Queen Isolde's voice, sharp and clear, cut through the frantic whispers in the courtyard. "Have you all formed your teams?"she called out from the balcony, a triumphant smile on her face as she surveyed the chaos below.
The last few stragglers were desperately pulled into groups. A girl with spectacles and ink-stained fingers was finally accepted by a team of four nervous-looking girls who realized they needed someone with brains, not just brawn. The courtyard was now a collection of four distinct, anxious-looking teams, and one very strange, mismatched team.
Rina stood with Lyra, Talia, Eira, and Seraphine. She was practically vibrating with nervous energy, a wide, determined smile on her face. This was it. This was her chance. Talia stood with her arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently, her eyes already scanning the competition for weaknesses. Eira was observing the layout of the cooking stations with a calm, analytical gaze, already formulating a strategy. Lyra's eyes, as always, were fixed on Prince Aiden. And Seraphine was simply… still, a calm eye in the center of the storm, her presence both reassuring and unsettling.
The Queen clapped her hands, a single, sharp sound that brought an instant silence.
"Excellent!" she boomed, her voice filled with glee. **"The final event will begin in…"
She raised a hand, her fingers starting to unfold with each number, her voice a dramatic countdown that echoed across the stone walls.
"Ten!"
The other three teams scrambled into their assigned cooking areas, their movements hurried and clumsy.
"Nine!"
Rina took a deep, steadying breath. *We can do this. We can do this.*
"Eight!"
Talia cracked her knuckles, a predatory grin on her face. *Let them come. This will be over before it even starts.
"Seven!"
The judges, a panel of stern-faced chefs, lit their fires with practiced ease, their faces impassive.
"Six!"
From his pavilion, Aiden watched the frantic scene unfold. He slumped lower in his seat, pulling his book up like a shield. The circus was officially beginning.
"Four!"
The other teams huddled together, their voices a low murmur of strategy.
"Three!"
A large, intimidating-looking judge slammed a heavy wicker basket onto each team's cooking station. The thud echoed like a drumbeat.
"Two!"
Rina's team stared at their basket. She lifted the lid, her eyes wide with curiosity.
"One!"
Inside was a collection of ingredients that made no sense together. There were a handful of purple, lumpy Shadow-Potatoes, a clump of green, shimmering Glimmer-Moss, a carton of large, speckled Cave-Crawler eggs, a small pouch of tart, red Sky-Berries, and a wedge of cheese that was… squeaking.
"NOW!" Queen Isolde shrieked, her voice filled with manic glee.
The courtyard erupted into a flurry of activity. But at Rina's station, there was only a moment of stunned silence, followed by immediate, chaotic disagreement.
"Okay! Okay, I have an idea!" Rina chirped, trying to be positive. "We can make a stew! A hearty, warming stew! We can boil the potatoes and the eggs, and maybe… crumble the cheese in on top!"
"That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," Talia scoffed, picking up one of the squeaking cheese wedges and eyeing it with disgust. "Just cook the eggs and fry the potatoes. The moss and the berries are useless. It's a waste of time.
"On the contrary," Eira interjected, her voice calm and clinical. "The moss has a savory, umami profile that would complement the eggs perfectly. The berries' acidity would cut through the richness of the potatoes. The optimal strategy is to create a multi-layered dish. A savory moss-and-egg frittata, served on a bed of crushed Shadow-Potatoes, with a Sky-Berry glaze on top."
Talia stared at her. "A what? Just say 'egg pie' like a normal person."
While they argued, Lyra, who had been staring at the prince, finally spoke. Her voice was a soft, dreamy whisper that cut through their bickering.
"I will make a heart-shaped cake for Aiden," she said, her eyes unfocused. "With the eggs. And the berries. He will love it. I will use the squeaky cheese to write his name on top."
The other three girls stopped arguing and just stared at her. Rina looked confused. Talia looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. Even Eira seemed momentarily at a loss for words.
This was it. This was how they would fail. They had five minutes, and their only ideas were "boring stew," "boring fried food," "pretentious egg pie," and "a cake made of raw eggs and squeaky cheese."
Rina put her head in her hands. "We're doomed."
Just then, a voice, quiet and elegant, cut through the chaos. It was Seraphine. She hadn't touched a single ingredient. She had just been watching them with an air of profound disappointment.
"Stop."
Her voice wasn't loud, but it held an authority that made them all fall silent. She looked at each of them in turn, her deep red eyes missing nothing.
"You will all do as I say," she stated, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Rina, peel the potatoes. Talia, start a fire, a hot one. Eira, prepare the berries. Lyra… you can arrange the cheese on a plate. Make it pretty."
She picked up the eggs and the Glimmer-Moss, a small, confident smile on her lips. "I will handle the important parts.
On the balcony, Queen Isolde watched the four teams scramble. One team was already arguing, another had set their pan on fire, and a third was staring at the squeaking cheese as if it were a venomous snake. It was a beautiful, chaotic mess.
"Behold, my son!" she squealed with delight, nudging Aiden with her elbow. "Such passion! Such drama! This is how true character is revealed!"
Aiden didn't even look up from his book, which he was pretending to read behind the safety of its cover. "Yeah, yeah. A real spectacle."
The Queen's smile tightened. "Oh, you…" she sighed, shaking her head in exasperation. She then glanced at her husband for support, only to find him leaning against a pillar, his head tilted back, his mouth slightly open.
A soft, gentle snore escaped his lips.
"YOU TWO!!" Isolde shrieked, her voice a whip-crack of pure frustration that made even Aiden jump.
Down in the cooking arena, Seraphine's decisive command had finally put their team into motion. The chaos subsided, replaced by a frantic, mismatched efficiency.
Talia, true to her word, had built a fire that roared with an intensity that made the other teams' fires look like sad candles. Eira was meticulously de-stemming the Sky-Berries, arranging them on a plate with geometric precision. Lyra, given her task, was trying to arrange the squeaking cheese wedges into a heart shape, though they kept wriggling out of place.
And Rina was attacking the Shadow-Potatoes with a peeler, her movements fast and practiced. She glanced over at Lyra, who was now staring intently at a single, unmoving cheese wedge as if trying to intimidate it.
"Lyra, help me peel these onions, please," Rina said, gesturing to a small pile of pungent, purple onions. "We need a lot if we're making a stew base."
Lyra looked up from the cheese, her intense eyes focusing on the onion Rina held out. She took it, her fingers closing around it delicately, as if it were a fragile egg. She brought it up to her face and sniffed it.
Her nose wrinkled. Her eyes, which were usually just unnervingly intense, suddenly started to water. A single tear traced a path down her pale cheek. Then another.
She looked at Rina, her expression a mixture of confusion and deep, soul-crushing sorrow. "This… this vegetable hurts my eyes," she whispered, her voice trembling. "It is… an onion of sadness. Why would you cook something so full of pain?"
Rina stared, completely dumbfounded. She didn't know how to explain the concept of onions to a half-dragon who seemed to be experiencing existential dread from their fumes.
Rina stared at Lyra, who was now cradling the purple onion as if it were a crying child. "It's… it's just an onion, Lyra. It's supposed to do that," Rina stammered, trying to be gentle while her heart pounded with the ticking clock. "Here, just… let me show you how to chop it. You hold it like this…"
She took another onion and a small, sharp knife, trying to demonstrate the proper technique while keeping one eye on Lyra. But Lyra's intense, tearful gaze was incredibly distracting. Rina's hand slipped. The knife, instead of slicing the onion, slid off its waxy skin and nicked the tip of her index finger.
"Ow!" she yelped, dropping the knife. A small, bright red bead of blood welled up on her finger.
At that exact moment, a strange stillness fell over their cooking station.
Seraphine, who was elegantly cracking eggs into a bowl, froze. Her head snapped towards Rina, her nostrils flaring. The scent of fresh, human blood, even in such a small amount, hit her like a physical blow. Her deep red eyes, for just a second, seemed to glow with an inner, hungry fire. A low, almost inaudible hiss escaped her lips. She swallowed hard, a visible knot moving in her throat as she forced down the primal, bloodthirst that had awakened inside her. She turned away, her back ramrod straight, her knuckles white where she gripped the edge of the table.
"You idiot! What are you doing?!" Talia barked, her voice sharp with a panic that she tried to disguise as anger. She dropped the bundle of herbs she was holding and rushed to Rina's side. She grabbed Rina's hand, her touch surprisingly gentle.
"Hold still," she ordered, her voice now low and gruff. She closed her eyes and began to chant in a low, guttural language that sounded like rocks grinding together. It was a rough, ancient draconic healing mantra. A faint, warm green light emanated from Talia's palm, enveloping Rina's finger. The stinging pain vanished, and when she pulled her hand away, the small cut was gone, leaving only a faint smear of blood.
Rina stared at her finger, then at Talia, her eyes wide with awe. "Wow… how did you do that?"
"It's nothing," Talia mumbled, turning away to hide her blush. "Just… don't do it again. We don't have time for your clumsiness.
Even Eira, who was now calmly mashing Glimmer-Moss into a paste, had paused to observe. "Fascinating," she murmured to herself. "A minor laceration elicits three distinct, strong responses: a predatory instinct, a protective healing response, and an apology. A highly efficient social experiment.
Lyra, finally looking up from her onion of sadness, saw the blood on Rina's finger. Her eyes widened, not with hunger, but with alarm. "You're bleeding! You're hurt!" she cried, looking around frantically. "Who hurt you? I will burn them!"
"Nobody! I'm fine! It was an accident!" Rina said, trying to calm everyone down.
The chaos was total. They were a mess of tears, bloodlust, healing magic, and scientific observation. They were going to fail.
Suddenly, Seraphine spoke, her voice cold, clear, and utterly commanding. She had turned back around, her face once again a mask of serene control.
"Enough."
All eyes turned to her.
"Rina, you are on cheese duty. Lyra, you will mash the potatoes with Eira. Talia, you will tend the fire. I will handle the main dish. We have eight minutes. Go."
Her tone left no room for argument. It was the voice of someone who had commanded armies and managed estates for centuries. And for the first time, the mismatched team moved as one.