War of Dawn

Chapter 24: Heavy Memories

Excitement fills the colored halls of Valarheim for the upcoming New Years' dinner. Laughter and smiles can be seen at every corner as people relate the good times they had during the soon-to-end holiday season. Everyone feels like a happy family eagerly awaiting the New Year rather than a military organization that's recently had news of a potentially mighty new opponent.

And that light atmosphere, in turn, makes the sour look stamped on Hilda's face stand out like a dark cloud amid a clear blue sky. Her nighttime escapade plus the need to wake up early to help in the kitchen have taken their toll, leaving her with scant few hours of sleep – too few. The bags under the barely opened eyes, paired with the grouchiness that stretches across every corner of her glowering countenance, is telling of her foul mood this morning.

If there's one piece of good news for her is that she could finally take off the bandages on her hands. Despite how burned they were, her pale skin looks the same as always, down to the many calluses that cover her palms.

Following a cold bath that fails to have any sort of effect on her sleepiness, Hilda drags her feet across the corridors leading up to the dining hall. The way there feels longer than usual, though she is not sure if it's due to her current state or the haunting knowledge of the work that awaits therein. Still, Hilda knows it's her fault for leaving Valarheim at that time – she should've expected the generals to notice.

The dining hall itself already shows sign of intense activity, with workers busily bringing in hundreds of brass plates and silverware. The Scions will soon be here for breakfast and Hilda at least takes solace in the fact that she won't be waitressing today. This was, by far, the busiest day of the year back in Gustaff's bar and she'd rather not do so again. Not that she'd trust herself waitressing in this state – the light of the golden chandeliers above hit her eyes like darts, demanding that they close in submission. And that they do, as Hilda shields them with her hands and stumbles her way through the massive wooden tables, towards the kitchen.

She approaches its wide open entrance and steps into its white stone floor; dozens of red Alterium tables run from one side of the room to the other, holding iron pots, utensils and bright flames on each corner. Scion workers send dishes back and forth throughout the tables, manifesting trays across their smooth metal surfaces and sliding them along to the waiters. Despite how wide the kitchen in, the speed with which things are done is blinding.

One needs only look around to see that preparations for tonight's dinner are well underway. Hilda's nose is struck by a veritable cornucopia of smells, so varied that she can't even make out even the commonest of scents from among the rest.

The various recipes presented by the Scions over the past month require a tremendous variety of raw ingredients to make, from basic cuts of meat and vegetables to oddly-shaped roots and mixtures that bubble with colors Hilda did not expect food to take. If anything, the dazing combination of it all serves to quell her drowsiness slightly – her nostrils burn like she just inhaled embers.

"Over here, Hilda!" Owen calls out from the far corner of the kitchen. He waves for her to come over, his long blonde hair tied up in a tail that droops by his neck, where a fancy red and gold rimmed apron hangs from.

As she walks across the bustling room, dodging the frenzied workers, Hilda sees that he's plenty busy himself. Diligently taking notes and sorting myriad ingredients, Owen directs several people towards many different tasks. They respond with deference Hilda wouldn't have expected them to give anyone but Greta. The big lady herself isn't slacking off, though, and her booming voice can be heard barking commands from the other side of the kitchen.