Monthly Short Story for September: The Other Perspective

Hello Commissioned Pioneers! :D As promised as always, in accordance with the results of last month's poll, I present to you the Bonus Story of the Month! There were a total of four choices once again, with a majority voting for Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School Side Story 20.

I’m trying something new this month! Ever since writing the town chapters, I’ve had sort of an itch to dive deeper into the colorful cast of characters that inhabit it! 

I really wanted to sort of give you guys an idea of the lives just outside of the story’s periphery — to shine a spotlight on the the people living just outside of Emma’s own story. I wanted to do this by giving a small glimpse into how one of these lives is led, and the events leading up to their interaction with Emma! To sorta show how life is like from the other perspective as it were haha. 

I’ve always been obsessed about imagining how stories are from the perspective of other, smaller side-characters, and so this is sort of a chance for me to dabble in that! As a result, this story will be more on the ‘slice of life’ side of things, so I hope you guys are alright with that! :D 

Moreover, this is also a way for me to introduce a few worldbuildy things from the Nexus! Points that will later be touched upon in the story when Emma comes across them and dives deeper into them!

Let's jump right into it then! :D I'd like to proudly present, Wearing Power Armor to a Magic School's twentieth side story! :D

The Other Perspective

Nexus. The Crown Herald Town of Elaseer. Ambassadorial District. The Adventurer’s Guild Hall of Elaseer. Training Grounds Barracks. Local Time: 0500

Apprentice Trainee Garna Sul

I wasn’t born a chosen one.

For that was the fate of the eldest amongst my siblings.

Neither was I born the second hand, meaning control of the farm would never be in my reach.

Whilst free and secure, opportunities were scarce.

And unlike the rest of my family, I was just not content with the way things were. 

For in spite of the security and blessings of perpetuity in the form of our permanent tenancy, guaranteeing us a life without hunger or strife, there existed an indescribable itch that made it all seem so… lacking.

But it wasn’t for any wanton desires for wealth and power, nor any of the luxuries that came with it. 

It was instead, an itch for a life, any life, beyond the endless confines of the farm; a cage without bars.

As with each passing day, the open fields and expansive meadows became less like an idyllic happily ever after, but instead, an invisible fence keeping me in; it bound me inside a life that was far too… mild for me.

Foolishness was what my grandfather called it.

Flightiness was how my grandmother described it.

Questions were thrown as to just why I was suddenly dissatisfied, when prior to this inexplicable flight of fancy I’d seemingly been content with the life laid out for me.

The answer to that was simple.

I’d simply known nothing else.

Nothing, but the idyllic life within the farm.

That was, until my eldest was declared the chosen one.

After which, my heart and soul became infatuated with the idea of the possibility of a life beyond this one.

A life that had been handed to my brother seemingly on a whim, but that had been denied from me for the same inexplicable reason.

“Fate.” Was how everyone described it to me. A happenstance of destiny and chance, intermingling to become all of our lives. 

Because following the consumption of the old gods, fate was now the subject of pure chance. Completely left to the whims of randomness and not to the twisted desires of some errant self-proclaimed deity.

This meant that there was nothing I could do.

Or at least, that would’ve been the case, if I’d given up on my interpretations of scripture.

For if fate truly was in the hands of mortalkind, then that would make my fate my own to decide.

His Eternal Majesty’s sacrifice was, after all, the deliverance of fate back into our hands. 

It would only behoove me to accept the gift of a life unbound by gods, to actively take my fate into my own hands.

So despite lacking in the gift of my eldest, I too would set forth on a path to chart my own course in life. 

In doing so, I would have to accept the risks, all of the potential outcomes, and the stark realities that came with leaving the farm.

But I wasn’t afraid of any of those things. 

For I relished in the feeling and understanding that the decisions I made would be of my own volition, and without the farm, I would truly become the master of my own fate.

I would have to find a sponsor, yes.

But such was the life of a free tenant in the complicated world constructed by mortal hands.

I took solace in that.

In the understanding that the only thing holding me back were the fates that bound mortals to mortals.

Not to some distant and unforgiving god.

The path ahead would be hard, but I was determined to lead a life I would be proud to return to one day. 

I would prove to my eldest brother that I too could chart my path in the world beyond the tenancies.

And eventually, I would know of a better, more exciting life beyond these rolling fields of wheat and barley.

… 

drip 

Drip

DRIP

I stirred, my mind half dazed, caught between the aching of my flesh, and the exhaustion of my core. 

drip 

Drip

DRIP

I swatted it away, the phantom pitter-patter of a leaky roof tile, until an icky sensation stirred me from my state of half-wakefulness.

Dampness.

I quickly looked down with sleep-addled eyes in the near-pitch black of the barracks to see that the leak at the foot of my bed had expanded, creeping up over the course of the drizzly night to just over top of my mattress, soaking my legs and the rubber-wool beneath it.

I immediately leaped out of bed.

Or at least, that was the intention.

Instead, I found myself rolling off of the narrow mattress and onto the cobblestone floor below in an aching heap.

THUD

My legs felt like they’d just melted into a soft jelly, an entire night’s sleep barely making a dent in their recovery.

The previous days’ drilling, and the two consecutive late night feasts in the guild hall — where I’d served rather than dined — had been some of the most exhausting experiences I’d had so far in this path of my own making.

And it was in moments like these, as I laid in a crumpled heap at the side of my bed, in the midst of thirty or so souls crammed into this room — that I truly started to have doubts about my self-directed path.

“A full year… and all I have to show for it is just another cage I’ve made for myself.” I muttered softly to myself, reaching up towards my bed with shaky hands, only to be met not by the soft squelching mattress of rubber-wool, but instead, a callused, warm, scaled hand.

I would’ve reflexively pulled back, if not for the self-control training drilled into me by the guild commander.

“Can’t beat my record though. Two full years without an adventuring party adopting me.” The soft yet gravelly voice of a kobold came through, his tone confident yet self-deprecating. 

“Crap! Loris. I… did I wake you up?” I paused, before doing several double-takes down both sides of the aisle. “Did… did I wake anyone else up?”

“Nah, you didn’t. I was already up when you decided to pull an old-man tumble. It’s hard not to notice that when we’re bed-neighbors you know? Now, I know you farmhands have a reputation of growing old quick because of work and all, but I didn’t expect you to already be decrepit at nineteen!” Loris teased with a big wide grin, whilst being careful to keep his voice quiet enough so as to avoid waking anyone up. 

“Haha, very funny.” I grumbled out in response.

“Sooooo what’s gotcha all worked up?” He quickly asked, before reaching over to my bed with an inquisitive hand. “Ahhhhh… I was wondering when the tiles would give in.” 

“Yeah… barring a waterlogged bed or a full-on invasion by the old gods, I doubt anything would have woken me up to be honest.” 

“Well… there’s not much we can do right now, friend. It’s… a quarter or half hour until the morning bell.” The kobold spoke with a sympathetic huff, before regarding me with another look of pity. “Listen, I’m not too tired myself. Hells, I have a hunch that no big adventure’s gonna be listed today or anything. So how about you take my bed while I just take a walk—”

“No.” I interjected firmly, before quickly correcting my sudden downturn in tone. “It’s fine, Loris. I’ll manage. It’s not my first time sleeping on the floor, and I know it won’t be my last either.” I offered with a dry chuckle. 

A brief exchange of concerned nods later, and I soon found myself drifting off into sleep.

It was easy to pass out just about anywhere when you were constantly on the edge of exhaustion after all.

Though naps were always somewhat of a gamble for me. Because on one hand, if timed just right, it’d result in one of the most refreshing experiences one could hope to garner — short of splurging a chartered commoner’s daily wages on a wakeup berry. On the other hand though, it ran the risk of doing the complete opposite — draining my energy like a five-course lap through scalding heat and oppressive humidity.

…

RING-A-DING-DING-DING!

RING-A-DING-DING-DING!

Today’s nap… proved to be the latter experience.

Which meant an even worse first impression as the guild commander stormed in, expecting to see everyone at the ready within a moment’s notice.

Torches were quickly lit by the man’s one gift — the power of flame.

A feat that reminded me of the first days of my eldest brother’s magical manifestation, and the look on the faces of my parents that followed his sudden and inexplicable combustion of one of our hay piles.

The loud stomps of hardened mana-steel boots on solid cobblestone were more than enough to pull me out of that reverie however, as the guild commander marched onwards, nodding at each trainee until he landed on me.

“Garna Sul.” He began in a stern tone of voice. “Do you mind explaining to me what exactly I am looking at?” The ‘elf’ gestured towards my soaked bed, garnering more than a few chuckles from the opposite row of trainees.

“The boy must’ve had a bad dream, sir.” A sharp and dismissive voice emerged from the far corner of the room, belonging to a female elf of about the same age as me. “He’s probably scared shitless of yesterday’s lectures on dungeon beasts, leading him to—”

“Tirvas Sul—” The guild commander’s voice boomed out, practically shutting the elf up in her tracks. “—if I hear one more word from you throughout this entire day, I will not hesitate to do a little reshuffling of assigned sleeping arrangements.” The man warned, stomping his feet in the process. “Do I make myself clear?”

A nervous gulp and a nod later was enough for the man to disengage, as he turned to face me once more.

This morning… was definitely one of the worst ones yet…

… 

And it was only just beginning.

As immediately after morning inspection, came the grueling task of ‘earning our keep’.

This came in the form of a whole host of menial chores.

And unlike the homes of the nobility and aristocracy, and heck, even those chartered or licensed commoners who could afford it — we didn’t have the same options of simply whisking away our problems at the tip of a wand or at the clinking of coins.

So, the morning routine commenced, with cleaning beginning in our barracks, before moving out and into the central courtyard comprising both the communal training grounds and the private garden of the other two-winged grand building connected to our own — a bank if I recall.

It made sense for them to occupy the other half of this grand structure though.

Since nobody in their right mind would dare to attack something literally connected to an adventuring guild.

These random and errant thoughts came in and out of my mind, keeping it busy as I tried my best to deflect any teasing jabs that came my way. 

The elf may have been scared into silence, but the rest of the trainees didn’t have the same encumbrance after all.

This oppressive routine continued all the way into dawnbreak, following which, we moved swiftly to the training grounds — meeting our assigned adventurer-tutor for the day.

The man in question… definitely didn’t look like anything special. As I quickly recognized him as one of the more shabbily dressed adventurers who struck me as barely lesser slime-class, but was surprisingly a gryphon-class.

The shatorealmer also carried his lute with him, seemingly more interested in his bardic endeavors, which definitely gave me pause for thought as to what he’d actually be teaching us. 

This lack of confidence in the shatorealmer was quickly reflected amongst the rest of the group, as whispers and hushed breaths began their war of gossip against a man who looked more at home at a tavern than in an adventuring guild.

“That’s… what’s his face from the Sym’s Troubleshooters or whatever right?”

“Yes, and I can only imagine why he was chosen as today’s ‘volunteer tutor’.”

“Today was supposed to be taught by Lord Millias. There’s no doubt in my mind that the Vunerian just up and sold his slot to this guy.”

“Can’t blame him really. He’s top-tier. Why’d he want to waste his time with us? Selling compulsory public service slots isn’t against the rules, so you should’ve expected this.”

“Yeah, I guess… but this is the third week in a row that we’ve gotten these crappy tutors.”

“My kind have a natural gift, you know.” The man suddenly spoke up, ‘flexing’ those elongated ears in order to prove his point, causing the would-be gossipers to immediately shut up. “So, first lesson for today — if in doubt, keep your mouths shut. Never underestimate just how far reaching the eyes and ears of your enemies really are.” 

He promptly brought out his lute following that lesson, as we looked out at the small track, and the various sticks planted equidistant to one another, going all the way from one end of the small courtyard to the other. 

“You all may be wondering exactly what this setup is. So I’ll tell ya. This is what I like to call the pacer test — a multistage endurance capacity test that gets increasingly harder the longer it goes. The running speed will start slowly, but it’ll get faster and faster with each strum of my lute. I expect all of you to complete a single lap every time you hear this sound—”

He paused, strumming his lute and generating an admittedly pleasant tune. 

“—, also, remember to run in a straight line, don’t deviate from it, and run far as far and as long as you can. If you fail to complete a lap before the sound, then you’re out. So! With that out of the way, let’s begin.” He turned to everyone expectantly, as everyone began lining up behind their respective lines. 

“Line up at the start, kids, let’s get a move on!” The adventurer urged. “Alright! On your mark. Get set!” He paused for some twisted sense of comedy, spotting the few who’d been antsy enough to step just ahead of the starting line. “Aaaand start!” 

… 

Twenty… I was… on lap… twenty…

And the pace just… kept… increasing.

With only ten more trainees left, there was no shame in stopping now.

Though thankfully, I wouldn’t need to dwell on the dilemma of the dishonor of quitting for long—

FWEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!

—as the guild-commander’s ear-splitting whistle brought the man-bat’s exercises to an abrupt halt.

“Alright, that’s unexpected.” The shatorealmer admitted. Though there was little in the way of hesitation as he shooed us along to the beck and call of the guild commander. “Alright you lot, off to the guild commander then! We’ll resume this when you come back!” 

The entirety of the trainee corps began sprinting out of the central courtyards, through the currently-empty halls of the guild, and towards the source of that whistle.

Though what awaited us was certainly something none of us were at all expecting.

In fact, I couldn’t help but to gawk at the unexpected visitors in front of the guild commander.

As each of them, despite being almost exactly our age, bore signs — both obvious and subtle — of a heritage far above what any of us could ever dream of ever mingling with.

From the modest yet gripping authority of the avinor’s uniform, to the raw and unbridled wealth radiating from the Vunerian’s tunic and cape, to the combination of the martial and royal aesthetic of the lupinor, whose crown made it clear exactly who he was — this group was definitely not the average sort of quest-giver you’d find walking into the guild on a typical day. 

However, that alone wasn’t the only thing that was unexpected or off.

As a heavy, almost unnerving presence began itching away at my periphery. 

A shiver ran down my spine once, twice, then three times, before that itch started to wax and wane with every beat of my heart.

“What is your command, guild-commander, sir?” Our group leader began addressing the guild commander, almost pulling me out of my reverie, but not really.

As that constant, unnerving presence continued to wear down on me, urging my anxious struggles in determining the source of this aberration.

It was then, after a few moments of recovering from that disorientation, that I finally realized what it was.

Or rather, who it was, that was causing this stomach-churning feeling.

The blue-armored golem. 

Or at least, what I’d initially assumed to be a golem of some type, belonging to one of these three members of the upper crust of society.

Because if their twitching and movements were of any indication, this definitely wasn’t your typical golem.

Nor could a golem turn to nod approvingly at their master.

No, this… was definitely a person in an expensive suit of armor.

A suit of armor that completely hid, clouded, or did something to the mana around them. 

As a near void of nothingness stood there, breaking and blocking the rich and vibrant auras of the three nobles around them. 

“Bring those gifts inside, and set them in the Great Hall.”

“Yes, sir! Alright adventurers! Let’s get to it!” Arla, the trainee leader, finally brought me back just enough from that state of mind; my body quickly going straight into golem mode as I mindlessly grabbed the trays of pastries from the bakers assembled in front of the hall.

This was because my eyes, and indeed, my manasight, remained transfixed on that blue armored stranger; my mind completely overtaken by the oddity of this… being.

And it was clear that those with as keen as a manasight as myself, were doing the exact same thing, albeit with a bit more discretion than me. 

“That’s the mercenary prince…” Loris’ spoke softly towards me, just as we got out of earshot of the star-studded group and the guild commander. “... or a mercenary prince at least. I think there’s like three of them? Two sisters and three brothers from what I heard.” The kobold continued, his tone of voice practically starstruck. 

“There’s also a midlands noble out there.” Another voice perked up next to us. “So be careful.” The elf warned. 

“Avinor too. I count three colors. If Adventurer Tuvi Thanal’s explanations were anything to go by, that means she’s someone high up.” Someone else perked up, as we began placing the dishes on the long tables of the dining hall.

“I count five colors. Blue, green, yellow, but also black and white. Don’t forget, black and white are colors too. So she’s royalty.” Loris corrected, prompting some more murmurs to erupt amongst us, interrupted only by the arrival of Arla, who hurried us along to complete this relatively simple task.

“Will you stop gushing over the arrival of Prince Havenbrock?! Yes, he’s a prince. Yes, he’s the mercenary prince. But he won’t be providing any leniency or clemency if we don’t prove our worth! Now move it!” Arla commanded sharply, prompting all of us to nod to varying degrees of annoyance and frustration.

It didn’t take me too long to rush back to the front of the guild hall though, but the same couldn’t be said about my attempts at lingering near the row of bakers, as I couldn’t stop but to gawk at the blue armored stranger.

Their presence continued to bother my senses, as despite being able to clearly see them, their lack of a presence in the manastreams outright clashed with my expectations.

… 

10 Minutes Later.

… 

With the morning training canceled as a result of our impromptu table setting duties, this gave me time to partake in the same gossip I had been a victim of just an hour ago.

But that was only because the topic at hand was moving towards the subject of my newfound fascination.

Or at least, I was intending for it to move in that direction.

Because right now, all the gossip boiled down to surface-level fawning over the admittedly second most interesting member of this noble troupe.

“I cannot believe Mercenary Prince Thalmin of all people is here!” Jortil, a female satytr, spoke with a twinkle in her eyes. 

“We have to be a part of whatever quest he’ll be posting for the guild!” Another elf quickly chimed in, earning the nods of about half of our group.

“He’s much much more impressive than what the rumors have led me to believe. Oh I wish the Crown hadn’t been so heavy-handed in their destruction of the Havenbrockian sight-seers. I wish I was alive when those experiences were still on public showing. I would’ve gladly saved up an entire month’s worth of coin to see the legend of the mercenary royal family’s zeal!” Jortil continued, prompting me to step in before the group devolved further into mindless chatter.

“Haven’t any of you noticed the odd presence of the blue armored stranger amidst the group?” I quickly interjected, garnering the annoyed gazes of everyone on table-setting duties.

“You mean the golem?” The satyr responded with an annoyed huff.

“I thought it was their knight-servant? Though… come to think of it, the fact that they’re sitting next to royalty, probably means they’re like, another student or something.”

“Student or not, what’s so odd about them, Garna?” Jortil finally shot me a level-eyed look of frustration.

“Don’t you feel it? Or… more accurately, the lack of it? The emptiness? The void that the armored stranger casts wherever they go?” I finally asked, causing many amongst the group to either furrow their brows or to cock their heads.

“No?” A few voices responded, prompting me to elaborate.

“The manastreams. The armored stranger is actively… parting them, like an island in the middle of a river, or a weir in a canal. It’s… odd.” 

“Maybe you oughta give that manasight of yours a rest, Garna.” The satyr shot back with a shrug. “‘Cause I don’t see, feel, or sense anything. Which probably means you’re just thinking too much about nothing.”

“But I—”

“We know you’re related to a chosen one, and that translates to a little bit of a boost to your manasight. But not everything has to be about ‘oohhhh I sense something strange!’ or ‘ooooh! Pick me pick me! I’m oh-so special at sensing aberrations in the manastreams!’. The armored stranger is probably just a weakfielder. That’s it.” Jortil shot back dismissively, garnering a scoff from Loris who butted in with another elf. 

“Garna’s right this time around.” The kobold urged. “There’s… a little something off about the armored stranger. Now, I don’t have the best manasight in the Nexus, but if you focus in on the stranger, you’ll start noticing how they feel less like a failed golem-mancy project, and more like a magic-proof wall.” 

“And just how many magic-proof walls have you actually seen in person, Loris?” Jortil countered, causing the kobold to suddenly lose their debate-footing.

“I… that’s beside the point!”

“No, it really isn’t. So stop trying to defend Garna’s attempts at acting all self-important.”

“Indeed, let’s stop trying to do that, and let’s also stop fawning over the mercenary prince.” Arla finally stepped in, walking in from the main hall with purpose. “You all should know better than to hope for a spur-of-the-moment elopement. This is real life, not a fanciful tale of royal uplifting. You’ll find that the mercenary prince more than likely already has someone back in Havenbrock waiting for him.” 

“WHAT?!” Jortil, and about half of the group reflexively responded, prompting Arla to grin in a smug self-satisfied chuckle. 

“Or so I’ve heard. In any case, the guild commander wants one of us to deliver the group some welcome drinks and snacks. Garna, you’re up.” The elf turned to me with an authoritative nod.

“Wait, what—?”

“Given the royal fever that’s beset our troupe, it’s clear that there’s only one person I can trust to not fuck this up. So go on, arrange a platter and deliver our royal guests some food fit for nobility.” The elf interjected.

“B-but, Arla, sir. I’m not beset by the royal fever!” Loris pleaded. “Why are you choosing Garna?”

“Because you’re a lost cause, Loris.” The man shot back, not holding back a single punch. “Remember the last time you were given food-delivery duties?”

All eyes landed on Loris, as he simply sighed and shrugged, not refuting the kobold cake incident that’d ruined his kitchen duties for a full three months straight. 

I nodded in acknowledgement, grabbing hold of one of the fancy silver and gold food towers, as I stuffed each and every level with as many pastries and cakes I could manage.

Each of them looked beyond delectable, as I could understand exactly why Loris had fallen into temptation all those months ago. 

GURGLE!

It was even worse when I was practically starving though. 

However, I could take solace in knowing that this would all be over in a few hours.

Breakfast was often whatever were the leftovers from the previous night, given to us after the adventurers’ breakfast, as was tradition.

I was used to it by now.

But the cakes and pastries just reintroduced salt into a wound that should’ve already been closed.

The bitter-lemon tarts and freshly-baked tomato and olive bread emanated a powerful aroma, one that was sweet and savory, herby and buttery with even saltiness somehow traveling from just scent alone. A little bit of char completed the perfect assault on the senses, as I realized that they never seemed to go cold, even after all this time. 

Damn expensive food is probably enchanted to hell and back. I thought to myself, silently fighting the urge to just take one of the treats.

Alas, I was not here to eat.

I had a role to play, just like everyone else.

And I chose this role, so I had no one to blame but myself for this.

My heart started racing as I made my way towards the group of royals and nobles. 

Though immediately star struck by the lupinor, and put into a state of fear by the Vunerian — especially as he threw a dismissive statement my way — I couldn’t help but to also feel that same heavy dread wafting over me as I finally put down the tower of tasty delights.

I didn’t know whether to focus on the food, or on the armored stranger.

However, it was clear fate would decide this for me.

As a sharp gurgle of my stomach seemed to interrupt the royal conversation, prompting the stranger to bear down their unflinching gaze onto me.

“Hey.” They began, a commanding tone of voice complementing the imposing and dread-inducing armor. 

I felt my soul practically leaving my body at that point, as I stayed in place like a podgy pa at a crossroads, unable to move for fear of retribution at breaking the first golden rule of servitude — never be seen, and never be heard.

I readied myself for the worst, clenching my fists tight, and anticipating the punishment to come.

“You hungry?” She continued, her tone of voice changing almost immediately, though still maintaining that authoritarian noble-speak that just felt… off from the tone being used.

I finally turned to face her, my face filled with disbelief and worry. 

“I… I’m sorry, my lady?” I managed out through a stutter.

“It is a simple question, are you hungry or are you not? You have only dispensed with morning exercises, I imagine? I do not imagine you have had time to eat.” 

There was… concern in that tone of voice. Concern, like what you’d find from a friend or a member of family. Concern, that most definitely shouldn’t be coming from a noble of all people. 

“Y-yes, my lady. Y-you’re correct.” I responded nervously, bowing deeply so as to prevent the incurring of a noble’s wrath.

Because she very well could just be toying with me.

“Then here.” The armored noble offered, extending the very plate I’d just stacked high with baked goods I could only hope of affording. “By all means.” She spoke with what I could only describe as an uplifting, almost sweet tone of voice. One that seemed to compensate for the helmet, hinting at a smile beneath it.

Or at least, that’s where my overactive imagination went.

Because I was sure this was some sort of test. Some twisted form of entertainment. This had to be.

Nobles just didn’t do these sorts of things without rhyme or reason. 

“I… I cannot fathom taking—”

“Taking from guests? Well, please reconsider your perspective here. I am not hungry myself. So why would I simply let good food go to waste?” The noble spoke, before outright shoving the plate into my hands.

The twist in my expectations sent me into a spiral of emotions.

However, the most powerful of them all, was the mention of waste. 

It… simply was something I never imagined to be present within a noble’s vocabulary. 

And I most certainly wasn’t expecting her to actually act upon it.

“T-thank you, my lady!” I performed several bows, each one more frantic than the last, before returning to the dining hall. 

There, I was faced with the expectant and confused gazes of the entirety of the trainee corps.

“What was he like?”

“Did Prince Havenbrock notice you?”

“Did he mention anything about us?” 

“What did that armored noble say to you?”

“And why do you have a tray of noble food in your hands, Garna?” 

I refused to answer the first three questions.

However, I had the perfect answer for the latter two, as I wordlessly grabbed one of the delectable pastries… and simply shoved the whole thing in my mouth.

…

I found my world being assaulted by a tidal wave of flavors I never even knew existed.

From rich butter, to earthy mushrooms, to… strange floral, herby… indescribable savoriness; and an aroma that pierced into my nose like a slap to the face.

However, I also found myself assaulted by something else — a sea of shocked gasps, and a clamoring for answers… eventually evolving into a free-for-all for my plate.