Ilyas gave his siblings his greetings as he ran off, worried he might be late for the meeting. As he sprinted down the corridor he made his way to the kitchen. He sped down the stairs. The palace's kitchen buzzed with low chatter and the clink of utensils. Ilyas pushed open the door without thinking, his mind still on Taldris's calm instructions from before. The scent of yeast and warm bread met him when he rounded a corner—and collided with a small figure. Flour burst around them like a quiet storm.

 "Oh crap. I’m so sorry!" Ilyas's words tumbled out, earnest and rushed as he was now covered in flour.

 "Wh—what?!" A girl gasped as dough flew over her shoulder. Her hands, dusted in white, froze mid-air. "You clashed right with my mixing bowl," she exclaimed, eyes widening with surprise and irritation.

 "I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to—" Ilyas stammered, reaching out instinctively to steady her arms, his voice ragged with concern.

 "Honestly, you need to watch your step," She said, brushing a stray tuft of flour from her cheek. Her red hair was now coated in a white film."I was in the middle of kneading this dough. Ugh, I’m going to have to start all over."

 "I-I was reckless today, sorry. I promise, I'll be more careful." Ilyas repeated, cheeks burning

A pause followed. Then her stern features softened, and a quirk of amusement tugged at the corner of her lips. "I suppose it's not every day that one stumbles into an unexpected flour shower," she teased, wafting a hand through the swirling residue.

"I'm Ilyas, by the way," he offered, stepping back to let her regain her balance. "Again, I'm really sorry this happened."

She regarded him closely, eyes lingering on his figure. They eventually found themselves on his. Interest now piqued. "I'm Mabel," she said simply. "And while an apology is appreciated, you owe me a fresh batch of these cookies," she added with a playful tilt of her head, wiping her hands on her apron.

Their conversation sparked amid the soft hum of water pitchers and quiet laughter from others in the kitchen. Some had stared at the two and whispered amongst themselves. All nonsense gossip. These ears have their perks. 

Mabel stared at his eyes more, leaning close to his face. He didn’t think his cheeks could get any warmer. "You’ve got some interesting eyes," 

 “Oh-Uh, thanks.” 

 “I’m sure you’re more than just a pretty face however. Come on, let's get to it.”  

 ‘Wait, now?”

 “Yes, now, I want cookies,” she pouted. “Do you have something more important than me to attend to?” 

 “Well…I’m actually needed by General Taldris, of the Ashen Sancti, I just came by to visit my family. I know it’s rude, but when I return I’ll-” 

 “Ohhh. Don’t worry,” she waved him off as if he said he needed to get the mail. He raised his eyebrows in concern. “HARKON!” She yelled out. The entire palace went silent for a moment. Ilyas now saw the attendant standing at her side, as if he was always there. The chatter continued. He thought that he was being put under his own hypnosis. 

 “Yes my lady.” His head was bowed. 

 “Tell Taldris, I’m keeping his friend for a bit.” 

 “Understood.” The attendant walked off without another word. Ilyas was really starting to think he was dreaming now. 

 “There we go, now you’re free.” Her voice was lively. "Fetch me a bowl from the shelf, and then perhaps we can start anew."

He did as she asked, much to his dismay. He had fetched new bowls, got new flour, dough and even replaced the board they had been rolling on. His already white coated self, now even more so, If it seemed like he couldn’t get more pale, the flour made sure to give his vampiric skin a dramatic matte finish. The entire time he remained silent. Trying to get it done as quickly as possible. 

 “So, since Taldris is waiting for you, I assume you’re the new mercenary right? I’m guessing your family must be the lovely Altarias staying here.” 

 “Yeah, I am.” 

 She looked to the side, her hands still folding the newly made dough. She studied his eyes again. “Then those eyes aren’t just for decoration. You’re the vampire.” 

 Ilyas tensed. Squeezing the dough tightly. It shot in between his fingers. 

 She began to laugh. “Oh don’t worry, I know you aren’t going to kill me or anything.” She tilted her head towards him again. “Then again, maybe you will.” 

 He kept quiet, uncomfortable at the remarks.

"Come on, don’t be so uptight" Mabel chortled as she lifted the bowl from the shelf. "Don't pretend you don't enjoy a bit of domestic duty now and then."

"In my line of work, bowls and breads are hardly a priority," he mumbled, fumbling with the bowl as if it might bite him. His eyes darted around the bustling kitchen, every clatter and conversation making him feel more out of place.

"The greener pastures of kneading dough can be your battlefield too." she teased lightly, leaning forward with a mischievous glimmer in her eyes. "Tell me, how does the hardened mercenary of the vampiric city cope with… flour and conversation?"

"Coping?" Ilyas attempted a smile that never quite reached his eyes. "Again, I'm more accustomed to sparks of metal rather than… yeast."

A nearby cook interjected between their words, "We all have our battles, sir. Some knead dough, others fight demons." Laughter from a small cluster of palace aides punctuated the remark.

"Do you always bump into fair maidens like me?" Mabel's tone carried amusement as she set the bowl aside and leaned casually against the counter.

"Not usually," Ilyas replied. "Today, fate decided to dump flour on my head—and on yours." His smile was wry.

Mabel's eyes twinkled. "Tell me, what brings a mercenary like you here? I know your family has history here, but as far as I know, you were just a regular mercenary," She stepped closer, her fingers idly tracing the rim of the bowl. 

"I guess it’s just because my brother asked," Ilyas said, shrugging. "I've been running missions nonstop, the payday was worthwhile. Catching a breath was a luxury." His gaze shifted from the bowl to her face. "And you? Do you usually stand here making cookies?"

Mabel chuckled softly. "I manage more than just dough. I tend to keep things together around here—reminding people that even in chaos, there is beauty in rebuilding.” Her face darkened for a moment. “You might be new to these halls, but you've already made quite an entrance. It’s not often the Ashen Sancti actually hire a mercenary, so everyones talking about the mysterious vampire working for the military."

The kitchen's simmering noises faded as the two fell into a rhythm of exchange. "I find that surprising," Ilyas admitted, his voice low. "I didn’t think I was anything special, just another body to use in case the mission went south."

Mabel's smile softened. "Maybe don’t be so pessimistic. There is always room for chance encounters to change us. I, too, have known loss and strife, but every day I choose to rebuild rather than retreat. Don't you wonder if there's a moment when the weight of legacy can be lightened by a simple conversation?"

A pause fell between them as Ilyas regarded Mabel. "Maybe," he said slowly. "I have seen a lot of nonsense that the world can offer. Yet here you are, mixing flour and kindness effortlessly."

"Sometimes it is in the small moments—preparing a meal, sharing a laugh—that true strength is forged," she countered, her eyes never leaving him. "What is your dream, Ilyas? Beyond the battles and the whispers of your lineage?"

"Dream?" he repeated with gentle incredulity, surprised at how interested she was. "I once wanted to become an apothecary. But these days, I wonder if that’s possible. Right now all I can think of is protecting my family… that's probably what I seek."

Mabel tilted her head, her smile both playful and probing. A soft pause settled between them as pots clattered in the background and the low hum of the fort's servants filled the space.

 Ilyas brushed a stray curl from his face, his voice low. "It feels like these small moments are rare treasures. But at the same time, the weight of responsibility calls me back."

"It does, indeed," she replied, setting the bowl with a gentle thud. "Speaking of. Taldris is just going to get more irritated with me, so let me let you excuse yourself."

He exhaled slowly, his gaze drifting toward the door that separated the warmth of the kitchen from the cool resolve of the fort. "I’m glad I could at least help a little."

A soft chuckle escaped her as she stepped closer, her eyes alight with sincerity. "Your presence here, even as you momentarily forget the burdens of the world, has done more than enough. You have helped by simply being yourself—a rare sight these days—and that, dear Ilyas, is more than sufficient for today."

He blinked, absorbing her words. He couldn’t help but think she spoke like someone far older than she was. Despite how childish she seemed at times, and how fancy she spoke, he didn’t find it annoying. A subtle tension shifted in the air as Ilyas glanced toward the distant murmur of gathering voices in the corridor. "Alright, the cookies should be fine without me now anyway."

"Exactly," she said, reaching out to dust him off as best as she could. "Go now, and carry the warmth of this moment like a secret flame in your heart. Your duty here is done for now, and you've helped enough for today."

Ilyas nodded slowly, his expression softening. "I’ll catch you around."

With a final, assuring smile, Mabel stepped back. "Farewell. May your path be as steadfast as your courage, and as bright as hope itself."