Raising Beast Cubs to Find a Husband-Chapter 178: The Echo and the Wanderer

The Food Coma was a universal concept, transcending time, space, and species.

By the time the moon was high over Solaris, the Royal Dining Hall looked like a battlefield where the only casualties were roasted chickens and bottles of vintage wine.

Rurik was asleep with his face on the table, a half-eaten tart clutched in his hand. Vali was curled up on top of Rurik’s shoulders, drooling onto the Warlord’s fur.

Rajah was leaning back in his chair, picking his teeth with a small dagger, looking more content than he had in years. Leonora sat beside him, sipping tea and pretending she wasn’t inching her chair closer to his.

The Kids—Arjun, Ellia, Silas, Clover, and Jasper—had formed a pile on the rug near the hearth, guarded by a very sleepy Pickles.

But Ophelia was still wide awake.

She sat on the balcony railing, swinging her legs over the edge. She held a crystal glass filled with dark, spiced rum. She swirled it, watching the amber liquid catch the moonlight.

"It burns," Ophelia mused, taking a sip. "Like swallowing liquid fire. We didn’t have this in the First Age. We fermented berries in a hollow log and hoped it wouldn’t make us go blind."

Primrose stepped out onto the balcony, wrapping a shawl around her shoulders. The night air was cool, carrying the scent of jasmine from the palace gardens.

"I can teach you how to make a Mojito tomorrow," Primrose offered, leaning against the stone pillar. "It’s rum with mint and sugar. Less burning, more refreshing."

Ophelia looked at her descendant. Her ancient eyes, the color of the deep sea, seemed to peel back Primrose’s skin and look at the spirit underneath.

"You really are a marvel," Ophelia whispered. "A Nine-Tailed Fox who prefers a spatula to a sword. The Elders of my time would have fainted."

"I used the sword too," Primrose defended herself with a small smile. "I punched a god in the face today."

"True," Ophelia conceded. She patted the stone railing next to her. "Sit with me, Little Fox. The boys are snoring, and the statue is sulking. We need to talk."

Primrose sat. For a moment, they just watched the city below. The repair crews were using light-magic to fix the streets, creating a beautiful, glowing web across the capital.

"Why do you cook?" Ophelia asked suddenly.

It wasn’t a casual question. The weight behind it made Primrose stiffen.

"I... I like it," Primrose stammered. "I like seeing people eat. I like the look on their faces when they taste something good."

"It is more than that," Ophelia said. She took another sip of rum. "I watched you in that kitchen. You move with a frantic energy. You season the food like you are trying to save their lives. You cook like you are afraid the food is going to disappear."

Primrose looked down at her hands—hands that had wielded the Heart of the Tide, but also chopped a thousand onions.

"In my... other life," Primrose began, treading carefully. "The life I lived before I woke up in this body... I was a Chef. That world didn’t have magic. It was loud and gray. But it had food. So much food."

"A world without magic," Ophelia mused. "But full of pantries."

"I was obsessed," Primrose admitted. "I worked eighteen hours a day. I didn’t have a family. I didn’t have a lover. I just had the kitchen. I felt like... if I stopped feeding people, I would vanish."

Ophelia nodded slowly. She reached out and touched Primrose’s chest, right over her heart.

"Do you know why?"

Primrose shook her head.

"Because I was starving," Ophelia whispered.

The wind picked up, rustling Ophelia’s white hair.

"When I sealed the Void a thousand years ago," Ophelia said, her voice distant, "I didn’t die. I froze. My body turned to crystal. My mind went into a long, dark sleep."

She looked at Primrose.

"But a soul... a soul is a wild thing. It cannot be caged in a rock for a millennium. Especially not a soul as stubborn as ours."

Primrose’s breath hitched. "Ours?"

"My soul couldn’t stay in the dark," Ophelia explained. "It was too painful. I missed Etienne. I missed the sun. And, Founders help me, I was so hungry. The war had lasted fifty years. We ate bark. We ate dirt. I watched my friends waste away."

She tapped Primrose’s chest again.

"So, a piece of me left. It slipped through the cracks of the Void. It wandered across the stars until it found a place where it could heal."

"Earth," Primrose whispered.

"Is that what it was called?" Ophelia smiled sadly. "It sounds nice. My soul found a new life there. It forgot the war. It forgot the magic. But it remembered the hunger. That is why you became a Chef, Primrose. You were trying to fill the hole I left behind."

Primrose felt a tear slide down her cheek. "So... I’m you?"

"We are two halves of a broken plate," Ophelia corrected gently. "I am the Memory. I am the Ego that stayed behind to hold the door shut. I am the duty."

She cupped Primrose’s face.

"But you... you are the Life. You are the part of me that wanted to live. You are the part that wanted to eat, and laugh, and love. You came back because the job was finally done. You came back to make us whole."

Primrose looked at this woman—this girl who looked younger than her but carried the weight of centuries.

"What happens now?" Primrose asked, her voice trembling. "If we are the same... can we both exist?"

"For a while," Ophelia shrugged, downing the rest of her rum. "I am an Echo. A magical construct fueled by the mana stored in my old body. I have enough juice to annoy the Lion Ancestor for a few years, maybe. But eventually... I will fade."

"I don’t want you to fade," Primrose said fiercely, gripping Ophelia’s hand. "We just found you."

"I won’t disappear, Little Fox," Ophelia promised. "When my mana runs out, I won’t go to the afterlife. I’ll just... settle. I’ll flow back into you. And then, you will have my memories of the First Age, and I will have your recipes for Glazed Boar. It seems like a fair trade."

The glass doors to the balcony slid open.

Caspian stepped out. He had removed his heavy Warlord armor and was wearing a simple silk shirt, the sleeves rolled up. He carried a tray with a teapot and three cups.

"I thought you might need something warm," Caspian said, setting the tray down on a small table. "The sea air is brisk tonight."

Ophelia watched him. She watched the way he moved—fluid, graceful, like water flowing over stone.

"Etienne used to make tea," Ophelia said softly. "He was terrible at it. He always steeped the leaves too long. It tasted like bitter kelp."

Caspian poured a cup and handed it to her. "I added honey and lemon. No kelp."

Ophelia took the cup. She took a sip. She closed her eyes.

"Better," she whispered.

She looked at Caspian, then at Primrose.

"He never got to see me old," Ophelia said, looking at the moon. "Etienne. We were supposed to grow old together. We were supposed to have fat babies with fins and fur. We were supposed to argue about what to eat for dinner."

She looked at Primrose.

"You found him again."

Primrose looked at Caspian. He reached out and took her hand, interlacing their fingers. The silver crest on her hand and the blue scales on his wrist shimmered in the moonlight.

"I didn’t know," Primrose whispered. "On Earth... I was always lonely. I dated, but it never felt right. I always felt like I was waiting for someone who wasn’t there."

"You were waiting for the Fish," Ophelia grinned, the sadness lifting. "And you caught a good one. He cooks. He cleans. He commands the ocean. High value."

She hopped off the railing.

"Right. I am going to find a bed that isn’t made of rock. You two stay out here and... contemplate the moon. Or whatever young people do when they aren’t fighting gods."

She walked to the door, then paused.

"Caspian?"

Caspian straightened up. "Yes, Lady Ophelia?"

"Take care of her," Ophelia said, her voice losing its sass for a second, becoming pure, ancient steel. "I spent a thousand years starving so she could be happy. If you make her cry, I will flood your bedroom."

Caspian bowed low. "I would sooner destroy the world again than let her shed a tear."

"Good answer," Ophelia winked. "Also, remind me to harass the Snake Mage in the morning. I want to know how his stick glows."

She vanished into the palace.

Primrose and Caspian were left alone on the balcony.

Caspian pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist. Primrose leaned back against his chest, listening to the steady, calm rhythm of his heart.

"She’s intense," Caspian murmured into her hair.

"She’s family," Primrose smiled. "And apparently... she’s me. Sort of."

"That explains a lot," Caspian chuckled. "The stubbornness. The inability to follow orders. The way you look at a menu like it’s a battle plan."

"Hey," Primrose elbowed him gently. "My battle plans work."

Caspian turned her around so he could look into her eyes. He brushed a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Primrose," he said softly. "I don’t care if you are a reincarnated soul, a time-traveler, or a fox who fell from the moon. You are the woman who saved my son. You are the woman who saved my soul."

He kissed her forehead.

"Etienne and Ophelia didn’t get their ending," Caspian whispered. "But we will. I promise you. No more wars. No more stasis crystals."

"Just cake," Primrose whispered. "And maybe a beach house."

"A beach house," Caspian agreed. "With a very large kitchen."

Primrose rested her head on his shoulder, looking out at the sleeping city.

For the first time in two lifetimes, the hunger was gone. She was full.