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❀ info + lore dump
PLAYER
NAME: Nilla
CONTACT: PM preferred for people from Bakerstreet!
ACTIVE TIMES/PACE: uhhhhh I'm slow as shit I'm sorry.
BRACKETS/PROSE: brackets, but either!
OFFENSIVE SUBJECTS & TRIGGERS: please avoid yandere tropes, descriptive gore, and discussion of burning buildings
CONTACT: PM preferred for people from Bakerstreet!
ACTIVE TIMES/PACE: uhhhhh I'm slow as shit I'm sorry.
BRACKETS/PROSE: brackets, but either!
OFFENSIVE SUBJECTS & TRIGGERS: please avoid yandere tropes, descriptive gore, and discussion of burning buildings
OUT OF CHARACTER
BACKTAGGING: yes please and thank you
THREADHOPPING: in general yes? just please get permission from the other players, and avoid threadhopping into a serious thread.
FOURTHWALLING: no
NOT INTERESTED IN: threads where she actually kills someone
THREADHOPPING: in general yes? just please get permission from the other players, and avoid threadhopping into a serious thread.
FOURTHWALLING: no
NOT INTERESTED IN: threads where she actually kills someone
FIRST IMPRESSIONS
VISUAL: a girl around 5'3"/163 cm with purple hair and eyes, wearing a dress with bone, flower, and butterfly motifs
AURAL: soft-spoken, gentle, almost whispery. English VA (Melody Muze) line compilation | Chinese, English, Japanese, and Korean voice comparison
OLFACTORY: she smells strongly of flowers
DEMEANOUR: withdrawn within herself, keeping her distance from others and her hands often tucked in front of her body. tends to observe from afar opposed to interact with things directly
AURAL: soft-spoken, gentle, almost whispery. English VA (Melody Muze) line compilation | Chinese, English, Japanese, and Korean voice comparison
OLFACTORY: she smells strongly of flowers
DEMEANOUR: withdrawn within herself, keeping her distance from others and her hands often tucked in front of her body. tends to observe from afar opposed to interact with things directly
IN CHARACTER
PHYSICAL AFFECTION: she has a touch that kills living beings on contact, so she is extremely avoidant when it comes to touch. but at the same time, she's incredibly touch-starved and desperately wants a hug. so basically it's complicated
PHYSICAL VIOLENCE: Y
RELATIONSHIPS: Y - my favorite canon ships are her with the Trailblazer, Mydei, Aglaea, Phainon, and Cipher, but I'm down for anything! including cross-canon!!
PSYCHIC & PSIONIC INFORMATION:
MAGICAL INFORMATION: she has a deadly aura to go along with her deadly touch. It's usually suppressed, but she's able to activate it at will, causing anything within five paces to enter a trance where they feel like they're being swallowed by darkness and unease.
MEDICAL INFORMATION:
OFFENSIVE SUBJECTS & TRIGGERS:
PHYSICAL VIOLENCE: Y
RELATIONSHIPS: Y - my favorite canon ships are her with the Trailblazer, Mydei, Aglaea, Phainon, and Cipher, but I'm down for anything! including cross-canon!!
PSYCHIC & PSIONIC INFORMATION:
MAGICAL INFORMATION: she has a deadly aura to go along with her deadly touch. It's usually suppressed, but she's able to activate it at will, causing anything within five paces to enter a trance where they feel like they're being swallowed by darkness and unease.
MEDICAL INFORMATION:
OFFENSIVE SUBJECTS & TRIGGERS:
☆ code by kimmiserate ☆
🦋 AS I'VE WRITTEN
▶ SERVANT OF DEATH: CASTORICE
She passed through Aidonia and souls wailed in her palms, yet there was no hatred in those sounds.
Is glory equally priced to death? To seek this answer, she never stopped her steps.
After a journey that lasted a millennium, she still does not know where her corpse should call home.
▶ i. twirling in fallen bloom
I see a sword that grants death,
A shackle of destiny,
Next to the silver-haired girl,
Worshiped at the demise's hallow.
The sword stained with unknown blood, lying shattered and snapped.
The shackle chained pale wrists, dotted in thickening rust.
The priest asks with a shaking voice—
Upon whose fingertips will the butterfly perch?
The girl never answers,
Like death itself, wreathed in silent solemnity.
1-2
People often say that,
Dying is to meet the palm of the Hand of Shadow,
And dreaming is to be brushed by their fingers a little.
In the mirages when the girl petted death,
She sees black waterfalls foaming and bellow,
Pouring down from a chasm in the sky,
Where a solitary tower withstands torrents sallow.
When she wakes, she can still feel the water's freezing touch,
And the cacophony's billow—
Like the wail of the dead, the howl of beasts,
In confusion, delirium, and clamors hollow.
1-3
The girl's embrace is not meant for the living.
Thousands have entered the eternal sleep in her arms,
Granting to the dead solace and dignity.
She mentions a ferocious warrior, feared in battle...
"She did not go with a smile, but to me, she cursed—"
"O, life's end! How ugly you are! How despicable!"
And from that day on, she adorned herself.
Her dress, white as a radiant moon,
Became always dotted with flowery petals.
"For if death cannot be avoided..."
So says the girl,
"I wish it could contain beauty more plentiful."
1-4
Among the manifold rites about death,
The ones she knows with most intimacy are burial rites.
One burial of unfamiliar countenance after another wherever she presided,
From the angelic visage of a babe passed in the cradle,
To the despairing eyes of the mother drowning in sorrow.
From the scars on a war-battered general's torso,
To the unending tears pouring from his bereft widow.
Yet she remembers not a single living human she had seen,
Even in the mirror, she thinks her own face strange, with an alien glow.
In the countless words buried in forgetfulness,
The only thing she manages to gleam is a mockery to fate, a sarcastic whistle—
"Stay alive."
1-5
When she cast aside the shackles and stepped beyond Aidonia,
A déjà vu most violent seizes her whole.
Did she, perchance, conduct some previous escape?
Illusions dance across her eyes—
She had once drifted in an endless river,
Then drove her single boat out of the deluge.
She had wandered in the battlefield covered in corpses,
Then recovered the path back to life.
Why must she escape? Over and over again?
She now knows the answer and quivers, for it is a ludicrous surmise—
The woman embodying death walks this world,
Only because she knows she must stay alive.
But alas—
At that time, she knows not,
That death is not the end.
It is only a butterfly landing on a withered branch.
Utterly meaningless. Profoundly trite.
▶ ii. willing to adorn the living
Born with an evil curse,
Her hand dips into lethal cinnabar and white lead,
To personally decorate the faces of the dead.
Her skills are said to bestow beauty on anyone,
Even transforming their appearance completely.
2-2
Many skills were born out of her seclusion,
But it painted her dwelling in a gloomy vision —
Only a select few have set foot in this mansion,
And the thief and the weaver were two such lucky persons.
The girl converses with all items in the house...
With specimens, tea sets, and even pillows in profusion,
As if she can hear the responses of these non-living things.
"I have always lived in isolation..."
"Out of courtesy, this is how I practice my words and actions."
Tis hard to believe her explanation —
Her face when talking shows such a gentle disposition,
That unless she is telling fabrications,
She must regard her partners as mere children.
2-3
People passed these rumors down —
within the area of her encirclement,
All things became frozen,
escaping time's increments.
It is an exaggeration, that is certain.
People only found an ancient lion's head in battle's ruined armaments.
"Those words are true."
The head itself was nearly dead.
"Though they won in fierce battle,
the warriors were powerless to turn the tide."
"It was the embrace where death dwelled
that gave early release from their pain."
This is how Death escapes Time —
She keeps every final embrace,
Hidden in her immortal heart.
2-4
Out of her numerous works,
Butterflies and flowers often stand out stark —
Ignite them, and you can almost hear the maker's remark.
Even in death's silence,
Her sound can still be heard.
It is a gift greatly treasured by the maiden,
Few have the honor to be graced with such work.
Only one has the heart to burn such a gift,
And the reason she gives is rather far-fetched —
"I must peer into all fates unknown."
2-5
The power of time is boundless,
but there is one thing it cannot conquer.
"Death is abominable in humans' eyes."
"Apart from my identity, there's nothing about me worthy of praise."
The beloved Goldweaver hears this in distress,
Then tries to teach her the art of weaving and threads.
It has been said that the maiden has works that the holy city possesses.
But this is the judgment the Goldweaver expresses —
"... Ah, well, none can know all things, nor be skilled in all crafts."
"Her works are too early for the living to comprehend."
▶ iii. with a heart unwithered
To the dead, when she bids farewell,
She casts the slate into the fire, an act futile.
I have never heard of lands with such customs.
At this time, something drizzles down the slate,
Full of colors,
seemingly tears for the Reaper of chills.
It turns out the slate is inscribed with poems,
And every phrase
Is diligently colored with skill.
"Before people pass away,
I write down these poems."
That is the limit of the girl's answer —
And she only responds with silence
for requests to read these poems.
3-2
As time goes, she finally opens her petal-veiled heart,
And the reason behind her reluctance to show her work is finally clear:
"My poems are still too green... Not worthy to be art."
— It stems from the girl's shame and discomfort.
It seems the girl once also loved to imagine with effort,
And many wild tales were written on her part.
A misunderstanding was what made her cease this art.
It was a pair of archenemies who gained fame in the war,
One of them burst into laughter after reading the girl's poetic words —
"He and I clearly wish to kill and tear each other apart."
"But in your eyes, you think we are close, unable to part?"
3-3
She did not write poetry as a pastime.
It is said that she left great works under hundreds of names.
In different times,
She even criticized her previous beliefs,
Making her identity even harder to assume.
I still found her weakness
After many twists and turns —
No matter how fickle her thoughts,
She never lost faith, in those words,
Regarding the value of fragile mortal lives.
She is heartbreaking and enchanting,
She is the fingertips of death,
And the ghost of love and poetry.
3-4
However, those poems have brought her many complaints —
The poems that her hands composed,
All lack an ending of any kind,
And the maid of death has no desire to continue them.
"This is truly difficult to write..."
The girl excuses herself,
"My duty is to lead the living to the end."
"I cannot think of a fitting end for a poem to the dead."
Such is the epitome of lies —
One who's grown used to death,
Remains inexperienced with farewells.
3-5
Therefore, I extend her an invitation —
In this story belonging to herself,
She can leave an ending reserved only for her.
"...What she brings is not only death."
She thus replied
When we first met.
And when we meet once again for the last time,
She again deliberates over this closing statement —
"Apart from death, there is something else
That is worth remembering."
That is the journey she walked.
▶ iv. when the wind was warm
The two girls frolicked in the wheat fields,
Fleet as doe deer,
Making ripples in the shallow puddles and pools clear.
As dusk approaches,
The exhausted girls collapse over the wheat heaps,
Talking about their longings and dreams:
Of literature, love, and a journey through a world dear.
"O Sky, slow your closing gaze,
How I want to keep this moment in my hands,
Forevermore."
On that day, the breeze was warm and gentle.
At that time, death was soft and fair.
4-2
The broken-winged butterfly falls by the window,
Bringing with it a scent of melancholy.
The girl looks outside,
The golden wheat fields rolled endlessly, stretching to the horizon.
Holding to the chair, she tries to stand,
Only to find her legs trembling and feeble.
"Don't worry, Polyxia."
Her older sister whispers beside her ear,
And on her sister's shoulder, the girl weeps mournfully.
And time thus becomes silent,
Painted with sighs only.
4-3
When hearing the healer's diagnosis,
The girl remained deathly still.
Her eyes were already drained of tears,
And her heart a wilted grave.
"Every time she has something on her mind,
She would tilt her head and look outside."
Her sister follows her gaze,
Seeing a barren field turned by wind into a desolate gray expanse.
Till one day,
When the girl looks outside,
She sees a dash of dark blue most brave.
"It's a flower my sister planted."
Like the torrential river of life,
It pours into the depths of her heart.
4-4
The flower is called "Antila,"
Even in the nether land, it's rumored to thrive.
"You are the quiet in my heart amidst the chaotic choreography."
That seems to be its floriography.
When the days are warm,
The sister would take the girl on long journeys.
Through the flower fields, gazing upon rivers,
Napping amongst the grove, a discussion hearty.
"After I die, I want to become an Antila flower,
And become the quietness in your soul."
A thoughtless word from the girl,
Gains her a rapping on her forehead most dainty.
"Do not speak of dusk when you have yet to see the dawn."
Dew drops from the petals,
As wind pulls on the leaves,
And the two of them sit, in quietude.
4-5
The girl asks for the means to tend to the garden,
And while her sister sounds concerned,
Her heart is relieved.
But the concern is well-founded —
The girl tripped and fell into a mire,
She gazed directly into the eyes of death,
In that dark pool bottom unperceived.
"I've been the weight upon my sister's wings...
Let this be where it all comes to rest."
The girl gives up her struggles,
Only to see a figure pierce through the water's surface —
"I won't allow you to walk through the dusk alone,
Or enter the night of no reprieve."
Her sister sobs without end,
And the girl has to gently hug her, and softly relieve.
...And then, this distant memory turns bleary, difficult to retrieve.
▶ v. upstream along the river of souls
The River of Souls flows to the other side, wrapped in the land's night,
Broad, slow, an eternal and silent sight.
It belongs to all in this world that has life,
All of which flows downstream, converging as one.
The master of the nether realm, Thanatos,
Enshrouds themself and the souls within the Moon Cocoon.
The dragon, born from the cocoon, carries a girl,
soaring upstream the River of Souls, defying its eternal flow.
Their connection flows tighter than blood,
And the key that opens the netherworld's gates,
Is the sister's selfish plight.
Back then, the boreal winds cut through to the bone.
Back then, death was a bitter and stabbing fright.
5-2
In the nether realm without an earth or sky,
A flower named Antila blooms,
its beauty witnessed by but one soul.
"You are the quiet in my heart amidst the chaotic choreography."
The younger sister scores through the blooming Antila fields,
Never finding that promised dark blue sprig.
She silently made up her mind.
"Death. Leave all your dark nights to me,
And save the dawns for her."
The younger sister gazes at the Moon Cocoon high above,
And plans a trip to the mortal realm, a distant flurry.
5-3
A bard once sung to musical notes:
"Do not turn back. O do not turn back.
The long hand of shadow will retain the dead behind their gates."
The giant dragon born from the Moon Cocoon
Willingly offered itself as the enduring barge of the River of Souls.
"No need to turn back. Oh, no need to turn back.
That price had long been paid for you by someone else."
The dragon lowers its long neck,
And places the girl on its back.
In slumber, she will unknowingly greet
The dawn of her rebirth.
5-4
The dragon flaps its wings,
In the chilly gloom of the floating dead, upstream.
Ferrying from purity into grime,
Going from silence into roaring boom.
The souls of countless poets flounder past,
Their distant rhymes endless like foams:
"Do not turn back.
For to look toward the land of mortals, is in itself turning back."
In this pale dawn,
The sun's first rays light the night ablaze.
So the dragon crosses the Sea of Souls,
Onto the shores of life, and strands itself in the gleam.
5-5
We know not where
These stories arise.
They are scattered across the shallows with the waves.
The confession the girl made before her departure,
Still echoes in the tides' heaves.
"If there is anything for me to leave behind,
May it find a soul to remember.
This is the ode of my life,
And I've already penned my last stroke."
▶ δ-me13.exe ENTRIES
▶ Experiment Progress: Eternal Recurrence > Electrical Signal Sequence (Active) > EpieiKeia216
Note: Highly suppresses deviant behavior. Decisions are based on the principle of minimal disturbance.
In the later stages of iteration, the Death Titan, as a single entity, split into symmetrical selves, becoming two factors. In this cycle, however, the two factors experienced profound identity divergence. The threshold of Equilibrium was breached and tipped toward Destruction.
▶ Experiment Progress: Error Log > Observational Record of Electronic Signals' Hostile Behaviors
In Light Calendar 4123, "Castorice" ascended to demigod. Its mobility permissions were removed and became fused with "Coordinate: Nether Realm."
At the end of that recursive loop, "Castorice," through her resonance with Destruction, perceived Trailblazer deep within the Memory Zone during her slumber, and took the initiative to shield their memories from the erosion of the data stream.
▶ Mailbox.exe ENTRIES
▶ blooming season: letters to the nether realm
"The dragon's here, the dragon's here again...!"
The skies of Okhema suddenly darkened as the Netherwing's massive silhouette circled above the Marmoreal Market, blocking out the sun. With powerful wingbeats, it descended upon Kephale Plaza, unleashing an earth-shattering roar. The residents frantically rushed back to their homes, retrieving items they had prepared in advance. This had clearly become the holy city's newest custom, as people eagerly crowded around the Netherwing, afraid of being left behind.
"Please give me a Mortis flower! In exchange, please take this candlelight to Lady Castorice on the other shore!"
"Me too! I'd like a few bunches of Antila flowers to decorate my little shop. In return, I'll give you some seasonal fruits. They're super fresh, just harvested a few days ago!"
The Netherwing lifted its wings, revealing two large flower baskets tucked beneath. The Holy City Guards did their best to maintain order, but they couldn't hold back the enthusiastic residents. In no time at all, the flowers carried by the Netherwing were "exchanged" completely, with satisfied residents departing while the baskets were filled to the brim with gifts from the holy city's inhabitants for the demigod of Death.
After their busy work, Guardians Zeph and Mnemosyne let out a long sigh and gently patted the Netherwing's neck. "Every time you come, it's such a grand spectacle... You've really outdone yourself, Miss Polyxia."
A gentle purr resonated from the Netherwing's throat. It shrugged its neck, shaking loose several letters from beneath its plated scales.
"Miss Castorice's letter from the netherworld... still as weighty as ever, I see. Oh right, there's only one reply letter for Miss Castorice this time, please keep it safe, Miss Polyxia."
The guards tucked the delicate letter behind the neck of Netherwing, who gently nuzzled the two before slowly taking flight, circling above the Marmoreal Market for a moment, before flying off toward Styxia.
The far shore of the River of Souls remained as tranquil as ever.
Yet it was not only the azure Antila that bloomed here. Beneath the gentle radiance of the Moon Cocoon, the sea of multi-colored iridescent flowers spread like a vast, warm embrace, tenderly cradling the slowly descending Netherwing.
At the center of the sea of flowers, a girl in white ran toward Netherwing. She was the owner of the flower shop "Spring of the Underworld." "Welcome back, Polyxia!" She wrapped her arms around Netherwing's neck. "...You've brought back so many things again this time. Thank you so much."
Netherwing rumbled softly.
"Let me see what replies my companions sent me... Huh, only one letter?"
The girl stared blankly at the letter in her hands. Netherwing softly nudged her shoulder, urging her to open it.
"In this letter... there's just a group photo taken with a photostone. It's wrapped in golden thread. It must be Lady Aglaea's..."
The moment she touched the golden thread, a vision suddenly stirred within her mind. The Chrysos Heirs had gathered in the Marmoreal Palace, and the white-haired youth at the front cleared his throat. "Thanks to Professor Anaxa and Lady Aglaea's joint research, the 'letter' this time not only lets Lady Castorice hear our voices, but also see our faces. Everyone, have you decided what you want to tell her?"
The haughty scholar was the first to speak. "The alchemy matrix to reach the underworld is nearly complete, Castorice. You may await the good news..."
"Our Great Performer is indeed a genius, if only he would speak with a little less swagger. Cas, I asked someone to drop off some clothes for you. The nether realm is cold, and even as a demigod, you need to take care of yourself," said the blonde weaver.
"Alright, my turn. Castorice, here's something fun: Mydei lost to me two weeks in a row. Next time, bring me a bunch of yellow and purple hyacinths. I remember the flower's meaning is 'try again after failure'..."
"...According to the records in my family's great library, yellow and purple hyacinths mean 'to concede defeat.'"
The girl burst out laughing. Then Hyacine, Tribbie, Chartonus... all those familiar faces left their precious images. She had never imagined she could read a letter this way.
Netherwing laid down at the girl's side, silently watching her joys and tears, just like it had done in a distant past, blurred and half-forgotten in memory.
The visions woven into the golden thread slowly faded into silence. The girl leaned against the giant dragon, clutching the photo to her chest as the west wind stirred waves across the sea of flowers.
"Polyxia, let's plant more flowers. The Flame-Chase isn't over yet... maybe one day, my companions will come here."
"When that day comes, it will be an embrace after a long parting, and this gentle sea of flowers will be my truest blessing."
▶ farewell, all you master chefs
"Grand Chrysos... is unparalleled!"
Cipher tossed a red banner onto the table. "Found this outside the shop."
All eyes turned to the deliverer of the kitchen. Phainon flailed his hands in protest. "Guys, you know me, if it were me..."
"It would've been a purple-and-gold banner. So it wasn't you." Cipher cut him off, flipping the banner over. Everyone leaned closer, only to find a line of small print on the back: "But if foes come from beyond the sky... can you still hold onto first place?"
Signed... "Astral Food Express."
"This is a challenge letter."
The room fell silent. Not long ago, the master chefs had fended off the conservative food critic group, the "Council of Cheddars," and later defeated the gourmet Intellitron, "Sacred Glutton" Lycurgus. Grand Chrysos was riding high, and challenger chefs flocked to its doors, yet none had prevailed.
"But the 'Astral Food Express'... is clearly not like those petty rivals." Aglaea began to explain the challengers from beyond the sky to everyone. Rumor had it they traveled the stars aboard a peerless food truck, creating a Star Rail Map of astral routes that linked every culinary tradition across the cosmos.
"We have no reason to refuse!" Phainon clutched the banner tight. "This is a priceless chance to share the true essence of cooking with master chefs from beyond the sky...!"
Castorice, who had stayed silent for a long time, lifted her head. "Lord Phainon is right. Becoming a chef... means offering all of yourself up to satisfy the taste buds of others."
"In the Kremnos family's dictionary, too, there is no word for fear."
Seeing the fire rekindled in their eyes, Aglaea nodded with quiet satisfaction. "I'll help you prepare everything. Perhaps, it's time to visit an old friend..."
That day, under cloudless skies, the entire staff stood guard at the entrance. Soon, an express appeared in the skies above Okhema. Like a meteor, it glided for a moment before landing squarely in front of Grand Chrysos.
The doors opened, light spilling out, and the first to step down was a gray-haired person. They scanned the crowd, immediately spotting Phainon at the front, then rushed forward to grab his hand. "Ah, Chef Phainon! I'm your idol... no, wait, you're my fan... no, that's not right! Anyway, I can't believe I finally get to meet you!"
Phainon felt an instant bond with the gray-haired person. "You carry something fascinating... I see it now. It's the passion to push the limits of taste!"
"...Honored guests, welcome to Grand Chrysos. Please, allow me to show you to your seats..."
The other master chefs tactfully ignored the starry-eyed exchange between Phainon and the gray-haired person. Hyacine quickly stepped in, leading the Astral Food Express delegation inside.
To welcome the challengers from afar, Grand Chrysos invited a hall full of diners to join the feast, even bringing the long-retired culinary legend "Imperator" out of seclusion to serve as chief judge. The Astral Food Express's navigator, Himeko, shook hands with Aglaea, investor of the Grand Restaurant, as their representative.
"The banner Trailblazer snuck up at your door was an exaggeration. We come without hostility. The Astral Food Express is here to share knowledge with Amphoreus chefs, and to bring the interstellar cuisines we've gathered to your people."
"Miss Himeko, you're too kind. Chefs under heaven are one family. Friendship first, competition second. There is, however, another matter where we need your help..."
"Let's skip the pleasantries while the Imperator is here." Cerydra swept her hand, and a squad of Flame-Chase Army marched in, carrying stoves and cookware into the hall. Mem and Pom-Pom, who had been happily devouring Express Special Hotpot, scrambled to wipe their mouths clean and sat up stiffly in their mascot seats.
"I hereby declare the culinary showdown between Grand Chrysos and Astral Food Express has officially begun!"
First round: The theme "Desserts" was announced by judge Hysilens. As the master chef who pioneered the "musical restaurant" concept, her every movement carried the calm confidence of an older generation of chefs. But when she opened the envelope with the theme, her face stiffened. "...The theme has been changed at the last minute to 'Banquet.'"
"Last-minute change?" Cipher started to rise in protest, but under Hysilens's sharp gaze, she instantly sat back down.
"What's wrong, Little Ciphy?" Tribbie asked. Cipher looked regretful. "I was planning to take out one of their heavy hitters by switching the theme to something I'm good at...'fish.' But it turns out this 'Dux Grill-at-us' really can't bear to see fish suffer, just like the rumors say..."
"...Little Ciphy, aside from how you'd even make a dessert out of fish, it's still better to win fair and square."
Soon, both sides selected their first contestant. For Grand Chrysos, the manager Castorice stepped forward herself. Her dish: Antila Frost Sugar Pudding Tower, also called... "An Embrace from Beyond." "As the sweet ending of a banquet, pudding is like a final embrace before saying goodbye."
From the Astral Food Express, a pink-haired girl in festive dress took her place. She fumbled a little in the kitchen, then proudly held up a strange drink. "My entry is this: the "Overlord Shaky Cup Juice"! At the end of the banquet, clinking glasses with this will make the night complete!"
"March... why is your juice salty?"
"I–It's supposed to be! It's inspired by a drink called 'Salty Lemon Seven Up'!"
"She just mixed up salt and sugar again, Dan Heng."
Castorice's pudding was showered with praise, but to everyone's surprise, March 7th's juice... also won unexpected approval.
"The bitterness of the Antila flowers soaks into the pudding and balances out the sweetness. What a perfect match! To think the bizarre chef formerly known as 'Hand of the River of Souls' has grown this much..."
"As for Chef March's drink... at first sip, it's bizarre, but the more you drink, the more addictive it gets. Could this be some secret recipe from beyond the sky...?"
The diners whispered among themselves, and even the judges were excited, jotting down scores with spoons and straws in their mouths. The only one looking wistful was Hysilens. "Why does everyone's creativity end up focused on the end of a banquet...?"
The Second round: the theme "Cold Dish" was announced by the judge, the Seismic Walking Dragon, Terravox. This hermit, master of archaic cuisine, gave a low rumble as he declared the subject: "Betrayal."
Grand Chrysos sent out master chef Mydei, matched against the Astral Food Express's master chef Dan Heng. The two stoic men exchanged a single glance, then silently went to work. After forty-five minutes, Mydei was the first to present.
"Chilled cream Dulu Bird Cutlets, please enjoy."
"Chef Mydei, may I ask... how does this relate to the theme 'Betrayal'?"
"If you taste carefully, you'll notice an unexpected sweetness. It comes from a 'betrayal': a trusted friend once added sugar to my personal milk powder jar..."
"Stop, Mydei. Just stop."
Then came Dan Heng's dish. "This is Cold Marinated Scalegorge Jellyfish, titled 'Transmutation Arcanum.'"
"The refreshing taste... it really feels like transforming into one of the Vidyadhara..."
"Though it doesn't really seem connected to 'betrayal' either."
"But judge Terravox ate it with tears streaming down his face. Wait, aren't dromas only supposed to eat redsoil...?"
Third round: the theme "Main Course" was announced by judge Anaxa from the Grove of Epiphany Culinary School. He ripped the envelope to pieces, took the cup of water Aglaea handed him, and drank deeply. "As for this round's theme, without a doubt, I will choose the drom-"
Before Anaxa could finish, his throat seized, his eyes widened, and he toppled straight backward. The Flame-Chase Army, already prepared, rushed to catch him and carried him back to his seat.
"So the theme is 'drom'...?"
"What happened to Professor Anaxagoras... wait, that cup! It's the Express' exclusive paper coffee cup..."
Aglaea stepped forward. "Professor Anaxagoras has suddenly fallen ill. I will announce the final theme in his stead — 'Trailblaze!'"
"Wait... isn't that the motto of the Astral Food Express!"
"Lady Aglaea really is treating this more like an exchange than a competition..."
By now, each side had only one contestant left... Naturally, it was Phainon and Trailblazer.
"Both last to appear... looks like you and I are the same kind of kitchen deliverers!" Phainon had already rolled up his sleeves.
"Deliverers attract each other. You said it perfectly!" Trailblazer already had a spatula in hand.
As the crowd erupted in cheers, Aglaea and Himeko exchanged a look, each thinking the same thing. "This is going to be a blazing journey of 'Trailblazing' indeed."