Marked by the Four Beast Lords After Transmigration

Shen did not come before breakfast.

Nia noticed because the kettle was still empty when she reached the kitchen.

The hearthstones held their morning heat. The covered stock pot waited near the rear stone. The new shelf above the work counter still carried Shen’s herb roll beside the small knife, neat and pale against the wood.

Nia stood with one hand on the kettle handle.

Behind her, Kael entered from the bedroom hallway tying his sleeve.

“No tea?” he asked.

“I’m making it.”

His gaze moved to the empty kettle, then to the outer door.

Nia filled the kettle from the water jar. “He probably had something to do.”

Kael crossed to the table and lifted the folded ridge report he had left there the night before. “Yes.”

She looked over her shoulder. “You know?”

“Tarek sent word late last night. Lower infirmary needed Shen early. Two workers came in with frostbite from the north clearing.”

Nia’s hands paused around the kettle.

Kael looked up. “Minor.”

“That is still frostbite.”

“Shen went.”

Nia set the kettle over the heating stone. “You could have told me.”

“You were asleep.”

“You could have told me when I woke up.”

“You were arguing with your sash.”

She looked down at the sash she had tied crookedly and adjusted it with one hand. “That was not an argument. It was a disagreement.”

Kael came closer and retied it properly without asking. His fingers moved with quiet efficiency, tugging the fabric flat, smoothing the fold once with his thumb. “You lost.”

“I was interrupted by the absence of tea.”

“Mm.”

The kettle took longer than usual.

That was probably not true. It only felt longer because Nia kept reaching for things that were not where her body expected them to be. The tea leaves were on the second shelf, where they had always been, but Shen usually set them out before she came in. The cups were stacked beside the bowls, but one did not appear near her hand. The warming bark pouch hung from the right peg, exactly where Kael had left it, but she had to decide whether to use it herself instead of having Shen tilt his head toward it when her fingers stayed cold.

She added a small piece to the kettle.

Kael watched her do it.

“What?” she asked.

“You remembered.”

“I know where things are.”

“Yes.”

That sounded too much like praise for basic survival, so she ignored him and reached for the root cakes wrapped on the shelf. They were cold and firm from the night before, and the cloth smelled faintly of Snow Wasset fat. She set them on the warmed stone to crisp again.

Kael moved behind her and took down two plates.

“Only two,” she said before she meant to.

Kael’s hand paused at the shelf.

Nia looked at the root cakes.

There were enough for three.

Kael set down the two plates, then took down a third.

“He may come,” he said.

Nia nodded and turned the root cakes before the edges darkened too much. “He may.”

Breakfast came together quietly. Tea. Root cakes. A small bowl of soup warmed from last night, thickened by the stock cooling overnight. It was a good breakfast. Warm, practical, enough for later if they stretched it.

Kael ate steadily.

Nia ate slower.

Halfway through, she reached toward the empty space beside her cup without thinking. Her fingers met the table.

Kael’s gaze moved to her hand.

“I was reaching for the spoon,” she said.

“The spoon is hanging.”

“I know.”

He stood, took it from the peg, and placed it beside her bowl.

“I could have gotten it.”

“Yes.”

She picked up the spoon and stirred the soup though it did not need stirring. The broth moved in a small circle, glossy with a thin layer of fat. Shen would have added less warming bark to the tea. He would have noticed before she did that the root cakes needed only a breath longer on the second side. He would have moved the berry jar back to the corner after she reached for it twice.

She reached for the berry jar.

Kael looked at her.

Nia stopped. “I am allowed.”

“Yes.”

“You looked.”

“Because you looked guilty.”

“I was not guilty.”

Kael ate another root cake. “He will return when they release him.”

“That sounds like the infirmary has captured him.”

“It may have.”

Nia laughed softly despite herself. “Shen does seem like someone the infirmary would refuse to give back.”

Kael’s mouth shifted. “Useful.”

“Very.”

The word settled into the space between them.

Nia took another bite. The food was still good. The kitchen still worked. The shelf still held. The morning did not fall apart because one person was missing from it, which only made her notice more clearly where his hands usually entered the rhythm.

After breakfast, Kael left to check the upper storage ledge, and Nia stayed behind to prepare a thicker soup base for midday. She told herself it was a good chance to test whether the stock would hold up after cooling. That was true. It was also easier than standing in the main chamber wondering when the outer door would open.

She pulled the stock pot closer and checked the surface. The broth had set slightly at the edges, not fully gelled but thicker than the day before. Good. Roasted bone had done its work. She skimmed the fat into a small bowl, leaving enough behind to carry flavor, then reached for the dark leaf.

Her hand went to the shelf.

The herb roll was there.

Nia untied it carefully. Shen kept the bundles arranged by use and strength, not by size, which made perfect sense once you knew his system and almost none if you did not. She found the dark leaf, then hesitated over a narrow bundle wrapped in pale thread. Snowmint. Beside it, a small amount of warming bark.

She closed the roll halfway, then opened it again.

“You are not here to stop me,” she murmured.

She used less than she wanted, because the last time she had ignored Shen’s measurements the broth had tasted like medicine pretending to be dinner.

The soup base warmed slowly. She added shredded Snow Wasset, winter roots cut small, a little dark leaf, and the barest shaving of warming bark. Then she tasted it and frowned.

The soup was too flat. Not ruined, but not right either.

Nia reached for the smoked salt and added a pinch. Better. Still missing something bright. Her hand moved toward the berry jar and stopped halfway there.

“No,” she told herself.

The berry jar sat on the corner shelf, label facing outward because Shen had placed it that way yesterday and had been entirely correct about her reaching it anyway.

She took the jar.

Only a little.

The soup improved.

Nia exhaled, satisfied and mildly irritated that every wrong instinct had become right once she made it smaller in the way Shen would have suggested.

The outer door opened behind her.

She turned too quickly.

Kael came in carrying a small basket from the storage ledge. Cold air slipped around him, then closed off when he shut the door with his foot. Snow clung to one side of his hair.

Nia looked past him, but Shen was not with him.

Kael set the basket down. “Not yet.”

“I was checking the door.”

“Mm.”

She stirred the soup. “How is the storage ledge?”

“Cold.”

“Winter storage usually is.”

“Stable. No cracks. No ice inside the seal.”

“Good.”

Kael came to stand beside her. His hand settled briefly against the small of her back, warm through her dress despite the cold still on his cloak. He leaned over the pot and inhaled.

“Different.”

“I used less warming bark than I wanted.”

“Good.”

She glanced up at him. “You sound like Shen.”

“No.”

“You do.”

Kael accepted a tasting spoon from her and tried the soup. His expression stayed steady, but his eyes narrowed slightly in thought.

Nia waited.

“Needs something.”

“I know.”

He handed the spoon back. “Shen will know.”

The words were simple. Practical. Kael did not make them into anything else.

Nia looked into the pot.

“Yes,” she said. “He probably will.”

Kael remained beside her for a while, sorting the storage basket while she worked. Dried roots went into one jar. Frozen strips of meat into another. A small packet of hard winter berries went onto the counter, where Nia immediately opened it and tasted one.

It was too tart to eat alone, which meant it might be useful.

She dropped three into the soup.

Kael watched.

“Shen?” he asked.

“My own thought.”

“Mm.”

“It was.”

“I believe you had the thought after thinking of him.”

Nia pointed the spoon at him, then had to lift it higher when broth threatened to slide down the handle. “You could pretend not to notice every small thing before midday.”

Kael took the spoon from her hand before the broth reached her fingers and set it back on the resting dish.

She sighed. “Fine.”

He touched her waist once, then returned to the basket.

By the time midday came, Shen still had not arrived.

Tarek came instead, knocking once and waiting for Kael’s answer before pushing the door open. Snow dusted his shoulders, and his face carried the blunt weariness of someone who had been moving between ridge reports and worker checks since before sunrise.

“Shen sent word,” he said.

Nia set down the knife she had been using to cut the last of the roots.

Kael looked up from the table. “The workers?”

“Stable. He is staying until the deeper chill leaves their fingers. He said not to overuse the warming bark.”

Nia closed her eyes.

Tarek glanced at the pot. “He said that part was for Nia.”

Kael’s mouth shifted.

Nia opened her eyes. “I used a reasonable amount.”

Tarek looked toward the shelf where the pouch hung from the right peg, and his expression made clear he had no way to evaluate this and no intention of trying.

“Then he also said the broth may need winter berries if it tastes heavy.”

Nia stared at him.

Tarek reached into his cloak and pulled out a small folded cloth bundle. “He sent these.”

Inside were more berries, darker than the ones Kael had brought in. Smaller too, with a faint purple cast beneath the frost.

Nia took the bundle carefully.

Tarek continued, “He said three for a small pot, five if Kael has already tasted it and said it needs something.”

Kael looked at the soup.

Nia looked at Kael.

Tarek looked between them. “Five?”

Nia pressed her lips together. “Three already went in.”

“Then two more.”

She laughed. She could not help it. The sound came out warm and helpless, and Tarek’s expression eased the smallest amount before he turned back toward Kael with the rest of his report.

Nia added two berries to the pot.

The soup changed within minutes. The broth brightened at the edges, the Snow Wasset fat settling into something cleaner, the roots tasting more like themselves. Shen had not been in the room all morning, and somehow his hand had still reached the pot.

She made enough soup for him.

When Shen finally returned, afternoon light had already begun to fade from the stone near the entrance.

The door opened softly, and he stepped in with cold clinging to his sleeves and the faint medicinal scent of the lower infirmary in his hair. He looked tired in a way most people would have missed: slower blink, shoulders held too evenly, tail moving less than usual behind him.

Nia noticed.

Kael did too.

“Sit,” Kael said.

Shen removed his outer layer. “I should wash first.”

“Then wash,” Nia said, already reaching for the basin. “Then sit.”

Shen looked toward the kitchen.

The shelf. The pot. The covered bowl waiting near the hearth. The third plate still stacked beside the others.

His gaze paused there.

Nia filled the basin with warm water. “The workers?”

“Stable.” Shen came to the basin and washed his hands, careful and thorough. “They will keep their fingers. They were lucky Tarek sent them down quickly.”

“Tarek said you stayed until the deeper chill left.”

“Yes.”

“And sent berries.”

His mouth softened faintly. “You used the bark.”

“A reasonable amount.”

Kael said, “Less than usual.”

Shen dried his hands on the cloth hanging from the right peg. “Good.”

Nia pointed at both of them. “I do not need supervision from two directions.”

“Only one direction today,” Shen said, his voice quieter than usual.

Kael looked at him.

Shen’s tail shifted once. “Mostly.”

Nia placed a bowl of soup in front of him before he could keep standing.

He sat.

That, more than anything, told her he was tired.

Shen ate the first spoonful slowly. His eyes lowered to the bowl as he tasted, and his shoulders eased by a fraction.

Nia watched him.

“Well?”

“The berries worked.”

“You knew they would.”

“I suspected.”

“You sent exact numbers.”

“I suspected accurately.”

Kael ate from his own bowl. “Usually.”

Shen looked at him. “Usually.”

Nia sat across from them with her tea and let the warmth of the room gather again. It had not been empty without him. It had not been wrong. The shelf had held. The soup had cooked. Kael had stayed close in his way, and the mountain had gone on with work and snow and ridge reports.

Still, Shen sat at the table now, eating from the bowl she had kept warm, and the room settled.

His tail touched her ankle beneath the table, light and tired.

She shifted her foot closer.

Kael’s knee pressed against hers a moment later, steady as stone.

Conversation thinned after that, not from strain but because the food was warm and Shen kept eating slowly, his tail still resting against her ankle while Kael’s knee stayed near hers. The soup held its heat. Snow moved softly against the outer door, and the kitchen settled around them again.

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