With the threat of Malphas neutralized and the "Heart of the Void" on its way to a permanent arctic burial, the mansion felt less like a tactical headquarters and more like a home. However, that didn't mean it was quiet.
In the massive, modern kitchen, a different kind of battle was unfolding.
"No, no, Alex! The salt goes in the water before it boils, not after it's already a soup!" Kaelen cried out, her aristocratic composure fraying at the edges. She was wearing an apron over her silk robes, her sleeves pinned back with silver clips.
Alex, floating a few inches off the floor to reach the high-set spice rack, turned around with a sheepish grin. Her golden halo was glowing so brightly it was practically a second sun in the room. "But the water looked lonely! I thought a little divine seasoning would help speed things up."
"Divine seasoning is not a substitute for chemistry," Kaelen sighed, stirring a massive pot of what was intended to be a traditional five-spice stew.
Vincent sat at the breakfast bar, looking remarkably domestic as he peeled a mountain of potatoes with a small, serrated knife. He moved with the same rhythmic, surgical precision he used in combat. Every peel was uniform; every motion was efficient.
"You are overthinking the broth, Kaelen," Vincent said without looking up. "In the trenches of the Iron Spire, we made soup out of boiled leather and rainwater. This smells like a feast for the High Council."
"We are not in the trenches, Vincent," Kaelen countered, pointing a wooden spoon at him. "We are celebrating a victory. The Master has reclaimed his freedom, the Goddess has found her light, and you... you are back from the dead. This meal must be perfect."
"Then let the girl help," Vincent said, nodding toward Alex. "Alex, stop trying to bless the carrots and just chop them. Evenly. Like this." He held up a perfectly cubed potato as an example.
Alex landed on her feet and grabbed a knife, her tongue poking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. "Evenly. Right. Like a soldier."
"Exactly," Vincent murmured.
The scene was a chaotic blend of old-world nobility and new-world domesticity. Kaelen was trying to recreate a dish from her family's estate—a complex, layered stew that required forty-eight hours of prep—but she was trying to do it in forty minutes using an induction stovetop. Alex kept accidentally imbuing the ingredients with "joy," which resulted in a bowl of salad greens that were literally vibrating with happiness.
"Why is the spinach singing?" Chase asked, walking into the kitchen. He had changed into a simple black t-shirt and jeans, looking more relaxed than the others had ever seen him.
"Alex happened," Rixsa remarked, trailing in behind him. She was wearing one of Chase's oversized hoodies, looking like a cat that had finally found a permanent sunspot. She leaned over Vincent's shoulder and snagged a raw potato cube, popping it into her mouth. "A bit crunchy, Commander."
"It's not finished, scout," Vincent said, though there was no heat in his voice.
"Chase! You're just in time!" Alex exclaimed, holding up a wooden spoon dripping with broth. "Taste this! Kaelen says it needs more 'earthiness,' but I think it needs more 'sparkle'."
Chase took the spoon, tasting the brew. It was a strange, heady mix of rich, slow-cooked meat and a light, floral sweetness that shouldn't have worked, but did. "It's... unique. It tastes like home, actually."
Kaelen's face flushed with a rare, genuine pride. "It is a recipe from the Jade Provinces. Adapted for... modern appliances."
"It's perfect," Chase said, looking around the room.
For a moment, the war, the secret society of Ancients, and the thinning veil felt a million miles away. They were just people in a kitchen, arguing over salt and singing spinach.
"Don't get too comfortable," Rixsa whispered, bumping her shoulder against Chase's as the others continued their culinary debate. "I saw a black sedan parked at the end of the private drive. Not a mercenary one. A 'government' one."
Chase's smile didn't fade, but his eyes sharpened. "The Elite Families. They don't waste time."
"Let them wait," Vincent said, finally finishing the last potato and dropping the knife with a satisfying clack. "The stew needs another ten minutes. And I haven't had a decent meal in two centuries. The world can wait for dessert."