Before I even have time to imagine my dish…
it appears.
A hamburger.
Not a simple sandwich.
A monster.
A masterpiece.
Lettuce. Tomato. Onion.
Samurai sauce.
Two thick, juicy patties.
A layer of molten cheese stretching in obscene ribbons.
And an egg — cracked perfectly — its yolk dripping slowly over the hot meat.
It lands on the plate gently, almost respectfully.
Like a knighted warrior.
I freeze.
Saliva floods my mouth.
I'm starving.
I stare like a man who hasn't eaten in years.
I glance at the others.
Fortuna twirls her spaghetti bolognese with quiet, effortless grace.
Aris eats his sushi with precise, monk-like discipline.
And Évra…
She has an entire roasted pig.
On a spit.
With strange star-shaped fruits glowing beside it —
colorful, juicy, borderline narcotic-looking.
I don't question it.
Not anymore.
Our eyes meet —
mine, Aris's, Fortuna's —
timid, confused, overwhelmed.
Except hers.
Évra smiles, wide, triumphant.
She knew exactly what was coming.
"Bon appétit."
And so it begins.
The first bite—
The world stops.
Everything stops.
The bread dissolves on my tongue.
The steak melts — hot, tender, almost sinful.
The cheese bursts.
The egg caresses.
Every taste is perfect.
Every flavor is a story.
My eyes sting.
Not from sadness.
Not from pain.
From gratitude.
I've never tasted anything like this.
Not once in my life.
I eat.
Bite after bite.
Like a starving animal rediscovering joy.
A glass of cold water materializes beside me.
Perfect temperature.
Perfect timing.
I didn't ask for it.
Tony just knew.
I drink.
I devour.
I laugh.
I cry.
By the time I finish, another burger is already waiting.
Bigger.
Juicier.
More glorious.
He knows.
I'm still hungry.
I rip into it.
Chewing with a smile stretched across my face,
tears on my cheeks,
something warm blooming in my chest.
This isn't food.
This is healing.
This is therapy made edible.
A restoration of my Word's energy.
A balm for wounds I didn't realize were open.
A whisper:
Here… you are alive.
Here… you are allowed to exist.
And then — dessert.
A mountain of vanilla ice cream.
A storm of whipped cream on top.
Cold, soft, perfect.
I eat slowly — not because I must,
but because the experience demands reverence.
Each bite melts something inside me.
Fear.
Stress.
Pain.
All dissolving spoonful by spoonful.
My body sinks into calm.
My mind into warmth.
My chest into peace.
A long sigh escapes me —
deep, heavy, satisfied.
I feel full.
I feel warm.
I feel alive.
I close my eyes.
Just one second.
No more.
When I open them—
We're back.
The cafeteria.
Normal.
Plain.
As if nothing had ever shifted.
Tony stands behind his workstation,
same smile,
same posture,
as if he hadn't just rewritten the laws of the world.
Soldiers chat again.
Eat again.
Laugh softly.
Everything feels… gentler.
Healed.
Like the ritual wiped away a layer of exhaustion from everyone.
It wasn't a meal.
It was a sanctuary.
A pocket of peace carved out of chaos.
A moment where my nightmares dissolved — briefly, but completely.
Because of Tony.
Évra stands, stretching her arms lazily.
She gestures to us.
Reality snaps back into place.
We follow her down the corridor, our steps heavy, bellies full, spirits strangely light.
She stops in front of our dorms.
"Training tomorrow," she says.
"You're going to suffer. Rest well."
And she leaves —
without softness,
without comfort,
just unfiltered truth.
Fortuna steps silently into the room on the right,
as if the ritual were a dream she's afraid to disturb.
Aris and I take the left room.
It's exactly what I expected.
Bare. Functional.
Two beds.
A shower.
A toilet.
Grey and white — nothing more.
No words are needed.
Silence speaks for us.
Aris takes the right bed.
Quiet. Focused.
I collapse onto the left one.
The mattress is cold, but it welcomes me.
My body shuts down instantly.
My mind follows.
Everything goes dark.
Sleep catches me before I can fight it.
And for once—
I don't resist.