a weapon without poking an eye out.”

“If you don’t think I can, you can train me on how to use whatever you choose to give me.”

“Slapping a price on a product you haven’t even made yet, don’t you think, Tim?”

The front door slammed open so hard the latch pinged off the wall.

“I’m back! And I didn’t punch anyone today!” came a voice far too loud for the size of the house.

Meredi smiled and chuckled. “That’s too bad.”

I, meanwhile, let out the longest internal sigh that I could manage.

And in stomped Cynthia, the bane of my existence.

Sixteen, lean and flat as a sword born from her mother’s forge, and just as eager to stab someone. She had that kind of wiry build that came from swinging weapons and chasing poor criminals through alleys. Her boots were caked in dried mud, and over her patched trousers and sleeveless tunic she wore a half-set of guard armor—bracers, one shoulder pad, and leather chest armor that looked a size too big.

Her hair was tied into twin tails so tight they probably gave her headaches, and a thin scar ran across her left brow like a badge of honor. Her sharp gray eyes snapped to me, narrowed, and then rolled hard enough to rattle in her skull.

“Oh. It’s you,” she said flatly. “Didn’t think you ever left your shop.”

“Hey, brat,” I replied before sipping the broth.

Her mouth dropped. “I’m not a brat! Mom! Tell him!”

Meredi chuckled and sipped her broth. “You can be kind of bratty sometimes. Now shut up and come have dinner with your family.”

Cynthia’s mouth dropped even further, but miraculously, she came to the table and sat down. She was grumbling, and that scowl was mighty, but she didn’t yell.

And me? I loved Meredi even more. The put-down was so swift, and Cynthia even listened! I was in heaven.

Oh, Cynthia… I disliked her so much. I could write paragraphs about how much I disliked this gremlin.

She was one of the six official love interests in the game. A market guard, she was one of the two other prologue survivors to end up at the same village as the MC. Hot-blooded, violent, and ridiculously hot-and-cold—this girl caused me so much stress.

It wasn’t like she was badly written. No, the devs gave her a full character arc and everything. But in the early game, she was just the worst. She argued with every character you liked, picked fights she couldn’t win, and had a knack for breaking important plot devices with brute force. And then the escort missions—the devs programmed her to run into every single enemy. You had to switch your build into a hybrid damage dealer/party healer if you wanted to keep this maniac alive.

“Oh look,” she said, her voice restrained just enough to not incur Meredi’s wrath. “He’s eating food that isn’t moldier and soggier than a dog’s excrement.”

“Cynthia,” Meredi chided gently.

I gave her a winning smile. “You do know that fungus can be used to make medicine, right?”

“Not when you eat it raw, dickhead.”

“Cynthia,” Meredi repeated, the depth of her voice startling Cynthia again. “You’re not going to ruin family dinner, are you?”

Cynthia stuck out her tongue and helped herself to the hot stew, piling it into a bowl like she hadn’t eaten in a week. She didn’t even look at me as she spoke.

“So, why’s he here, Mom? Did something explode again?”

Meredi and I exchanged a glance. The mood from earlier was gone—snatched clean away like a pot off the stove.

I chuckled and enjoyed my stew. “Explosions are the allies of progress.”

“Yeah, I guess if you survive it,” she shot back. “You’ll totally know how not to almost get yourself killed next time.”

“Almost sounds like you care about my health.”

“Well, yeah, obviously! If something happens to you, Mom will be all messed up about it, you jerk!”

I glanced at Meredi, who just looked down and played with her stew. She didn’t chide Cynthia this time.

A sound escaped my throat. My heart had twisted from the sight.

I shook my head and enjoyed another spoonful. “I’m not going to mess her up, because I’m not going to hurt myself.”

“You better not, dumbass!”

A familiar voice called from the hall: “Dumbass? Is Timaeus here?”

I turned just in time to see Ravela saunter in, flicking her black coat over one shoulder like a businesswoman done with a long day. Her corset barely held her generous chest in place, and judging by the satisfied grin on her face, she knew exactly what she was doing. Every step was practiced. Every movement was a problem for my heart.

Cynthia’s eyes lit up. “Aunt Ravela!”