The High Quarter was a different city — wider streets, cleaner, the buildings stone instead of timber, each one with a garden full of flowers that probably cost more than my entire pizzeria. Fountains, statues, and street lamps that were actually lit.
The address took me to a wrought-iron gate topped with bronze spikes shaped like flame. Actual flame — I touched one, and it was warm. A servant met me inside without a word, just a gesture to follow, and I followed through hallways lined with paintings of people who looked important.
The house was excessive. Marble floors, tapestries older than some kingdoms, a chandelier that was either crystal or very expensive glass — I couldn't tell. I'm a pizzaiolo, not an appraiser. But it probably costs more than I'd make in a lifetime.
She waited in a study at the end of the hall.
Velysara. Bronze skin that caught the candlelight like polished metal, hair the color of embers, moving slightly even when there was no breeze. And her eyes — gold, vertical-slitted, the eyes of something that had never been human and never would be. She sat in a chair that was basically a throne, all velvet and gold trim.
"Edgard Foxton." Her voice was deep and resonant, vibrating in my chest. "Or should I call you Paul?"
I stopped walking. "How do you know that name?"
"I know many things." She smiled, showing teeth that were just a little too sharp. "I've been alive for eight hundred and forty-three years. You pick things up."
Eight hundred and forty-three years. I sat down because my legs decided standing was optional.
"You're a dragon."
"Observant." She tilted her head. "You're a transmigrator. I've met three others in the last two centuries — an adventurer, a conqueror, and a baker."
"A baker?"
"His croissants were legendary. He died in a flour explosion."
I blinked. "That's a way to go."
"It was stupid, but delicious." She leaned forward. "I know who you are. I know where you came from. I know your brother wants you dead or dragged back to Bolexe in chains."
"How do you—"
"I could smell the system on you the moment you entered my city."
Right. Fucking dragons could smell metadata.
"What do you want from me?"
Velysara's smile widened. "Entertainment."
She explained it plainly: eight centuries is a long time. She'd seen empires rise and fall, read every book in every library, eaten every delicacy from every continent. She was bored.
"I offer protection from your brother, from the guilds, from anyone who wants to make your life difficult."
"And in return?"
"First access. Every new dish you create — I taste it before anyone else."
"That's it?"
"That's it." She leaned back. "Novelty is my weakness. I've admitted this freely. It's not a trap."
I studied her, those gold eyes watching me back. Impossibly old, impossibly powerful, and apparently a foodie with an eight-century-old palate.
"Three dishes tonight," I said. "I'll show you what I can do."
Her eyes brightened — literally. There was actual golden light in them.
"Your Grace, I thought you'd never ask." I grinned. "I've been wanting to show off."
"I noticed. Cooks always do."
---
She led me to a kitchen bigger than my entire pizzeria. Walking ahead of me with her robes brushing the floor, I realized I was following a dragon through her house to cook her dinner. My life had gotten very strange very fast.
The floors were black-and-white marble polished to a mirror shine. A fireplace big enough to stand in dominated one wall, with mechanical spits that could turn whole animals. The main worktable was a slab of granite the size of a door, cool to the touch and perfectly level — I ran my hand across it and felt the faint grit of someone who'd scrubbed it clean hours ago. This kitchen was used regularly, and whoever used it respected it.
Marble counters, copper pots hanging from hooks, an oven that looked like it could roast a whole cow. The pantry was a grocery store, shelves lined with spices I'd never heard of.
"System ingredients," I muttered, pulling out my own supplies. "I work better with my own stock."
Velysara watched from the doorway, silent and intent, her eyes tracking every movement — every pinch of salt, every fold of dough.
I got to work. Mushroom-herb first, then the bacon pizza, then something new — a white pizza with ricotta, star-flower honey, and a pinch of sea salt from the system store.
**[INGREDIENT: STAR-FLOWER HONEY]**
**[EFFECT: MINOR EUPHORIA]**
I paused. Minor euphoria? I read it again. The system had never shown me effects before, not once. Something had changed — maybe the guild registration, maybe Velysara's presence, maybe I'd crossed some invisible threshold. I pushed the thought aside and kept cooking.
By the time I finished, sweat was dripping down my neck. Three pizzas sat on the counter, steam rising, smells layering over each other in a way that made my own stomach growl.
Velysara approached and picked up the first slice. Bit into it. Her eyes closed.
The silence stretched. I held my breath.
"Interesting," she said, picking up the second slice. "I haven't said that in decades."
"That good or that bad?"
She didn't answer immediately. She took a bite, chewed, and considered. The silence was unbearable — eight hundred years of taste buds judging my work. I wanted to look away, but couldn't.
"The bacon is rendered correctly," she said finally. "The fat has integrity. The mushroom has earth notes I haven't tasted since the Northern Reaches fell."
"Glad to break the streak."
She didn't smile, but her eyes flickered — a fire catching somewhere behind those golden irises. That was enough. That was everything.