Marked by the Four Beast Lords After Transmigration

The kitchen did not calm down after breakfast.

If anything, the attention around the softened grain only spread further once workers started carrying bowls and trays through the lower corridors. Nia noticed it first in the way people slowed near the entrance without fully stepping inside. A few lingered under the excuse of collecting morning portions from the warming pots. Others clearly arrived hoping to look at the remaining bread before someone else finished eating it.

The covered stack near the shelf disappeared piece by piece.

Nobody took more than their share.

The carefulness surrounding the food carried a kind of weight she had not expected.

Workers ate slowly. Fingers pressed briefly against the softened surface before tearing pieces apart, and low conversations drifted quietly through the room while people tested the texture for themselves. More than once, Nia caught workers glancing toward the covered grain bowls resting beneath cloth wraps near Shen’s workspace before quickly looking away again.

Nia stood near the side counter pretending very hard not to watch everyone reacting to what had essentially started as her refusing to survive winter eating hard grain cakes.

“You’re staring again,” Kael said.

Nia looked away from the workers immediately. “I’m observing.”

“You stopped cutting roots halfway through.”

Nia glanced down.

The knife still rested against the same half-cut root vegetable she had abandoned nearly a full minute earlier.

“…That proves nothing.”

Kael’s mouth shifted faintly.

The man had become entirely too comfortable recognizing her habits.

Shen slid another cleaned bowl onto the drying cloth beside her without interrupting the conversation. “The workers are trying to understand whether the grain stays soft after cooling.”

“They’re treating it like a sacred object.”

“Food before winter becomes important quickly,” Shen replied.

Nia understood that already, at least logically.

But understanding something intellectually and watching an entire mountain react to softened grain like she had dragged fire itself down into the kitchen remained two very different experiences.

None of them were exaggerating either. The grain really had changed.

Workers carrying heavy loads through snow would chew more easily if the texture stayed this soft after cooling. Older people with worn teeth would struggle less too, and warm grain that stayed tender longer might sit heavier in the stomach during deep winter.

People kept slowing near the kitchen entrance hoping someone would hand them another piece.

Nia rubbed one hand slowly across her forehead.

The root vegetable still remained half cut.

Kael took the knife gently from her hand before she accidentally removed one of her fingers while thinking.

“I was still using that.”

“You were holding it.”

“That is part of using it.”

“It stopped moving.”

Nia narrowed her eyes at him while he continued cutting the remaining roots with calm efficiency beside her.

The irritating part was that he was better at it than she expected.

Large hands should not have been capable of slicing vegetables that evenly.

“You shouldn’t be good at everything.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re good at everything.”

“You burned grain twice yesterday.”

“That is unrelated.”

Shen’s shoulders shifted slightly near the storage shelves.

Nia looked directly toward him. “Do not encourage him.”

“I said nothing.”

“You thought something.”

“I usually do.”

That answer arrived so calmly that Nia stared at him for half a second before laughter escaped her despite herself.

Conversation resumed quickly afterward, though several workers became suddenly fascinated with shelves, bowls, and storage baskets instead of looking directly toward the three of them.

Nia looked up as the atmosphere around the kitchen shifted.

So did Kael.

His gaze moved once across the room before settling briefly on the younger workers pretending not to stare too openly toward her.

The same quiet adjustment she had started noticing whenever Kael focused on a room too directly.

People relaxed around him easily until they remembered exactly how dangerous he actually was.

Then instinct straightened spines all over again.

Nia’s attention lingered on the reaction longer this time.

Not because Kael had done anything threatening.

Because he hadn’t.

He stood beside her cutting vegetables while pale morning light from the upper vent shafts brushed across one broad shoulder. His sleeves remained pushed halfway toward his elbows from the earlier kitchen work, exposing dark striped forearms dusted lightly with grain from handling the bowls earlier. Nothing about the posture itself looked aggressive.

The room still bent around him anyway.

Nia had been living inside that reality for weeks now, but moments like this reminded her that the warmth he showed her existed alongside something much larger than domestic comfort.

Everyone here trusted him to keep them alive.

That responsibility settled into almost everything he touched, especially food before winter.

Bran remained near the far preparation table surrounded by two workers and a growing stack of storage tablets. He had somehow started discussing grain drying temperatures with one of the older women while simultaneously reorganizing winter transport routes.

Nia watched him for a moment.

Then watched the workers around him.

Nobody questioned why he immediately started thinking about scaling the process.

Nobody seemed surprised that Kael had already accepted the grain changes as something worth protecting.

The mountain adapted quickly once usefulness became visible.

She wanted warm food, a real kitchen, and people she cared about eating well. That felt very different from trying to change an entire society through grain.

But part of her had unconsciously expected the same kind of resistance she remembered from her old world — pride, hierarchy, ownership, or people refusing change simply because someone unfamiliar introduced it.

Instead, the mountain judged usefulness first. If something improved survival before winter, people paid attention without much concern for pride or ownership.

Kael slid the finished roots toward one of the waiting bowls.

“The roots are still waiting on you.”

Nia blinked.

Her gaze dropped toward the untouched vegetables near her elbow.

Right.

She reached for another root with a quiet exhale and resumed cutting.

This time she noticed Kael watching her grip before he returned his attention to his own work.

“You hold the knife differently now,” he said.

Nia looked up automatically. “Differently from when?”

“When you arrived.”

That caught her off guard.

She looked down at her hands.

The grip had changed.

Her hands no longer tightened around the knife hard enough to strain her wrist.

Her wrist no longer stayed rigid while cutting. Her shoulders did not brace automatically against every nearby movement anymore either.

Nia had not noticed the adjustment happening.

Shen had.

“You stopped preparing to defend yourself every time someone walked behind you,” he said quietly while securing another storage lid.

Nia’s hands stilled around the knife almost immediately, and both Kael and Shen noticed the change before either of them spoke.

Not because the observation embarrassed her.

Because it was true.

Weeks ago, she had tracked every movement inside the mountain like prey trapped in unfamiliar territory.

Now Kael moved behind her constantly while cooking without triggering immediate tension.

Workers brushed past her in crowded corridors and she no longer startled hard enough to feel her pulse jump sharply into her throat.

Even this kitchen — large, noisy, full of movement and overlapping conversation — no longer felt like a place where she needed to stay ready to run.

The warmth from the cooking stones pressed steadily against her legs while conversation drifted around the room in layered currents. Someone laughed near the storage shelves. Another worker argued quietly about salt portions beside the drying racks. The kitchen smelled like root vegetables, warming broth, smoke, and cooked grain, and the thought of home slipped through her before she could stop it.

Nia’s hands stilled around the knife.

Both Kael and Shen noticed immediately.

Neither of them spoke.

Somewhere between the heated bath, the late-night fire, workers rebuilding the hearths before dawn, and Kael quietly taking knives out of her hands whenever she stopped paying attention, the mountain had started feeling less temporary than before.

The realization no longer struck her with sharp disbelief the way it had during those first days on the mountain. It settled more quietly now, with a steadiness that no longer felt entirely unfamiliar.

Heat climbed sharply enough through her face that the warmth gathering around the firestones suddenly felt much harder to ignore.

She reached for one of the clay water cups near the counter, more to occupy her hands than because she was thirsty.

Shen’s attention followed the movement briefly before returning to the storage shelves without comment.

The lack of questions eased some tension she had not fully realized she was carrying.

Kael slid another cut root into the bowl beside hers. “You’re tired.”

Nia seized the safer subject immediately. “You woke me before sunrise.”

“You slept against me for half the night.”

Heat returned to her face with horrifying speed.

One of the younger kitchen workers nearly dropped an entire stack of bowls.

Conversation resumed quickly afterward, though several workers became suddenly fascinated with shelves, bowls, and storage baskets instead of looking directly toward the three of them.

Nia slowly lowered the water cup.

Kael looked entirely unbothered.

Shen, meanwhile, had become deeply invested in reorganizing dried herbs that absolutely did not require reorganizing, which meant he was very intentionally leaving her alone to survive the conversation herself.

“You could have kept that information private,” Nia muttered.

Kael glanced toward her. “Why?”

Workers had already started exchanging looks afterward, and Shen becoming suddenly fascinated with reorganizing herbs instead of helping her survive the conversation made the entire situation significantly worse.

Nia opened her mouth.

Then closed it again because explaining any of that aloud would only make everything worse.

Kael studied her expression for another second before something in his posture eased slightly, as though he understood enough to stop pushing even if he had not fully followed her thoughts.

His voice lowered when he spoke again. “No one here thinks poorly of you.”

Nia looked away toward the firestones.

“That isn’t what I’m worried about.”

Kael’s attention remained on her.

Across the room, Bran abruptly closed one of the storage tablets with enough force to interrupt the moment entirely.

“Enough grain discussion for now,” he announced toward the workers surrounding him. “If three more people ask whether softer grain can survive freezing before midday, I’m throwing someone into the snow.”

One of the older women snorted loudly.

“You’d miss and hit a patrol worker instead.”

“That depends which patrol worker asks me next.”

The surrounding workers laughed.

The tension around the room loosened with it.

Nia watched Bran rub both hands over his face before reaching for another tablet anyway.

“He’s still thinking about it,” she murmured.

“He will think about it all day,” Shen replied.

“Probably longer,” Kael added.

Nia believed both of them.

The mountain’s winter preparations had already absorbed the grain changes into practical calculation rather than excitement alone. Workers continued discussing storage temperatures, travel food, fuel use, and cooking time while the softened bread disappeared piece by piece from the serving shelf. Listening to them made it impossible to separate food from survival here, especially this close to winter.

Near the entrance corridor, movement pulled several workers’ attention toward the outer chamber.

Heavy footsteps approached through the outer corridor, carrying enough weight against the stone that several nearby workers looked toward the entrance before Nia did.

Tarek ducked beneath the archway a second later with cold still clinging visibly to the thick fur mantle draped across his shoulders. Traces of frost melted along the edges of his boots as he entered the warmer chamber, and his sharp gaze swept across the room in the same suspiciously thorough pattern she remembered from their earlier meeting.

His attention settled on her after a moment.

Nia straightened slightly before catching herself, while Tarek’s eyes narrowed with the same guarded assessment she remembered from before.

Like he was trying to determine whether she belonged in the room yet.

Which, honestly, she still wasn’t entirely sure about herself.

His gaze shifted toward Kael.

Then toward the covered grain bowls.

Then back toward Nia again.

The silence stretched just long enough to become noticeable.

Finally, Tarek spoke.

“The entire lower corridor smells strange.”

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