Wielder Of The Dragon Flame

Chapter 21

Asta pushed open the door to the dining hall, the familiar smell of whatever stew the kitchen was serving today washing over him. The space was less crowded than usual,most people had probably eaten earlier before the gathering, or were still off somewhere celebrating their new guild formations. 

The high ceiling made every sound echo slightly, the clatter of plates and low conversations bouncing off the stone walls.

"Come on." 

Asta said, glancing back at Jabber, who had hesitated at the entrance.

 "Food'll be gone if we wait too long."

Jabber followed silently, his footsteps barely audible even on the hard floor. They made their way to the serving line, where a bored-looking kitchen worker was ladling thick brown stew into wooden bowls.

 The bread basket beside her was half-empty, the remaining loaves looking a bit stale, but Asta had learned long ago not to be picky about food in the labor section.

"Two bowls."

 Asta said when they reached the front of the line.

The kitchen worker glanced up, her eyes immediately catching on Jabber's battered face. Her expression flickered with something,sympathy? Curiosity?,but she didn't comment. She just filled two bowls with stew, the ladle scraping against the bottom of the pot and pushed them across the counter along with two pieces of bread and two wooden spoons.

"Thanks." 

Asta said, balancing his bowl carefully as he grabbed his bread. The stew was hot enough that steam rose from it in lazy curls, and his stomach growled in response.

They found an empty table near the back corner,Asta's preferred spot, where he could see the rest of the room but wasn't directly in anyone's line of sight. Jabber seemed to approve of the location, settling onto the bench across from Asta without complaint.

For a few moments, they ate in silence. The stew was actually decent today,chunks of what might have been beef, or possibly flame boar, along with carrots and potatoes that had been cooked until they were soft enough to fall apart on your tongue. The bread was definitely stale, but it softened when you dunked it in the stew.

Asta was halfway through his bowl when movement caught his eye. Three figures were walking toward the exit, their own bowls already empty. They were laughing about something, one of them gesturing wildly as he told what was probably a greatly exaggerated story.

The one in the middle,a guy with close-cropped brown hair and a scar across his chin,turned to leave, not watching where he was going. His shoulder collided hard with Asta's back just as Asta was raising his spoon to his mouth, nearly causing him to spill hot stew all over himself.

"Hey, watch it, dipshit!" 

The guy snapped automatically, his tone aggressive before he'd even seen who he'd bumped into.

Asta twisted around on the bench, an irritated response already forming on his lips.

 "Maybe you should watch where you're…"

The words died in his throat as the guy's gaze landed on him. The aggressive expression melted off his face like wax near flame, replaced by something that looked an awful lot like terror. His eyes went wide, his mouth dropping open slightly, and all the color drained from his face.

His two friends had turned back when they heard the commotion, ready to back up their buddy in whatever confrontation was brewing. But when they saw Asta, they had identical reactions,eyes widening, faces going pale, bodies going rigid with what could only be fear.

All three of them started trembling. Actually trembling, like they'd been doused with ice water.

"Oh." 

Asta said, recognition dawning as he looked at their faces more carefully. The scar-chinned one in the middle, he recognized immediately,he'd been the one grabbing Flora's wrist. The other two had been his backup, the ones who'd been blocking her escape route in that alley..

 "You guys are those three from the other day."

He said it conversationally, almost casually, but the effect on the three men was immediate and dramatic. The one who'd bumped into him actually stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his own feet. His friends were already backing away, their faces masks of pure panic.

"We're sorry!" 

One of them blurted out, his voice cracking slightly. 

"We didn't see you, we weren't looking, we…"

"Just forget it happened!" 

Another one cut in desperately. 

"We're leaving, we're going, we won't…"

They turned as one and practically ran for the exit, their boots hammering against the floor in their haste to get away. Other diners looked up, startled by the sudden commotion, watching as three grown men fled the dining hall like they were being chased by flame beasts.

Asta watched them go, bemused. He'd almost forgotten about that encounter in the alley,it felt like it had happened weeks ago rather than just a few days. He turned back to his stew, only to find Jabber staring at him with an expression that was more animated than Asta had ever seen on his face.

 His eyebrows were raised, his eyes sharp with curiosity.

"Who were they?" 

Jabber asked. His voice was still quiet, but there was genuine interest in it, maybe even the hint of concern.

"Oh."

 Asta picked up his spoon again, stirring his stew absently.

 "They're just some stupid shits who tried harassing Flora. I was able to stop them, that's all.”

Jabber's gaze didn't waver. He set down his own spoon carefully, giving Asta his full attention. 

"What did you actually do to stop them? Because they looked really frightened when their gaze fell on you. Like they'd seen death itself."

Asta's eyes widened as the full implication of Jabber's observation hit him. Shit. He hadn't thought this through. His mouth had moved before his brain caught up, and now he'd said too much. Way too much.

His mind raced, trying to figure out how to respond, how to deflect without outright lying. The memory of that night flashed through his mind,the way the shadow had emerged, the way it had defended him, the absolute terror on those men's faces when they'd seen it. 

That darkness, that presence that once tried to take over his body,it was a secret he'd kept locked away, something he didn't fully understand himself and definitely wasn't ready to explain to anyone else.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. I opened it again. No words came out. 

He could feel heat creeping up his neck, probably turning his face red.

Jabber watched this internal struggle play out across Asta's face, his expression gradually softening from curiosity to understanding. After a moment, he picked up his spoon again and returned his attention to his stew.

"Oh." 

Jabber said quietly, his tone carefully neutral. 

"It must be a secret."

The words were simple, not accusatory or demanding. Just an acknowledgment, an offering of understanding. And maybe, buried in there, a promise not to push further.

Asta felt a wave of relief so strong it was almost physical. 

"Right." 

He said quickly, maybe too quickly. "It is a secret. I'm not... I can't really talk about it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. I don't..." 

He trailed off, realizing he was rambling.

Jabber just nodded once, a tiny movement of his head, and continued eating. He didn't press for details, didn't make Asta feel guilty for not sharing, didn't even look particularly bothered by the whole thing. He just... accepted it.

 Accepted that Asta had secrets, just like Jabber probably had his own.

They fell back into silence, but it was a different kind of silence now. More comfortable, more understanding. 

The kind of silence that exists between people who are beginning to trust each other, even if that trust was still fragile and new.

Asta ate his stew, grateful for Jabber's discretion but also aware of a small knot of guilt forming in his stomach.

 Jabber w

as his guild mate now, his bunkmate, someone who'd just been defended by Asta in front of a higher official. Didn't he deserve to know the truth? Or at least some version of it?...