Cooking

The air shimmered with a low warble. Citizens craned their necks, searching for the source of the sound. Even the priest on the hill pushed open the church doors, his robes rustling as he stepped outside.

The wail grew louder - until the Angel of Death descended.

Screams tore through the streets as Jere alighted in the city square, Ylfa clinging to his neck. When his wings retracted with their familiar hiss, the two of them walked calmly toward the inn. The barkeeper cowered behind his counter, guests ducking behind overturned tables, but Jere and Ylfa ignored them and climbed the stairs.

Inside their room, Ylfa spun the moment the door shut. She flung her arms around Jere, pressing herself against him. He froze as his processors buzzed with activity, eager to catalogue another instance of love. Slowly - stiffly - he returned the embrace.

They stayed that way for a long moment, warmth shared in silence. Ylfa’s sigh brushed his ear.
“I’m sorry.”

His tone was even.
“What for?”

“For… trying to win the acceptance of someone other than you.”

Jere hadn’t realised that had been her intent.
“What’s wrong with that?”

She squeezed him tighter.
“Nothing. But I felt like I should apologise.”

He nodded. Silence followed, broken only by her breath. After a moment she sighed again.
“I… I don’t know. I just want - no, nevermind.”

He didn’t reply. When she finally released him, she stepped back with a faint smile, her eyes rimmed red.
“Thank you.”

His processors flagged the familiar reaction: elevated heart rate, warmth beneath the skin. By now, he was used to it.

Ylfa turned to the window, the last sunlight spilling over her hair, then looked back with a lighter smile.
“Would you like something to eat?”

His mouth opened to remind her he didn’t need food, but she cut him off with a scowl.
“And don’t say you don’t need to. I’m going to cook something. And you’re going to try it.”

Jere nodded - helpless. When she was like this, resistance was pointless.

Her grin blossomed.
“Good. I’ll go… acquire some ingredients. Wait here.”

She darted out the door. Jere listened: the thump of feet on stairs, the startled screams and gasps from below, a crash, hurried footsteps, a heavy thud. Then silence.

Moments later, light footsteps pattered back up the stairs. A knock at the door.
“Jere! Can you please open the door for me? I can’t get in.”

He obeyed. Ylfa beamed at him from behind an armful of food.
“Thank you.”

She carried the pile into the room, laying out vegetables, bread, and cuts of meat across the counter. With a bright grin she turned.
“Alright! I’m gonna knock your socks off!”

Jere stared expectantly.

She blinked at him for a beat, then sighed.
“It’s just an expression…”

A flush warmed his cheeks. She giggled, tail flicking in amusement. He turned away as she shook her head, still smiling.

The room filled with the rich scent of stewing meat. Jere stood silently, watching Ylfa work. She held the wooden spoon with practiced care, fire magic dancing in her hands to heat the pot.

He was mesmerized - not only by the food, but by her.

Her tail swayed with each movement, ears twitching at the simmering sound of bubbling broth. The apron tied neatly around her waist suited her form, while her tied-back hair floated gently whenever she turned. Little pointed ears peeked through the strands. The word surfaced in his mind, hesitant but certain once he tested it against her image.

Cute.

Yes, that was the word. Cute. He gave a tiny nod to himself.

Ylfa glanced over her shoulder with a bright smile.
“Are you just going to stand there? Come help!”

He hesitated, then obeyed, stepping to her side. She pointed to a chopping board stacked with vegetables, a knife resting beside it.
“Can you cut those, please?”

Jere picked up the knife, testing the edge with his finger. Sharp, though nowhere near enough to harm him. He placed the blade above a carrot.

“Whoa! What are you doing?” Ylfa’s ears shot up in alarm.

He looked at her blankly.
“Cutting these?”

“Have you ever done it before?”

He shook his head.

She sighed, shoulders relaxing.
“Alright. I’ll teach you.”

She pointed at the carrot.
“First, cut off the top and bottom. Those don’t taste good.”

He followed the instruction. She smiled.
“Good. Now cut it lengthways.”

He obeyed, earning another approving grin.
“Great! Now dice it.”

He blinked. The word meant nothing to him. She gave a long-suffering sigh, set the spoon aside, and stepped closer.

“Like this.”

Her hand slid over his, guiding the motion of the knife. Together they worked the blade down in clean, even slices. After a quarter’s worth, she returned to stirring, leaving him to finish. He found the rhythm quickly.

“Perfect. Now again, from the other angle. Little cubes.”

He followed, and when she nodded, something inside him sparked with quiet satisfaction.

“Alright, pour them in.”

He did, and she gave a pleased little hum.
“Thank you. Now do the rest.”

In minutes, the vegetables were diced and simmering. When he poured the last of them into the pot, she beamed.
“Perfect. Now you can sit at the table and relax.”

He lingered for a heartbeat, then obeyed, settling where he could watch her work.

At last she finished and carried two steaming bowls to the table. The aroma wafted through the room, warm and heavy. She set one before him with a smile.
“Here you go. Enjoy.”

It struck him then - he had never eaten before.

He raised the spoon cautiously, the scent curling into his nose, and took a careful mouthful.

The world shifted.

Flavor - rich, layered, alive - spread across his tongue. His heart pounded as his processors scrambled to catalogue the overwhelming sensation. Before the thought was complete, he swallowed and took another bite.

Across from him, Ylfa had paused mid-mouthful, watching him intently. His face betrayed nothing.
“This is really good.”

Her ears perked, and her smile broke wide, teeth flashing.
“Really? I’m so glad! I was worried for a little bit…”

“Worried?”

She only giggled and returned to her food.

Jere thought on it for a second, then shrugged, focusing back on the stew.

The sky deepened into night, and the world outside fell quiet. Stars shimmered faintly above, just visible through the window if Ylfa tilted her head.

The bed felt far too large for one person, yet Jere - as always - sat on the floor, back straight, eyes fixed on nothing. His chest rose and fell in steady rhythm, mechanical and calm.

Ylfa rolled over, watching him for a long while. If he noticed, he gave no sign. Perhaps he didn’t care.

At last she broke the silence.
“Jere?”

“Mmm?”

“Tell me something. About yourself.”

His gaze lifted to her, blank but attentive.
“What do you want to know?”

She hugged the blanket closer around her shoulders.
“Surprise me.”

For a heartbeat, his expression shifted - confusion flickering - before settling back into its usual stillness.
“I don’t really know what you expect me to tell you.”

She exhaled softly.
“Alright, then tell me about where you’re from.”

His face shadowed.
“I don’t know if I should.”

Her lips pushed into a small pout.
“Why not?”

“It’s… not normal. I don’t know how you’ll react.”

She gave him a weak, reassuring smile.
“You know you’re the only one I trust, right? I’m not going to tell anyone else.”

He nodded slowly.
“I know. But…”

And then, to her surprise, he sighed. The sound seemed almost foreign coming from him.
“Alright. But don’t… react badly.”

Ylfa narrowed her eyes, curiosity piqued. What could he possibly say that would make him expect rejection?

Jere’s voice was quiet when it came.
“To put it very simply, I’m dead.”

Her eyes widened.
“Dead? You look pretty alive to me.”

“That’s because I am. But I died. I died in a different world - and woke up here.”

Her breath caught.
“A different world? Does such a thing really exist?”

He nodded.
“It was nothing like this one. More advanced, but… without magic.”

She tried to imagine it, but no picture came. Instead she reached for something she could understand.
“Was everyone like you?”

“No,” he said at once, head shaking. “I was one of a kind.”

He paused, then added,
“I was decades ahead of the technology they had there. But…”

For the first time, Ylfa saw it - an unmistakable flicker of sorrow crossing his features. A new emotion, raw and unguarded.

“But I never… I never really saw anything. I just did my job.”

Something was breaking through. Beneath the cold exterior, beneath the shell of calculation, there was something fragile. Something painfully human. She willed it silently: break through. Let it out.

“I never really thought about it, though,” he finished, voice flat again. “So I suppose it doesn’t matter.”

And with that, he fell silent.

Ylfa waited, hoping he might continue, but no words came. Eventually she nodded to herself, eyelids heavy, and yawned.

“Go to sleep,” Jere said quietly. “I’ll be fine.”

Her voice was already a murmur.
“I know you’ll be fine…”

Her eyes closed, breathing slowing as sleep took her.

Jere remained where he was, watching her until he was certain she had drifted off. Only then did he move.

His right wing unfurled, curling around his body like a shield. From his pocket, he drew a well-used knife. In the hush of the darkened room, he began to scrape away the hardened blood that crusted his wing, working carefully, piece by piece.