Draden stayed up late that night working. First was preparing everything for the next day. More importantly, was the work he was doing on the new recipe. He needed to keep growing and getting stronger.

  He still hadn’t thought of a new snack to make outside of Jello, but if he was going to make that, he needed a consistent source of pectin. Which was something he didn’t know how to make and was exactly what he was attempting to figure out at the moment.

  He stared at the small pile of apples on the cutting board, their skins a cheerful, mottled red that seemed to mock the grim determination settling in his gut. Pectin. A simple ingredient, the key to a wobbly, translucent dessert that he knew would delight Leah.

  Unfortunately, the process of extracting it felt as mysterious as the deepest cultivation secrets. All he knew for sure was that it could be extracted from apples. He didn’t even know if they were the only source, though he assumed that wasn’t the case. That single isolated fact was both his starting point and the full extent of his knowledge.

  Popping an almond snack ball into his mouth, he began sucking on it, feeling his mind clear as the qi-packed snack began to take effect. There were only a few of the balls left, and he really didn’t want to make more of them.

  He picked up a knife, the familiar weight of it in his hand a small comfort. The first logical step was to break them down. He began to chop, the rhythmic thud of the blade a steady counterpoint to the anxious thrumming in his chest. He worked methodically, dicing the apples—skin, core, seeds, and all. He vaguely recalled something about the core and seeds being important, a fleeting image from a long-forgotten video, perhaps. It was a guess, but it was all he had.

  He swept the pile of chopped apples into a large pot and covered them with water, setting it on the stove to boil. As it began to simmer, the sweet, fruity scent filled the kitchen, a stark contrast to the bitterness of his thoughts. He stirred the pot, watching the apple pieces soften and begin to break apart. After an hour, he strained the liquid through a cheesecloth, squeezing every last drop from the pulp. The resulting liquid was thin and cloudy, a pale, watery apple juice. He let a small amount cool and touched it with his finger. It was just liquid; with no hint of the gelling property he was looking for.

  A familiar frustration began to prickle at him. This was exactly the kind of problem that used to derail him back on Earth. The vast, unknown space between knowing a thing was possible and knowing how to do it had always been a chasm his mind struggled to cross. But things were different now. He wasn’t just solving a puzzle out of curiosity; he was forging a new weapon in his arsenal. He had a reason to push through the frustration. He had Leah.

  He took a deep breath and started again. More apples, more chopping. This time, as the mixture boiled, another memory surfaced, a piece of the puzzle clicking into place. Concentration. His mother, making strawberry jam, the pot simmering for hours, the liquid reducing, thickening. Of course. The water content was too high. He needed to boil it down, to cook the water out and leave the pectin behind.

  He set the new pot to a rolling boil, then reduced it to a steady simmer, leaving the lid off. He watched as the water level slowly dropped, the liquid in the pot gradually turning a deeper amber, its consistency changing from watery to syrupy. The air in the kitchen grew thick and sweet. It was working.

  "Burning the midnight oil, are we?"

  Draden nearly jumped, his hand instinctively going for the knife on the counter before he registered the calm, familiar voice. Coradine stood in the doorway, her arms crossed, an inquisitive look on her face. She had changed into simpler sleeping robes, her hair undone and flowing down her back, making her look softer, less the formidable mage and more a concerned elder.

  "Couldn't sleep," Draden admitted, turning back to stir the pot. "Too much on my mind."

  "I can imagine," She said, walking further into the kitchen. Her eyes fell on the dagger Tavian’s messenger had left, which he’d placed on a high shelf. "That business with the nobles is a festering wound. And Macron’s tantrum today only made things worse."

  "It's not just that," Draden said, his voice low. He kept his back to her, focusing on the slow swirl of the apple concoction. "It's… everything. I feel like I'm constantly one step behind, always reacting. I need to be stronger, faster. I need to be in control, and without being able to cultivate, I just don’t feel like I can be."

  Coradine was silent for a moment, her sharp gaze taking in the tense set of his shoulders, the almost feverish focus he had on the pot in front of him. "Control is an illusion, Draden. Especially in the lives we lead. All we can do is prepare, adapt, and protect what's ours. The wards will help. They are our preparation."

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  "What's the final estimate?" He asked, changing the subject. "For the mana crystals."

  "It's not insignificant," She said, her tone becoming practical. "To properly weave the arrays and ensure there are no seams, we'll need three high-grade earth crystals and two water crystals of the same quality. We picked up two high-grade earth crystals and one water before we visited the school for our meeting. It was only once we started working that we realized our initial estimate had been slightly off."

  Draden flinched internally but kept his expression neutral. It was what he’d expected. Every coin spent on defense was a coin not spent on ingredients to heal himself, but there was no other choice. "I'll have the money ready for whatever you weren’t able to get today, tomorrow."

  As he spoke, he judged the apple mixture was ready. He carefully poured the thick amber syrup through the cheesecloth again. This time, what came out was viscous, coating the back of a spoon. He had done it.

  It wasn’t a powder, however, as a syrup it would still be plenty usable.

  "What is that concoction, anyway?" Coradine asked, her curiosity finally winning out. "It smells like an apple orchard exploded in here."

  A small, genuine smile touched Draden’s lips for the first time that night. "Something for Leah. And maybe a new kind of snack for me and everyone else, depending on how strong each version ends up being."

  He took a small amount of the still-warm pectin syrup, mixed it with some of the leftover strawberry syrup from the day before, added some water, and then looked at Coradine. "A little help? Don’t freeze it, just cool it down."

  She raised an eyebrow but extended a hand. A wave of cold air washed over the small bowl in his hand, and the mixture inside shivered and set into a wobbly, translucent red gel with little seeds everywhere. It wasn't as firm as the store-bought version, but it was undeniably Jello.

  He handed her a small spoon. "Give it a try."

  Coradine eyed the odd wiggling substance with suspicion but took a small bite. Her eyes widened slightly. The texture was strange, a soft, cool solid that melted on the tongue into pure, sweet strawberry flavor. It was unlike anything she had ever eaten. The qi contained within was subtle, not the potent rush of his main dishes, but something gentler, more natural. It felt clean, like drinking from a mountain spring, and it carried a calming quality that eased the tension the earlier meeting with the City Lord had caused.

  "Remarkable," She breathed, taking another, larger spoonful. "The texture is… perplexing. But the taste is wonderful. It’s different, and confusing, but I like it."

  "Good. That's what I was hoping for," Draden said, a feeling of quiet triumph washing over him. It was a small victory, born from a late night and a large pile of apples, but it felt monumental. It was proof. He could create, not just copy. He could forge his own path.

  He watched her finish the small bowl, a comfortable silence created by the shared appreciation for a simple, successful creation.

  "We will need to be careful," Coradine said at last, setting the spoon down. "Macron will not let today's slight go unanswered. We poked our noses into his family’s business, and he won’t let that go unpunished, as we saw earlier with what he already tried to do. Tavian, on the other hand, is smart and patient. He might back off for now, but he will make another move at some point. You've made powerful enemies, Draden."

  "I know," He said, looking at his notebook, where the biscuit recipe sat beside his new, scribbled notes on pectin. "But I'm making powerful friends, too."

  After she left, he stayed in the quiet kitchen, the sweet smell of apples and strawberries lingering in the air. He cleaned the pots and utensils, his movements slow and deliberate. The exhaustion was still there, a heavy weight on his shoulders, but it was now mixed with a renewed sense of purpose.

  He could feel the path forward, not just a reaction to threats, but a proactive strategy. He would cook. He would create. He would heal himself, one meal, one snack, one experimental recipe at a time. And he would build an army, not of soldiers, but of loyal patrons, of healed miners, the everyday people of the city, and fortified guards, of people whose lives were made better by the simple act of eating at his restaurant. Those who were made able to access their dantian’s because of his food.

  He picked up the dagger from the shelf, its cold weight a stark reminder of the danger outside his walls. He wouldn't hide from it. He would face it, armed not just with a sword, but with a whisk, a pot, and a father's unshakeable will to protect his child.

  Either way, he had finished this latest recipe, and it was past time to get some sleep; otherwise, he would be beyond tired in the morning.

  ***

  When Draden woke, it felt as though only moments had passed since he closed his eyes. The exhaustion from staying up late pushed down on him, making him physically grapple with the bed as it tried to pull him back under. He ran a hand over his face, the stubble scratching against his palm, and forced himself to sit up.

  Pushing himself to his feet, he moved through the quiet house. After a quick check on Leah, who was still a peaceful lump under her covers, he grabbed his sword and an almond snack ball. The morning air was cool and crisp against his skin as he stepped into the backyard. He needed this. He needed the burn in his muscles, the sharp bite of the air in his lungs, the singular focus of the blade arcing through its familiar patterns. The snack ball’s energy pulsed through him, a welcome warmth against the morning chill, driving away the last vestiges of his fitful sleep and hammering away at the stubborn blockage of the prime meridian in his spine.

  Each swing of the sword was a cry of defiance, each drop of sweat a declaration. He was not the broken man he had been, and he would not be broken again.

  An hour later, soaked in sweat and breathing heavily but feeling more centered, he stood under the cool spray of the shower. As he dressed, the scent of something warm and sweet began to drift from the kitchen.

  He found Coradine already up, and a simple pot of oatmeal simmering on the stove. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. She may have started as Leah’s magic teacher, and she still was, but she had decided this place was something worth protecting; they were in this together.

  (The recipe I use in this chapter can be found on my Patreon for free.)

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