Wort busied himself by preparing the kitchen, a fire flaring to life in the oven. Regis already took all the preparatory steps required for their baking spree, pausing a moment to examine the frosted bowl on the countertop. Just resting with chopped frost mint inside caused condensation on the metal bowl. Yet if one were to roll their hands over the three plump sun-kissed lemons, they'd feel a pleasant warmth. Next to the star ingredients were the flour, goat butter, and lavender that completed the dish. Not as flashy, but important nonetheless.

A month ago, Regis would have considered himself a fool to trust a hobgoblin to mingle with such delicate creations. Life held many surprises. Wort systematically broke each of his expectations. The stubborn plodding nature of the hobgoblin even began to install the dungeon with a sense of pride. Sure, Wort was an idiot, but he was Regis' idiot.

“Wort sta-tion is m-ise en pla-ce,” the toad sounded the words out, his oversized tongue rolling over the vowels.

He even learned mise en place! Not just mimicking noises like a bird performing a trick, but actual understanding.

Will he fail me now? Regis was playing with the very essence of creation. Success here held many implications for his future and career in this world. A potential victory more glorious than earning a Michelin Star. Understanding of how to blend mana and culinary arts unlocked unlimited potential; The dungeon did not wish to come short due to an idiot hobgoblin.

“Commence.” Regis commanded, earning a belch from his baker. Wort patted his upset belly then went to work. The butter went into the bowl, he used a fork to cream it. Each step demanded perfection. Yet, they’d practiced, and Wort held an exceptional consistency to his cooking, still, the fog of apprehension clung to the dungeon. What if Wort failed and it went horribly wrong?

The hobgoblin lacked creativity or adaption. Using Regis' exact measurements and Wort's step-by-step following of instructions left zero room for failure. But that rigid adherence to the procedure was both a blessing and a curse. Especially when dealing with something new.

The butter reached the correct consistency, Wort measured out sugar before adding it. He then took a spoon and dispersed sugar into the butter with practiced flicks of his wrist. Wort switched gears, swapping the spoon for the fork, then half-whisking the mixture of sugar and butter. Every so often using the fork to scrape the sides of the metal bowl to ensure nothing escaped the dish. Sugar and butter transformed into a fluffy pale yellow cream.

Wort exhaled, the breath turning into a white puff as it passed over the chopped frost mint. The ice mana was eager to release itself to the world but bound by its physical ties.

“Lemon juice first,” Regis hummed. If he added the mint too early, he worried that they would ruin the consistency of the dough. His intuition screamed the warning, a chef’s most powerful tool. Working with vast unknowns made Regis feel like a kid again, thrilled to throw whatever he could get his grubby mitts on into a pan. He felt a bit nostalgic, tempering the edge of worry. Unlike a child burning sugar and making a mess, the forces here threatened to explode or worse.

Wort zested the lemon, before chopping it quickly and juicing the plump yellow halves into the bowl. The mixture began to break apart and melt, softening the cream and threatening to become a liquid. Heat radiated from the citric juice infused with fire mana. Haste.

“Mint, now! Then rapidly add in the lavender while stirring.” "Wort complied, grabbing the mint and tossing it in. His hobgoblin hand turned a pinkish red from the cold. The baker didn’t even complain. Like a goblin machine, he mixed the ingredients before they degraded the dish.

Two waves of mana clashed in the bowl. Fire fought with ice. Opposing metaphysical power vied for superiority, even while refusing to come together as cookie dough. Taking a deep look, Regis observed pockets of temporary water and steam mana as the two majority mana types clashed within the dish.

Something is missing.

Wort mixed lavender into the bowl, adding more to the physical state of the mixture. On the physical plane, the mixture began to form into either lumpy balls of mint and butter, or smooth almost liquid-like lemon juice and sugar. As it was, were they to add the flour and then bake. It'd fall apart. Unable to form into a proper dough.

He’d made the incorrect assumption that simply mixing the two mana types and adding a binding agent would allow him to pull together the sun-kissed lemon and frost mint. Thinking that binding the physical together, forced the metaphysical together as well. However, the power of their mana impacted the dish far more than he thought possible.

Regis floated over the bowl, watching the surging dance of the diametric mana on the metaphysical plane. They turned the bowl into a battlefield. Yet, there seemed to be lulls in their war. Bursts of stasis. Dispersed throughout the mixture. The lavender?

He examined it closer, a distinctive feel of calm radiated from the bits of lavender essence. The lavender did not have mana. Yet its essence had an effect when the mana surging around it brushed against the ingredient. Every living thing possessed essence. In the haste to experiment with mana, Regis overlooked an obvious fact. Essence formed the basis of life and directly influenced mana—this basic relationship was how he functioned as a dungeon. He converted essence to mana to interact with the world. And siphoned mana from other living creatures.

His personality and character formed his affinity to fire mana. Like him, the properties of the lavender manifested a corresponding essence. Though in this case, a soothing one. Since it was merely essence and not mana, it did not have the power to overcome the clashing ingredients, but it could soften the force. At last, a solution.

Regis injected his own essence into the lavender. A dungeon adapted other essences to their own; reversing that interaction was a simple feat.

It didn’t take much. Just a trickle of essence to feed to the bits of lavender, yet the effect profound.

The metaphysical clashing transformed to a sluggish brawl, soothed by the boosted essence of the lavender. The storm calmed. Yet it was just a temporary effect. Unlike a dungeon core, the lavender didn't have the capacity to store essence. He'd supercharged its capacity—causing the excess to leak at an accelerated rate. Once it was gone, the conflict on the metaphysical plane would return to full-out war.

Wort cocked his head, beady eyes fixed to the bowl. He stirred quickly, the mixture now easily coming together. “Wort add flour?”

“You may. Ensure that you make haste at this junction. Lack of efficiency at these crucial steps dooms the entire dish.” Regis decided to not dive into the complexities of what had occurred beneath the simple fool’s nose. Explaining such things to Wort was akin to teaching rocket science to a child

Rocket science?

Regis paused at the stray thought, a headache began to form in his psyche. Wort thankfully yanked his attention away, by pushing ahead without direction, pouring in the flour and salt. It clumped together. One big dough of flour, herbs, butter, and sugar.

In its dormant state, Wort smoothly brought the lovely shortbread dough together, then turned it out onto a floured surface. He took out a rolling pin and pressed the dough into a consistent thickness. The smell of lemons and lavender mingled with mint as a beautiful melody that wafted and took ownership of the small kitchen space. Wort rubbed his belly with one hand while staring at the cookie dough, a small drop of drool rolling from his lips.

“Do not pause, there is precious little time to waste,” Regis hummed. Wort’s stomach bitched in protest with an angry noise to express its hunger. Plenty of eating time later, especially since Wort would be the test subject for this recipe. Testing it within the confines of his kitchen, allowed Regis to contain any unexpected and violent bursts of mana, or other unintended consequences of playing with forces outside of his understanding. Most likely. Probably. Maybe.

Wort shoved the parchment-lined baking sheet next to the dough, grasping a circular cookie cutter before he pressed it into the dough.

The failed testing of Wort’s artistic prowess made this new kitchen accessory a necessary addition. Depending on how these cookies turned out, they might have a high value to the dwarves—out-pacing the price of the bread. Then again, maybe it would cause explosions. Wort wouldn’t explode, surely.

Wort will not explode.

Regis tried not to dwell on the risk, tucking away the paranoia. If he felt truly worried that the baker would explode, they wouldn’t test it in the first place. He might be a cold emotionless dungeon fixated on the growth of his restaurant, but he wished for the living things within him to thrive. What was food, if not the ultimate basis of life?

One after another, the baking sheet filled with the lemon shortbread cookies. Regis zipped around anxiously, sensing the effect of the lavender as it began to wane. Not much time. “Oven now!” His voice shrieked across the kitchen, Wort shoved them into the oven.

Minutes ticked by, Regis ran his senses over the cookies every second, filled with worry. The essence of the lavender trickled away, but the cookies didn’t collapse. Bound by fire, the flour hardened. The conflicting mana now tied together. Mint, lemon, and lavender played like children running around in his kitchen, a joyful summer scent. His kitchen morphed into a paradise under the rays of heat from a lemon-like sun. The flavors danced around hand-in-hand gleefully celebrating life, the occasional fresh breeze of cool mint tempering zesty citrus.

Wort didn’t need direction to pull the sheet from the oven at the right time. A good thing too, since Regis hesitated, consumed by the accomplishment of his cooking.

Their flavor profile alone ensured a tasty desert, yet how much did the metaphysical war inside of the cookies change that end taste. What would happen to the creature that consumed it Apprehension revolved around inside of his psyche, along with a certainty that this could break Strum’s ward.

Regis reconsidered using Wort as a test rat. He knew too little to take such a risk. He decided to store them away for later examination. “Wort place these—“

Unfortunately, the starving hobgoblin had other plans. The dungeon’s obsession with this experiment meant he’d casually refused the hobgoblins ask to snack on the last batch of food. Now, Wort’s hunger took control of him. Without asking, Wort grabbed a cookie.

“Nooooo! Cease! Halt! Do not consum-“ Wort pretended not to hear. He shoved the cookie into his mouth and gulped it down.

The crystal floated in silence, his focus honed to a fine point as he examined the hobgoblin’s stomach. Worry for the fool mingled with insane curiosity. How could this idiot be ignorant enough to eat them!? Did he not know the risks!? Wort rubbed his stomach, a self-satisfied grin taking over his dumb, revealing his missing teeth. “Wort think taste good. Do good job.”

“…”

All at once, a shock of mana burst from the goblin, followed by a violent stream of burps and belching. Wort’s yellow eyes went wide as the unnaturally loud noises forced their way out of him. Equipment in the kitchen went flying. A rolling pin smacked a wall. The mixing bowl slammed into the floor. Pure luck kept the cookies from flying away too. The hobgoblin faced away from the tray in the brief moment before the mana reacted. As it ended, Wort's tongue lolled out of his mouth, his eyes bulged as mana ran wild within.

Regis scanned him, sensing that the meager mana veins of the oaf bulged with excess. They needed to expel the extra mana. Or else Regis didn't know what consequences might arise. At least this test happened in his domain, and removing the mana could be safely done, meaning Wort was safe for the time being. His worry swiftly switched to pure rage at the fool.

“How dare you perform such a foolhardy act!? Did I permit your consumption of that cookie!? You may have had a hand in baking it, yet had no concept of what you made, nor any idea of the effects which may have followed its ingestion. You are lucky that no misfortune occurred. I of course, in my brilliance, had deduced that they were unlikely to cause harm but still I wished to conduct—“

“Wort like. Taste good. Wort feel strong.” The oaf nodded his head, his hand reaching outward.

Mana flowed from his overloaded veins; a violent expulsion of the mana resulted in a burst of dirt and rock freed itself from the opposite wall of the kitchen, leaving a mess all over Regis’ floor.

“Wort move lots dirt. Yay!” he clapped his hands together in joy. The excessive mana loading his veins safely discharged, the remainder now able to safely convert to essence.

“…” Regis floated by the small pile of rock and debris from his wall. Extremely perturbed. First, the oaf had damaged his kitchen, after disobeying him and eating food without expressly granted permission. That itself was a major violation of his rules. Second, the idiot had just casually used earth mana. As if it were the most natural thing in the world. Am I… Am I going mad?

“Ya… I’m not cleaning that, chef.” Vraz called out, followed into the kitchen by Jilde and Gikx.

Regis was far too distracted to even acknowledge their arrival, his awareness locked on the oaf. Wort stumbled to his small bundle of clothes in the corner of the kitchen, pulling a dirty wool blanket over his face. Snores escaped him in seconds. Vraz gave the crystal a weird look before gesturing for the other two to bring the shipment into the pantry.

…How did he do that?