We walked down the endless corridors, and the further we went, the more distinctly I could feel The Scent. My stomach began to growl.

  Ryan pushed open a massive door. The gates to paradise swung open before me. The literal hands of the Creator in their purest form. The kitchen.

  The cooks and kitchen hands started bustling about the second they saw the squirt.

  "Prince Ryan!"

  The little guy nodded importantly. At the same time, he was still completely barefoot, diligently pretending this was the conscious choice of a hardened warrior, rather than the fact that he had simply forgotten his shoes somewhere again.

  "Meet the Head Chef," he said, introducing a man in a chef's hat who looked like the kind of guy capable of cooking a masterpiece out of a doorknob.

  The Chef squinted, studying me.

  "Ahhh, so this is the young man who doesn't even leave a single crumb of dessert on his plates?"

  I bowed modestly.

  "I would argue that you simply cook too well. It is entirely your fault. I am merely an innocent victim of your talents."

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  "Prince, why on earth are you barefoot?" the Chef frowned, looking down at Ryan's toes. "You'll catch a cold, get sick, and I'll be the one to blame for not feeding you a hot meal!"

  "It's nothing," Ryan waved his hand dismissively, trying hard to maintain his tough warrior persona. "Just get us something after a good training session, please. We were shattering the foundations of the universe."

  I felt that now was the perfect moment.

  "Oh, I know what I want," I said, a bright, sweet memory from some forgotten cycle suddenly flashing in my mind. "I remember, a long time ago, someone used to make me airy chocolate spheres. You pour them into a deep bowl and drench them in cold milk. The chocolate slowly dissolves, the milk turns dark and sweet... it's pure magic."

  The Chef froze, scratching his chin.

  "Chocolate... spheres? In milk? Hmm. I see the vision, young man. Sounds like a challenge to my mastery. I will prepare this for you tomorrow. Come for breakfast."

  I almost teared up with anticipation. But tomorrow was far too long for an organism currently dying of starvation.

  "But for now..." the Chef spread his hands apologetically. "I can only offer you a standard worker's lunch. From the communal pot. A stew. Huge chunks of meat, soft-boiled potatoes, and a lot of thick gravy."

  Ryan immediately puffed up. The little aristocrat inside him had awakened.

  "What are you talking about, Chef? We have a guest! How can you offer a hero the same food you feed the stable boys?"

  I grabbed Ryan by the shoulder.

  "NO, RYAN! STOP!"

  I looked at the Chef with eyes full of fanatic brilliance.

  "I would never in my life refuse such a delicacy. Meat? Potatoes? A lot of gravy? Bring it immediately before I start gnawing on the table!"

  Worker's food is the most honest food in the world. It has absolutely no pretension.