Morning sunlight filtered through the high windows of the estate's library, scattering warm beams across rows of leather-bound tomes. Dust motes drifted lazily in the golden light as Baker sat hunched over a pile of books, lips moving silently as he traced lines of script with his finger.
The Fundamentals of Low-Tier Elemental Magic lay open beside A Brief History of the Twelve Gods of Origin. He was trying to absorb both at once—his mind switching between how mana flowed through crystalline conduits and how the God of Crafting once forged the first divine hammer. His head hurt, but in a good way. He was learning faster every day now.
After a few hours, his stomach grumbled—a clear signal it was time to take a break. He stretched, shut his books, and decided to start breakfast early. The head chef usually prepared everything, but lately, Baker had been helping in the kitchen more and more.
When he entered, the air was already thick with the scent of sizzling butter and roasting grainmeal.
"Morning, young master," said Chef Darius—the towering, broad-bellied man who had told Baker weeks ago to "just call me Darius." He was already working the stove, flipping thick-cut Mandearoz strips with expert flicks of his spatula.
"Morning, Darius. Mind if I bake the bread today?" Baker asked eagerly, rolling up his sleeves.
The chef raised an eyebrow but grinned. "As long as you clean up your mess afterward. Don't burn my oven again."
Baker chuckled. "That was one time."
He set out his ingredients—Luneflour, ground from moon-touched grains that gave the bread a silvery sheen when baked; Sweetroot, a fibrous plant that added a hint of natural sugar; and Glowyeast, a pale, luminescent yeast used by noble households for soft, airy loaves.
He mixed the flour and a pinch of salt in a wide wooden bowl, then poured in warm Gladewater—a mineral-rich spring water known to strengthen the dough's elasticity. His fingers worked quickly, kneading the mixture until it became smooth and elastic, sticky but alive with warmth. The faint scent of earth and sweetness rose from it.
After kneading for ten minutes, he covered the dough with a linen cloth and set it near the stove to rise. While it rested, he helped Darius finish the morning meal—eggs, spiced grain porridge, and butter-fried Mandearoz.
By the time they were done, the dough had doubled in size. Baker carefully shaped it into round loaves, brushing the tops with an egg glaze mixed with a sprinkle of powdered Herbanis, a savory herb that gave the crust a mild golden-green color.
When he slid the loaves into the brick oven, the kitchen filled with a warm, heavenly aroma. The scent of fresh bread was something he'd missed dearly from his past life—a smell that spoke of comfort, family, and safety.
By the time breakfast was served, everyone was drawn in by the smell alone.
Ventis, his mother, entered the kitchen in a soft morning gown, her silver-blonde hair loosely tied back. She smiled faintly at the sight of her son dusted in flour. "I see you've been busy, Baker."
He grinned. "Just thought I'd make something special this morning."
Darius brought out the dishes while Baker pulled the loaves from the oven. The crust crackled under his knife as he sliced through, releasing a steamy, fragrant cloud. The bread was perfect—soft inside, firm outside, slightly sweet.
Ventis took a bite and closed her eyes briefly. "This is… wonderful." Her smile deepened slightly, warmth flickering in her eyes. "You've improved again."
Baker beamed. Compliments from his mother were rare, and he treasured each one.
As they ate, Ventis wiped her lips gently with a napkin. "Baker, I should let you know—your aunt will be visiting this afternoon."
Baker blinked. "My aunt? I didn't know I had one."
"She travels often," his mother said smoothly. Her tone was neutral—neither warm nor cold. "She is my sister. Lady Clarisse Ventara."
Darius let out a low whistle. Melody, who was setting the table, stiffened slightly at the name.
Baker noticed immediately. "Is she… strict?"
Melody hesitated, then answered carefully, "Your aunt is a true noblewoman, young master. Traditional, refined, and… particular about manners."
Ventis sighed softly, swirling her tea. "That's one way to put it."
Baker leaned forward, curiosity sparking in his eyes. "So I finally get to meet another part of the family."
Ventis gave him a small smile, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Yes. I'm sure she'll… find you interesting."
Darius chuckled under his breath. "Just remember to keep your elbows off the table, lad."
Baker laughed and nodded, though in truth, his mind was already racing—not about etiquette, but about what kind of meal he could prepare to impress his aunt. Maybe the Clucker soup he'd been experimenting with, or that new herb-seasoned omelet variation… something that showed care and skill both.
But for now, he sat quietly, eating his bread and watching the sunlight pour into the room, feeling a strange mix of excitement and unease. He didn't know why his mother's smile had faltered when she spoke of her sister, but one thing was certain—today was going to be interesting.