He woke up very refreshed. Birds on the surrounding trees were singing the now familiar songs which brought a smile to his face. The kitchen invited him with a pleasant smell. Azure stayed in their room and said he was about to meditate. His new boss for the time being welcomed him with fried eggs.

  “That is what I am teaching you first. One of the things my tavern is renowned for is our omelette. Let's start from zero. We need steady medium heat. Don't put the iron skillet directly into the flames, place it close to the heart of the fire.”

  After beginning his day with eggs, this seemed like a perfect opportunity to learn the process. His cooking was so bad that he had given up early in his life even on the most simple dishes. The omelette he had just eaten was the best he had ever had.

  “The mushrooms hit the skillet, right after a spoon of butter melts into a glossy pool,” said the bartender.

  The pan hissed softly. His stomach rumbled even though it was full.

  “Now is the time for diced onions. We let them turn translucent as they fill the air with a sweet aroma,” said his teacher, pleasantly rubbing his hands. “As soon as the mushrooms begin to brown at the edges, we add small cubes of smoked boar.”

  The fat slightly rendered, filling the kitchen with the scent of woodsmoke. The heat bloomed in the butter. The bartender removed the filling and set it aside, wiping the skillet with a quick turn of the wrist. He cracked four eggs into a wooden bowl. Next followed a breath of black pepper and salt. His boss beat them with a fork until the whites and yolks lost their boundaries, becoming a single golden thing. Now he added more butter into the pan. The eggs were poured in.

  “We wait a few seconds for the edges to begin setting,” said the bartender. “With a wooden spoon we draw them inward while tilting the pan to let liquid egg flow outward. Do this for about a minute, only guiding and being careful not to scramble. We should get soft folds to form.”

  His movements were pure art. Every touch. Each gesture. Refined. He was mesmerized by his skill and fluidity.

  “Next we add the mixture of mushrooms and boar evenly across the middle,” said his boss. “A handful of grated sheep’s cheese follows. We add some chopped herbs last so their fragrance can release with the heat.”

  He tilted the skillet a little bit and folded one half of the omelette over the other. Such effortless motion. The bartender let it rest a little while more. The divine scent of melting cheese filled the atmosphere.

  Cooking looked so fun and equally difficult. He guessed the bartender had practiced many years to reach the level of mastery he demonstrated. With ease he prepared five more omelettes before they opened—he wanted to feed his other guests. In the meantime he was put in charge of welcoming customers. A tall and muscular crocodile walked in.

  “Good morning. I haven't seen you around, you must be new. I'll have an omelette and tea, thank you,” said his first customer. He smiled and made it to the kitchen in a slight rush.

  He repeated the order to the bartender, who said, “Oh no, I am not taking orders. This is the perfect opportunity to make your first omelette!”

  His eyes widened. His first omelette. The echo of these words rang in his head. He started the process from the first step exactly as his boss had shown him. Or at least that was his intention. Rushing some parts and dragging others, his result was far from tasty looking. He broke the shape of the omelette by mistake and it could not live up to its name in its current form. At least he managed to brew a decent cup of tea. He returned to his customer and served him the omelette with a nervous smile. As he was afraid to carry both at the same time, a second trip for the tea gave him just enough time to gather courage and apologise upfront.

  “I'm really sorry for the condition your omelette is in. This is literally my first one ever. It is so bad that I would offer to pay for it myself if I had the money to do so,” he said as he shuffled his feet.

  “I actually work as a cook in a restaurant in town. The tragedy of the first dish is very familiar to me. I will eat it with gratitude as you clearly have put your best efforts in it,” the crocodile said, beaming at him.

  What a relief! He really had put his heart into it. His first cooked meal was greeted with love and understanding. Just as he caught his breath, a new customer walked in. This time it was a centaur—what were the odds of his first two clients being non-human? He ordered literally the same as the crocodile. With a slight increase in confidence he proceeded to make a disfigured omelette but again, excellent tea. After all, how could one mess up tea? This time though luck was not on his side. The centaur was greatly displeased with his serving. A scene commenced. He hated being the main character. The bartender walked in just in time to save him from the scolding. He offered his apologies, even though he had already offered his three times. The centaur had none of it. He walked out furious and uttered curses that he had not yet encountered.

  Now came the time to offer his apologies to his boss. He gently dismissed them. He actually received praise for the meal he made! Praise! Perhaps he just meant good and wanted to encourage him to continue with his efforts. Maybe the omelette was not as terrible as both he and the centaur saw it. Whatever it was, he was glad he did not receive a second scolding. Instead, he got paid. It wasn't even lunchtime yet. There was no point in arguing with the bartender. He wanted him to go buy some groceries and keep the change for himself.

  He left the tavern and headed for the market. The instructions on how to get there from his boss were pretty clear. But it still seemed easy to lose one’s way in this city. Vratsa was way bigger than it appeared at first glance. The wall surrounding the city seemed tiny in the distance.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  The fresh smell of tasty cooking came from every corner. Many citizens made their way through the surprisingly clean streets. The town seemed well cared for and loved by its inhabitants. Many shops were open with smiling merchants in front, gesturing to potential customers a warm welcome. He took his time, his gaze dancing with curiosity at the diverse scenery. No two buildings shared the same colour. And yet it did not tire the eye. Style emanated from every corner. Everything was refined to the last detail. At the same time the scenery could be called messy and random if one changed vantage point.

  Perhaps it appealed to him so much because he was a foreigner in this world. Maybe to the citizens it was all mundane and dirty. Compared to the place he came from, this town looked as clean as a hospital. Wasn't that strange? This medieval, fantasy setting called for lack of hygiene and abundance of disease. Or at least that was his impression from what he knew.

  Taking a few corners and not being in a particular rush, he finally reached the big market. Tens if not hundreds of stalls filled with fruits, vegetables and animal products were spread out as far as the eye could see. The first thing that caught his eye was that all the signs were written in English. Convenient and unexpected. Like many of the events these two days.

  His eyes set on a little stall with very good looking products and a human behind it.

  “Greetings! I'd like to purchase some of your goods. I've got a list with me so I'll...”

  “I do not sell to the likes of you.”

  “?”

  “Move, or I'll make you move.”

  What was all this about? What had he gotten from his appearance to warrant such a response? He was wearing what he came here with. Beige corduroy pants with a mahogany shirt. Sure, different from what everyone was wearing, but still? What gave? Fuck that guy.

  He tried a different stall, this time with a crocodile merchant.

  “Good day to you! Can I buy some of your goods?”

  “Hello! Yes, of course, you are much welcome to browse as long as you need.”

  What changed? Surely not his outfit.

  “So on my list is half a sack of potatoes, three pounds of onions, a bundle of carrots and four large heads of cabbage. I'll also need two pounds of mushrooms, five dozen eggs, three pounds of butter and a wheel of cheese. Please deliver all this to The Cabbage. You know where it is, right?”

  “The Cabbage? Are you a new recruit there?” asked the crocodile.

  “Yes, I just started work today. How much would all this cost?”

  “Nine silver coins exactly!”

  He paid for the goods and exchanged cheerful goodbyes with the merchant. The bartender had given him ten silver coins so that meant his pay was an entire silver coin! Wasn't that too much for an apprentice? He didn’t feel like he deserved it.

  On his way back to The Cabbage, what surprised him was that the city was growing livelier as the day advanced. He hadn't expected that the streets could handle so many people. Now there was more time for him to focus on the clothing of everyone.

  Some people were wearing linen shirts with rolled sleeves. Others had robes on. Crocodiles mostly wore leather jerkins. Centaurs had vests on. Everyone was in bright colours and apparently as clean as one could be in the dusty streets. He had expected muted colours and dirty garments in such a world, so his surprise was overwhelming. A centaur bumped into him. He let out a threatening grunt and threw a dirty look at him.

  Children of all three races rushed through the crowd, playing tag. That filled him with hope. Racism was out of his worry list, for now.

  On the main street this time around he managed to notice multiple shops with steaming potions for sale. The hammers of blacksmiths made it through the lively chatter of the townsfolk. There were also places open where in front were stacked piles of various strange fruits he had not seen. At least they looked like such.

  Two crocodiles were having an animated conversation. A centaur stopped in front of them and interrupted them, asking for directions. His eyes set on them, he bumped into a young lady crocodile. She smiled at him and apologised, even though it was his fault.

  The potion shops lingered in his mind so he turned around and entered one. The aroma of magic filled his nostrils. He could almost taste it. The centaur at the counter waved politely.

  “Greetings, customer. What potions are you looking for? I've got Dragon Juice fresh from today, some Infernal Malice left from last week but in top shape, and my signature potions Dyavolsko Oko, Strashen Kusmet and Zemen Strah.”

  “Oh, excuse me. I have no knowledge of potions and their uses, that is precisely why I came here. I am... not from around. Can you explain how they work?”

  “Their power comes from The Kladenets. You probably don't know about that, either. See, The Kladenets is... well, how to put it... I'm not quite sure, myself. It is a ‘place’ where magic dwells. Like a fountain, a spring, or a well, perhaps even a lake or a sea. ‘A stream of consciousness?’ Maybe it is an entire ocean. It molds around the people who draw from its energy,” said the potions master.

  “Correct me if I'm wrong, but doesn't that mean that different people will get different results from brewing the same potions, using identical ingredients?”

  “Yes, precisely. All potions carry the trace of their maker. It manifests in different ways. There are common potions which are made by all, as the difference from one mixture to the other is negligible. Then there are the signature ones, so specific that they can only be made by one person.”

  “I am Howard, by the way. You seem friendly and I'd like to visit you again when I have enough money to try something out. May I ask for your name?”

  “I am known as Gospodar Otvara. It's nice to meet you. All interested in potions are welcome in my shop. Come by whenever, I love to talk.”

  His heart started racing after exchanging goodbyes. Work entered his mind. Cooking. The Cabbage. He sped up on his way back to the tavern.

  The bartender cheerfully waved at him.

  “Did you make an order for all the goods and was the money enough? I think you should have two silver coins left if my calculations are correct and if the merchant was fair with you.”

  “Yes, I first encountered a very rude merchant but on the second try I took care of things. I actually have one silver coin left. It's more than I expect for my clumsy work and I can't thank you enough. Although I am not familiar with prices in this place, I think it is too much pay for my first day.”

  “I want to encourage you! Most of the people who come from your place are very rude and entitled. Your desire to help and lack of insolence is worth a lot to me.”

  “Wait, so others have come from my place? First of all, how do you know that? Just from our clothes?”

  “Not just the clothes, but the eyes, too. They are doors to The Kladenets within.”

  “About that, I am sorry I took so long. On my way back from the market a potion shop caught my attention and I went in. There I met Gospodar Otvara and he also mentioned The Kladenets. But it all sounds so vague and mystical. So you're telling me that we also have access to this... Kladenets? Me and others from my place? How often do you meet them and can you teach me more about all this?”

  “The others come with questions and arrogance, demanding an explanation, wanting to be sent back. They say that life isn't fair, one day going about their business, the other, ending up in Vratsa. They hate all of this. Like I am responsible for their arrival! They demand food and shelter ‘until they figure it out’. Sometimes shouting, crying or both.”

  So there were others... just like him. All with jaws dropped, alike. Thoughts skidding past each other. One moment dripping with sweat, the other, a cold chill running down their spine.