Over at Aya's side.
Monday, first day of the Concorde Summit.
Despite it still being a little before seven o'clock, the Hearthgarden kitchen was already filled with the sounds of early prep: cutting boards thudding, bowls clinking, knives sweeping against vegetables. Members of the culinary team, clad in their aprons and Meadowcut uniforms, were each at their designated stations, tidying up, wiping surfaces, and laying out tools with care.
Aya was one of the first to finish her setup. She gave her knives a final inspection, adjusted her apron, and flicked her ears once to shake off the sleep that was still clinging to her.
Then—
The kitchen doors swung wide open.
Chef Tulliver entered with a brisk stride, sleeves already rolled. "Team!" she called.
Everyone turned immediately. "Yes, Chef!"
"Listen up. Monday lunch service begins at eleven thirty. You've got a few hours. First—has everyone studied the Monday menu?"
"Yes, Chef!" they answered again.
"Well," Richard added with a shrug, "it wasn't exactly light reading, but we've got it down."
"I stayed up until one trying to memorize the sauce progressions," Petra mumbled, rubbing her temple.
Chef Tulliver gave a satisfied nod. "Good. Admitting it's tough means you respected it. But confidence is what I want to hear."
Aya didn't speak, but she nodded along.
She gave her fair share of effort as well. She remembered the way she'd stayed up two hours past her bedtime in the Briarrest Cabin's kitchen, practicing what she could while Juniper and Orin prepped beside her.
Hot veg station wasn't glamorous, but she'd taken to it fast. Most of the techniques were familiar to her from Saint Maribelle's culinary coursework. And honestly, from years of cooking at home before that, she knew how to handle a simmered side dish. She could work with herbs and roots blindfolded.
But this?
This was her first time in a real, professional, working kitchen. With a full team. With timing, tempo, and real coordination on the line.
She'd have to sync with everyone else, read cues in glances and movements, and move without hesitation.
Chef Tulliver addressed them again. "All right. First things first, we focus on lunch service. Check your stations, check your recipes, prep what needs early prepping and nothing extra. We're aiming to minimize cooking time during service. You'll start actual main preparations for cooking by eleven, but don't get comfortable—plenty of guests are expected, especially with this being the opening day of the Summit."
"Yes, Chef."
"You'll also be working alongside the resident kitchen staff. Coordinate where you can, but focus on your own output. Lunch service runs until one-thirty."
"Yes, Chef!"
At once, the group broke into motion, scattering across the kitchen to their designated areas.
Aya made her way to her station, adjusting her sleeves. Her prep list was already clear in her head. She washed her hands thoroughly, dried them with the towel at her side, and got to work.
First, she checked the list pinned to the corner of her station: seared green beans with chili butter, honeyed carrots with thyme, garlic-roasted turnips, herbed marrow mash, and braised seasonal roots.
All portions to accompany the mains, served either table-side or in plated sets.
She started by trimming the green beans, setting them in a wide colander for rinsing. Next came the turnips, she peeled, cubed, and lightly scored them to let the garlic marinade soak deeper later. She didn't roast them then, but they needed to be fully cut and portioned, tossed with oil and minced herbs, and then set aside for the oven crew to slide in on cue.
She separated carrots by size and evenness, peeled them swiftly, and placed them in a cool water bath to keep them from drying before they'd be glazed. The thyme had to be stripped from the stalks, and she did it by hand, careful not to bruise the leaves.
The herbed mash was more involved. The marrow root had already started boiling lightly, so she only had to wait for it to finish and pass it through the fine sieve. She prepped the herbs—parsley, green fennel, and a touch of chive—and measured the cream base so it'd be ready to blend in quickly once the rush began.
She kept looking at the clock throughout all this.
It wasn't eleven yet, but the more she had lined up now, the smoother her station would run later. Behind her, she could hear Ciela making sure her items were prepared, Petra preparing her garnishes, Juniper haggling with Richard about counter space, and Orin saying nothing at all as usual, but working like a machine.
Aya rolled up her sleeves a little more, tied her ears back with a clean ribbon, and reached for the next set of roots to slice.
By quarter to ten, Aya had finished her prep.
Her station was clean, stocked, and arranged with quiet precision. Everything she needed was measured and within reach, tucked neatly into labeled bowls or wrapped with beeswax paper.
With her knife wiped and set aside, she picked up her recipe sheets and reviewed the side pairings, tracing her finger along the portioning notes to double-check before marking a few reminders.
Just in case.
She even approached Chef Tulliver once to confirm one of the holding temperatures, and again to ask whether the turnips could stay in the prep tray a few minutes longer before roasting. And Chef Tulliver answered plainly, even adjusting one of the resident staff's tasks to accommodate her.
Eventually, the Hearthgarden staff began arriving in twos and threes, all dressed appropriately for the task. Most moved toward the service stations, checking trays and assisting with load-outs. A few stopped to review the portion charts pinned to the far wall.
At exactly eleven thirty, the doors opened again. And Chef Tulliver stepped in. " Double-check everything, first guests are arriving now and being seated as we speak; expect the first orders any minute."
"Yes, Chef!" everyone answered.
Aya took one more look at her layout.
Ingredients prepared, bowls ready, oils and seasonings pre-measured, and the rest of her cooking utensils were waiting to be used.
She reached for her clean towel and exhaled through her nose.
The real cooking was about to begin.