A dozen black-clad enforcers, their faces obscured by dark visors, surged forward across the cobbles. Their adamantine shackles clanked against breastplates. Nasrin swallowed dry spit, her feet rooted beside her battered cart, The Copper Skillet. Kaveh moved first. With a guttural roar, he planted his feet, a veritable bulwark. He snatched a heavy cast-iron wok from its hook, its seasoned surface reflecting the plaza’s harsh sunlight, and swung it in a wide, whistling arc. The lead pair stumbled back, iron armaments clanging against the seasoned metal. The air crackled with a faint, otherworldly chill as the spectral bouncers, summoned by the lingering essence of Nasrin’s culinary magic, flickered into visibility. They manifested as hulking, shadowy figures, rippling like heat haze, their glowing eyes fixed on the advancing line. One ghost, a thick-necked phantom with the bearing of a retired pit fighter, bellowed across the cobblestones, jarring a bronze shield loose from an officer's grip. “No!” Nasrin barked. Kaveh caught a heavy baton across the ribs, grunting through clenched teeth as he held the line. “You cannot judge what you have not tasted, Arbiter Azar!” The Cauldron’s Will pulsed at her hip, a familiar prickle of static biting her ribs. A lamb skewer, spitting hot fat, hissed over the coals. Nasrin spun on her heel. Honed by years of dodging angry inspectors, her right boot whipped up and struck the skewer's base. The charred skewer, glistening with spiced oil, shot across the promenade. Azar opened her mouth to shout another order. The spiced meat lodged squarely between her teeth, sliding clean off the bamboo. Her chin tilted back as the hot fat hit her palate. The crowd held silent. The master of the Pavilion, perched on his private balcony, clutched the railing with pale knuckles. Azar shuddered. Her jaw slackened, and a muffled groan broke past her lips. Her sculpted topknot strained against its pins. With a loud snap, the ivory comb broke, scattering pins across the stone. Long dark strands tumbled over her shoulders while red heat rushed to her cheeks. Her spiritual meridians flared. Vibrant emerald light burst outward from her core, sweeping the squad off their balance. The scent of sweet mint and scorched pepper flooded the air, unbinding decades of calcified crystal residue. `[Spices perfectly deployed! A cultivation miracle! Reward: 'Aether-Bloom Pepper' materializing!]` A small, iridescent packet of what looked like crushed starlight shimmered into existence on the Cauldron’s Will, too small and precious to be a mere spice. The Pavilion's master gripped the balcony rail. “She's poisoning the court!” he shrieked, veins bulging along his neck. He thrust forward a palm crackling with corrosive jade light. “Perish, charlatan!” “Get down!” Kaveh stepped between the balcony and the stall, angling his cast-iron wok. The green bolt crashed against seasoned iron with a deafening ring. Kaveh skidded three paces on the cobblestones. His forearms strained against the handle, tilting the curved dish upward to deflect the blast. The reflected streak shot straight toward the Pavilion of Pure Nourishment. The grand gilded sign over the entrance exploded into fractured timber and shredded gold leaf, pelting the promenade with splinters. Azar wiped grease and tears from her chin with a silk sleeve. She stared at the burning ruins of the restaurant facade, then up at its trembling owner, then toward Jalil, who was still on his knees grasping at Nasrin's charcoal box. Azar pointed her gavel straight up at the balcony. “Arrest that man for serving this city flavorless garbage for twenty years!”

A Taste of Heaven