Chapter 182 The taste of home

Saraya stood silently in the hallway for a long time.

That voice still lingered in her ears, deep and warm, carrying a touch of endearing helplessness like every time someone bullied him and he could not bring himself to argue back. She had once heard that voice call her name every morning. She had once heard it soothe her whenever she sulked for no reason.

And she had also heard it tremble when she was the one hurting him.

Saraya lowered her head, tightly gripping Vylana’s note in her hand. Part of her wanted to return to that room, close the door, crawl beneath the blankets, and pretend she had never woken up. But her feet kept moving forward on their own, one slow step at a time, following the staircase railing.

The lower she went, the clearer the scent of food became.

The smell of freshly baked bread, its crisp cracked crust still steaming. The smell of butter melting in a pan, rich and fragrant. The faint scent of chamomile tea, mingling with the sweet and tart aroma of freshly opened strawberry jam.

And hidden beneath all of it was one scent that made Saraya’s footsteps halt.

Mushroom cream soup.

She knew this soup. She knew every spice in it. A little black pepper, a sprig of thyme, a few drops of fresh cream after taking the pot off the stove.

In the past, it was the only dish she had ever cooked for him, on a rare chilly morning during the short three months they had been together.

He had eaten every last drop, then held out his bowl and asked for more, smiling like a child. At the time, she had only turned away, pretending there was nothing worth being happy about.

She did not know who was cooking it in that kitchen.

Saraya pressed her lips together and descended the final step.

...

Meira’s living room was larger than she had expected. Several suitcases were still stacked in the corner, and a few boxes labeled "mansion" had yet to be opened. The whole household must have moved here after that night.

The tall windows nearly reaching the ceiling stood wide open, letting the morning sunlight pour in like a stream of golden honey. Outside lay a garden full of lavender, the wind carrying its gentle fragrance along with the scent of damp earth after the night’s rain.

On the long dining table covered with a white cloth were all sorts of dishes: bread, fried eggs, sizzling grilled sausages, a plate of sliced fruit, and two teapots sending up thick clouds of steam.

And in the middle of it all was him.

Erik sat at the head of the table, no longer in a wheelchair, no longer with a wooden splint on his arm. He wore a simple white shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing a healed right arm with only a faint scar left behind, like a pencil line. His complexion was rosy, his eyes bright, with nothing left of the pale appearance on the hospital bed that she remembered.

Right beside him, Meira held a spoon, patiently bringing a bite of egg to his lips.

"Open your mouth."

"Meira, my hand is healed."

"The Healer says it is not healed yet."

"The Healer is you."

"Yes. That is why I say it is not healed." Meira put on a serious face. "Open your mouth."

Erik sighed, but in the end, obediently opened his mouth. Meira nodded with satisfaction as though she had just completed the most difficult treatment of her life.

On the other side of the table, Elowen rested her chin on one hand, her pointed ears drooping, her gaze drilling holes into the two of them.

"Mother has been feeding him for three days already."

"Four days."

"Then tomorrow is my turn. I treated him for four days too, not just Mother."

"Get in line if you want to."

"I have been in line since the day before yesterday!" Elowen lightly slammed the table, then turned to glare at Erik. "And you! Do not think I have forgotten about that day at the hospital!"

Erik nearly choked. "I already explained..."

"Explained what? Why you two were sneaking around without inviting me?"

Felyn, sitting beside Elowen, giggled, both hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea, her eyes behind the blindfold curving slightly. "Elowen, you sound like a cat whose fish was stolen."

"Felyn!"

"Am I wrong?"

Laviana sat at the corner of the table, her long legs crossed, leisurely spreading a layer of strawberry jam across a slice of bread. She did not even bother looking up, merely laughing softly. "Darling, if you want to be fed, you have to learn how to compete. Like me."

As she spoke, she leaned across the table and stuffed the slice of bread directly into Erik’s mouth while he was still chewing the egg.

"Mmph!"

"Laviana!" Meira and Elowen shouted in unison.

The entire table burst into laughter again. Even Vylana, sitting quietly in the corner, could not hold it back and had to cover her mouth, her shoulders trembling.

At the nearby kitchen counter, Carmilla had just taken the soup pot off the stove. She shook her head helplessly, but the corners of her lips had curved upward as well.

Runi stood beside the table, holding a teapot as she poured into each cup. The amber-colored tea flowed down steadily without spilling a single drop.

When she poured into Laviana’s cup, the red-haired woman’s blue eyes briefly glanced up, then softened again as though nothing had happened.

Golden sunlight spread across the tabletop. Steam from the teapot rose in thin strands. The clinking of cutlery, voices and laughter overlapping, birdsong outside in the garden.

It was peaceful enough to feel unreal.

Saraya stood in the doorway without entering.

She watched Erik frown as he swallowed the bread, watched Meira wipe the corner of his mouth with a napkin, watched Elowen sulk, watched Felyn smile. She watched the women surrounding him, each different in her own way, yet all looking at him with the same expression.

Warmth. Trust. And something so natural, as though this was where they had always belonged.

Saraya felt as though someone were squeezing her chest.

She had once held a place like that.

She had once sat beside him every morning, once had him pour tea for her, once been the first person he looked at whenever he opened the door and came home.

Yet at the time, she had treated everything as a matter of course. She demanded, sulked, doubted him, then in the end pushed him away with her own hands.

And now, he was smiling.

He was truly smiling, a relaxed smile she had never seen during the final days they had spent together.

Perhaps only without her could he be that happy.

The thought made tears well up before she could stop them.

Saraya did not cry aloud. She only stood there, one hand holding the doorframe, the other still clutching the crumpled note, letting tears silently roll down her cheeks and fall onto the wooden floor.

She wanted to turn away.

But her legs refused to move.

...

The first to notice was Felyn.

She had been laughing with Elowen when she suddenly froze and tilted her head toward the door. Her eyes behind the blindfold shifted slightly, as though she were listening to something.

"Someone is crying at the door."

The laughter in the room gradually faded.

Erik turned around.

His eyes met hers.

Time seemed to stop. Saraya saw those black pupils widen, saw the spoon in Meira’s hand freeze in midair, saw Vylana leap to her feet and knock over her cup of tea.

"Saraya!"

But before Vylana could run over, Laviana reached out and caught her daughter’s wrist, gently shaking her head.

Erik stood up.

The chair scraped softly against the wooden floor. He walked past the dining table, past the patch of golden sunlight on the floor, taking slow steps toward her. Neither rushed nor hesitant, as though afraid that if he moved even a little too quickly, she would run away.

Saraya wanted to step back. But the wall was behind her.

He stopped one step away from her.

Close enough for her to smell the butter and chamomile tea still lingering on his shirt. Close enough for her to see the faint scar on his arm, the remnant of the night the sky dome had collapsed.

"You’re awake."

Only two words. His voice was very soft, as though afraid of breaking something.

Saraya opened her mouth to speak, but her throat was tightly choked. She had prepared so many words. I’m sorry. Thank you. I should not have come here. I will leave at once.

But standing before him, they all slipped away, leaving only tears she could no longer contain.

"I..." Her voice trembled. "I’m sorry... I just... I did not mean to disturb everyone..."

"You are not disturbing anyone."

"But I..."

Saraya lowered her head. Her slender shoulders trembled in waves. Her fingers gripped the note so tightly that they turned white.

Only after a long while did she whisper, so quietly that it was almost impossible to hear.

"Can... can I hug you?"

The room fell silent.

Erik looked at her. At her disheveled hair after so many days in a hospital bed, at her still-bandaged shoulder, at her reddened eyes trying not to look directly at him.

Then he gave a slight nod.

Before Saraya could react, he opened his arms and gently pulled her into his embrace.

One hand rested against her back, carefully avoiding her injured shoulder. The other settled in her hair, slowly stroking downward, gentle as though no distance had ever existed between them.

Saraya froze.

Then everything she had suppressed through those final months finally burst forth.

She buried her face in his chest, both hands clutching the hem of his shirt, sobbing like a lost child who had finally found her way home.

Her choked, broken cries carried every apology she could not form into words, every sleepless night of regret, every fear that she would never have another chance to stand close to him again.

Erik said nothing. He only held her, letting her cry, his hand continuing to stroke her hair in a steady rhythm.

The warmth of his body reached her, gentle as morning sunlight.

And at that exact moment, Erik felt the guiding mark on his chest grow faintly warm.

Not strongly. Not dazzlingly. Just a small petal in the wreath of four seasons, warming as though it had been placed beneath the midday summer sun. A strangely familiar sensation, like meeting someone again in a dream forgotten long ago.

Erik paused slightly.

He lowered his gaze to the girl crying in his arms, not understanding what had just happened. But his embrace, at some point, had tightened a little more.

...

Behind them, the living room remained silent.

Vylana had dropped back into her chair, both hands covering her face, her shoulders trembling.

Laviana wrapped her arms around her daughter and gently patted her back as though comforting a child. Felyn lowered her head, the corners of her lips curving into a gentle smile.

Elowen turned her face away, quickly wiping the corner of her eye with the back of her hand, muttering something that sounded like, "Dust got in my eye."

Meira set the spoon down on the table and looked at the two people by the door for a long time. Then she softly exhaled and turned toward Carmilla.

"Scoop another bowl of soup. Is it still hot?"

"It is, Lady Meira."

"Good."

Carmilla smiled and lifted the ladle. White steam rose from the pot, carrying the scent of cream, mushrooms, and thyme through the sunlit room.

Only after a long while, when the sobs had gradually eased, did Erik gently loosen his embrace and guide Saraya to the dining table. Elowen gave a huff, but still pulled out the chair beside her.

Felyn pushed over a cup of warm tea. Vylana rushed over and threw her arms around Saraya, crying as she scolded her "idiot" more times than anyone could count.

Carmilla placed a bowl of soup before Saraya.

She picked up a spoon, scooped up a small mouthful, and brought it to her lips.

The rich flavor of cream melted over her tongue. The savory sweetness of mushrooms, the faint heat of black pepper, and finally the subtle fragrance of thyme lingering in her throat.

Saraya froze.

It was that taste. Not even slightly different.

"This..." She looked up at Carmilla. "Who taught you to make it?"

Carmilla glanced at Erik and smiled. "Sir Erik. A few days ago, he said he wanted mushroom cream soup, then described in great detail how much pepper to add and when to put in the thyme. He said... someone used to cook it for him one cold morning."

Saraya turned to look at Erik.

He was lowering his head to drink tea, as though he had heard nothing. But the tips of his ears were slightly red.

Tears fell again, pattering into the bowl of soup. But this time, the corners of Saraya’s lips curved upward.

She lowered her head and ate one spoonful at a time, slowly, as though afraid that if she ate too quickly, that flavor would disappear.

Beside the dining table, Runi still stood motionless, the teapot in her hand having stopped pouring at some point.

She looked at Saraya smiling through her tears over the bowl of soup. She looked at Vylana, her eyes red, still refusing to let go of her friend’s hand. She looked at Elowen wiping away tears while trying to appear annoyed. She looked at those tear-streaked faces, yet not a single one of them was sad.

Her eyes widened, focused as though she were trying to memorize every detail.

"Crying..." she murmured, so quietly that no one heard. "...but still happy?"

Outside the window, a lavender petal drifted in on the wind and fell onto the sunlit table.

"Runi."

She startled and looked up. Erik was watching her, one hand still resting lightly on Saraya’s shoulder.

"You have been standing since this morning. Sit down and eat."

"I... I still need to pour the tea..."

"The tea can pour itself." Felyn had already pulled out the empty chair beside her and patted the seat. "Come here. Yesterday, I heard you kept standing around and would not sit down."

Carmilla placed another bowl of soup before that seat. Meira said nothing, only slid over a plate of bread already spread with strawberry jam. Even Elowen muttered, "Eat more, you’re skinny as a twig," before placing another piece of sausage onto her plate.

Runi stood still for a long time before slowly sitting down.

The warm bowl of soup rested in both palms. Heat seeped through the porcelain and spread into fingers that had always been cold.

For the past four days, it had been the same every morning. Someone pulled out a chair for her. Someone placed food on her plate. Someone asked whether she had slept well, whether her hand still hurt. No one demanded anything. No one wanted anything in return.

She still did not understand.

She looked at the bowl of soup, then at the faces around the table, as though trying to solve a riddle with no answer. In her chest, something very small stirred, warm and unfamiliar, like the heat slowly spreading through her palms.

At the corner of the table, Laviana raised her teacup to her lips. Her blue eyes swept over Runi and Felyn once before moving away again.

Runi lowered her head and scooped up a spoonful of soup.