She remembered the smell of food.
It was the last clear memory from her old life—soup simmering gently on the stove, steam fogging the kitchen window, and the quiet comfort of knowing that someone would eat well tonight. Cooking had always grounded her. When words failed, food never did.
That night, after setting a small meal outside for a stray and finally sitting down to rest, her consciousness slipped away.
She woke to birdsong.
Sunlight filtered through tall trees, their leaves swaying softly above her. The air smelled of damp earth and moss—cool, clean, and alive. She lay still for a moment, breathing it in, allowing the unfamiliar surroundings to settle.
"I'm… alive?" she whispered.
Her voice sounded steadier than she felt.
She sat up slowly. Her body felt lighter, younger. When she lifted her hand, a simple silver ring caught the light. It felt natural—not foreign, not intrusive—as though it had always belonged to her.
There were no scattered belongings around her. No bag. No tools.
Yet, strangely, she was not afraid.
Hunger came first.
A dull, familiar ache settled in her stomach.
"I need to eat," she murmured.
At that moment, something shifted.
Not darkness, but space.
Quiet. Orderly. Calm.
Her awareness slipped inward, and she saw it.
Shelves without walls. Items floating gently, neatly arranged. A cooking pot. Knives. Jars of dried herbs. Root vegetables. Spices. Preserved meat. Sealed containers of golden broth.
She blinked.
"…So that's how it works."
When she reached out, a sturdy pot appeared in her hands.
"A storage ring," she said softly.
There was no excitement in her voice—only relief.
A sound broke the silence.
It was not loud or frantic, but restrained—a pained breath held carefully in.
She followed the sound and found a wolf lying near a fallen tree. Its fur was pale, almost white, matted slightly with dirt. One leg was swollen, the wound old and raw. Yet its eyes were sharp—intelligent in a way that made her pause.
"You are not from this forest," the wolf said slowly.
She froze, then exhaled.
"…I thought so," she replied.
She knelt a short distance away, careful not to alarm it.
"I won't come closer unless you want me to," she said. "But you're hurt."
The wolf's gaze shifted to her hands.
"You smell of herbs," it said. "And smoke. Not fear."
She glanced at her palms, then nodded.
"I cook," she said simply. "I'm hungry, and you look like you need help."
Silence stretched between them.
"You are calm," the wolf said at last. "Most who wake in this forest scream or run."
"There's no point," she replied. "If I panic, I'll still need to eat afterward."
The wolf released a low sound, something close to a quiet chuckle.
"…Strange woman."
🍲 The Cooking Scene
She closed her eyes briefly. The ring responded at once, its contents unfolding in her mind like familiar shelves.
"This will take a little time," she said. "But it should help."
She selected what she needed, one by one.
A sturdy pot.
Golden bone broth.
Root vegetables.
Fresh greens.
Familiar spices.
Tender preserved meat.
She built a small fire with practiced hands.
The broth warmed slowly, releasing a deep, comforting aroma. She added sliced carrots, allowing them to soften before stirring in minced ginger and turmeric. Warm, earthy scents bloomed into the air.
The wolf's ears twitched.
"That smell…" it murmured.
"It's meant for recovery," she said without looking up. "It helps with pain and inflammation."
"You speak as if food understands you."
She smiled faintly.
"It does," she replied. "People just forget how to listen."
She added the greens, watching them wilt, then the meat. The soup glowed faintly gold in the firelight.
When it was ready, she poured some into a bowl and placed it gently on the ground, within the wolf's reach.
"I made it for you," she said. "If you want it."
The wolf hesitated, then tasted it.
Its breath caught.
"…Warm," it whispered.
"That's good," she said softly. "It means it's working."
✨ Healing
As the wolf ate, she cleaned the wound with water and herbs. When her hand rested against its leg, a gentle warmth flowed—not magic she forced, but something that responded naturally to her intent.
The swelling eased.
The wolf looked at her in quiet awe.
"You do not command healing," it said. "You invite it."
She shrugged lightly.
"Food keeps people alive," she replied. "Magic just follows."
🌙 Nightfall
Night settled over the forest. She stored the remaining soup inside the ring, knowing it would stay warm. Wrapping herself in a blanket beside the fading fire, she leaned against a fallen log. The wolf curled up nearby, its breathing slow and steady.
For the first time since waking, she allowed her thoughts to drift backward.
She remembered setting the bowl down for the stray.
She remembered sitting.
She remembered resting.
And then—nothing.
She did not remember standing up.
She did not remember waking again.
"I didn't fall asleep," she said quietly.
The wolf's ears flicked.
"My life ended," she added calmly.
"You smell unfinished," the wolf said.
She turned toward it. "Unfinished?"
"Those who arrive from other worlds often come in pain," it replied. "You arrived after your life had already closed."
"You do not carry the scent of resistance," the wolf said.
"Your life ended, but your path did not close."
She nodded.
"I think I was tired," she said.
"Many lives end that way," the wolf answered. "Not in pain, but in completion."
She touched the silver ring on her finger.
"At least I brought my kitchen with me," she said, a faint smile forming.
"You accept this quickly," the wolf observed.
"I cooked until the end," she replied. "That feels like a good ending."
The forest grew quiet.
"Then rest," the wolf said. "This world does not hurry those who arrive gently."
She closed her eyes.
In a world of magic and beasts, it was not power that welcomed her first—but a warm meal shared in trust.
And thus, her journey began.