"So...? How about that, should be enough for an introduction, right?" Max said with a grin, as if he hadn't just told the most gut-wrenching story imaginable.
The table went silent.
"Dude..." The muscular man beside him, clearly the tank of the group, squinted at him. "You just dropped the most depressing life story I've ever heard in, like, three minutes and expect us to swallow it whole?!"
Max shrugged, taking a long sip of beer. "Believe it or not, that's what happened."
The group's eyes lingered on him, sharp, searching. None could tell if this bizarre newcomer was serious or just messing with them.
A girl in a dark violet cloak leaned forward, her eyes gleaming like shards of amethyst. "So let me get this straight. Your mom died of a mysterious illness. Your dad bailed. Your sister starved. And then, poof, some assassin just happened to pick you up and teach you his craft? And you, conveniently, ended up with a hybrid class. A shadow warrior?"
Her young voice cracked with disbelief.
Max met her gaze calmly. "...Yeah. That's about right. So… why don't you guys introduce yourselves now?" His smile was light, but his eyes gave away something heavier. Artin, the man with royal-blue eyes, caught it. A sorrow he recognized but didn't yet understand.
The tank cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. "Alright, rookie. Since you're sticking around, I'll start. Name's Bulrag. Tank of this party, and the leader. My class is Blood Marshal. " His grin widened, showing a row of teeth that looked ready to bite through steel.
He gestured around the table. "That gloomy guy over there is Artin. Twilight Sentinel. He does swordsmanship with a mix of light and shadow magic."
"Yo." Artin lifted his mug lazily, eyes half-lidded, as he'd rather be napping than talking.
Bulrag continued, "The kid in the cloak is Robin, our elemental mage."
Robin gave a tiny wave, black orbs circling lazily above her staff. She narrowed her eyes. "Still don't buy your story."
"And last but not least…" Bulrag smirked. "That hottie over there is Veyn. Our healer. Her class is Mad healer for some reason."
"Heyyy, rookie, try your best not to fall in love with me," said Veyn, a beauty that made even Aphrodite jealous, a living art that took the world as its canvas. Her hair cascaded down her back, catching the light as if woven from strands of moonlight. Her emerald eyes shimmered with a gentle glow. Skin smooth as polished ivory, lips touched with the faintest rose hue. She was the kind of woman kingdoms would wage wars for. She is magnificence given mortal form, a blessing the world did not deserve.
Max was so mesmerised by her beauty that the world seemed to blur, and only Veyn remained clear in his eyes. After a long pause, Max said, "I'll...try."
The table laughed, tension broken.
"So that's us, welcome to the team, Max, and another important thing, all of us have secrets, and we don't pry into each other's secrets unless necessary," said Bulrag with a serious but warm look on his face.
After the party finished introducing themselves, they took Max to their temporary base, which was created using elemental magic and filled with furniture and other essential things. They showed Max his room. It was tiny but enough for a single person to sleep comfortably. The hours rushed by, and the brilliant sky surrendered to a deep, enveloping darkness. The entire party settled in for a peaceful sleep under the bright moon. Max closed his eyes at last, surrendering to sleep, for the hours of wakefulness had begun to stir the memories he would rather never face again.
Clang.
Max stood up in a combat-ready posture. He looked outside through the window and saw the sky still dark. He began to move towards the kitchen, ready to strike the intruder. Once he reached the kitchen, he saw the silhouette of a person and immediately jumped into action. He set his longsword firmly against the neck of the silhouette.
"w-wait...it's me, Artin," said Artin with both his arms raised.
Max slowly lowered his sword and asked, confused, "Artin?..... what are you doing in the kitchen at this hour??"
"Uhhhh....midnight snack, well more of a midnight meal. I suddenly had cravings, so I came to the kitchen. Besides, look at this chicken, I marinated them yesterday so... they could've gone to waste, you see." said Artin while showing Max some well-marinated chopped chicken.
" Soo... whatchu gonna do with them," asked Max,
"hmmm....I'm thinking maybe fried chicken. Why don't you sit first? I'll make you some as well. And because you woke up, I'm guessing the others will join soon enough, so I'll add in these as well," Artin said while taking out a second plate of marinated chicken from his boundless pouch.
Artin started to cook. He prepared a small cauldron and filled it with oil. While the flame licked the bottom, he turned to the chicken. Each piece was dipped into flour spiced with paprika, garlic, and black pepper, then into a buttermilk-and-egg wash, before returning to the flour. The coating clung thick and uneven, just the way it should, rough edges that promised a shattering crunch.
The oil began to shimmer, thin wisps of heat rising like spirits. Artin flicked in a breadcrumb. Szzhh! It erupted, dancing across the surface.
"Perfect," Artin whispered, eyes gleaming with the same focus he wore in battle.
He lowered the first piece into the cauldron. KSSHHHH! The kitchen filled with the violent hiss of oil swallowing meat. Golden bubbles frothed instantly, crackling like a thousand tiny fireworks. The scent burst forth: paprika smoke, garlic's sharp sweetness, pepper stinging the nose. Max's stomach growled so loudly he almost winced.
Max's stomach tightened, and he realized he'd been holding his breath. He watched the coating change color, pale white shifting to deep gold, every second darker, richer. Artin flipped the piece with a steady hand; the crust had already blistered into ridges, crisp and jagged.
Another piece went in. Then another. Soon, the cauldron sang with sizzling harmony. The air thickened with the perfume of frying chicken, greasy yet irresistible. Fat popped now and then, spitting like sparks from a bonfire. Artin cooked with an unfounded elegance. Max found himself lowering his sword completely, shoulders easing as the sound and smell wrapped around him.
"Artin… you're at it again?" Veyn's voice floated in, soft and sleepy. She leaned against the doorway, hair tumbling loose over one shoulder, her emerald eyes catching the firelight.
"Is Artin cooking again?" Robin all but skipped in, eyes wide, cloak dragging behind her as though she'd sprinted from bed.
Then came Bulrag, with the blanket still hugging him tightly. He yawned hard enough to crack stone, then sniffed the air. "Man, it's past my bedtime, and here you are...sniff, sniff...ah hell, that smells gooood."
Max stared at the scene unfolding before him with wide eyes. And he felt a warmth he hadn't known all his life, and for a moment, he thought he could lead a happy life again, without the burden of despair pressing down on his shoulders. The moment that thought crossed his mind, an indescribable pressure pressed down on his whole being.