Chapter 13 #2
The middle tier showcases my calamansi tarts, their bright yellow-green filling glistening under the lights, arranged in a spiral pattern that draws the eye inward. And on top, the golden archipelago of mango toffee islands rises from a sea of delicate blue sugar glass.
It’s not the display we originally planned. It’s better. Stronger. More defiant.
Just like me right now.
A bell chimes, signaling the start of the judging process. My heart leaps into my throat.
“This is it,” I whisper.
Thorne gives a single, firm nod. “They won’t know what hit them.”
The judges approach in a small group—Chef Lumière with her translucent skin glowing softly, Maxwell Thornwood with his gravity-defying chocolate sculptures, and the Sphinx organizer I encountered yesterday, her golden fur catching the light as she moves.
I smooth my apron, take a deep breath, and step forward.
“Welcome to Moist,” I say, proud that my voice doesn’t shake. “My name is Lena Reyes.”
Chef Lumière’s glow pulses slightly brighter—interest, maybe. Maxwell Thornwood raises a perfectly groomed eyebrow. The Sphinx’s tail twitches.
“We understand there was an incident yesterday,” the Sphinx says, her tone neutral.
“Yes,” I reply simply. “My original display was damaged beyond repair. But as you can see, we’ve adapted.”
“Indeed,” murmurs Chef Lumière, her voice like wind through chimes. “Please, tell us about your concept.”
I gesture to the three-tiered display. “The theme is Wanderlust, and I’ve interpreted it through the lens of my Filipino heritage.
Each tier represents a stage in the journey—where we come from, the path we take, and where we arrive.
” I trace my hand along the carved patterns on the wood.
“The design elements echo this journey, from traditional Filipino motifs to more contemporary forms.”
Maxwell Thornwood leans closer, examining the woodwork. “The craftsmanship is impressive. Did you do this yourself?”
“The display was created by Thorne,” I say, nodding toward the Minotaur who stands a respectful distance away. “He’s a master carpenter. We collaborated on the concept.”
The judges make small noises of appreciation, and I feel a flutter of hope in my chest.
“And the desserts?” Chef Lumière prompts, her luminous eyes fixed on the ube cake.
I guide them through each creation, explaining the significance of the flavors, the techniques used, the stories behind each component.
“The bottom tier features ube chiffon cake with coconut mousse—the flavors of my childhood, of family gatherings and celebrations. Ube is a purple yam native to the Philippines, with an earthy sweetness that pairs perfectly with the lightness of the coconut.”
I move to the middle tier. “These are calamansi honey tarts. Calamansi is a citrus fruit similar to a lime but with distinct floral notes. It represents the unexpected discoveries we make when we venture beyond what’s familiar—bright, surprising, sometimes challenging, but always worth experiencing. ”
Finally, I gesture to the top. “And here, the mango toffee archipelago. The Philippines is an archipelago—a collection of islands. These pieces represent both where I come from and where I’ve arrived—transformed by heat and time into something new, but still carrying the essence of home.”
I step back, trying to gauge their reactions. Chef Lumière’s glow pulses with gentle blues and purples—a good sign, if the rumors about Fae emotions are true. Maxwell Thornwood is nodding slowly, thoughtfully. The Sphinx’s face remains impassive, but her tail has stopped twitching.
“May we taste?” Chef Lumière asks.
My heart skips. “Of course.”
I serve each judge a plate with small portions of each dessert, arranged to mirror the display. My hands don’t shake, which feels like its own small victory.
They taste in silence. Excruciating, nerve-shredding silence.
I watch their faces, trying to interpret every subtle shift of expression. Chef Lumière’s glow brightens with each bite, colors shifting through the spectrum. Maxwell Thornwood closes his eyes, focusing entirely on the flavors. The Sphinx’s whiskers twitch forward—a sign of interest, I hope.
Finally, Chef Lumière sets down her fork. “The ube cake is remarkable—light yet substantial, with a complexity that unfolds as you eat. The coconut mousse is perfectly balanced, not too sweet.”
Maxwell nods. “The calamansi tarts are a revelation. The acidity is beautifully tempered by the honey, and the pastry has just the right amount of buttery richness.”
The Sphinx takes her time, considering. “The mango toffee is particularly interesting. The transformation of the fruit into something with such depth and character. It speaks to your theme effectively.”
I exhale slowly, relief washing through me like a tide. They like it. They actually like it.
“Thank you,” I manage, my voice steadier than I feel. “The journey these flavors represent is deeply personal to me.”
“That comes through clearly,” Chef Lumière says, her glow pulsing warmly. “In every bite, we taste not just ingredients, but memory. Heritage. Longing.” She inclines her head slightly. “Well done, Ms. Reyes.”
The judges move on to the next booth, but I remain rooted to the spot, their words echoing in my ears.
Memory. Heritage. Longing.
They got it. They actually got what I was trying to say.
I turn to find Thorne standing closer now, his expression softened around the edges.
“Told you,” he says simply.
I laugh, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep and real. “Yes, you did.”
We stand there together, watching as the judges move through the exhibition hall, tasting and evaluating. I catch Gabriel staring daggers at me from across the room. I smile and wave, enjoying the way his face contorts before he quickly smooths it into indifference.
“What happens now?” Thorne asks, nodding toward the judges.
“Now we wait,” I say. “They’ll announce the finalists this afternoon. Then those selected will compete in a final round tomorrow for the grand prize.”
The waiting should feel excruciating. Hours ago, it would have. But now, standing beside my display, beside Thorne, I feel something I haven’t felt since this competition began.
Peace.
Because win or lose, I’ve already proven what I needed to prove—to Gabriel, to the judges, but most importantly, to myself.
I belong here.
And no one can take that away from me.