Chapter 444: The Elders’ Kitchen.

“Take what you need.

Eat until you are full.

If your family waits at home, you may take for them too—say their names to the elder at the pot, and we will fill your bowl.

But hear this and keep it in your heart: do not waste.

Do not throw away.

Do not hide the food.

Do not store it inside your Sanctuary.”

In the morning, as fresh and clean snow lay over the stone lanes, the lines began to form. People stood shoulder to shoulder with their bowls, their breath fogging the air, boots squeaking on the new frost.

The smell of warm food drifted through the block—earthy mushrooms, soft moss loaves, a touch of sweet Gel melting in the pot.

It pulled quiet smiles from tired faces.

This had been the usual morning in the Elderlies’ block for a week now, but this time, something was different.

This time the square did not feel wild or rushed.

It felt… steady.

Aelindra and Tarevian had their men mark the ground with ash lines at dawn. Two long lanes fed into a wide serving arc. At the arc, ten elder cooks stood behind low tables, each table with the same pot, the same ladle, the same-sized wooden cup for seconds.

A bell hung on a hook, and a clean bucket stood at every other table for washing spoons.

Chalkboards leaned against the stone, listing simple notes in big, thick letters.

Elder Garet, spine straight and voice that carried, lifted a horn and called out,

“One line for small bowls! One line for large! Keep your own spoon. If you have none, raise your hand—we will give you a clean one and you will return it in the basket there!”

Two boys—runners chosen by Tarevian—moved along the lane with straw mats to help anyone who needed to sit. Three grandmothers worked the rinse buckets, swapping water the moment it turned cloudy.

The entire system worked cleanly, much more efficiently than before. No one shouted, no one pushed, everything that the elders would need was already present. The elders didn’t need to constantly rush over to get things or push themselves to do what they weren’t supposed to do.

Their tasks were assigned to them, each with proper time limits, ensuring they were not exhausted.

Aelindra walked the edge with a slate and a stub of chalk, ticking, counting, glancing at the flame stones under each pot.

Tarevian stayed at the mouth of the lanes, talking low to anyone who seemed upset, pointing with gentle hands to where they should go.

The two Council Elders were working hard, and the effect of their work was very much visible. The elder cooks did not look wrung out like before. They took turns—two served, one rested, one cleaned the rim of the pot and checked the heat. Every quarter hour, a small bell rang and they rotated.

Unlike before, their shoulders stayed loose and faces stayed much, much brighter.

At the front, a crier repeated the rules again and again, in a clear, light tone, like a song that needed to sink in.

“Listen well, all of you,”

He called.

“These meals are made from the Divine Rations. The Divine Rations are not grown, they are made—born from Faith.

They are not just Rations, they are a Living Blessing.

They are shaped from warmth and will, and appear only where hearts remain unbroken.

They breathe through kindness and die through neglect.

You can take them freely, but eat them with gratitude, share them with mercy, and never bind what was given to flow.

For if the Blessing feels sorrow, it will cease to answer our hunger.”

He warned, his tone much flatter and more solemn than before.

Then, he raised his voice and once again, the announcement repeated,

“Take what you need.

Eat until you are full.

If your family waits at home, you may take for them too—say their names to the elder at the pot, and we will fill your bowl.

But hear this and keep it in your heart: do not waste.

Do not throw away.

Do not hide the food.

Do not store it inside your Sanctuary.”

He lifted the horn and spoke the last part slower, much clearer, making sure no one missed his words.

“If you go against any of these instructions, you will be disrespecting the Divine Rations, the Living Blessing we were blessed with.

And the penalty of your mistake will be paid by us all.

Keep this in mind, if you store the Divine Rations in a Sanctuary, they will know they have been locked away, they will feel disrespected, and a disrespected guest will not return when you call.

No prayers will reach them.

No bells will bring them.

So keep the Living Blessing pleased.

Share it.

Eat it fresh.

Leave no bowl with shame.”

People nodded as they listened. Some touched their chests and closed their eyes, praying lightly in order to ’please’ the Divine Rations. Others looked at the steam with wide, believing eyes. Children held their bowls in both hands and stood on their toes with bright looks on their faces.

An old woman at the far pot leaned out.

“You there,”

She smiled at a young mother with three small ones tucked in her skirts,

“Say the names.”

“Talla… Bren… Kio.”

The mother whispered.

The elder dipped the ladle three times into the pot—one measured scoop for each name—then once more for the mother.

The children smiled brightly as the sweet smell made them even more hungry and excited. This was the first time they were going to try the Divine Rations after constantly hearing their friends praising them, so they were especially excited about this, and the smell only added to that excitement.

The mother chuckled at the sight and shook her head. She wanted to act like an adult, so she had managed to keep a straight face, but honestly, she was no different than her children. The smell had affected her as well, and she had barely stopped herself from drooling in front of them.

Finally, she glanced at her children and—

“Shall we eat?”

She questioned with a smile and—

“YES!!”

The children nodded with big smiles.

Aelindra, who was watching the mother and children from a distance, smiled at the sight. Soon, however, she shook her head and focused on the work.

On a large chalkboard, she began adding the lines in firm letters.

—Eat to fullness.

—Share to kindness.

—Waste nothing.

—Sanctuaries closed to food.

And just like that—

It all moved, like a river that had finally found its banks.

…

“Hey, keep moving, do not stop the line.”

One of Aelindra’s men, who constantly kept an eye on the line, walked towards a hooded woman and raised his voice.

The woman, who seemed lost in her thoughts, flinched.

“Y-Yes.”

She nodded as she quickly covered the distance with rushed steps. The line behind her began moving and just like that, it ended.

No one shouted at her, no one cursed her for zoning out. Rather, a few people actually looked out for her, asking questions about whether she was alright or if she needed their help.

This was the difference Kael’s presence had made.

The people were no longer frustrated. With their bellies full, a possibility of a bright future ahead of them, and the presence of a God amongst them—the people were much more content than before.

The woman saw how the people around her smiled much more often than before.

The words ’it is all because of the Dragon God’ could be heard in every other conversation.

Actually, just a day ago, she was the same.

She too had laughed at the snow in her hair and said—

“We will be fine. He is here now.”

Yes, just like most people, she was talking about Kael, the Dragon Rider, the Dragon God, the man who came from the sky.

Her cheeks were always warm when she spoke of him. She couldn’t even remember the number of times she had rushed home and told her husband—

“Do you see? Did you hear? It will change now. The Dragon God has blessed us with Divine Rations! We will not go hungry anymore! It is time for all our sufferings to end!”

But…

Her husband did not smile.

“He is a man.”

Instead, he answered with a steady, tired voice.

The woman stared at her husband with a flat look on her face. This obviously wasn’t the first time they were having this conversation.

“A man who rides dragons.”

She answered.

“A man,”

The husband repeated.

“A strong one, a brave one, and a helpful one.

But a man.”

He spoke in a solemn tone.

“Do not mistake him for a God, even he doesn’t call himself one.

Only you fools do it.”

“You—How can you even say that!?”

The woman snapped.

And just like that, the argument that they had been having recently began over the poor bread.

The woman called it faith, something that uplifted people, but the husband called it weight placed on the wrong beam, a false hope that might be crushed at any moment.

And just like that, the argument became worse, just like every other day.

But then yesterday…

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