CHAPTER 66: THE FIRST SHIFT
The fourth morning at the Order of the Burning Blades arrived with a list.
Berin stood at the front of Group Seven's assembly area, holding a piece of paper that seemed to contain approximately ten thousand words in handwriting so small it had to be illegal.
"Work assignments," he announced. "Every recruit works. Four hours every second day. You'll rotate through different duties. This isn't punishment—it's how the Order functions. We grow our own food, cut our own wood, mend our own equipment. Everyone contributes."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Work. We have to work. On top of training. On top of existing. On top of carrying three souls and a crow.
AZRAEL: Everyone contributes. That's fair.
MAMMON: FAIR? FAIR IS WHEN SOMEONE ELSE DOES THE WORK.
IRIS: Outer Ring members work to cover living costs. No stipend. No savings. Labor equals survival.
---
Berin started reading names.
"Tessa—fields. Roran—forestry. Kaelin—"
He paused. Looked at the paper. Looked at Kaelin. Looked back at the paper.
"—kitchen."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: KITCHEN. KITCHEN MEANS FOOD. KITCHEN MEANS ACCESS TO FOOD. KITCHEN MEANS—
AZRAEL: —opportunity to learn useful skills.
MAMMON: THAT'S WHAT I SAID. SKILLS. FOOD SKILLS.
IRIS: Ghoran's recommendation in action. Kitchen assignment confirmed. Food access probability: increased by 400%.
---
Tessa bounced over immediately, her field assignment apparently already forgotten. "Kitchen! You get the kitchen! That's the best one! Well, second best—forge is best because you get to hit things with hammers. But kitchen is good! You get to eat while you work!"
"That's not—" Berin started.
"She gets to eat while she works," Tessa confirmed. "Everyone knows that. Cooks always eat while they work. It's the law."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: I like this law. This is a good law. Who made this law?
AZRAEL: No one made this law.
MAMMON: IT'S LAW NOW.
---
The walk to the kitchen was longer than Kaelin expected.
Berin led her through corridors she hadn't seen before—deeper into the mountain, past training rooms and storage areas and halls filled with recruits she didn't recognize. The architecture changed as they went. Rougher stone became smoother. Torches became lanterns—actual glass lanterns with actual flames, not just fire magic.
"We're going deeper," Kaelin observed.
"Kitchen's in the inner core." Berin didn't slow down. "Outer Ring trains and sleeps in the outer sections. Inner Ring trains and lives closer to the center. Core disciples have quarters near the peak."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Inner core. Fancy. Rich people food.
AZRAEL: The kitchen serves everyone.
MAMMON: But the INNER core kitchen serves INNER core people. That means better food. Richer food. Food with—
IRIS: —higher caloric density and more sophisticated preparation. Mammon's translation: fancy food.
---
They passed through an archway and Kaelin stopped.
The corridor opened into a space she hadn't imagined.
A cavern—massive, naturally formed but clearly shaped by centuries of work—stretched before her. Buildings lined its edges: shops with signs, a market with stalls, what looked like a library carved into the far wall. People moved between them—recruits, instructors, traders from outside, all going about their business.
And at the far end, visible through the cavern's haze, a structure that made Kaelin's breath catch.
A massive archway. Taller than anything in Thornwell. Taller than the trees in the deep woods. Made of stone that glowed faintly—not with light, but with something inside it. Energy. Power. Magic that she could feel even from here.
"What is that?" she breathed.
Berin followed her gaze. "The gate."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Gate. Gate to where? Gate to what? Gate that GLOWS?
AZRAEL: The energy... it feels like the crystal. Like the altar. Like—
IRIS: Teleportation portal. Confirmed by architectural markers and energy signature. Active. Destination unknown.
---
"A portal," Berin said. "Ancient. One of the few still working. Takes you anywhere in the world—if you're allowed to use it."
"Who's allowed?"
"Elders. Core disciples. Anyone on official Order business with written authorization." Berin's voice was flat. "Not Outer Ring. Not Inner Ring. Not you."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Not you. NOT YOU. We're standing here looking at a MAGIC PORTAL and we can't use it.
AZRAEL: We just arrived. We haven't earned anything.
MAMMON: I DON'T CARE ABOUT EARNING. I CARE ABOUT PORTALS.
IRIS: Portal access: restricted. Future possibility: unknown. Current status: observe only.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
---
Kaelin stared at the portal for a long moment. The crystal against her chest pulsed—once, twice—in response to something. To the portal? To whatever powered it?
Then Berin was moving again, and she had to follow.
---
The kitchen was nothing like Ghoran's.
Ghoran's kitchen had been warm, cluttered, personal. This was industrial. Massive stoves lined one wall. Preparation tables big enough to sleep on. Pots the size of small bathtubs. A fireplace that could roast an entire mountain cat—and probably had.
And in the middle of it all, a man.
He was old—not Mirath old, but old enough. Gray hair, gray beard, arms like tree trunks from decades of lifting things heavier than most recruits could carry. He wore a stained apron and an expression that suggested he'd seen everything and been disappointed by most of it.
"So," he said. "You're the new one."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: He's huge. He's terrifying. He's—
AZRAEL: —a cook. Focus.
IRIS: Subject identified: Head Cook Heston. Age estimate: 60+. Physical strength: exceptional. Threat level: currently 0%, but don't steal his knives.
---
"I'm Kaelin." She stepped forward. "Ghoran from Thornwell said—"
"I know what Ghoran said." Heston's voice was a rumble. "He sent a letter. Weeks ago. Said you could cook. Said you weren't useless in a kitchen." He studied her. "You look useless."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: He called us useless. US. We killed a firebird.
AZRAEL: He's testing us. Don't react.
MAMMON: I WANT TO REACT.
---
"I can cook," Kaelin said carefully. "My father taught me. And Ghoran. Stew, mostly. Bread. Whatever needed doing."
Heston grunted. "Stew. Bread. Whatever needed doing." He reached under the table and produced a bucket. Potatoes. At least forty of them. Some still had dirt attached.
"Twenty potatoes. Peeled. Ten minutes." He pointed at a stool near the preparation table. "Sit. Work. Don't talk unless it's about the potatoes."
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Twenty potatoes. Ten minutes. That's two minutes per potato. That's—
IRIS: —thirty seconds per potato if we work efficiently. Mammon, stop panicking and start peeling.
AZRAEL: We can do this. Ghoran trained us. Elandril trained us. Potatoes are not firebirds.
---
Kaelin sat.
Picked up a knife.
Started peeling.
---
The first potato was slow. Careful. Azrael's precision, Mammon's impatience, IRIS's timing all fighting for control.
[INSIDE]
AZRAEL: Peel away from the body. Consistent thickness. Waste minimal.
MAMMON: GO FASTER. HE'S WATCHING. HE'S JUDGING.
IRIS: Current speed: 45 seconds per potato. Need 30 seconds to meet deadline. Increase efficiency by 33%.
---
The second potato was faster.
The third, faster still.
By the fifth, Kaelin's hands had found a rhythm—Azrael controlling the knife, Mammon providing urgency, IRIS counting seconds. Potato after potato fell away, skins spiraling onto the table, bare white flesh dropping into the bucket.
Heston watched. Said nothing.
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Nine potatoes. Ten. Eleven. WE'RE DOING IT.
AZRAEL: Focus. Don't celebrate until—
IRIS: Seventeen potatoes. Seven minutes elapsed. Three potatoes remain. Time remaining: three minutes. Progress: optimal.
---
The eighteenth potato. Nineteenth. Twentieth.
Kaelin set down the knife. Pushed the bucket toward Heston.
"Twenty potatoes. Peeled. Nine and a half minutes."
---
Heston looked at the bucket. Looked at Kaelin. Picked up a potato, examined it, set it down.
"Fast," he said. "Clean. Minimal waste." He grunted again—but this one sounded different. Approving? Maybe.
"Ghoran wasn't lying." He jerked his head toward the stove. "Know how to make stock?"
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: STOCK. WE KNOW STOCK. GHORAN TAUGHT US STOCK.
AZRAEL: Bones. Vegetables. Water. Simmer. Yes.
IRIS: Stock-making proficiency: 87%. Ghoran's training: confirmed valuable.
---
"Vegetable or meat?" Kaelin asked.
Heston's eyebrow rose. "Both."
"I can do both."
"Then do both. Bones are in the cold room. Vegetables are in the bin. Stock pots are on the stove. Make enough for tomorrow's meals." He pointed to a corner where Beckett had quietly settled on a high shelf. "Crow stays out of the food."
Beckett, who had been edging toward a basket of bread, froze.
"I wasn't going to—"
"You were."
"...I was."
---
The next four hours were the strangest Kaelin had experienced since arriving at the Order.
Not because the work was hard—it wasn't, not compared to climbing mountains or fighting firebirds. Not because it was boring—it wasn't, not with Mammon providing constant commentary and IRIS tracking every variable.
But because it was normal.
Stock simmering. Vegetables chopped. Bread dough rising on the counter. Heston moving through the kitchen like a force of nature, occasionally grunting orders, occasionally grunting approval, mostly just existing in a space he'd clearly occupied for decades.
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: This is... peaceful. Why is this peaceful? We're working. We're sweating. We're—
AZRAEL: —contributing. To something. To a community.
IRIS: Endorphin levels: elevated. Stress levels: decreased. Satisfaction levels: increasing. This is unexpected.
---
At one point, Heston handed her a bowl of soup. "Taste. Tell me what's wrong."
Kaelin tasted. Considered.
"Needs salt. And something... acidic. Just a little. To brighten it."
Heston stared at her for a long moment. Then he added salt. A splash of vinegar. Stirred. Tasted. Grunted.
"You can cook."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: HE SAID WE CAN COOK. OFFICIAL ENDORSEMENT.
AZRAEL: We CAN cook. Ghoran taught us well.
IRIS: Heston approval rating: initial. Rising.
---
By the fourth hour, Kaelin had made enough stock for three days, prepped vegetables for dinner, and learned the layout of the kitchen well enough to find things without asking.
The portal was still there, at the far end of the cavern. She could see it through the kitchen doorway—massive, glowing, calling.
But she had work to do.
---
The mess hall at midday was different from the Outer Ring mess.
This was the Inner Ring dining area—attached to the kitchen, serving the recruits and instructors who lived closer to the mountain's heart. The food was better. The tables were cleaner. The conversations were quieter.
And the people...
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Look at them. They're all... serious. Focused. Like they're planning something.
AZRAEL: They're eating. Like normal people.
MAMMON: NO ONE EATS THAT SERIOUSLY.
---
Kaelin helped Heston serve—filling bowls, handing out bread, moving along the line with the efficiency of someone who'd done this before. Most of the Inner Ring recruits didn't look at her twice. She was just another kitchen worker. Beneath notice.
But some looked.
An elf with silver hair and cold eyes. A human girl with scars on her arms. A massive dwarf who watched her with an expression she couldn't read.
And at a table near the window, alone—
Dain.
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: DAIN. HERE. IN THE INNER RING DINING AREA.
AZRAEL: He's Inner Ring? He's only eleven.
IRIS: Dain's family: influential. His training: private. His placement: likely political, not merit-based. But he's here.
---
Dain saw her at the same moment.
His soup spoon stopped halfway to his mouth. His eyes narrowed. His jaw tightened.
Then he looked away—deliberately, dismissively—and continued eating like she didn't exist.
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: He's ignoring us. He's IGNORING us.
AZRAEL: That's better than attacking us.
MAMMON: NO. ATTACKING IS BETTER. ATTACKING MEANS WE CAN RETALIATE. IGNORING MEANS HE'S PLANNING.
IRIS: Mammon's paranoia: 78%. Dain's actual threat level: unchanged. But vigilance: recommended.
---
The afternoon passed quickly.
More prep work. More stock. Heston teaching her how to tell when bread was done by tapping the bottom ("Hollow means done, child. Hollow means done."). Beckett occasionally appearing in the doorway, looking hopeful, being shooed away.
By the time her shift ended, Kaelin was exhausted in a completely new way.
Not physically—though her arms ached from chopping. Not mentally—though IRIS had logged approximately ten thousand observations.
But satisfied. The kind of tired that came from doing something useful and doing it well.
---
Heston stopped her at the door.
"Tomorrow. Same time. Same place." He paused. "You work faster than most. Better than most. If you keep showing up, I'll keep teaching."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: TEACHING. TEACHING WHAT?
AZRAEL: Cooking. Clearly.
MAMMON: COOKING IS GOOD. COOKING LEADS TO—
IRIS: —better food. More skills. Potential future advantages. Accept.
---
"Thank you," Kaelin said. "I'll be here."
Heston grunted. Turned away. Then, over his shoulder: "Ghoran said you had voices in your head. Multiple. Said they argued but worked together." He glanced back. "Didn't believe him. Watching you work—the way you move, the pauses, the conversations you're clearly having with yourself—I believe him now."
Kaelin froze.
"Don't worry." Heston's voice was flat. "Don't care what's in your head. Long as you show up and work, you're welcome here. Same as anyone."
He disappeared into the kitchen.
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: He knows. He knows and he doesn't care.
AZRAEL: He knows and he accepts. Like Ghoran. Like Theron.
IRIS: Heston: confirmed ally. Kitchen: confirmed safe space. Food access: confirmed.
---
The walk back to the Outer Ring was quiet.
Kaelin passed through the cavern again, past the market (closing now, vendors packing up), past the library (still open, figures visible through the windows), past the portal (still glowing, still calling, still forbidden).
Beckett flew down from somewhere—probably stealing something—and landed on her shoulder.
"Good day?"
"Good day."
"Learned things?"
"Learned things."
"Stole anything?"
"No."
Beckett sighed. "Then it wasn't a perfect day. But acceptable."
---
The Outer Ring mess hall at evening was louder than the Inner Ring version. More chaos. More energy. More Tessa.
"There you are!" Tessa waved from their usual table. "How was kitchen? Was it amazing? Did you eat things? Did you meet Heston? He's terrifying, right? Everyone says he's terrifying."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: He's not terrifying. He's... intense. But not terrifying.
AZRAEL: He's fair. That's more important.
IRIS: Tessa's energy level: 97%. Questions per minute: 12. Adapt.
---
Kaelin sat. "He's... not terrifying. He's just—"
"Terrifying?"
"—efficient."
Tessa considered this. "Efficiently terrifying?"
Roran, sitting across from her, looked up from his food. "Heston's been at the Order longer than anyone. Fifty years? Sixty? He doesn't waste words. If he didn't throw you out, you passed."
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: We passed. OFFICIALLY PASSED.
AZRAEL: We peeled potatoes. That's not—
MAMMON: WE PASSED.
---
"I passed," Kaelin said. "He wants me back tomorrow."
Tessa beamed. "See? I told you. Kitchen's the best. Now you can steal food for us."
"I'm not stealing food for you."
"Yet," Beckett said from Kaelin's shoulder. "You're not stealing food for her yet. Give it time."
---
The evening meal passed in comfortable chaos.
Tessa talked about her day in the fields (apparently she'd fallen into a irrigation ditch, which was somehow not her fault). Roran described his forestry work (quiet, methodical, exactly what you'd expect). Kaelin shared what she'd learned about stock-making, which fascinated Tessa approximately zero percent and fascinated Roran approximately forty percent.
Dain wasn't there.
That should have been relaxing.
It wasn't.
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Where is he? He's always here. Why isn't he here?
AZRAEL: Maybe he's eating in the Inner Ring dining area. Where he belongs.
MAMMON: He belongs in a ditch.
IRIS: Dain's absence: noted. Threat assessment: unchanged. But vigilance: maintained.
---
That night, lying in her bunk, Kaelin thought about the day.
The kitchen. Heston. The portal—massive and glowing and off limits.
She touched the crystal through her shirt. It pulsed—warm, familiar, questioning.
Soon, she thought. Not yet. But soon.
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: Today was good. Really good. We worked. We cooked. We didn't kill anyone.
AZRAEL: That's a low bar.
MAMMON: IT'S OUR BAR AND WE CLEARED IT.
IRIS: Day four at the Order of the Burning Blades: complete. Status: fed, employed, accepted by kitchen staff, portal observed, Dain absent. Survival probability: 92%. Improvement from yesterday: 1%. Overall assessment: productive.
MAMMON: Add: we passed the potato test.
AZRAEL: Add: Heston is... acceptable.
IRIS: Status updated. All systems resting.
---
Beckett shifted on the headboard. "Kaelin."
"Yeah?"
"The portal. The glowing one. You want to use it."
It wasn't a question.
"...Yes."
"Good." Beckett's voice was quiet. "Me too. Portals mean new places. New places mean new things to steal."
Kaelin smiled in the darkness. "That's your priority?"
"Always."
---
Outside, beyond the barracks, beyond the training yard, beyond the mountain—
The portal glowed.
Waiting.
---
[INSIDE]
MAMMON: One day. One day we'll walk through that thing.
AZRAEL: When we're ready.
IRIS: When we're worthy.
MAMMON: When we're bored enough to try anyway.
---
Kaelin closed her eyes.
The crystal pulsed.
The kitchen waited for tomorrow.
And somewhere in the Inner Ring, Dain sat in the darkness, planning.
