The morning light over Hearthmere was soft and golden, spilling through the windows of the Silver Clover Inn. The air was alive with the scent of freshly baked bread and sizzling butter, and laughter drifted from the kitchen.
Baker stood in the middle of it all, sleeves rolled, a wooden spoon in hand. His modest apron was already dusted with flour and flecked with herbs as he stirred a pan with practiced ease.
Harven wasn't here — but the inn's local cooks watched him with awe. Word had spread fast: the young noble who cooked at the orphanage was making breakfast at the Silver Clover.
He smiled faintly. "All right, watch closely. I'm going to show you something simple, but special — the Cross Omelet."
The cooks leaned in, curious.
Baker began by beating the eggs with a bit of suncream milk, a rich golden dairy from the north, adding a pinch of powdered frost-thyme for aroma. He heated the pan until the butter foamed, then poured in the mixture with a soft hiss.
"Keep it moving," he said, gently swirling the pan. "Too much heat, and it burns. Too little, and it won't set right. It's all about timing."
He folded the omelet deftly, adding a layer of diced Mandearoz meat, green sweetbell peppers, and sky onions — all ingredients that reminded him of his early cooking lessons back home.
When he plated it, he sprinkled a fine dusting of his herb seasoning, the same one he'd made for the orphanage. The aroma filled the room, savory and warm.
One of the inn cooks, a stout woman named Mara, took the first bite. Her eyes widened. "By the gods… that's incredible!"
The others nodded eagerly, murmuring with excitement.
Baker chuckled softly. "There's another version too — lighter, for travelers. No meat, just herbs and wildroot shavings. It keeps longer and costs less to make."
He demonstrated the second variation, explaining the differences in flavor and texture. When he was done, he leaned against the counter with a humble grin. "I call it the Cross Omelet. A family recipe — or at least, it is now."
The head cook, a grizzled man named Toren, rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Would you… be willing to sell that recipe, lad?"
Baker blinked. "Sell it?"
"Aye," Toren said, nodding. "That taste could make our inn famous. I'll give you ten gold coins for it, fair and proper."
Baker smiled faintly, thinking for a moment. "You can have it," he said, "but on one condition."
Toren raised an eyebrow. "A condition?"
"Promise me this," Baker said seriously. "Once a week — or even once a month — you'll cook for the orphanage in town. Feed them something warm. Soup, stew, omelets — anything that makes them smile."
The kitchen went quiet. Then Mara smiled, placing a hand over her heart. "You have our word."
Toren nodded firmly. "You've got a deal, boy. The Cross Omelet will be shared — and the orphans will eat well because of it."
---
By the time breakfast was done, Baker had earned his first recipe sale — ten gold coins, neatly tucked into his pouch beside the profits from their Zoar hides. He now had a tidy twenty-five gold coins left, more than enough to last the journey north.
As he stepped out into the morning light, the family carriages waited — one bearing the Cross family crest, and another, Clarisse's healer carriage, adorned with white and gold ribbons.
Meryl and Melody checked supplies; Selene inspected the horses; and Ventis stood nearby, speaking with her sister.
When Baker approached, Melody smiled. "You were up early again, young master. Cooking, I presume?"
He grinned sheepishly. "Just one last dish before we leave."
Clarisse chuckled softly. "Your passion for food reminds me of how your father used to be about swords."
"Maybe food is just another kind of weapon," Baker replied lightly. "One that heals hearts instead of hurting them."
His mother's eyes softened at that.
As the caravan began to move northward, Baker leaned against the window, watching Hearthmere fade into the distance. He thought of the nuns and orphans, of the cooks in the inn, and of the laughter around shared meals.
He'd left behind recipes, herbs, and a promise — small things, but meaningful.
And as the road stretched ahead, leading toward unknown lands and new adventures, Baker couldn't help but smile to himself.
If every town gained one more warm meal and one more happy face…
Then maybe, just maybe, that was how he'd change the world.