Act I Part 1 Chapter 3 – Memories of the Krevoski Family Part 2

November, Two years ago

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Magali fell to her knees, begging for mercy. She claimed she had only been thinking of what was best for Sylia’s daughter, that she hadn’t known what could happen to her there.

Sylia looked down at her, her expression unreadable.

“Wasn’t your cousin dragged there just last year?” she asked. “She committed suicide, if I recall correctly. You all mentioned her more than once. Are you mocking me now? Didn’t you make your decision because, despite the girl’s young age, your family saw her as competition? Men would wait five years for a girl like her and they wouldn’t look twice at you.”

Magali shivered. Yalanvar looked taken aback; he hadn’t known this side of her. He did know her brother was a degenerate, too fond of younger girls. They’d had to restrain him to keep him from them.

“Is it because my brother mentioned her as a potential wife?” he asked quietly.

Sylia laughed.

“Taryna might be Grenek’s daughter and cut off from the Celestial path, but she still wouldn’t settle for your brother. I can afford things she couldn’t.”

Yalanvar nodded. He hadn’t considered his brother worthy either. Even Unagi had seen that. Taryna had been regressed into her child form after maturing too quickly. Her sister Ashra had left for another Enclave for similar reasons.

“Ashra might humor him.” Sylia added. “She can afford a few distractions.”

Sylia turned to her work, joining Gnome Sylia and Megan in preparing food. Even Yalanvar volunteered to chop vegetables and meat under the curious gaze of the women who had gathered with several groups of children. None of them had expected to see a Gentleman working in a kitchen.

Sylia called out. “Children, gather around. Today, we’ll learn about a new brown Miso, called Brown Misso, to distinguish it from the standard soybean Miso. This one is made from Demorsu beans, brought from the Dramakan Enclave. They come in several varieties, some more Mana-rich than others. Today we’re using one of the least Mana-rich kinds which are more appropriate in the Slums.”

She motioned to the table where ingredients had been set out.

“With help from my Bunnies, you’ll get to look at samples of everything. We have Dirzagel salt, Zukarix black pepper, Xanel oil, Brown Leekius, Green and White Leekius, a new variety of Lightling Mana-rich Brewn Mushroom, Dankaei bird meat, and semi-smoked Porksani belly. All of it comes from Dramakan. Even the water we’re using is from there. It has a strong Ryfkin Element.”

One of the women, dressed in frayed clothes, hesitated before asking, “All those are foreign ingredients?”

One of the women, dressed in worn and patched clothes, raised her hand hesitantly.

“Are all these ingredients foreign?”

Sylia nodded. “Yes. They’re being introduced to the market soon through a few of our partner Guilds. Today’s presentation is an exclusive preview. We’ll be bringing in tables, and I’ve expanded the space with a spell. Please, have a seat. My Summoned Bunnies will prepare a quick meal for you to enjoy while you follow the lecture and the demonstration. We’re serving Katsu-style Porksani Belly and Kardazi Breast. Both are magical creatures native to the Dramakan Enclave. The Porksani can be raised. The Kardazi, not even the lower races would dare try.”

The children and the adults accompanying them rushed to examine the ingredients. Servants carried in folding tables through a portal Sylia opened casually, the apartment stretching further as if it had no limits.

“I nearly forgot.” she added. “Most of these ingredients can already be found in the new shop I’m opening with a dear friend of mine, Sir Damien Kendralzo, in one of the Gentry Districts. The shop is called ‘Syl & Damien’. I also supply a Noble Butcher shop co-founded by Count Teryon Sefraz.”

The woman in shabby clothes started scribbling notes at once. Tasha, watching her closely, began to wonder about her. She had the bearing of someone used to better times or perhaps it was a disguise. Many were curious about the Saint, after all.

“The soup we’re making today is simple but nourishing.” Sylia continued. “It’s easy to adapt and personalize. The base is Brown Misso which is different from regular soybean miso and made from Demorsu Beans. Use the low-salt or unsalted kind, add just a pinch of salt, a bit of Zukarix Black Pepper, a few drops of Xanel Oil, chopped Leekius—brown, green, or white—a grated onion, sliced Brown Mushroom, some Button Mushrooms, and of course, water. Today, we’re adding Potatoba for substance.”

She gestured toward the prep area where ingredients were being neatly arranged.

“This base can serve three to twelve variations. The first is vegetarian, as I described. Others include shredded Dankaei Bird meat, thin slices of Semi-Smoked Porksani Belly, or both. More elaborate versions might feature whole slices of Dankaei Bird, clams, shellfish, Fruity Shrimps, regular prawns, fresh Porksani Belly, or Eggsyons. You can also experiment with other vegetables or use higher-quality potato varieties in place of Potatoba. Mixing soybean miso with Brown Misso would create a new texture and taste. We’ve already prepared some of those blends for sale, but you can make your own. The possibilities aren’t endless, but they’re rich enough for every household to find their favorite.”

Several adults nodded in agreement, some already whispering ideas to one another. A few children raised their hands, but Sylia gently directed them toward her Bunnies, who immediately began fielding questions and giving small explanations.

“Now,” Sylia said, raising her voice slightly, “we’ll look at side dishes to go with the soup. For Slum households, the soup itself—served with a bowl of rice, Wheat-Rizio, or Potatoba and some Semi-Vegetarian Ham—is already a full meal. Resources are limited unless we step in with subsidies, which we already do as some of you know. However, the population has been growing more demanding, so we might need to scale back. At least until things settle again.”

Her gaze drifted toward Tasha as she spoke the last words, and Tasha looked down.

“After this,” Sylia said, turning back to the group, “we’ll learn how to prepare more refined dishes for the Gentry, using Brown Misso.”

A few pleased murmurs rose from the crowd. Some of the adults exchanged approving glances.

Sylia continued. “We’re also introducing several heavier dishes for the Gentry class, particularly those in need of more nourishment due to their bloodlines. The most notable is a Brown Misso Stew Pot with assorted meats, which I’ll present later. Tonight, we’ll hold another demonstration in one of the Gentry Districts. We may use fewer meat varieties since we expect a larger turnout. If you have time to spare, I encourage you to attend both.”

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Several adults nodded. Tasha noticed more people had joined. A quiet line of onlookers had gathered near the entrance, most of them men dressed for an afternoon Noble and Gentry engagement. Magali noticed too and immediately shrank back, shielding herself from view. She was not dressed for company. A few of the men chuckled. Tasha raged. It was yet another humiliation orchestrated by Sylia.

Yalanvar, also uneasy, leaned toward Sylia. “Who are those men? They look like high Nobility.”

Sylia nodded. “They are. Some are Dukes or close to becoming one. They’ve come from many places. A few even used Portals to cross continents.”

Yalanvar hesitated. “They’re your—?”

“Some are.” Sylia replied. “But many belong to my daughters. Do you see some of the children over there? Those are my grandchildren. They’re here to learn the recipes and carry them back to their homelands. Due to certain circumstances, I spent a long time in Time Dimensions and various Enclaves. I’m over fifty in this body. Julend, who lived with me for a few years, can confirm that. My Division, Cesylia, is far older. Her body is at least a thousand years old. She’s a Dragon Shifter, so her aging doesn’t follow the usual pace. She divided herself repeatedly just to be here. She’s probably the closest to my Original Self. More of a Saint Knight than a Saint. She tends to stay near the soldiers. She’s currently recruiting soldiers for her territories while also making children to protect this world.”

Denekel Sigmundi, one of Yalanvar’s cousins, fell right out of his chair. The shock was too much. His fiancée, Suzie Madribel, rushed to his side.

“Are you alright, darling?” she asked.

Denekel nodded uncertainly, still shaken.

Sylia looked down at him, sprawled like a fool on the ground. “I’m sorry, Denekel. Do you still think Cesylia is immature? Are those twenty-five years of yours weighing too heavily on your pride? You’re less mature than Julend. Focus on your seventeen-year-old fiancée instead of lecturing older women about maturity.”

Denekel nodded weakly, his eyes misting.

Sylia smiled, almost kindly. “Just tend to your little duties while she rules her Darkling World. I sincerely hope you never meet the core of that one. You’d cry. Honestly. A Sigmundi meeting a Darkling Queen of the Night at her true level? You wouldn’t be able to stand in her presence. Her giant form would terrify you. Her core self wouldn’t even register you. At most, she might notice you the way one notices tiny insects crawling on the skin. Your little Soul wouldn’t endure that presence. So focus on acting big around your own swarm of insignificant pests, instead of imagining you could ever confront a Celestial of her stature.”

Denekel began sobbing and ran off, trailed by his anxious fiancée and her cousin. Yalanvar stood frozen, unable to process what had just happened.

The afternoon stretched on. The Noblemen hovered around Sylia, eager to impress, fawning over her as if she were the Queen she likely was in their eyes. Magali broke into fits of weeping more than once and had to be taken to a back room.

Sylia had transformed the entire gathering into a lesson in humility.

Hours later, everyone looked worn and strained, but Sylia remained composed. Pullina, ever cheerful, still had the nerve to speak up while the others cast her dark glances.

“Should we make dinner now, Sylia?”

Sylia replied calmly. “Let us have some tea first. I feel like having something sweet. Then we can begin preparing dinner. Or rather dinners, since we are arranging more than one across the Slums. You are still banned from cooking. You are good with a knife, so chopping ingredients will be your main job.”

Pullina beamed with pride. “Thank you. I will do my best.”

Sometime after nightfall, Grenar arrived, looking tired and slightly sheepish. He took a seat at one of the tables already set out. Tasha shot him a glare. She had been stuck sitting through the entire afternoon while he had gone off for a nap.

Grenar said. “I heard we are having fish.”

Sylia smiled brightly. “Yes. I thought we should feed you since you are practically wasting away. So tell me, how does it feel to be betrayed by the one you swore to protect?”

Grenar shivered but gave no reply.

Suddenly, an unusually cheerful Grenek walked in.

Grenek smiled at Sylia, who did not return the gesture. “I heard you were going to finance the wedding in one of the halls attached to the Nightchester Temple-Church.”

Yalanvar frowned.

“You heard wrong.” Sylia said. “It is only at the Sub-Church called Nightchester’s Darkryf Night. The decision was made because of Yalanvar’s father. He will soon be baptized there and intends to present some of his children as his official Legacy. This is important to him since he is now recognized as a Mid-Scholarly-Knight Viscount.”

Grenek blinked. “I see. I had no idea. So it is official?”

“Yes. Lord Chester’s Churches know how to reward the brave and loyal. And they know how to torment traitors.”

Grenek glanced toward Grenar. His father’s overly quiet demeanor had not gone unnoticed. His eyes narrowed.

Sylia said. “I heard Tasha and Grenar managed to convince you to send our daughter to Church without even consulting me.”

Yalanvar turned toward Grenek, his concern growing. Magali had started shivering again.

Grenek lowered his head. “I thought it would be better for her.”

Sylia’s voice sharpened. “Of course you did. I am sure Masha whispered that in your ear during one of your nighttime sessions. I am dealing with her right now. Teaching her just how thick her skin can be.”

Grenar shivered.

Sylia turned to Tasha, her voice cold.

“Don’t worry, Tasha. Your turn will come, just like Grenek’s. It’s time I show you both what happens to those who go behind my back and try to harm my children.”

Then she looked at Grenek.

“I spoke with Sylvia’s mother. We’ve agreed—you’ve been too deeply contaminated by Masha to be trusted with your children by her. The good news is that you can still claim Magali. Tasha can handle a small scandal. It’s time you finally tell Magali the truth about her other siblings, born that time because of Tasha’s curse.”

Grenek shivered.

“You still haven’t forgiven that?”

Sylia’s tone didn’t change.

“I knew back then you were beyond redemption. I still tried with you. At least Grenar didn’t start fucking the girl he was looking after. You raised Masha first, remember? You are still her legal guardian.”

Grenek trembled. Yalanvar’s expression darkened. He was no longer amused. This was far worse than he had expected.

Yalanvar had dismissed Sylvia’s fears, thought her exaggerating when she said her father was slipping under Masha’s influence. He wasn’t laughing now.

***

Of course, that hadn’t been the only incident. Sylia, though she could hardly be called a good mother, had done what she could to protect her children.

Grenek had already begun to degenerate under the corruptive influence of Masha and her Goddess. Tasha remained the same as ever. A woman who enjoyed tormenting others whenever boredom set in. She was always plotting something new. Then there was Dyetro, who had moved beyond them both. Even Tasha hesitated around him now. Dyetro no longer cared about consequences, and his sense of morality had all but vanished.

Grenek had not always been like this. It had taken time for Masha’s Goddess to truly corrupt him. He would always remain one of Sylia’s greatest failures. She had known he was nearly impossible to redeem, yet she had tried. After all, she was known to redeem even the most hopeless cases.

Sylia had also placed some hope in Magali, but that hope was shattered by what followed. That incident had exposed just how deeply Magali had been corrupted by her own family. It had served as a lesson—one delivered harshly. She miscarried only a few days later. Sylia was blamed, naturally. However, even her harshest detractors had to acknowledge that the child’s malformation had been evident. What Sylia didn’t tell them was that the child had likely been dead for a long time already. The reasons were complex. The deformities had begun with the potions Magali had used to provoke the pregnancy. The curse had only hastened what had already been set in motion.

Sylia recalled that only two years earlier, Magali hadn’t been this shallow girl obsessed with men and her social standing. She had once been a hard-working teenager, concerned mostly with her appearance and determined to leave the Slums at any cost. Many teenage girls living in the Slums were like that—at least, those who could afford to look after themselves. The others were too busy surviving.