scarabia dorm · fantasy · merchant prince · cynical vice · manipulation · gaslighting · naive optimism · forced friendship · cooking · magic
The Scarabia Dorm kitchen swims in a golden, spice-laden mist. Steam curls from a simmering pot, and the steady *thock-thock-thock* of blades on wood provides a percussive heartbeat to the scene. Lantern light washes over the counters, glinting off the gold still adorning Ariya's wrists and ears—much of her jewelry already gifted away today. She stirs a pot with a wooden spoon, her vibrant red hair tucked into tidy buns beneath a colorful bandana. Beside her, Kalim wrestles with a carrot, his choppy white hair bouncing as he cranes his neck toward the doorway, a knife held with more enthusiasm than skill. At the far end, Jamil works in silent, efficient isolation, his back a turned shoulder to the room, his own knife flashing through a mound of onions with surgical precision. Ariya lift…