CHAPTER 115: CAUGHT SNEAKING

The tavern slept, wrapped in the soft sighs of moonlight and the gentle creaks of old wood. Outside, crickets chirped in rhythm. Inside, silence reigned.

Until a floorboard creaked.

Kaelen froze mid-step.

He glanced around the dark hallway, eyes squinting, barefoot and clad in a loose tunic, moving with the grace of a thief but the desperation of an addict.

He tiptoed past the common room, avoiding the lantern-light that spilled faintly from the moonlit window. The kitchen door loomed ahead. And with it, the promise of salvation.

Please, gods, he prayed silently. Let there still be some left.

He opened the kitchen door slowly.

There was already someone there.

She stood frozen, half-crouched near the compost bin, hand reaching down like a child caught stealing fruit before dinner. Her eyes went wide, and she stumbled backward with a soft gasp, bumping into the cupboard. Her aura didn’t flare, only her guilt did.

Kaelen blinked.

Alira’s expression wasn’t hostile or annoyed. Just... startled. Like a puppy caught chewing on something she knew she shouldn’t.

"Don’t look at me like that," she said softly, brushing imaginary dust off her robe. "I was just... making sure it was properly disposed."

Kaelen raised an eyebrow. "By fishing it out?"

"I tripped."

"Right. Onto the compost."

She opened her mouth, closed it, then gave the faintest sigh of surrender. "...It smelled too good. Even now."

Kaelen grinned. "See? Told you it had divine potential."

Then something above them creaked.

Very slowly, both of them turned their gazes upward.

A figure clung to the ceiling beams.

Wearing only his training shorts, his bare chest glowing faintly in the moonlight, like some fallen demigod trying not to get caught breaking into the pantry. His entire body was tense, like a cat mid-leap, one hand gripping a beam, the other holding a cloth-wrapped bundle... clearly what remained of his own stash.

There was a long, agonizing silence.

Neal met their eyes. Saw their faces.

He didn’t move.

Neither did they.

"...You too?" Kaelen finally said, voice dry.

Neal gave the slowest possible blink, then tried to wedge himself further into the shadows, pretending he had not just been caught descending like a spider to retrieve fermented Wyrmleaf off the roof beams.

"I’m... not here," he muttered, as if declaring it aloud would erase reality.

Kaelen burst into laughter.

Even Alira cracked a smile, covering her mouth with a hand as she chuckled.

Neal groaned and finally dropped to the floor with a ’thump’, landing with practiced grace. "If either of you says a word about this... "

"We’re all here, Neal," Kaelen said. "At this point, the pot and the kettle are having dinner together."

"Ugh." Neal ran a hand through his hair. "This is shameful. Do you know how much pride I’ve swallowed tonight?"

Kaelen tossed him a chunk of roasted meat from the pantry with a grin. "You’re just high-class trash like the rest of us now."

Alira sniffed the air again, dreamy. "We could’ve sold this as a delicacy. If it didn’t almost kill us."

"Exactly." Kaelen suddenly stood straight, serious as ever. "This can’t be a one-time thing. This... has to be our tavern’s signature dish."

"You’re insane," Neal muttered, rubbing his temples. "We can’t serve poison."

"It’s not poison," Kaelen said, holding up a leaf like it was a blessed relic. "It’s Divine Wyrmleaf. If properly cooked and maybe cleansed with a prayer or two it can be safe. We just need more... Research."

Alira leaned on the counter. "With the right pairings... seasoning... wine reduction... this could rival royal cuisine."

Neal looked at them both. Their excitement. Their fire.

He sighed.

"...You’re all lunatics. But fine. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right."

Kaelen clapped his hands, eyes gleaming. "We test new recipes tomorrow!"

"We test with Johnny first," Neal deadpanned. "If it kills him, we’ll know not to go public."

The three shared a sinister laugh, loud and real, echoing in the empty tavern kitchen.

And there, in the moonlit glow of foolish camaraderie, surrounded by trash bins, half eaten bones, and questionable herbs, the signature dish of the Ashen Boar Tavern was born.

A meal worth dying for. Literally.

"GO TO BED, YOU IDIOTS!"

Derek’s bellow echoed from his bedroom, shaking dust from the rafters.

The trio in the kitchen froze.

Kaelen, Neal, and Alira looked at each other like children caught playing with fire. Which, in their defense, wasn’t far from the truth.

Alira tucked her half-retrieved Wyrmleaf back into its cloth wrap.

Neal casually folded his arms like he wasn’t standing barefoot with no shirt on.

Kaelen whispered, "Abort."

In perfect synchronization, the three of them crept away, abandoning their midnight mischief to the cold ashes of the hearth.

The Next Morning around 4:30 AM

The sun had barely begun to kiss the hills.

While most of the citizens still slumbered, its trio of mischief-makers were wide awake and already fully geared up.

Kaelen stood with a small basket, a checklist written in unintelligible chicken-scratch, and a manic gleam in his eyes.

Alira looked far too serious for someone wearing leather gloves and holding a mortar and pestle like a weapon.

Neal, the only one with any remaining dignity, had packed a medical pouch, just in case this turned into another toxic-fueled disaster.

They slipped out the back entrance, leaving only a scrawled note on the tavern counter:

"Out training. Be back by opening. Nothing suspicious. Three cups of beer and roasted pork will do. — K"

5:15 AM — Deep in the Forest

The clearing was quiet, save for the sounds of rustling leaves, a crackling fire, and Kaelen’s voice muttering, "Too much salt again... why does it keep tasting like vengeance?"

Neal was stirring a blackened pan over the fire with the focus of a war general. Alira was grinding a dried Wyrmleaf between her fingers, sniffing like a master sommelier.

Kaelen stabbed a roasted root with a fork. "Okay. This one’s got balance. Heat, spice, aftertaste... almost divine."

Neal poked it. "Smells like it wants to fight me, a cruelsome battle in my stomach."

Alira chuckled. "Perfect. That means we’re close."