Walking Food

They stepped out of the Artificing class, the door clicking shut behind them. Welyvyne turned left toward the city; Eric veered right.

They both stopped.

Welyvyne blinked at him. “Um… where exactly are you going? The city’s this way.”

Eric only smiled, still walking backward a few paces before pointing down the hall. “We should check on our friends first. Maybe they’ll want to come—and last I saw, both of them were beat and bruised from last night’s rift.”

Welyvyne dropped her head. “Yeah, we should check on them. I kinda got focused on going to the city. Sorry.”

Eric smirked. “Been there. Not gonna hold it against you.”

Welyvyne padded up beside Eric as they made their way through the hall.

It didn’t take long for him to notice the stares. Elves passing by dipped their heads in polite nods—some smiling in that faint, knowing way that made him uneasy. A few of the girls flushed and looked away too quickly, while others shot Welyvyne sharp little glances, as if she’d stolen something they hadn’t realized they wanted.

A few simply scowled—at him, at her, maybe at both.

Eric frowned, the weight of the stares finally sinking in.

“I guess the news has caught up with everyone,” he muttered, glancing toward Welyvyne.

She didn’t answer right away. Her expression was neutral, but her pace had slowed—like she’d suddenly become very aware of every pair of eyes in the corridor.

“I feel like—” Eric frowned, searching for the words. “—I’ve made life harder for you. I’m sorry for that.”

Welyvyne glanced up at him, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. “Thought I told you to stop apologizing about it.”

Eric smirked faintly. “You did. But this feels different—and this one’s actually my fault.”

Welyvyne’s grin faded, her expression sobering. “Look,” she said quietly, “I know you didn’t mean for this to happen. And besides—” she glanced around at the passing students, her voice dropping lower, “—it might end up making your life harder, not mine.”

Eric followed her gaze down the hall. Sure enough, most of the attention wasn’t on her—it was on him.

The scowls found his face first, sharp and lingering. The dreamy, wide-eyed looks did too—but those drifted to Welyvyne soon after, as if she were the reason behind them.

“Crap…” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “You’re right.”

She snorted and jabbed a finger into his shoulder. “You may be the most infamously famous person here.”

Eric groaned. “Great. That’s exactly the kind of legacy I was hoping for.”

The rest of the walk passed in uneasy silence. Eric kept his head down, trying to ignore the lingering eyes that followed them. Welyvyne, at least on the surface, seemed to have shaken it off—her stride lighter now, though her shoulders stayed just a bit too straight.

When they reached the dining hall, Eric glanced around. “Do you see them?”

Welyvyne scanned the room beside him. “No… maybe they’re late. Or resting.”

“Lyren,” Welyvyne said, startled as a familiar voice came from behind them.

“You two going in,” Lyren drawled, “or are you just planning to block the doorway?”

Eric turned, already grinning. “We were just giving everyone time to appreciate the view.”

Lyren rolled her eyes. “Oh, they’ve been appreciating plenty, trust me.”

Eric gave her a quick once-over, one brow raised. “Well, you look rested.”

Lyren shrugged, unbothered. “Yeah. I skipped Runes and decided to sleep. Figured they’d forgive me.”

Welyvyne snorted. “That’s one way to earn divine mercy.”

Welyvyne adjusted her blouse and glanced at Lyren. “Eric and I are heading to the market square. He needs nightwear. Want to come along? I was going to ask Kaelen too.”

Lyren smirked. “Sure, I’ll tag along. But Kaelen’s not around—he went home to rest. Trust me, he needs a lot more sleep than I do. We can grab lunch from a food vendor while we’re there.”

Welyvyne led them through the halls and out into the city streets. Eric fell into step beside her, already recognizing the path that led toward what he’d come to think of as the Bazaar.

It didn’t take long—ten minutes, maybe—before the quiet of the academy grounds gave way to sudden, organized chaos. The air shifted from still to alive, filled with the hum of conversation, the clatter of carts, and the smell of cooking oil and spice drifting from nearby stalls.

Lyren stepped ahead and turned toward them, her expression bright. “I know a vendor with a great selection of food. We can eat there.”

Eric grinned. “Perfect. We can grab something to eat while we explore.”

Both Welyvyne and Lyren stopped mid-step, trading a look that said far too much in perfect silence.

Eric slowed to a halt, eyeing them warily. “What catastrophic thing did I say this time?”

Welyvyne smirked. “You didn’t say anything catastrophic.”

Lyren picked up smoothly where she left off. “We just don’t walk while eating. That sounds messy.”

Eric tilted his head. “It’s only messy if you try to eat regular food while walking. You don’t have food made for the purpose.”

Lyren snorted. “And why exactly would anyone want to do that?”

Eric threw up his index finger, eyes bright. “Efficiency!” he declared.

Welyvyne shook her head, amused. “Maybe you can ask him to make you something like that.”

Eric paused mid-step, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Maybe I will. That actually sounds like a great idea.”

Lyren groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You are impossible, Eric.”

Lyren led them to a bustling little food vendor tucked between two larger stalls. The air was thick with the scent of spice and smoke. Behind the counter, the vendor was plating something red and saucy—maybe chicken—and spooning it beside a grain that looked a lot like rice, though the grains were longer and a deep shade of blue.

Eric stepped up to the counter. “Hey, do you have anything you can eat while walking? Like… a sandwich or something?”

The vendor blinked, clearly startled by the question. “Why would you want to walk and eat?”

Eric sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Because days are only so long, and I’d like to walk around without having to stop to eat.” He nodded toward the counter. “Look, I can show you how to make a sandwich. Or a sub. Something like that.”

The vendor looked at him—first confused, then thoughtful. Finally, he smiled. “You know what? Why not. I’m very interested to see what a human calls food.”

Eric smirked. “Great. So, do you have meat and cheese?”

The vendor flinched. “We don’t serve meat. We don’t even eat meat.”

Eric blinked and glanced around. “Wait—you mean I haven’t eaten meat since I got here? Then what’s that?” He pointed to the red, saucy dish he’d assumed was chicken.

The vendor followed his gesture. “That? That’s Lilosa fruit. It has a savory flavor.”

Eric’s eyes widened. “Huh. Looks like chicken. Smells like it too.”

The vendor tilted his head. “What’s… chicken?”

Eric chuckled. “Doesn’t matter—it’s a good analog to meat. Do you have Lilosa fruit shaved into slices?”

The vendor shook his head. “No, but I can slice some if you’d like.”

“Perfect,” Eric said with a grin. “Let me grab some of this bread here… and some of this spinach-looking stuff.”

He picked up a knife, cut the bread down the center, and spread it open. Then he added the leafy greens and a few slices of something that smelled faintly like provolone—only it was green and thin as paper. He layered them thicker, nodding in approval.

The vendor handed him the sliced Lilosa fruit, and Eric began assembling the rest. He sprinkled on some common salt and a few local spices that smelled like sweet basil and pepper. Then he spotted a small bottle nearby.

“Is this oil for cooking?” he asked.

“Yes,” the vendor said. “We use it for cooking.”

“Great,” Eric replied, focused now. He drizzled the oil over the layers, then spotted a container of vinegar and added a light splash. Satisfied, he closed the sandwich, cut it cleanly in half, and took a bite.

“Mmm,” Eric said around a mouthful. “This is really good.”

He handed the other half to the vendor.

The vendor eyed the creation skeptically. “You… eat it with your hands?”

Eric snorted. “Yeah. Barbarian food. Don’t knock it ’til you try it.”

The vendor hesitated, then closed his eyes like a man preparing to eat an insect. He took a cautious bite—then froze. His eyes flew open, widening with shock as he looked down at the sandwich in his hands.

“This is remarkable,” he said slowly, awe creeping into his voice. “And… simple.”

The vendor stuck out his hand, still grinning. “My name is Kyllian Vermisyn. I do believe you’ve impressed me, human. I’ll be adding this to my menu.”

He glanced at the half-eaten sandwich and chuckled. “I think I’ll call it… walking food.”

Eric chuckled. “Nice to meet you, Kyllian. Thanks for the opportunity to show you. Mind making three more for the road?”

A few customers waiting nearby, having watched the exchange, began whispering and pointing. One or two even called out, asking to try this new “walking food.”

Before long, Kyllian handed Eric three neatly wrapped sandwiches. Eric passed one to Welyvyne and another to Lyren.

“How much do I owe you?” Eric asked.

Kyllian smiled, already turning back to the growing line. “On the house,” he said with a grin.

Eric smiled back. “Thanks. I’ll see you around.” He gave a small wave before stepping away with the others.

When he glanced at Welyvyne and Lyren, both were staring down at their sandwiches, expressions caught somewhere between suspicion and curiosity.

“Go on, try it,” Eric said, nodding toward their sandwiches. “Worst case, you hate it and grab something else.”

They each slowly unwrapped their sandwiches and took a bite. Both froze, eyes widening.

“This is good,” Welyvyne said first, sounding surprised. “Huh. I didn’t know you could cook.”

Eric chuckled. “I didn’t cook it—I assembled it.”

Lyren glanced down at her sandwich, then took another bite. “Never thought I’d eat and walk, but this is actually good.”

Eric nodded, grinning. “Yep. Now let’s go get me some PJs.”

After a few minutes of walking and eating, Eric began to notice the looks again. People were staring—not at the them this time, but at the food.

He chuckled. “Guess they’re not used to seeing—”

The words died in his throat.

Across the crowd, he spotted her again—the woman in the red scarf. She was counting out coins to a merchant, then turned and looked straight at him. For a heartbeat, she smiled before gliding toward another stall.

Something about her is off, Eric thought. Then it hit him—her face. It was perfectly symmetrical. Every line, every feature, mirrored with unnatural precision.

He watched her move, time seeming to slow as she slipped gracefully through the crowd.

“Eric? You there?” Welyvyne’s voice snapped him out of it. “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

She followed his gaze toward the stalls—but when Eric looked back, the woman was gone.

“What caught your attention so thoroughly, Eric?” Welyvyne asked, her tone halfway between concern and irritation.

Eric blinked, forcing a small smile. “Just—oh, never mind. It was probably nothing.”

But even as he said it, his eyes flicked back toward the spot where the woman had stood. The red scarf… why is that grabbing my attention so much? he wondered.

Eventually, they came across a small storefront. Inside, rows of soft clothing hung neatly on carved racks. The air smelled exactly like every clothing store Eric had ever walked into—clean, faintly perfumed, with that hint of new fabric.

The cloth on display shimmered under the light, smooth and silky to the touch. And, of course, even here, faint runes were woven through the threads—tiny patterns of enchantment stitched into every fold.

They made their way to a rack of clothing that looked a lot like standard men’s nightwear—loose, comfortable, and understated. Welyvyne and Lyren immediately started sorting through it, pulling garments from the racks and holding them up against Eric for size.

Guess they’ve got this covered, he thought with a wry smile.

Eventually, the two seemed to come to an agreement. They’d picked out a deep blue, silky set that caught the light just enough to look elegant without being gaudy.

Eric smiled. “I like them. Thank you.”

Both women smiled back, pleased with their choice. Eric carried the set to the counter to pay.

A younger elf lady greeted him at the counter, glancing over the set before saying, “That’ll be five Skyls, please.”

Eric flattened his palm, facing it upward. A single Solyr shimmered into existence above his skin.

“Huh,” he muttered, handing it to her. I thought five Skyls—and it automatically gave me a Solyr. How interesting.

As they stepped out of the shop, Lyren glanced at Eric. “Now where did you manage to get a storage item? Those things are extremely expensive.”

Before Eric could answer, Welyvyne cut in. “He doesn’t have a storage item—he is the storage item.”

Lyren blinked. “What… what do you mean?”

Eric chuckled, but Welyvyne went on, clearly enjoying herself. “It’s one of his traits.”

Lyren gave Eric a look caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement. “Huh. Just full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Eric shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe the system decided to make me a character in a game.”

Lyren blinked, frowning. “I have no idea what you just said.”

Welyvyne snorted, covering a laugh with her hand. “Get used to that. Half of what he says sounds like riddles from another world.”

Eric grinned. “That’s because they are.”

“Eric!”

All three turned at the shout. Kyllian was sprinting toward them, slightly out of breath and waving.

“Your—” he gasped, hands on his knees, “—walking food is a hit! Do you have any more ideas for walking food?”

Welyvyne raised an eyebrow. Lyren pinched the bridge of her nose.

Eric grinned. “Sure. Ever heard of frying things?”

Kyllian blinked. “You mean… frying in a pan?”

Eric chuckled. “Close enough. I’ll show you what I mean—come on, let’s head back to your stall.”

The trio exchanged resigned looks but followed as Kyllian hurriedly led the way through the crowd.

When they reached the stall, Eric scanned the setup, memory clicking into place. He grabbed a large pot and glanced over his shoulder.

“Got a big container of oil?”

Kyllian blinked, still catching his breath, but bent to retrieve a large ceramic jug from beneath the counter. “Will this do?”

“Perfect,” Eric said, taking it. He poured until the pot was a little over half full, then handed the container back.

Next, he spotted a basket of the red roots—the same kind he’d seen before. “You usually crush these and season them before pan-frying, right?”

Kyllian nodded, smiling faintly. “Yes, that’s how they’re typically served.”

“Well,” Eric said, rolling up his sleeves, “today, we’re doing something different.”

He took a knife from the counter and began slicing the roots into thin sticks. Once he had a small pile, he eased a handful into the shimmering oil. The pot hissed and spat, the air filling with the sharp scent of frying starch.

Kyllian flinched back. “That’s rather violent!”

Eric chuckled. “Sometimes violence is what you need.”

As soon as the sliced roots floated to the surface, their color deepened from pale red to a rich golden brown. Eric grabbed a pair of tongs, fished them out, and let the excess oil drip back into the pot before sliding them onto a plate.

He sprinkled a pinch of salt over them, the grains catching the light like tiny crystals. “Here you go,” he said, pushing the plate toward Kyllian. “Try this.”

Kyllian frowned at the pile of golden sticks. “That’s it? From oil to plate, a bit of salt, and that’s all?”

Kyllian’s eyes widened as he chewed. “These—these are so simple, yet so flavorful! I don’t understand… how?”

Eric smiled, wiping his hands on a towel. “Fried things always taste good,” he said with a shrug.

Welyvyne and Lyren exchanged a look, the unspoken question clear between them. Then, without a word, they each grabbed one of the golden sticks and popped it into their mouths.

Both smiled almost immediately.

“You’re holding out on us,” Welyvyne said, pointing at him.

Eric chuckled. “It’s just something from my world. I didn’t invent anything.”

Lyren tilted her head, thoughtful. “Invent, introduce—doesn’t matter. You brought it to us. It’s yours now.”

Kyllian grinned. “I’ll call these walking sticks,” he said with a laugh at his own pun.

Eric just shook his head, smiling. “I hope they sell well for you.”

Kyllian’s expression turned serious. “What do I owe you for the recipes?”

Eric waved a hand. “Nothing. Sell them as you please.”

The vendor frowned, crossing his arms. “No, you must be compensated—it’s only fair.”

Eric chuckled. “If you insist, then… for every twenty Skyls you make, hold one back for me.”

Kyllian’s grin returned, bright and wide. “Acceptable!” He shook Eric’s hand firmly, already reaching for more roots. “Eric, until we meet again.”

Eric nodded as the vendor began slicing with renewed energy. Then he turned to the girls. “Let’s head back. It’s been a long day—and we still have to stop by Seltherin’s.”

After a bit, Welyvyne glanced over at him. “I don’t get it.”

Eric blinked. “Don’t get what?”

She gestured vaguely toward the direction they’d come from. “Why did you take time out to show him how to make ‘walking food’ but didn’t expect anything in return?”

Eric smiled. “Oh, that? I was opening doors for things in the future.”

Welyvyne blinked at him. “That doesn’t answer anything. It only raises more questions.”

Eric shrugged. “You’ll see what I mean when the time comes. Trust me.”

Welyvyne sighed. “That’s exactly what someone says before something bad happens.”