The morning in Haven's Crest was not announced by royal bells or the marching of legions. It was announced by the smell of bread.
Leo wiped his hands on his flour-dusted apron. He stood in the small kitchen of The Happy Grub, a room filled with the warm, golden light of dawn filtering through the single window. He hummed a tune that was older than the mountains, a fragment of a dream he'd had before time had a name. Now, it was just a catchy melody he used for kneading dough.
He focused on the dough. Not on the infinite void of his own existence, not on the chaotic whispers of the monstrous realms that always brushed the edge of his mind. He focused on the texture—soft, elastic, alive. Human. This was real. This was his life.
The door to the kitchen swung open.
"Leo, my love, the chickens have declared war again. General Cluck-Cluck seems to have mobilized his forces near the carrot patch."
Her voice was like sunlight given sound. Leo turned, and his universe, which contained multitudes, galaxies, and the birth cries of beasts, narrowed down to a single point: her.
Elena stood in the doorway, a wicker basket hooked on her arm. A smudge of dirt was on her cheek. Her hair, the color of dark honey, was tied back in a simple braid, a few strands escaping to frame her face. She wore a plain linen dress. To anyone else, she was a stunningly beautiful village woman. To Leo, she was the anchor that held his endless, weary soul to the gentle shores of this simple world.
He smiled, a genuine, warm thing that touched his eyes. "Did you negotiate a truce?"
"I offered extra feed. It was accepted. For now." She stepped in, placing the basket of fresh eggs on the counter. Her eyes, deep and knowing—eyes that had stared down war councils and passed judgments on kingdoms—softened as they looked at him. "The dough looks perfect."
"It's getting there." He leaned over and kissed the smudge of dirt on her cheek. "You're perfect."
She laughed, a sound that made the very air in the kitchen feel brighter. "Flatterer. I'm covered in chicken feed and garden soil."
"To me, that's just part of the masterpiece," he said, his voice low and full of a love so vast it terrified him. He had to be careful. He couldn't let even a sliver of that cosmic depth show. He was just Leo. Just a man who loved his wife and his stew.
She reached up and brushed a strand of flour from his hair. Her touch was electric, yet soothing. It was the only touch in all of creation that didn't feel like it was touching something ancient and alien. It felt like it was touching him.
"The stew for today?" she asked, moving to the pantry.
"The usual. Beef, potatoes, carrots, that special blend of herbs." His "special blend" was an instinctual knowledge of planetary ecosystems and primal flavors, distilled into a pinch of thyme and rosemary. "We got a fresh shipment of bread from Old Man Derrick. It should pair well."
They moved around each other in the small kitchen with a practiced, intimate grace. It was their dance. Elena chopped vegetables with a precision that was breathtakingly efficient. Leo tended the large pot over the fire, his movements steady and sure.
"Old Man Derrick's son is coming to visit next week," Elena mentioned casually as she diced a carrot. "From the capital, he said. Something about trade."
Leo's stirring hand didn't falter, but a tiny, invisible ripple in the fabric of local reality smoothed itself out. A mortal would have felt a brief, inexplicable sense of calm. "That's nice. The capital. Must be exciting."
"I'm sure it's just noise and smoke," Elena said, her tone light. Inside, her mind, sharp as a razor, was running calculations. A visitor from the capital? Could be a tax collector, a spy for a rival noble, or just a curious son. She would have to be vigilant. She couldn't let the chaos of her old life touch Leo. He was too gentle, too good for that world.
"Probably," Leo agreed. He added the carrots to the pot. The stew began to simmer, releasing an aroma that was, quite simply, the best thing anyone in Haven's Crest would smell all day. It was a smell that promised comfort, safety, and home. It was a spell woven from love and concealment.
The morning passed. They opened the doors of The Happy Grub. The first customers trickled in—farmers after early chores, the local blacksmith, a couple of weavers from the mill.
Leo served with a friendly, slightly reserved smile. Elena moved between tables, chatting easily, refilling mugs of ale, her laughter ringing out. They were beloved in the village. The strong, quiet man and his radiant, capable wife. A perfect match.
As the lunch crowd thinned, a traveler walked in.
He was a tall man, wrapped in a grey cloak despite the mild weather. He moved with a predator's silence. His eyes, sharp and yellow like a hawk's, scanned the room before landing on Leo behind the counter.
Leo felt it. A tremor. A faint, familiar signature, buried deep but screaming in his soul. One of his. Not a general, no. A scout. A Blood-Scent Stalker, a creature born from his dream of pursuit. It was in human form, a very good one, but to Leo, it was as obvious as if it were standing there with its fangs bared.
The Stalker sat at a corner table.
Elena glided over, her smile in place. "Welcome to The Happy Grub. What can I get you, traveler?"
"Stew. And ale," the man said, his voice a gravelly whisper. His eyes kept flicking to Leo.
"Of course." Elena's smile didn't waver, but her mind, the mind that had orchestrated the defense of the Solarian Empire's northern front, went cold and clear. Assassin? No, too overt. Spy. But the posture… not quite human. Mercenary from the beast-folk clans?
She brought the stew and ale. The Stalker ate slowly, every sense extended towards Leo. It was confused. The scent of its God was here, overwhelmingly so, but it was coming from this… this human serving stew. It must be a remnant, a trace. The God couldn't be here.
Leo walked out from behind the counter, holding a rag. He needed to clear the table next to the Stalker. He had to handle this. Now. Gently.
As he passed the Stalker, he let his suppression slip. For a fraction of a second, less than a heartbeat.
He didn't unleash his power. He simply was himself. To the Stalker, it was like the sun had gone supernova in the small restaurant. The absolute, terrifying, glorious presence of its Creator flooded its being. The spoon trembled in its hand.
Leo's eyes met the Stalker's. In that gaze, Leo conveyed no words, only pure, undeniable Command.
Leave. Never return. Tell no one.
The compulsion was absolute, woven into the Stalker's very origin. It dropped a few coins on the table, stood up, and walked out without a word, moving like a man in a dream, out of Haven's Crest and into the woods, the command burning in its soul.
Elena watched from behind the counter. She saw the man leave abruptly. She saw the look in his eyes as he looked at Leo—not fear, but something deeper, like awe or shock. And she saw the way Leo had just… looked at him.
A tiny, cold knot formed in her stomach. That look on Leo's face… it was so… intense. So un-Leo-like. Almost… regal.
Leo turned back, and he was just Leo again, wiping a table with a gentle smile. "Odd fellow."
"Yes," Elena said, her voice soft. She pushed the thought away. Impossible. My Leo is just a kind man. That traveler was just strange. I'm being paranoid. The stress of hiding is getting to me.
She walked over to him and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind, resting her head against his back. He stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, covering her hands with his.
"I love you, Leo," she whispered, needing to hear it, to say it.
He turned in her arms, his eyes full of that terrifying, infinite love he kept so carefully caged. "I love you, Elena. More than anything in all the worlds."
Outside, in the Whispering Woods, the Blood-Scent Stalker was running, the God's command its only purpose. But it was not alone in the woods. Another presence, cloaked in shifting shadows, watched it flee.
This new presence had eyes that glinted with calculated intelligence. It wore the insignia of the Solarian Imperial Scout Corps hidden under its cloak. It had been tracking anomalous energy signatures for weeks. It noted the Stalker's panic. It noted the direction it came from: Haven's Crest.
The scout pulled out a small, enchanted crystal and whispered into it. "Report to High General Kaelan. Possible anomaly detected. Sector Seven, village designated Haven's Crest. Sending coordinates. Proceeding with discreet observation."
The first stone had been tipped. The wall around their perfect world had developed a hairline crack. And from both sides of the universe, forces were now turning their gaze towards a small, happy restaurant in a quiet village.