"Get the bowls," Sol ordered, his eyes gleaming with the reflection of the fire. "We're going to be kings."

But first, they had to eat.

Sol ladled the steaming, golden-red broth into wooden bowls for the family. He made sure each serving had a generous chunk of the searingly hot rock-badger meat, a piece of the caramelized tuber, and plenty of the glistening, fat-rich liquid.

The hut went silent, save for the sounds of frantic slurping and satisfied sighs. The spice warmed them from the inside out, chasing away the morning chill, while the rich fats coated their tongues in a way boiled water never could.

Veyra was the first to break the silence, though she didn't look up from her bowl.

"It's..." She paused, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, her eyes wide with a mixture of disbelief and grudging respect. She looked at the empty bowl, scraped clean, then at Sol. "It's even better than before. The 'Root of Resilience'... it adds a sweetness I can't place. It balances the fire. It doesn't just burn, it glows."

"See?" Sol grinned, blowing on his own spoonful before taking a sip. "Trust the chef. I know what I'm doing."

Liora, on the other hand, had no such reservations. She was practically vibrating.

"It dances!" she squealed, her face flushed a healthy, rosy pink from the capsaicin rush. She licked the rim of her bowl, chasing a stray drop of chili oil. "My mouth is tingling, Sol! It feels like... like little ants made of fire are running around, but in a good way! I feel so awake!"

She looked at her empty bowl with genuine tragedy. "Can I have more? Just a little? The meat... it fell apart on my tongue."

"Save room," Sol chided gently, though he scooped a small extra ladleful for her. "We have to sell this, remember? Next time I make it, I will give you two or even three bowls."

Arelia, the anchor, ate with a slow, meditative focus. She closed her eyes after every bite, analyzing the flavors with the seriousness of a healer testing a new poultice.

"It is... complete," Arelia murmured, opening her soft brown eyes to look at Sol. "Usually, our food fights itself. The bitter greens fight the bland meat. But this... the salt from the Tear-Grass holds hands with the fat. The spice lifts the heavy earth taste of the tubers. It is a circle, Sol. It feels like... medicine for the spirit."

She smiled, a serene, beatific expression. "It makes me feel safe. Like a full larder in winter."

Finally, Lyra lowered her bowl. She hadn't spoken a word since the first sip. She stared into the dregs of the broth, her expression one of profound shock.

She looked at the pile of "trash" ingredients in the corner… the bones, the rejected weeds, the terrifying red berries. Then she looked at Sol.

"You turned garbage into life," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "I have eaten this badger meat a hundred times. It is always tough. It always tastes like dust. But this..."

She shook her head, her eyes shimmering with that intense, devoted light Sol had ignited the night before.

"The ancestors truly guided your hand, Sol. No mortal could think to mix poison berries with sweat grass and make it taste like a feast. We were really blind, but you see."

Sol felt the Ash Gray energy in his chest hum, a warm vibration of satisfaction. He had conquered their palates. The skeptics were now believers.

"Strength comes from strange places, Aunt," Sol said smoothly, scraping the last bit of marrow from a bone. "Now, clean your faces. We have a village to feed."

Just then, the heavy, floral scent of a woman wafted through the door, cutting through the savory aroma of the soup like a sweet knife. It was followed by a familiar, sleepy voice that sent a jolt of recognition down Sol's spine.

"Is that a feast I smell? Or are the ancestors cooking in your hut again?"

Evara pushed the door open and leaned against the frame.

She looked like she had just rolled out of bed… and in the best way possible. Her chestnut hair was tousled and wild, framing a face still flushed with sleep. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, blinking slowly against the morning light. But it was her attire that drew Sol's gaze like a magnet. Her fiber wrap was loose, barely knotted at the waist, slipping down one shoulder to show the deep, creamy valley of her cleavage.

Sol gulped. The image of her from last night… flushed, writhing on the furs, begging for his "treatment"—flashed through his mind with high-definition clarity. He felt a phantom heat in his loins, a heavy throb of memory. He had been this close. Just a few seconds more, and he would have claimed her completely.

Soon, he consoled himself, forcing his gaze up to her face, fighting the urge to undress her with his eyes right in front of his aunt. Very soon.

"Evara," Lyra smiled, gesturing to the pot, completely oblivious to the tension radiating from her nephew. "Come. Sol has outdone himself again. Try this soup he has just made."

Evara drifted in, her hips swaying with that natural, lazy grace. She took the bowl Sol offered, her fingers brushing his. The contact was brief, but it still sent tingles down to his cock.

She took a sip.

Her reaction was immediate. Her eyes snapped open, the sleepiness vanishing. She didn't just moan; she shivered, a full-body tremor that rippled through her curves.

"Oh..." she breathed, licking her lips to catch a drop of the spicy oil. She looked at Sol, her pupils dilating. "You said it was good yesterday, Sol. But this? This is dangerous. It's richer. It warms me all the way down... to my toes."

She took another large gulp, ignoring the heat, savoring the burn.

The others watched her with pride. Lyra beamed, validated in her faith. Liora smirked happily.

Evara's gaze fell on the massive clay cauldron bubbling over the fire. "Why did you make so much?" she asked, eyeing the sheer volume of liquid. "You can't eat all this, even with four mouths. It will spoil."

"We are selling it," Lyra explained, her voice tinged with a new, fierce pride she hadn't possessed yesterday. She stood taller, gesturing to the pot. "Sol has a plan. We are going to the square to trade."

Evara raised an eyebrow, looking at Sol with impressed surprise. A slow smile spread across her face. "A stall? In the square? That's bold, little Sol. Most people just hoard what they catch.

She took another sip, savoring the flavor as if it were a fine wine.

"But with this taste..." she murmured. "It will work. It will definitely work. I'd trade my best flank steak for a pot of this. It makes the dried meat I have at home taste like dust."

"Why would there be such formality between neighbors?" Lyra chided gently, ever the generous soul. "If you want soup, come get it anytime. We have plenty."

Sol nodded, his eyes meeting Evara's over the rim of her bowl.

"Yes," he said, his voice dropping just enough for her to hear the subtext. "Come anytime. Even if you need... something more."

Evara's lips curled into a knowing, sultry smile.

"I just might," she whispered, draining her bowl. "I just might."

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