Marron's cart rolled quietly into the market zone marked *7E*. The stone road narrowed as it curved through a set of tall archways, and then suddenly opened into a wide plaza surrounded by thick canvas tents, wooden carts, and food stalls that looked like stage props.
Most of the vendors had already set up.
Some carts had floating signage that changed fonts mid-sentence. Others had steaming vents shaped like mythical creatures. One stall was literally humming with sound—it had built-in speakers playing upbeat flute music with each sale.
Marron parked in a modest corner. There was a painted box on the ground marked "Stall #37: Louvel, M." It was the last one before the alley turned, partly shaded by a leaning tree and an exhaust chimney.
Mokko stepped down first, stretching his arms and adjusting his glasses.
Lucy floated behind Marron with slow, curious loops.
She stared across the rows of competing vendors. Everyone here was a chef.
There were all sorts of tantalizing smells in the air: fried rice, crispy onions, grilled shellfish, bouncy steamed eggs, and even fluffy white rice mixed with chestnuts. It all made her stomach twitch.
The stall across from hers had a glowing wok that stirred itself.
To her left, a vendor with bright blue goggles poured noodles from midair, chanting as the broth thickened below it. A few of them glanced at her cart. Not many smiled.
"They think I'm just the opening act," Marron said under her breath.
Mokko sat beside the cart and scratched at his chin fur.
"They're not wrong. You're new. You're not flashy. And your cart still smells like real food, not fireworks."
"Good," Marron muttered. "Let them underestimate me."
A small goblin girl approached their stall, clutching a folded slip of parchment. She pointed at Marron's sign.
"You the Whisperwind chef?"
"That's me."
The goblin grinned and offered the paper with both hands.
"Message from the block warden. Says you've been officially logged for a Trial Dish. You've got two days to cook for a judge."
"Thanks," Marron said, taking it.
The girl added, "You're lucky. Most people have to wait weeks for a slot."
She scampered off before Marron could ask what that meant.
Marron opened the slip.
+
First Flame Trial Dish: Confirmed
Chef: Louvel, M.
Venue: Arena Stage 2 [2 days to prepare]
Judged by: Culinary Entity, Grade B+
Requirement: A plated dish that represents your culinary identity.
Note: A visual performance is NOT required, but encouraged.
+
Marron folded the paper and tucked it into her apron.
Mokko shifted his weight. "You ready?"
"Not even a little," Marron said. "But I will be."
A soft hiss of steam rose from a nearby cart. Someone was making crispy rice balls and dunking them into a broth she didn't recognize. Another stall pumped spice mist into the air using a brass fan system.
She sniffed.
"That's star pepper oil and citrus ash."
A vendor to her right, a short molekin in a white apron, looked over.
"You know your ingredients?" he asked.
"I can usually smell what's in it."
He nodded once, then returned to peeling root vegetables with a strange hooked blade.
The plaza buzzed around her. Vendors weren't chatting—they were watching each other. Quietly tracking sales. Listening to who got the longest line. Judging without speaking.
It was a completely different experience compared to the previous towns.
Everyone thinks the person next to them is a rival, not a friend. It reminds me of pastry school.
Marron remembered students being borderline obsessed with perfecting their cake crumb coats. She didn't think she wanted a future where she decorated cake with military precision, and dropped out the next chance she got.
Marron unpacked her cart in silence.
No need to show them what I can do. Not yet.
Lucy gave a soft little nudge to her elbow. A friendly buzz.
"Yeah," Marron said. "We're here. And we've got a dish to make."
+
Marron left her cart in Mokko's capable paws and followed the curve of the street toward the Exhibition Arena.
Vendors lined the way, their booths bright with polished wood, cloth banners, and menu signs that shimmered when you walked past. The smell of sugar and spice clung to the air like steam.
"Samples?" a cheerful foxkin called out, holding a tray.
Marron paused.
On the tray were little squares of golden, puffed pastry, each cradling a dollop of caramelized onion, soft cheese, and something smokey folded inside.
"This looks like a… baby cloudcake?" Marron asked.
The foxkin vendor grinned. "Close. It's a Sundrift Puff. Same idea—puffed skillet batter with a soft egg custard center. Ours has ember-cured ham and breeze-thyme cheese."
She took one. The texture hit her first—crisp edges, pillowy center. The egg custard melted the cheese into a warm ribbon, and the ham had a bite like burnt sugar and pine smoke. It was rich, balanced, and comforting.
"Okay, that's absurdly good."
The vendor chuckled. "They say it's Lumeria's way of welcoming new cooks. Like a good omen. You eat one, you've got a shot."
Marron raised her brows. "Well, I'll take that omen and run with it."
The foxkin grinned. "You should try the full-size version. But only if you're not cooking within the next hour — it knocks people out."
Marron laughed and moved on.
A few stalls down, a trio of sheepkin girls were handing out cupcakes stacked in wooden spirals. Marron took one with a pale yellow swirl on top.
"This is lemon marshmallow?"
"Frosting's made from lemon-infused cloudfluff. The base is honey cake with toasted seeds."
She bit in. It was soft, with a perfect bounce. The lemon hit first, but the mellow sugar underneath caught it before it went sharp. A clean, happy sweetness.
"You all just hand these out like it's normal?"
"Free samples help you survive in this city," one said, flicking powdered sugar off her skirt. "Judges pass by in disguise sometimes."
Marron raised a brow. "They spy on you?"
"All the time. Be charming. Be kind. Be ready."
She nodded and pocketed the rest of the cupcake in a napkin.
Up ahead, the ground changed from stone to smooth polished tile, and towering glass doors marked the start of the Exhibition Arena Grounds.
+
Inside, the arena buzzed with soft music and rising magic. Cooking stages floated slightly off the ground, surrounded by rings of seats. Each platform had a different theme—one glowed with seafood runes, another had chilled mist billowing across froststone.
A large crystal display hovered at the center of the lobby, cycling through holograms of past performers. One image flickered in.
Marron froze.
It was a woman in a floor-length apron coat, knife spinning between her fingers like a conductor's baton. Hair in a silver braid. Her team of sous-chefs moved behind her like dancers. Fire and steam responded to her gestures. Spoons lifted in sync. A spiral of sugar exploded into gold and disappeared.
The display labeled her:
Emily Spritz, Harmonic Alchemist
Concerto #41: Taste the Moon
Marron's spoon pulsed once, low in her apron pocket.
The replay flickered, showing a single frame of her dish: layered rice in delicate folds, topped with shavings of edible crystal and a sauce that sparkled unnaturally.
People in the crowd cried.
Then the image shifted again, returning to an earlier performance.
Marron turned to a nearby booth that was selling culinary pins and guidebooks.
The vendor, a birdfolk with red-tipped feathers, smiled as she browsed.
"Do you have any snack boxes with Emily Spritz's food?" Marron asked, casual as she could manage.
The vendor's expression changed.
"You're… a tourist?"
Marron blinked. "I mean, kind of?"
The vendor leaned forward. "You don't know, then. Emily's food is **restricted** to her concerts. You can't buy it outside the stage. No snack boxes. No take-home kits. Not even for Guild critics."
"Why?"
"Trade secret. Legal protections. But also…" He lowered his voice. "Most people say it's too intense to package. There's magic in the moment. And it fades almost immediately."
Marron tilted her head. "Or maybe it fades by design."
The vendor blinked.
But Marron was already walking away.
Her spoon gave another soft hum, like it was waiting for something.