Marked by the Four Beast Lords After Transmigration

By the time Nia drifted awake, pale gray morning light had begun reaching the deeper sections of the cave through the distant outer corridors. Faint activity traveled through the stone in softened layers — supplies being moved somewhere near the front chambers, low voices too distant to separate clearly, and the muted crackle of fires being rebuilt for the morning.

Kael’s warmth pressed along nearly her entire back beneath the heavy furs. At some point during the night she had shifted fully against him without remembering when, one of his arms settling around her waist with the relaxed certainty of someone who had held her there often enough that her body no longer startled awake over it.

Her ankle ached less than it had the night before. The soreness still lingered deep in the joint from too much walking through the market and reception hall, but the sharper edge had dulled beneath sleep, warmth, and enforced rest. She flexed her foot carefully beneath the furs, testing the pull without shifting enough to disturb Kael.

A soft scrape of paper against stone reached her from somewhere nearby, followed shortly afterward by the faint clink of a cup against rock.

Nia opened her eyes fully and lifted her head enough to look across the dim chamber.

Shen sat near the rear wall beside one of the smaller bedroom fire pits with several rolled trade sheets spread across a low table near his knee. Steam curled from the cup resting beside him while firelight caught faintly against the scales along his wrists as he turned another page with steady concentration.

Nia stared at him for a second before speaking.

“Why are you in our bedroom?”

Shen glanced up calmly. “Good morning.”

“That wasn’t an answer.”

Behind her, Kael shifted against the furs with quiet amusement. His arm tightened briefly around her waist when she twisted too quickly toward the firelight.

Shen folded one trade sheet closed before setting it beside the others. “The front chambers were already active when I returned from the lower passages. The central rooms were occupied, several guards were sleeping in the west chamber, and the bathing corridor echoes badly this early in the morning.”

Nia considered that explanation in silence.

The irritating part was that it made sense.

“You still walked into our room while we were asleep.”

“Kael was awake when I entered,” Shen said. “He didn’t object.”

Kael finally opened one eye. “He was quiet about it.”

“You are both missing the point.”

Shen studied that seriously enough that she almost regretted saying it. “Should I leave?”

“No,” Nia admitted after a moment. “Just announce yourself first next time before you quietly become part of the furniture.”

“I can do that.”

Kael’s chest moved once with restrained amusement behind her.

Nia pulled one of the thicker wraps around herself before sliding carefully toward the edge of the sleeping platform.

The grain returned to her thoughts the moment her feet touched the warmed stone floor.

Yesterday’s sorting had identified several workable sacks, and somewhere in the back of her mind she had apparently continued thinking about grind texture and flour behavior while asleep.

Kael noticed immediately.

“You remembered.”

Nia narrowed her eyes slightly. “Don’t make it a point.”

“You muttered about grinding consistency in your sleep.”

“I did not.”

“You did,” Shen said mildly from behind his cup. “Something about noodles as well.”

Nia turned toward him slowly. “I need both of you to stop listening to me while I’m unconscious.”

“You were speaking clearly,” Kael said.

“That is not permission.”

Neither of them looked especially apologetic.

They moved toward the front of the cave in unhurried stages afterward — Kael pulling on an outer wrap while Shen gathered the trade sheets beneath one arm. Nia followed more carefully, distributing her weight to avoid twisting her ankle against uneven stone.

The corridor widened gradually toward the larger living spaces. Air moved more freely there, carrying stronger traces of wood smoke, warmed stone, drying herbs, and the lingering remains of last night’s pepper stew.

The kitchen had already begun waking by the time they reached the main chamber. Workers moved through the storage side in steady routine while someone rebuilt the cooking fires near the central stone.

The grain sacks remained stacked beside the reorganized shelves.

Nia crossed toward them almost immediately.

She loosened the nearest binding and pressed her fingers into the grain. The kernels were darker and denser than the softer meal grains she had seen elsewhere in the mountain, with a dry surface resistance that suggested they would tolerate proper milling rather than collapsing under pressure. She scooped a handful into her palm and rolled them beneath her thumb.

There was something workable here.

The first grind would crack them rather than crush them outright if the stone surface stayed properly maintained. A second pass would refine the texture further, and sifting between passes would separate usable flour from the larger fragments still needing work.

“We need to test the grind texture,” she said, mostly to herself.

“You haven’t eaten yet,” Kael replied.

“That’s a separate issue.”

“It stops being separate when you forget for hours.”

Shen reached for one of the kernels she had separated and tested it lightly between his fingers. “How fine does it need to become?”

“Depends on what you’re making.” Nia looked back toward the sack. “Flatbread can survive rougher texture. Softer bread needs finer flour or the structure breaks down.”

Shen nodded once, already following the implication.

Kael disappeared briefly through one of the adjoining storage passages before returning with a smaller portable grinding stone balanced against his forearm. He set it near the lower preparation counter.

Nia looked from the stone to him. “You brought that without waiting to be asked.”

“You were going to ask eventually.”

She ran her fingertips across the grinding surface. The edges showed years of wear, but the center had been maintained properly where it mattered.

“This might actually work,” she murmured.

“What do you need first?” Kael asked.

“A small batch. If the stone surface behaves badly or the grain reacts strangely, I don’t want to waste stores learning it.”

Kael glanced at the amount she measured into her palm. “That would not satisfy a child.”

“It’s a test, not breakfast.”

The first rotation resisted beneath her hands as the whole kernels shifted instead of catching cleanly. She adjusted the pressure, slowed the motion, and gradually the grain began cracking beneath the stone rather than escaping it.

A dry, faintly sweet smell rose from the broken grain.

The first pass produced rough meal rather than flour, uneven fragments mixed beside finer dust. Nia brushed the accumulation together with her fingertips before testing the texture.

It still was not fine enough for what she wanted, but the grain had begun breaking consistently beneath the stone instead of resisting it completely.

Shen crouched beside her and pressed a pinch of the rough meal between his fingers. “Still too coarse for the softer texture you described.”

“After one pass, yes.” Nia reached for the woven strainer. “The larger pieces go through again.”

Fine particles sifted into the bowl beneath in a pale uneven fall while rougher fragments remained behind.

Shen watched the finer flour gather. “The texture changes faster than I expected.”

“That’s the important part,” Nia replied. “The grain’s behaving properly.”

Kael rested one forearm against his knee while watching her work. “You’ll want more later.”

“After I know how it handles.”

He accepted that without argument.

She returned the rougher pieces to the stone for the second pass.

The motion changed immediately once the grain had already been partially broken. The stone caught more evenly beneath her hands, and the resistance distributed more smoothly under pressure.

Her ankle pulled faintly where she knelt.

Before she shifted to compensate, Kael slid a folded cushion beneath her knee.

He had already looked away again by the time she fully registered the movement.

The second grind produced flour that genuinely resembled flour now — still coarse by modern standards and carrying the warm gray tone of minimally processed grain, but fine enough to cling lightly against her fingertips.

When she sifted it, the surface in the bowl held the faint impression of her touch.

It was not flour from home.

Not truly.

But enough familiarity lingered in the texture that something low inside her chest tightened anyway. Coarse grain beneath patient hands was becoming something softer, something capable of stretching meals further than they should have gone, something warm and filling built from labor instead of convenience.

Kael set the water jar beside her elbow.

Nia poured a small amount into a shallow bowl and added a pinch of the finer flour. The mixture darkened immediately, clumping before loosening beneath slow pressure from her fingertip.

“It absorbs more water than I expected,” Shen observed.

“Which means the dough will need to rest before cooking or the texture stays uneven.” She pressed the paste lightly between two fingers. “But the bind feels promising.”

Kael looked toward the untouched cooking stones. “Can promising become breakfast eventually?”

Nia glanced around the kitchen before looking back toward the bowl in her hands.

“Flatbread counts as testing,” she decided.

“Acceptable,” Kael said.

Shen had already moved toward the kettle. “Tea while you work.”

“I don’t need managing.”

“I’m making tea,” he replied simply.

Nia looked at him briefly before returning to the flour.

The first dough came together approximately — coarse flour, warm water, salt, and rendered fat worked into something rough-textured but manageable. The edges cracked slightly when she flattened it, telling her the hydration still needed adjusting.

When the dough touched the heated stone, a toasted grain smell rose almost immediately into the kitchen air. The scent spread differently than stew or roasting meat, softer at first before settling more fully through the room as the surface browned against the heat.

The first flatbread came off the stone unevenly browned and cracked along one edge where the dough had thinned too far.

Nia broke it apart anyway and handed pieces toward them.

Shen chewed thoughtfully. “Still rough.”

“Yes.”

“But not unpleasant.”

“The grain’s doing what I hoped it would.”

Kael had already finished his portion and was considering the remaining dough with narrowed attention.

“More salt,” he said. “And more fat. Mixed into the water earlier instead of added afterward.”

Nia looked at him.

He was right about the richness, but more importantly about the distribution. The uneven fat had changed the texture differently across each bite instead of settling evenly through the dough.

“How did you figure that out?”

“The texture breaks differently where the fat isn’t even.” Kael shrugged lightly. “You can feel it while chewing.”

Nia stared at him another second before returning to the dough. “Don’t become comfortable with that being impressive.”

The corner of his mouth shifted faintly.

Shen reached for another piece while studying the remaining flour bowls. “If the dough rests longer, the cracking should reduce further.”

“Probably,” Nia replied. “That’s the next test.”

Kael rose and moved toward the storage shelves.

“Meat,” he said.

“For the bread?”

“For breakfast. The bread is still research.”

She considered arguing before realizing she was hungry enough not to bother.

“Leftover stew would work well with it,” she admitted.

“There is some,” Shen said.

The kitchen settled into steady rhythm around them afterward.

Kael reheated the stew meat over one of the smaller fires while Shen separated portions of flour into different bowls for comparison. Tea appeared beside Nia’s elbow midway through the second batch.

She tasted it and paused.

“You added sweetroot.”

Shen adjusted one of the labeled bowls without looking up. “You complained about plain morning tea yesterday.”

“I said it tasted like boiled bark.”

“Yes.”

Nia took another sip anyway.

The second dough behaved better beneath her hands after resting. The water distributed more evenly through the flour, and when she flattened it against the board the edges held together cleanly.

“Lower heat for this one,” she said.

Kael adjusted the fire without looking up.

The second flatbread browned more evenly.

The reheated stew beside it carried the softened pepper heat of food that had rested overnight, and together the rough bread and rich meat balanced each other far better than either managed alone.

Shen tasted the combination and considered it quietly. “The texture works better beside stronger food.”

“Some foods are built to support each other,” Nia said. “The bread doesn’t need to be perfect by itself. It needs to be useful.”

Kael took another piece. “Then make more of it.”

“I’m still refining it.”

“Refine while making more.”

Nia shook her head despite the faint pull threatening near the corner of her mouth.

When she started the third batch, she measured slightly more flour than before.

The morning settled comfortably around them after that: the soft percussion of flour sifting through woven strainers, the crackle of fires beneath the stones, and the low sounds of the household waking gradually around the kitchen.

Kael refilled her water before she reached for it.

Shen shifted the bowls to give her more room without interrupting her work.

Nia dusted the board once more and pressed the dough flat beneath both palms.

“Lower heat again,” she said.

Kael adjusted the fire.

Shen moved the comparison bowls farther from the edge.

Nia laid the next round onto the stone and watched the edges begin to set.

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