Deep Fried Guardian

“Cornbread, what’s my next order?” Tanver asked. The human warlock’s cheeks and forehead glistened with sweat as he scraped the cooking griddle in front of him. His usual infectious grin lit up his bearded face as he turned to his waiter/Ghost. Tanver’s Ghost let out a sigh before replying, “Biscuits and gravy with bacon, Guardian.” Cornbread’s blue and yellow shell twitched as the miniature white apron adorned with a red ball of fire logo interfered slightly with his gyros. His Guardian had insisted on tying it around him “for branding purposes.” It was nearing closing time, so at least he’d be able to get the ridiculous costume off soon. “Coming right up! Hey, does he want that bacon chewy or crispy?” “Let me ask…sir…do you prefer your bacon chewy or - “ “CRISPY!” the patron yelled. “Why else come to Chef Scorch’s stall?” “I like your style, sir!” Tanver exclaimed as he proceeded to prep the man’s food. A few minutes later he brought over a steaming plate of deliciousness to his customer. “How much do I owe you again, Chef?” “Only what you feel you can pay, sir. I don’t do this for the Glimmer, I do it to give back to the City”, Tanver replied. “You’re a treasure, Chef Scorch. And it smells incredible. Thank you!” Tanver smiled and headed back to his griddle to start cleaning up for the evening.  Cornbread floated over his Guardian’s shoulder and quietly spoke. “Tanver…when are we going back out? We’ll need more Glimmer at some point to support this…endeavor. As a Lightbearer we should be out there fighting the Darkness anyway!” Tanver shook his head as he rolled his eyes. This conversation had started coming up every night of late. “Cornbread…look…we fought the Darkness. We fought Hive, Vex, Cabal, Scorn, Fall– uh, Eliksni, Taken, even Nightmares on the moon. We’ve earned a break. As for Glimmer, I’ve got more than any citizen in the Last City! And all I have to do is pull another exotic armor piece out of my vault and I’ll get plenty more. Hell, I’ve got ten Aeon Soul gauntlets just collecting dust. I should turn one in, donate the proceeds to help the House of Light. Remind me about that tomorrow, ok?” Cornbread tried to float directly in front of Tanver’s face to continue the conversation eye to “eye” but the miniature apron threw him off course into the array of spatulas and ladles hanging over the cooking area, setting off a loud clatter as the utensils rattled back and forth. “Everything ok back there?” the patron attempted to holler with a mouth half full of food. “We’re FINE,” Cornbread angrily replied. He spun to face Tanver. “Take this damned thing off of me!” “But you look so cute, Cornbread!” Tanver said cheerfully as he pulled the small piece of fabric off his Ghost.  Cornbread grumbled as he flew off, too upset and embarrassed to continue this conversation. “Aw, Cornbread! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings!”  Tanver sighed and finished cleaning what passed for his kitchen. Cornbread had been patient with him, but the Ghost just couldn’t understand. Tanver had seen and fought horrible things, died so many times he lost count. What was the point? The Traveler had even given the Hive the Light! Meanwhile, there were so many Lightless citizens that looked at him as if he was a god when he walked through the City. Tanver had more wealth than any of those poor souls too. No citizen was ever as wealthy as even a newborn Guardian.  =============================================================== It was after returning from a long mission that Tanver learned a street urchin he knew named Myndle had passed, dying of starvation. Tanver wondered how anyone could die of hunger in the City. There were programs to make sure everyone had enough food. That’s why the Vanguard had agreed that all Glimmer income over 250,000 should be taxed at 100% and given to the city coffers to pay for welfare programs, education, and repairs around the Last City.  Still, some fell through the cracks, like Myndle. When Tanver’s next assignment took him to the moon, a Nightmare soon haunted him. A small red and black apparition, dressed in rags. Myndle’s Nightmare didn’t say much at first. He’d ask for Tanver to tell stories. He loved to giggle whenever Tanver opened a chest or found a new weapon. “Wow Tanver! Look at all that shiny! What are you gonna do with all of it? You’re rich!” Soon, every cube of Glimmer Tanver picked up was accompanied by “ooohs” and “ahhhs” with a touch of sarcasm the real Myndle never showed. After a few hours, though, the Nightmare began weakly saying “I’m hungry…” After five days on Luna, Tanver ran away. He went to Nessus, killing Vex and Cabal. Every time he opened a chest, he’d wait for Myndle’s taunt. It never came, but he could hear its echo. The warlock would turn around as a shadow seemed to flicker at the edge of his vision, expecting to see little Myndle hovering there. But there was nothing.  Hoping things would be different elsewhere, he flew from planet to planet, ignoring chests, ignoring patrols, ignoring his constant companion Cornbread. Eventually, Tanver broke. The Nightmare’s question stuck in his head. What are you gonna do with all of it? One evening, while camping in the EDZ, he used a solar grenade to start a fire. As he stared into the flame, he finally had an answer. Cornbread was supportive at first. He knew Guardians burned out from time to time and needed a break. He had never heard of one starting up a food stall though. “Do you even know how to cook, Tanver? How do you know what the people will like to eat?” “I’ll figure it out. I found an old book in the EDZ, from before the Golden Age. It’s called Appalachian Cooking. I think that was a mountain range in the Americas, if what I read on the network was right. No idea how that book made it all the way out here, but why look a gift horse in the mouth? Besides, I ‘cook’ bad guys all the time with my solar abilities! How hard could it be?” As it turns out, pretty damned hard. There were two incidents involving fires that had to be contained by citizens, much to his embarrassment. (Why couldn’t the Traveler have given any Guardians water-based powers, Tanver wondered as he saw people scrambling with buckets of water to keep his “turkey frying experiment” from spreading.) The final straw was when a fellow Guardian had to be rezzed after dying from smoke inhalation when Tanver tried baking a cake. The warlock was told to take his education in the culinary arts out into the Wilds. Or at least somewhere outside the City walls. Tanver was sheepishly apologetic, but undeterred. Cornbread offered words of encouragement and suggestions as best he could, but felt at a loss on how best to help his Guardian. Should he talk to another Ghost about this? Cornbread decided to let things continue and see where it all ended up. He knew that Myndle’s death had affected Tanver, and the nightmare of the child on the Moon had made things worse somehow. Tanver refused to talk about it though. This was one wound Cornbread couldn’t heal with the Light. After a month of figuring out what certain ingredients in the cookbook were and where to find them (or what could be substituted in their place), and another month of practice, Tanver had learned to make some amazing dishes. What people in the times before the Traveler might have called “good Southern food.”  To test his concept, Tanver decided to set up shop in the Cosmodrome, near the Vanguard representative Shaw Han. Shaw was unsure how to handle this situation, but noticed that all of the new Guardians that came through Old Russia appreciated a meal before going out on their first patrols. Eventually Shaw became used to the smells of bacon, eggs, and some chewy stewed vegetable Tanver called “collard greens,” and even tried the food from time to time. While Shaw enjoyed the taste, the food was distinctly too exotic for his digestive system.  Finally feeling as though he was ready to share his food with the City, Tanver discovered a task even more difficult than learning to cook — dealing with ordinances and regulations about setting up a food stall. He was the first Guardian to ever attempt such a thing, and since the Vanguard had essentially become the de facto government after the Endless Night and disbanding of the Consensus, no one seemed to know what to do. Eventually, after pleading with Zavala for the twentieth time, and a passionate exaltation by Saint-14 (who had come to love Tanver’s “Bruunsvik stew,” as Saint called it), the Vanguard relented and allowed Tanver to set up at the edge of the Riverside District in the Last City. Tanver stipulated that all income from his stall would go to provide free food stations for those in need, as well as to help pay for new housing as the Vanguard rebuilt areas destroyed during the Red War.  While waiting for all of the paperwork to go through, Tanver had one final obstacle to overcome: frying a damned turkey. No matter what he did, it always came out raw on the inside, or burnt to a crisp on the outside. One day, out of frustration, he lost his temper and threw the biggest solar grenade he could at the ground and attempted to throw the turkey into the ball of fire, bucket of oil and all. Tanver stumbled as he threw and wound up inside his own conflagration. Embarrassment, disappointment, and fatigue all hit at once, and Tanver simply let the flames wash over him. Cornbread transmatted out of Tanver’s knapsack and began flitting around the fire. “TANVER!” he screamed, trying to get through the flames to his Guardian. After a few minutes had passed, the fire from the solar grenade finally went out. Tanver’s body lay scorched on the ground. Cornbread flew in over his Guardian, and resurrected him.  “What were you doing? What were you THINKING?!” Cornbread’s voice echoed in the empty hills outside the City. Tanver stood to his feet and let out a deep sigh. “I tripped, Corn, that’s all. I’m never gonna get this damned turkey right.” Tanver walked over to where the huge pot containing the turkey lay on the ground. Strangely, it had landed right-side up. He opened it expecting to see burnt cinders of a former flightless bird inside. Instead, he saw what looked to be a perfectly cooked turkey. He took the pot to a nearby rock and removed the turkey. The skin was beautifully crispy and golden brown. He pulled off a leg. It was perfectly done on the inside. “What about the breast?” Tanver wondered aloud. He took a knife to the bird and sliced a finger’s width piece from the breast. It was still juicy, and the butter and herbs he had rubbed under the skin had flavored the meat to perfection. “Cornbread! I did it! I DID IT!” Tanver stomped his feet and danced a silly looking jig in celebration. His Ghost was nonplussed. “You…finally fried a turkey…by dying in a fire?” Tanver stopped dancing. “Well, when you put it that way…but yes, I did! Do you know what this means, Corn?” Cornbread narrowed his “eye” as he looked at the mischievous grin on his Guardian’s face. “Wait…you don’t intend to – “ “If that’s what it takes, Corn, that’s what it takes. I gotta go get some more turkeys to practice with!” Cornbread looked up into the sky at the Traveler. “Is this really what you made me for? My Guardian has become a Thantonaut, all in the pursuit of cooking, and you just hang there. Can’t you put a stop to this? Don’t we have more important things to do?” Cornbread was unsurprised that his questions received no answers from his maker.  Weeks later, Tanver opened his new restaurant. In honor of his “discovery” on how to fry a turkey, he named himself and the restaurant “Scorch.” At first, the citizens of the Last City weren’t sure what to make of the place, the food, or its chef. Whispers about the earlier fires still spread after the grand opening, but soon adventurous guests started telling everyone about the food, and how happy and kind “Chef Scorch” was, and those whispers died out.  On rare occasions, a patron would ask for a fried turkey (typically not knowing what a turkey even was), and Tanver would put on a show. After a snap of Tanver’s fingers, Cornbread would (reluctantly) begin broadcasting music, ancient banjo and fiddle tunes Tanver had found in the archives. Tanver would apply a liberal amount of oil to the bird before popping it into a large pot and doing a strange dance to the music (it was called “square dancing”). Then, Tanver would dance to a “safe” (ie, non-flammable) area, throw his solar grenade at his feet and continue dancing as he was consumed by flames. Once the flames died out, Cornbread would hover over to where Tanver laid, rez him, and Tanver would jump up and give a loud “woohoo!” before taking the turkey from the pot, slicing it up, and serving the patron (and anyone else that walked by). As word got around and the dish became popular, Tanver had to limit his “Super Deep Fried Turkey” to once a week, per the Vanguard. The food stall became popular with residents and Guardians alike. The City seemed glad for the hijinx and smells provided by Chef Scorch and his food, a pleasant distraction from the ever growing worry about the encroaching Darkness. Tanver felt the happiest he had been in a long time as well. While he still had to shut the stall down on occasion to hunt for game and gather ingredients, he was able to avoid joining a fireteam and going on patrols or strikes. The voice that had haunted him seemed a distant memory. =============================================================== Tanver finished cleaning up his stall, stacking stools, and doing dishes, then headed out into the lamp-lit streets, carrying a sack of leftover food. The light shining from the Traveler chased off most shadows, but the people still felt better to have more illumination for the dark corners and alleyways throughout the district. Taking a wandering path back to his ship, Tanver offered any passerby something from his sack – biscuits, sandwiches, and the like. As he walked, he wondered where his Ghost was, hoping he hadn’t offended his friend.  Finally arriving back at his ship, Tanver was happy to see Cornbread waiting for him. “Where ya been, Corn? I was worried about you!” “Why? Worried if I didn’t come back you couldn't fry yourself and come back from the dead anymore?” “Aw, Cornbread, don’t be like that!” “Why not? It’s my job to worry about you! I found you. I chose you. We are bonded. What affects you affects me. You are my Guardian, Tanver. I don’t like seeing you kill yourself over and over for this…frivolity…this…escape from what’s really been bothering you.” “Corn…” Tanver wasn’t sure what to say. “Look…I’m sorry if this has been hard on you. I needed a change, something to let me process, y’know?”  “Do you know what you’re processing anymore?” Tanver’s silence answered the question.  “You should get some rest, Guardian. We’ll talk tomorrow”, Cornbread said as he transmatted himself away.  Tanver quietly entered his ship, turned off the lights, and wept briefly before fatigue pulled him into the void of a deep sleep.  The next morning, the warlock awoke to a knock on his ship’s hatch. Tanver dressed quickly and opened the door. He was shocked to see the head of the Vanguard, Zavala, standing there. “Good morning, Guardian. Apologies if I woke you.” “Oh, it’s no problem, Commander! What brings you by?” Zavala awkwardly cleared his throat before speaking. “I…spoke with your Ghost last night. I understand you’re working through some things but at some point, Guardian, we need you back in the field.” Tanver felt his stomach drop and the hairs on the back of his neck raise. He knew this would happen at some point. “With all due respect sir, it’s up to me when I’m ready. Besides, can’t you see the good I’m doing? The Vanguard needs all the help it can get with the citizens, and frankly, I’m helping more here than anywhere else out there.” Tanner pointed a finger to the roof of the hanger and circled his arm around to emphasize his point. “Be that as it may, Tanver, we still need you out there.” Zavala placed a firm hand on Tanver’s shoulder before looking him dead in the eye. “I need you out there. Between the Lucent Hive and the return of the Leviathan, our ranks have grown thin, especially of talented warlocks like yourself.” Tanver awkwardly grabbed Zavala’s hand and pulled it from his shoulder. “Uh, thank you sir, but I’m just not ready yet.” “What can I do to help? Would you be willing to talk about it? Believe it or not, I’m a great listener.” Before Tanver could reply, Cornbread materialized and nudged the back of the warlock’s shoulder a little. “Tanver….can we just…talk about it? You haven’t even spoken with me…” The Ghost looked dejected and unsure what else to say or do. “I just want to help somehow, even if it’s just listening, like Zavala said.” Tanver felt a lump in his throat, and did his best not to tear up. His stomach felt like it had a few War Beasts fighting inside. His chest tightened in panic. Fighting the urge to run away, he took a deep breath. Maybe it was time. Maybe he could put it into words. “Sure…yeah, let’s talk.” The trio made their way from the hangar to Zavala’s office. Tanver tried not to look at any of the other Guardians as he walked behind Zavala.  Arriving at Zavala’s office, the Commander opened the door and waited for Tanver to go in. “After you, Tanver. Pull up a chair and make yourself comfortable.” Tanver sat in a chair in front of Zavala’s desk and began staring at the floor, trying to figure out where to start.  “Would you like some tea or anything to drink?” “No thank you, sir…” “Please. While we’re here, I’m Zavala, not ‘sir’ or ‘Commander’. Your Ghost didn’t go into any detail, out of respect for your privacy. He just said you had lost someone.” Tanver took a deep breath and tried to stay as emotionless and factual as possible, imagining that would keep him from breaking down. “Well, a few years ago, I met a kid wandering around the Last City. He was a little skittish. I think he came here right after the Red War. He was by himself and wouldn’t talk about his parents, so I’m fairly sure he was an orphan. I would see him every now and then between missions. I kept trying to get him to go to one of the shelters and see if he could get placed with a family, but I think he always wound up running away and living in the alleys or somewhere hidden. He would eventually find me whenever I came back from patrols and would make me tell him stories about where I had been and what I fought. He always told me how rich I was because I would take him for ramen or spicy chicken anytime I could. I never asked if he was eating regularly between our visits. I mean, he had to be, right? The City has resources for that kind of thing!” Tanver paused for a few minutes as he could feel the anger and sorrow start to wash over him. He didn’t want to start bawling in front of the head of the Vanguard.  “It’s ok, Tanver. Take your time.” Zavala looked at the warlock with a soft, understanding expression. Tanver looked at Zavala’s desk, doing his best not to look the Commander in the eye. He continued. “After the Pyramids came, I went to Europa to help keep Eramis’ forces in check. I avoided learning to wield the Darkness. I was cold enough as it was on that Traveler-forbidden moon. I did my best to warm the planet and our enemies with as many solar grenades as I could toss. Then I went to the Tangled Shore to fight the forces of Xivu Arath. There was always one more Wrathborn to destroy. I was gone for months.” “When I finally came back to the City, I figured Myndle would show up, like he always did. I had so many stories to tell him. I never thought he’d be….” Tanver wiped hot tears from his eyes. He paused and took a few breaths. “I looked around the City for three days, trying to find him. I asked citizens in every quarter and no one knew. On the evening of that third day, an Eliksni Dreg came up to me. He didn’t speak our language, but he did his best to communicate. He pointed at me then made a motion of measuring height. He kept coming up to his waist. I finally figured out he was trying to show the size of a child. I asked if he knew where Myndle was, and the Dreg grabbed my hand loosely and led me down alley after alley, and finally to a sewer entrance. I normally would have worried this was some sort of trap, but the Eliksni seemed so…earnest. And sad. Inside the sewer, he took me to a short pile of crates. There was something on top of them, covered in a sheet.” The tears came freely now. There was no holding them back.  “I pulled the sheet back, and it was Myndle. He was so thin! His robes were hanging off him…” The warlock's voice trailed off, suddenly replaced by quiet sobs. Zavala’s face was etched with pain as well. He knew this kind of hurt better than most. He patiently waited for Tanver to continue. After a few minutes, Tanver spoke again, his voice wavering. “The Dreg put his hand on my back, I guess as a gesture of comfort. I couldn’t leave the boy there, so I picked him up. He was so light! I felt like I had a feather in my arms! I…I took him to the only place that seemed to make sense at the time, to the reclamation facility. He had no family that I knew of, so there would be no ceremony of remembrance. The engineer at the reclamation facility said an autopsy would be required, just in case the boy had died of a disease.” Tanver stood up suddenly and began pacing. His quiet movement worried Cornbread, who had been hovering in the background the entire time, listening. The Ghost felt an energy rising in his Guardian. It made him twitch. “I left my contact information with the reclamation facility. They reached out the next day. Turns out, Myndle had died of malnutrition and starvation.” Tanver stopped pacing and looked Zavala in the eye as anger and sadness bubbled up. “He died of HUNGER! HUNGER OF ALL THINGS! How does that happen here, in the Last City?! And you know what makes it even worse?” Zavala wasn’t sure how to answer, but before he could offer a response, Tanver continued.  “What’s worse is he died the day I came back! The day! If I had just come back a little sooner, if I hadn’t said to myself ‘one more Wrathborn’, ‘one more patrol’, ‘one more strike’, HE’D STILL BE ALIVE! HE’S DEAD BECAUSE OF ME! ME!” Tanver started poking a finger angrily into his own chest. “I SHOULD HAVE DONE MORE! I WAS THE ONLY ONE THAT SEEMED TO CARE AROUND HERE!” Tanver grabbed the chair in front of Zavala’s desk and threw it at the door before collapsing to his knees on the floor, sobbing loudly. “I…should…have done more….” The Commander got up and came around the desk to kneel beside the distraught warlock. Putting a hand on Tanver’s shoulder, he spoke with a warmth that astonished Cornbread. “But Tanver, it’s not your fault…If anything, it’s mine. The Vanguard is in charge of the Last City now, so ultimately, this failure falls to me. I’m so sorry, Tanver. He sounds like he was a sweet child. You can’t blame yourself for his passing, as tragic as it is.” Zavala stood up and picked up the chair Tanver had thrown and brought it back in front of the desk. Then he helped the warlock up from the floor and back to the chair.  “Sorry about the chair,” Tanver quietly said, embarrassment momentarily overtaking his sadness and anger. “Think nothing of it. This is a hard conversation. I’ve been known to have an outburst or two myself. I have a feeling, however, that your story isn’t finished.” “No sir. I mean, no, Zavala.” Tanver noticed the Commander’s eyebrow raise at the use of “sir” again. “After I got the news, I wasn’t sure how to process it. I was angry. I was sad. I was confused. My Ghost suggested that maybe shooting some things would help, so I left for the Moon. It didn’t take long before a Nightmare showed up and started following me around. It was a little wisp of one, and started out speaking just like Myndle. So full of joy at first, asking for stories just like he always did. Before long, that changed. He started talking about all the Glimmer I had, asking what I was going to do with it all. How it was more than he’d ever seen before. Then it became taunting. When I started ignoring him, he began whimpering, talking about how hungry he was, and asking why I wasn’t there when he needed me. After five days, I couldn’t take it anymore. The guilt was eating me up inside. I fled to Nexus. Eventually to the EDZ. The Nightmare wasn’t there, but I swear, I could still hear it! I feel like I can still hear it now.” Cornbread floated over to face his Guardian. “I’m so sorry, Tanver. I knew Myndle’s death hurt you, but I had no idea that you blamed yourself. I shouldn’t have pushed you to go back out and fight as a distraction.” “You did what you thought was right, Cornbread. Not like that tactic hasn’t worked in the past. ‘When in doubt, shoot it out,’ right? It’s ok, buddy.” “First off, Tanver, thank you for opening up. That was very brave of you…I understand your pain. Losing someone we care about, especially one of the Lightless, and one so young…I’ve experienced the same, albeit in a different way.” Zavala leaned forward in his chair as he continued. “You need to understand that this truly isn’t your fault and you shouldn’t blame yourself. It is absolutely a tragedy, however. No system is perfect, and Myndle slipped through the cracks. The entire City failed in that regard. And as leader of the Vanguard, that failing falls to me. I promise you that we will work with the City resources to prevent a tragedy like this from happening again.” Zavala paused, waiting for his words to sink in.  “If you’re willing, I’d like you to see a counselor. This kind of grief doesn’t just go away. It takes time for wounds to heal. It takes time to truly grieve…After that, perhaps you’ll feel up to going back out in the field.” Cornbread turned to Zavala and leaned left in a questioning gesture. “What about the restaurant, Commander? We can’t just shut it down.” “And here I thought you hated it, Cornbread,” Tanver said weakly smiling, his eyes still bloodshot from crying.  “That was before I understood where this truly came from. You started this as another way to give back to the Lightless. To lift the spirit of the City and, most of all, feed people.” “I’m afraid you’ll need to shutter it or sell it. Though I’m not sure you’ll find a suitable replacement chef,” Zavala replied.  Tanver felt crushed. He opened his mouth to start arguing his case when a low voice spoke from just inside the door. “It would be foolish to take this from the Guardian, Zavala. How one processes pain is not up to you.” “Eris…this is a private conversation.” “My apologies. I couldn’t help but feel the pain and rage emanating from this Guardian as I passed nearby.” Tanver turned to look at Eris. She always spooked him a bit, but she seemed…different. More at ease. “Um, how long were you listening in?” “Long enough. Zavala is correct in that what happened was not your fault. That does not mean that you are wrong to feel this pain. We all have felt this kind of guilt, full of what-ifs and should-haves. Learning to let go of the guilt, and no longer live in the past is the difficult part. I’d be happy to help you, if you would have me as your guide. You have helped me put some of my nightmares to rest. I would like to return the favor. “ Tanver nodded in agreement. Her words made sense.  “As to ‘Chef Scorch,’ Zavala, have you not heard of the impact he’s had on the people of this City? Joy is such a rare thing in these dark times, Commander. Shouldn’t he have the opportunity to fully embrace that joy and share it with the rest of the City? Have you not seen how happy his patrons are? Tanver has fought away more darkness here amongst the people of the City than he ever could elsewhere in the system.” “Uh, thank you? I think?” Tanver wasn’t sure if that was a compliment on his cooking or a swipe at his fighting capabilities. “I am quite serious, Tanver. I can feel the radiance from you and those you serve. You aren’t just filling their bellies, you are filling their souls, even if only briefly. Commander, have you ever been to his food stall?” “No, I have not,” Zavala replied as he shook his head.  “Perhaps you should come see him in action, then. You may see the wisdom in my words afterwards.” Zavala bowed to Eris’ wisdom, somewhat begrudgingly “Very well then. Guardian, if you think you’re up for it, I’ll see you this evening. Just…no fried turkeys tonight, please.”  “No problem sir! I look forward to serving you!” Tanver looked over to Eris and mouthed a “thank you.” She showed a slight smile in response.  =================================== Later that evening, Zavala walked with Eris and Ikora towards the Riverside District. A multitude of odors drifted in the air, leading the trio in the right direction. As they approached Tanver’s food stall, they could see a throng of people laughing, chatting, and eating together. People had even brought crates for make-shift tables and chairs to provide more seating. Zavala could feel the spirit of friendship and community amongst the people. There were Lightless and Guardians sharing meals together, sharing stories. He felt the Light here more than he ever did staring up at the Traveler from his usual post at the Tower. Zavala looked over at Ikora and could tell she felt the same radiance. The smile that graced her face said as much.  Eris leaned in towards Zavala’s ear so he could hear her over the din. “Can you feel it, Commander? The joy and love among them? As they bond and share, The Darkness is pushed away. Is this not more important than another dead Hive Knight or Ogre?” Zavala saw the wisdom in her words, and nodded.  “Beyond that, you still haven’t tasted the food.” Zavala was surprised to see Eris smile.  Tanver caught sight of the trio as they approached his stall. “Hey y’all! Glad you came! Hey, would you folks mind letting the three of them break in line? I know two of them have never had my food before.”  Cornbread floated over to the three VIPs, wearing his little apron. He spoke to Eris first. “The usual, ma’am?” She nodded in response. Next he turned to Ikora. “Hello Ikora! Welcome to Scorch! Is there anything that sounds good to you? I can run down the menu and specials, if you want.” “Actually, I’ve heard a lot about Chef Scorch’s ‘Mac & Cheese.’ I’ll take an order of that, as well as some bacon.”  “Chewy or crispy?” Cornbread asked. The crowd around them all shouted “CRISPY!” “Well then, the people have spoken, Cornbread. I shall have it crispy.” Cornbread simulated a bow as best he could and floated over to Zavala. “And you, sir?” “Surprise me,” Zavala replied with a smile. Cornbread zipped over to Tanver and relayed the VIP orders.  “Ok, so one order of Brunswick stew, an order of mac and cheese with crispy bacon, and a surprise. Got it.” Tanver said as he got to work. Before long, he had all of the dishes prepared. “Ok…Eris, here’s your usual stew. Enjoy!” Eris carefully took the hot bowl of stew and left to join a figure in the shadows away from the stall.  “Ikora…first off, thank you for coming! It’s an honor to serve you. I hope you enjoy this!” Tanver passed Ikora a bowl of mac and cheese and a plate of crispy bacon. Ikora looked pleased as she stepped towards one of the make-shift tables, ready to see if the food tasted as good as it smelled. “Finally, for the Commander. You said to surprise you, and I thought this might hit the spot. It’s a simple dish, but it’s very tasty.” Tanver passed Zavala a large plate filled with a mixture of steaming hot rice, peas, and chopped bacon. “It’s called Hoppin’ John. There’s a little bit of spiciness in there from some peppers.” “Thank you, Tanver. It smells delicious,” Zavala replied as he took the plate. He walked over to where Ikora was. She appeared to be waiting for the Vanguard leader to join her before eating her own meal, but Zavala noticed a small divot in her bowl of mac and cheese, indicating that she had sampled the food before he arrived. “Shall we?” Ikora asked.  “Yes, let’s,” he replied.  Zavala took a bite from his plate and felt instantly transported back in time. Safi had made a dish like this for him, a mix of onions, rice, and peas. Tanver’s dish was different, but hit many of the same notes Zavala remembered from so long ago. So many happy meals shared with his wife and son. Before he realized it, Zavala had eaten the entire plate.  Ikora let out a small laugh. “Was it to your liking, old friend?” “Indeed!” he replied, a carefree grin brightening his blue face.  Tanver walked over to the duo. He noticed that both Vanguard leaders had cleaned their plates. “Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to make sure you liked the meals.” “They were delicious, Tanver. I wish we had come here sooner. Thank you for inviting us. Who knew Warlocks could be such amazing cooks?” Ikora replied. “That means a lot to me, ma’am. How ‘bout you, Commander?” “Your ‘Hoppin’ John’ was exactly what I needed, Tanver. And Chef Scorch is exactly what this City needs. Eris is right. You should continue feeding the souls here. You’re fighting the Darkness right here in the Last City. We all need to be reminded of what we’re fighting for, who we’re fighting for.” Tanver grabbed Zavala’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Thank you. Thank you, sir! You have no idea how happy I am to hear that.” The warlock turned and headed back to his kitchen, letting out a loud “woohoo” in spite of himself. Zavala and Ikora both let out a laugh in response. Seeing the Vanguard leaders relaxed and laughing, several citizens took the opportunity to come speak to them. The duo welcomed all that approached and joined in the camaraderie that was in the air. Back at the counter, Tanver saw another new face. The Drifter was waiting, twirling a rectangular green coin between his fingers.  “There he is! The famous Chef Scorch! Can a drifter get a slice of something sweet?” “Coming right up!” Tanver happily replied, still delighted after speaking with Zavala. The chef pulled out a large plate covered with a plasteel dome. Pulling the dome away then grabbing a large knife, Tanver cut a generous slice of dessert for the Drifter and put it on a plate. “Cake on the field! Bring a fork!” Tanver said, doing his best attempt at an impression of Drifter.  Drifter scowled at Tanver, seeming unimpressed and less than enthused with the impression. Then he let out a laugh as he took the plate. “Ha! I like your style brother, but your impression needs a little work. All in good fun though!” Drifter grabbed a fork and took a bite of the ten-layer cake, so called because it was ten pancake-thin layers of yellow cake with rich chocolate frosting between each layer. “Alright, alright, alright! That’s the stuff! You’re doing good work, chef.” Drifter leaned in and motioned for Tanver to come closer. “Uh, hey, brother. I’ve got a favor to ask. And remember, a favor from ol’ Drifter buys a lot.” Tanver raised an eyebrow. “I’m listening…” “What would it take to get the recipe for that stew of yours? I know a bit of moondust that really loves it.” Tanver smiled. It was pretty easy to put two and two together. Eris might put on the appearance of barely tolerating Drifter, but he suspected the two had grown closer over the past few years.  “Tell you what. Come by next week and I’ll even teach you how to make it.” “Wow. The chef goes above and beyond. What’s the cost?” “Like most everything here, it’s on the house. We’re all about spreading a little love and joy here at Scorch’s.” “You’re the real deal, brother. See you next week then.” Drifter grabbed his plate of cake and fork and walked into the crowd. Tanver heard him speaking as he walked away. “Cake on the field! Hah!”  Tanver continued taking orders from patrons, happy in the knowledge he’d be able to continue with the blessing of the Vanguard. With Cornbread’s help, and counseling from Eris, he knew he’d be able to process his grief, rather than avoid it. In the meantime, Chef Scorch would feed the Last City, one dish at a time.