Mornings in Chocolate City never came with sunlight.
It came with scent-the warm, heavy perfume of cocoa and the slow exhalation of steam from hidden pipes. Bells chimed inside the Hall of Confectioners, each tone pure and metallic, echoing down corridors that still seemed to pulse faintly from the night before.
Nia got dressed in silence. The floor was warm underfoot, as if the whole city had a fever. Aya was waiting in the hall when she stepped out, her sketchbook clutched tightly in one hand, her eyes shadowed from the lack of sleep.
"They said we're to meet in the kitchens," Aya murmured. "Vellum's lesson."
The word 'lesson' sounded almost like 'test'.
The kitchens of the Labyrinth were cathedral-sized. Vaulted ceilings rose into a haze of sugar steam; copper pipes hissed softly, feeding the endless tempering tables below. Mechanical arms turned vats of molten chocolate and walls of caramel glass reflected the movement in distorted ripples.
Vellum stood at the center, sleeves rolled to the elbow. His hands moved with ritual precision as he poured a ribbon of chocolate onto the marble surface. "Welcome, my young guests," he said, his voice carrying easily over the hum. "Today you will learn what it means to create. Sweetness," — he lifted the ribbon, letting it fall in glossy folds — "is obedience. Bitterness is rebellion. The art lies in balance."
He gave each child a little marble slab and a ladle full of liquid chocolate that was so dark it glimmered blue at the edges.
"Feel the rhythm," he said, "Do not rush it. The city listens to those who work with care."
They did as instructed. Nia spread her portion carefully, watching how it thickened as her breath hit the surface. Aya tilted her head, murmuring again about colors, violet in the sweetness, gray underneath; Tomas studied the machines instead of his work, tracing gears with his eyes.
Of course, Felix smiled at his reflection in the chocolate and tried to sculpt his initials. "Artistry," he said softly, "requires confidence."
Vellum's gaze flicked to him but said nothing
An hour passed in murmurs and movement. Then the attendants wheeled in a covered tray; its lid was black glass, sealed with a thin strand of sugar that glowed faintly red. Even before it was opened, a scent filled the air—richer, darker, almost wine-like.
Vellum rested a hand on the lid. "These are not for you. They are for the Citizens Below. You will observe, not touch."
He lifted the cover. Inside lay a series of molds in the shape of hearts, still wet, pulsing faintly with heat. Chocolate inside was darker than shadow, threaded with a sheen of crimson.
The children stared. The heartbeat of the city seemed to echo through the tray itself.
Felix leaned forward. "They look alive."
"They are," Vellum said simply. "Everything in this city has life, if treated properly. Respect it. Remember the rule."
He replaced the cover and turned back to the others. "Now—show me what sweetness you've made of your own."
The class resumed, but Felix's gaze kept drifting to the forbidden tray. It sat on the far counter, humming faintly, the sugar-seal still aglow. Every few seconds the scent reached him again—dark, intoxicating, promising mastery.
Aya noticed. "Don't even think about it," she whispered.
Felix smirked. "I'm only thinking. Thinking isn't against the rules."
Nia caught the reflection of the black tray in the caramel walls. For a moment she thought she saw it move - not slide, but shift, like breathing. She blinked and the illusion vanished.
The voice of Vellum rang from the far end of the hall. "Remember: chocolate reflects its maker. Impatience creates bitterness. Desire breeds corruption. The flavour will tell the truth."
Felix dipped his spatula again, forcing a smile. But the word desire seemed to hang in the air between him and that forbidden tray like a dare.