James lifted the spoon. Just one bite. Just a taste.

  For calibration, he told himself. Absolutely not for pleasure.

  The broth touched his tongue.

  And the world punched back.

  Heat roared down his throat like a comet entering atmosphere, exploding across his chest, arms, fingertips. His pulse spiked, vision sharpened, every sense snapping into brutal clarity.

  A notification slammed into view.

  [ DRAGONFIRE FORTITUDE – ACTIVE ]

  Minor Fire Resistance

  Attack Power +

  Pain Tolerance +

  Heat-Based Stamina Boost

  Aggressive Focus (Adrenaline-Linked)

  James inhaled sharply.

  “…oh.”

  One second passed.

  Another.

  Then he froze.

  “OH SHIT.”

  His chair toppled as he shot upright.

  “I FORGOT TO COOK FOR THE CUSTOMERS.”

  He sprinted out of the kitchen like a guilty criminal fleeing the scene. The hallway blurred as he burst into the common room, nearly colliding with his own party.

  Gerrard flinched. “By the gods, what happened to your face—”

  “HOW MANY CUSTOMERS?!” James barked.

  Mira blinked, startled. “What? I mean… right now? Seven maybe. Dinner rush is still—”

  “GOOD! NOBODY MOVE!”

  He jabbed a finger at all of them like they were witnesses in danger.

  “If someone breathes too loudly, I will hear it!”

  Vhara raised an eyebrow. “James. Are you well?”

  “No! But also yes! Perfectly yes! Absolutely no! I have thirteen minutes of existence left!”

  He spun on his heel and bolted back toward the kitchen.

  “Seven customers, seven plates, seven lives in my hands, perfect precision, speed, become the wok, become the flame—”

  The door slammed behind him.

  A timer blinked in his vision.

  [ DRAGONFIRE FORTITUDE – 00:01:14 Remaining ]

  James hissed. “Already? Seriously?”

  He slapped his palms onto the counter.

  “No dough. No resting. No noodles. No multi-stage anything. We improvise.”

  His eyes swept the battlefield: stale hearthbread, old stew base, wilted vegetables, boiling water.

  His own inventory snapped open in a flash of blue. Fresh garlic. Spring onions. Chicken thigh. Chili oil. Salt. Spice. His beloved wok.

  James exhaled, then grinned.

  “Oh yeah. We can do this.”

  He sliced the stale bread into thick wedges and dropped them onto a hot pan. The surface hissed, golden edges blooming immediately.

  “Wake up, old bread. Become your best self.”

  A flick of chili oil. A bright red flare.

  Next came the stir-fry.

  Knife. Chicken. Vegetables.

  THAK-THAK-THAK-THAK.

  His blade blurred, turning everything into uniform pieces.

  Oil hit the wok.

  Garlic exploded into aroma.

  Chicken followed, crackling.

  Cabbage and onion rained in.

  A ladle of stew base. Steam roared upward.

  A swirl of chili oil.

  Salt, pepper, herbs.

  He lifted the wok and began the dance.

  Fire kissed the metal. Ingredients sang. The buff drove his body forward, too sharp, too fast, too focused.

  A sharp beep cut through the haze.

  [ DRAGONFIRE FORTITUDE – EXPIRED ]

  James froze.

  “…oh shit.”

  Gravity returned. Muscles sagged. The adrenaline vanished. But the wok never stopped moving.

  He drew a breath through clenched teeth. “I have worked worse shifts.”

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The stir-fry thickened, glossy and perfect. The bread turned a deep amber.

  James plated quickly: Crispy Hearthbread fanned like golden petals. Tavern Fire Stir-Fry piled high, shimmering with spice. Seven plates. Done. He wiped his brow.

  “That is how you cook under terror.”

  He kicked the door open.

  “ORDER UP!”

  The entire tavern turned toward him. The scent hit them like a spell. He handed off the plates to the waiting customers, the rush of movement finally easing as he stepped back into the kitchen. Only then did the room fall quiet.

  The work for the common room was done. Seven dinners out there, fragrant and harmless.

  And then, on a separate table entirely, rested the bowl. Dragonfire Fall Apart Udom. The one that could legally be classified as a weapon if anyone wrote it down.

  James wiped his hands on his coat and turned toward his party. Mira, Vhara, Gerrard, and Marty all hovered nearby like hungry ghosts.

  James raised a finger.

  “Before anyone eats anything, stop.”

  Four pairs of eyes blinked at him. James pointed to the Dragonfire Udom bowl.

  “This one is only for my party. Not for customers. Not for innocent bystanders. Not for people with existing heart conditions.”

  Gerrard frowned. “Why?”

  James exhaled.

  “Because this dish comes with… side effects. Buffs. Aggressive buffs.”

  Mira tensed. “Aggressive how?”

  James cleared his throat.

  “You may experience: elevated heart rate, enhanced focus, temporary fire resistance, mild hallucinations depending on spice tolerance, emotional overcommitment, a psychological need to fight furniture, and a strong but short-lived desire to sprint everywhere.”

  Mira stared.

  Gerrard swallowed.

  Marty went pale.

  Vhara lit up like someone had handed her a new axe.

  “So it is a trial by fire,” she said proudly. “Good.”

  James held up both hands.

  “Wait. No. Vhara, especially you, we need to talk. Orc physiology plus capsaicin-based magical compounds is a very dangerous combination.”

  Vhara stood taller. “I accept the risk.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” James said. “If you take too big a bite, you might—”

  He hesitated.

  “—you might punch a hole in the wall.”

  The entire party paused to consider this.

  Mira whispered, “She can already do that, though.”

  “Yes,” James said, “but right now she doesn’t. I’d prefer to keep that record intact.”

  Vhara crossed her arms. “Then I will take a measured bite. One warrior-sized taste.”

  “That means normal,” James said quickly. “Not orc normal. Human normal. Child-size even. Actually, halfling-size. No, smaller than that.”

  Vhara frowned. “That is insulting.”

  “Perfect,” James said. “Hold that feeling. It’ll help you pace yourself.”

  He took a deep breath and placed the steaming bowl at the center of the table.

  “Okay. Everyone take one bite. Only one. Sip, taste, experience. Do not inhale it like starving wolves.”

  Gerrard raised his hand. “What happens after one bite?”

  James shrugged. “You’ll either ascend spiritually or temporarily lose control of your legs. Hard to say.”

  Marty whimpered.

  Vhara reached for a spoon.

  James slapped her hand away in pure survival instinct.

  “ONE BITE.”

  She sighed dramatically and took a small spoon instead.

  The four of them leaned in. Steam curled upward. The shimmering orange ring drifted across the surface. The broth smelled like danger, warmth, and extremely poor decisions.

  Mira went first.

  She dipped her spoon, lifted a small amount, blew on it, and tasted it.

  Her pupils dilated instantly.

  “Oh.”

  Gerrard took his bite.

  Then he grabbed the edge of the table like the floor had vanished under him.

  “Oh.”

  Marty tasted it.

  His soul briefly left his body and returned wearing a different shirt.

  “Oh.”

  Vhara lifted her spoon…

  An amount that was absolutely not one bite.

  James made a noise between a shout and a dying animal.

  “NO! VHARA THAT IS AN—”

  She ate it.

  The effect was immediate. Her back straightened. Her shoulders rolled. Her eyes sharpened like a freshly forged blade. A deep rumble vibrated in her chest.

  Then Vhara whispered, utterly reverent:

  “I can see sound.”

  James pinched the bridge of his nose.

  “Yep. That tracks.”

  A system notification flared above all four heads.

  [ DRAGONFIRE FORTITUDE – ACTIVE ]

  Minor Fire Resistance

  Attack Power +

  Pain Tolerance +

  Heat-Based Stamina Boost

  Aggressive Focus

  Gerrard clutched his chest. “James… why does my heart feel like it’s doing push-ups?”

  Mira’s fingers twitched. “Is it normal that I want to run laps around the inn?”

  Marty rocked back and forth. “Is this what dying feels like but… happily?”

  Vhara stood up.

  James grabbed her arm. “Sit. Down.”

  “But I feel powerful.”

  “No.”

  “I feel fast.”

  “No.”

  “I feel like fighting gravity.”

  “Vhara, please.”

  She reluctantly sat.

  James waited until all four looked slightly less likely to explode.

  “Okay. That was the test run. That dish is NOT for customers. Ever. I don’t care how much they beg.”

  The party collectively nodded, each at their own vibration frequency.

  James gestured to the other plates resting on the counter.

  “Now. These are normal. Harmless. Enjoyable. Please do NOT confuse them.”

  He placed the tavern stir-fry and hearthbread before them.

  Mira sniffed the stir-fry. “This smells safe.”

  “Good,” James said firmly. “It is.”

  Gerrard took a bite.

  His eyes lit up with joy. “Oh thank the gods. Flavor without emotional consequences.”

  Marty devoured the bread. “I can taste without ascending dimensions.”

  Vhara ate a piece of stir-fry and nodded solemnly.

  “This is good. This does not make me want to suplex the moon.”

  “Exactly,” James said. “Keep eating that one.”

  James leaned back from the counter, finally letting his muscles unclench as the noise of the common room faded into the background.

  Behind him, his party began their meal in relative peace. Mostly. Vhara was still vibrating faintly. James glanced back at them, rubbing his temples.

  “…maybe this was a mistake.”

  Mira poked at her stir-fry absentmindedly, fingers twitching.

  Gerrard kept tapping his foot at a speed that suggested a runaway horse.

  Marty rocked back and forth like he was trying to hatch himself.

  James sighed.

  “Oh, fuck it.”

  He grabbed the Dragonfire Udom bowl, scooped one reckless spoonful, and tossed it into his mouth without hesitation.

  The buff hit like a meteor.

  [ DRAGONFIRE FORTITUDE – RE-IGNITED ]

  Aggressive Focus

  Stamina Surge

  Mild Combat Euphoria

  Duration Stabilized: Several Minutes

  His entire posture straightened.

  His pupils dilated.

  His heartbeat became percussion.

  Marty’s jaw dropped.

  “Oh no. Oh no no. He’s one of us now.”

  Gerrard stood up so fast the chair toppled.

  “My legs are vibrating. They want to RUN. Or JUMP. Or SOMETHING.”

  Mira pressed both hands flat on the table.

  “I swear, I’m going to explode if I don’t MOVE.”

  Vhara rose like a war goddess awakening.

  “We must engage in movement ritual.”

  James, breathing fast, blinked several times.

  “Okay okay okay. Everyone calm down. We don’t need to—”

  Marty suddenly blurted:

  “I can’t sit anymore. I think… I think I’m going to dance!”

  James stared at him.

  “Marty. There is no music.”

  Silence.

  Then, Mira slammed her palms on the table.

  “Fuck the music.”

  She jumped to her feet.

  And began dancing.

  No style.

  No rhythm.

  Just pure chaotic energy, arms flailing like a wind-charmed scarecrow.

  Gerrard immediately joined, knees pumping, elbows everywhere, shaking like a man possessed.

  Marty spun once, tripped, recovered, and kept going with alarming enthusiasm.

  James found his foot tapping.

  Then his leg bouncing.

  Then his arms lifting.

  “No. No. I refuse—”

  His body ignored him.

  He rose and started moving, a strange combination of kicks, hops, spins, and frantic shoulder shimmies.

  Vhara stepped forward last.

  She stomped the ground once.

  A sound like a war drum.

  Then she began an orcic power-dance, heavy, rhythmic, shaking every table in a three-meter radius.

  Chairs rattled.

  Cups jumped.

  Inn patrons froze in terror.

  The innkeeper peeked over the counter, horrified.

  “Oh gods. It’s happening again.”

  Mira shouted, “OUTSIDE! WE NEED SPACE!”

  The group didn’t walk.

  They storm-danced out the door.

  Bursting into the night air, they continued their buff-fueled chaos.

  Jumps.

  Stomps.

  Twists.

  Side shuffles.

  Synchronized mayhem.

  They looked like a traveling troupe performing rituals from a culture that didn’t exist.

  James yelled mid-spin:

  “WHY ARE WE DOING THIS?!”

  Gerrard shouted back:

  “BECAUSE IT FEELS CORRECT!”

  Mira raised both arms to the sky.

  “I HAVE BECOME ENERGY!”

  Marty cackled. “MY BONES ARE VIBRATING!”

  Vhara stomped hard enough to scare an owl off a rooftop.

  “This is a glorious battle-dance! Witness me!”

  Neighbors opened shutters.

  Two drunks applauded.

  A passing dog barked in confusion.

  They danced until the buff finally sputtered out.

  One by one, they slowed.

  James bent over, hands on his knees.

  “Okay… okay… we never speak of this.”

  Gerrard nodded weakly.

  Mira wiped sweat from her brow.

  Marty lay on the ground like a defeated hero.

  Vhara placed a proud hand on her chest.

  “That was the greatest dance of my life.”

  James groaned.

  “I need water. Or sleep. Or an exorcism.”

  The innkeeper stuck his head out the door.

  “I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING. NONE OF THIS HAPPENED.”

  James held up a thumbs-up without looking up.

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way.”