Lyall’s feet left the ground. His lunge snaked an arm around Luther’s chest while his right hand nabbed Luther’s fingers shoving the truffle towards his mouth like a rebellious child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Lyall’s strength overpowered Luther’s resistance. The truffle flung into the air, hit the wall, and fell upon the floor in a pitiful crumble. Lyall slammed Luther’s chest onto the island counter and wrenched his arm behind his back at a disconcerting angle. 

“Ow, ow, ow!” Luther writhed. “I’m good! I’m good! I’d prefer my main casting hand to not be stretched quite so close to its limit.” 

“I’m sorry, but that’s the point. I’m not letting you eat anything in this room, but I don’t believe you need more acting classes. My faith isn’t there that you’re not deceiving me with sanity in a bid to break free while I also cannot be sure you won’t fry me alive if I try to stop your snacking with less forceful means.” 

“Thank you for praising my acting. I truly am in control right now.” Luther stopped fidgeting. Lyall found the glaze gone from his eyes—red today, in order to show off the changing trait to Aurae—but a rack of pastel meringues fresh from the oven slid right past Luther’s nose. Those red eyes began to unfocus. “Damn it. Don’t let me go. You’re right. My composure isn’t long in here, and I’m bound to do something stupid.” 

“I’ll take you to the door. Wait outside with Aurae. Take her downstairs if you need to.” 

“You can’t mean to produce the potion on your own?” Luther worried, stumbling momentarily in protest but obediently being half-pushed to the door. 

“I’m going to do it because I have to do it. There’s no other option.” 

“I...” Luther’s heels dug in at the threshold. Lyall tipped him through. “You’ve shown you certainly have more mental fortitude than Aurae and me. I’ll entrust the potion to you. Please promise me you’ll abandon it, however, if you feel you are to cave, for we can work out a different solution for dealing with this tower if it comes to it.” 

“I promise.” 

“Good luck, Lyall.” 

Luther’s weak smile was the last thing Lyall saw as he quickly closed the door. Upon finding a lock to turn, Lyall turned it. The click echoed solid and heavy. Lyall pressed his warm forehead on the door but shuddered at his inhale beckoning calm fuzzing his mind with want instead. The ever-increasing potency of the sweet air would typically bring about nausea, one would think, yet Lyall wrapped his arm around his middle from his stomach convulsing, demanding. 

“Time to make a potion,” he spoke through gritted teeth. 

Lyall stepped his way around streams of cream splitting to become gooey chew mixed in a hot pot, fluffy frosting, or fruit-swirled dip. Strawberries sliced as butterflies flitted around his head. He batted away a plate of stacked pancakes running syrup in golden rivers to reach the cookbook and gather what Luther pointed out as being in the first pantry. With everything thankfully being labeled well, Lyall only had to endure two minutes of rummaging through the rest of the storage to circle the glass jars, small wooden boxes, and plucked stems of hanging herbs around his chosen spot on the island counter. 

“Grate one sterced bulb, finely mince three peppermint leaves, and combine.” Lyall carefully plucked one purple-skinned, marble-sized bulb from a corked glass bottle. “Looks like a tiny potato.” 

He did his best not to shred his fingertips as he grated the unknown plant into a mushy paste he combined with the cut peppermint leaves. Finding a little pot, measuring the required amount of ‘Base 1’ and ‘Base 2’ liquids, bringing the mixture to a simmer, and adding the paste narrowed his concentration away from the temptation of the flying delights. Then the oven nearby opened and drenched the room in a tangible cloud of bready heaven. Crackling loaves glistening bright their egg wash zipped one by one from the released racks, bobbing, weaving, and spreading their enticing scent into every corner and crack as they searched out a free shelf to perch and cool. 

Lyall’s stare on the pot blurred. The pain in his stomach spread as an abomination from old stories, reaching with cold tendrils to consume all and leave an empty void in its wake. His hands shook, his blood ran slow and feeble, and his knees ached wondering how much longer they could keep him up. Though a satisfying meal had been had earlier, Lyall starved. He knew this feeling. One of his first memories had him quietly crying through the night from the voracious ache. When he’d broken down and woke his mother early in the morning, she’d brought them to a damp, chilly corner behind a bakery to drink its escaping scents where the illusion of satisfaction granted him a few hours of sleep. 

If he just ate a bit of bread, the hurt would go away. 

Lyall chomped his tongue. Eyes flashing open at the searing throb threatening blood, clarity fought back. He wasn’t a child. He wasn’t starving. The tower was doing its best to trick him, but that wasn’t going to happen. Lyall left the mixture to continue simmering while he chopped more leaves, ground roots, boiled that into a separate mixture, strained each pot, and carefully poured both into a bottle where, after fifteen minutes of work, the red and yellow liquids viscous as oil did not swirl into orange but into a harmony of sunshine bands. Covering the top with his thumb to prevent spilling, he made it to the end of the counter line where a defiant glass bowl of hard, round candies zipped into his path. The rainbow spheres shined impossibly glossy. Lyall reached his hand out to them— 

He stomped out the door and slammed it behind him. Luther sat on the floor across the way with sleeping Aurae curled on her side. Lyall didn’t appreciate the goofy smile on her face. 

“You look pale,” Luther, quite pasty himself, hurried over. “Are you alright?” 

“Another few minutes and I likely would have bitten my tongue off, but the potion is made,” Lyall held up the vial. 

“You did well. That the colors didn’t mix means everything was done correctly, so why don’t we wake up our friend from her discourteous slumber to remedy that line on your tongue? I can see it clearly.” 

“Please give it to her. My hands still shake.” 

“Of course.” 

Lyall kicked the door of the kitchen—his stomach settling—as Luther propped Aurae, tilted her head back, carefully tipped the potion into her mouth, and rubbed her throat until she swallowed. The process repeated until the vial emptied, and Aurae’s long lashes demurely fluttered open. 

“...Judging from your expressions, now probably isn’t a good moment to tease on how you woke me from a most marvelous dream, is it?” she mumbled with a cute-attempt puckering of her lips. 

“I can’t judge you unduly as Lyall had to slam me upon the counter to prevent me from also putting myself to sleep, but I believe the sour expression on his face would be better remedied by you healing his tongue than making a wisecrack, yes,” Luther patted her cheek. 

“Got it!” Aurae leapt up, ran her soft palm along the side of Lyall’s face, and the wincing pain in his mouth ceased. 

“Thank you,” Lyall said, following it with a sigh. “I hope the other rooms aren’t as troublesome, otherwise we will be here forever.” 

“Have I been out that long?” 

“Let’s walk and talk.” 

They cautiously crept inside the other room, which revealed itself to be storage for more ingredients. Luther explained the need to craft a potion and his failing against the honey truffle while the three of them expressed relief at the sacks of potatoes, barrels of grain, and crates of vegetables spurring no desires to consume. Lyall painstakingly detailed each step of the potion’s crafting at Aurae’s request when Luther leapt back from a crate with a raucous shout. A gaping maw of a mouth with four rows of razor teeth morphed from the wooden side of the box, and an enormous, bumpy, thick tongue of purple latched around Luther’s waist. Lyall went for his sword. Aurae summoned a spectral mace wreathed in misty puffs of scarlet. 

“I’m done looking a fool today!” Luther cried. Thunder erupting from his hands whacking the box forced Lyall and Aurae to abandon their weapons, cover their ears, and duck behind a pile of potato sacks to avoid the blasting planks and splatters of goopy viscera. Luther cleaned the latter off him with a snap of his finger and flapped his cloak to rid himself of the splinters. 

“Aww, it only wanted a kiss,” Aurae teased, hopping around the mess on the floor. 

“I’ll leave that to you,” Luther straightened his collar. 

“That was my first time seeing a deceiver,” Lyall tiptoed past the ick. “I must say I’m disappointed it wasn’t disguised as a singular chest all by itself in the center of an empty room.” 

“Why would it disguise itself as that? That’d be far too obvious,” Aurae tilted her head. 

“People will touch anything.” 

“Exactly as we have been doing and will continue to do. Look,” Luther pointed. “There is a door to a walk-in freezer at the end of this room.” 

And there was. Lyall, Luther, and Aurae huddled against the heavy metal door and glanced through the frosted glass window showcasing hanging chunks of meat and boxes of food. 

“What do you want to bet the door closes and locks after entering so you’re trapped inside?” Lyall proposed dryly. 

“My inclination exactly!” Luther tapped his nose. “Best we avoid confirming it.” 

“There’s a key on the back wall though,” Aurae pressed her finger on the glass. Another, more scrutinizing peek revealed she spoke the truth. A small key of silver hanging on a hook blended well with the white wall. “That’s a dumb place to put a key, which means we need it. I don’t mind being the one to go in. My blood runs hot, and I can also conjure fire.” 

“I agree you seem best suited to brave the freezer. If you don’t mind parting with a few loose strands of hair, I can more easily teleport you out if you become stuck.” 

“You’re certainly not the first gorgeous man who’s requested a lock of hair as a keepsake, so I don’t mind,” Aurae winked. She flipped her curls over her shoulder and swept forward her hand that’d caught several strands. Luther bowed to accept them. “I’ll head in then.” 

She clutched the handle firmly, dragged open the creaking door, and left it cracked open, nudging Lyall and Luther towards the gunky remnants of the deceiver to avoid the icy rush seeping out. However, the door whammed shut and rocked the wall with a resounding thud, vanishing the window from existence too for added cruel measure. 

“At least it was predictable?” Luther scratched his head. 

“Aurae! Everything fine?” Lyall called. 

“An entire blizzard decided to start, but, yes, everything’s fine!” came the muted response. “One moment!” 

Lyall and Luther waited one minute. They waited two. Lyall’s foot started to tap. Thankfully, a low bang upon the metal soon broke the silence. 

“So, um, the ice is growing too fast across the door for me to melt my way out!” 

Without waiting, Luther clutched Aurae’s hair and spiraled his wrist. She popped into existence before them, flakes clinging to her shoulders, lashes, and head much like the treats in the kitchen had been powdered in sugar. 

“Key,” Aurae revealed simply, displaying the shiny piece. 

“It’d be in our best interest to remove our hopes that the chest will be anywhere aside from the top floor,” Luther motioned an offer to take the key, but Aurae shook her head and stuck it in her pocket. “We could have easily missed the key, so let’s keep an eye out for similar pieces that might be useful.” 

“Understood!” Aurae saluted. 

She dusted herself clean and led the way to the central platform where she took charge of checking the stairs for traps.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Until the next chapter is available, these other Action Fantasy entries are sure to entertain you. Links to each are in the description below.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~