A crisp, double tap sounded at the heavy conference room door.
"Enter," John called out, leaning back slightly in his chair.
The pneumatic sliding doors parted with a soft hiss. A private first class from the base dining facility rolled a polished stainless-steel service cart into the room. He parked it neatly beside the table, lifted the gleaming silver cloche covers, and set a large, steaming tray directly in front of Elenore.
"High-protein recovery tray as ordered, Eagle Actual," the soldier said, snapping a sharp salute. "Seasoned grilled chicken breast, garlic-steamed white rice, buttered medley vegetables, a hot bowl of slow-simmered beef broth, and fresh iced tea."
"Thanks, Private. Dismissed."
"Sir!" The soldier executed an about-face and marched out, the sliding doors sealing smoothly behind him.
The rich, savory aroma immediately filled the sterile, air-conditioned room. The golden glaze on the chicken glistened under the bright LED panels, the hearty steam rising from the beef broth carried deep herbal notes, and the fluffy white rice looked impeccably clean.
Elenore’s amethyst eyes locked onto the spread. Any lingering thoughts of royal poise, noble etiquette, or restraint instantly vanished beneath the overwhelming, instinctual roar of her empty stomach.
She reached for the polished stainless-steel spoon, scooped up a steaming portion of the clear beef broth, blew on it with a tiny puff of breath, and brought it to her lips.
The moment the savory, rich liquid hit her tongue, her delicate pointed ears gave a sudden, involuntary twitch upright.
Her eyes widened in pure, unfiltered bliss.
"Mm...!"
A soft, melodic hum escaped her throat. Without missing a beat, she picked up the fork, slicing off a tender piece of the herb-seasoned grilled chicken paired with a mouthful of fluffy white rice, and popped it into her mouth.
The combination was an explosion of flavor—juicy, perfectly salted, with hints of garlic, rosemary, and the natural sweetness of the rice.
Centuries of sensory deprivation broke in an instant. Forgetting entirely where she was, the high-elf princess began devouring the meal with frantic, adorable enthusiasm. She took hearty bites of the tender poultry, shoveled spoonfuls of rice, and crunched through the sweet buttered carrots and green beans, her cheeks puffing out slightly like a tiny, ravenous squirrel hoarding nuts for the winter.
Every few bites, her ears fluttered with pure happiness as she took a deep sip of the rich broth, her silver hair shimmering around her shoulders with every eager movement.
Sitting directly across the table, John rested his cheek against his knuckles, watching the spectacle with a faint, amused smile.
Seeing an ethereal, impossibly graceful elf, stuffing her face with standard US military mess hall cooking with such pure, unadorned joy was surprisingly endearing. Her big amethyst eyes sparkling at a simple piece of roasted broccoli was downright cute.
Halfway through polishing off the last piece of chicken, Elenore suddenly paused.
She swallowed with a soft gulp, blinking as her gaze slowly drifted up from her plate—and met John’s steady blue eyes.
He was staring directly at her, that dry, knowing smirk playing at the corners of his lips.
The realization hit her like a stun grenade.
I just ate like a feral mountain goblin in front of my savior.
A deep, fiery crimson blush rushed up her neck, painting her porcelain cheeks bright red and spreading all the way to the tips of her long, pointed ears. Her ears instantly folded back against her head in complete, mortified surrender.
Her slender fingers froze mid-air, the fork hovering awkwardly between the tray and her lips.
"I... I..." Elenore stammered, her melodic voice squeaking slightly as she frantically tried to swallow the remaining food in her mouth. She quickly set the fork down on the tray with a soft clink, pulling her hands into her lap and dropping her gaze to the table. "I apologize for my... disgraceful lack of decorum, John. I did not mean to feast with such... barbarism."
John let out a low, warm chuckle, shaking his head.
"Hey, don’t apologize," John said smoothly, reaching over to nudge the tall glass of iced tea closer to her. "You haven’t eaten in several hundred years. If anything, the cooks at the DFAC would be honored to see someone appreciate their seasoning that much."
Elenore peeked up through her silver bangs, her face still burning a delightful shade of pink. Seeing that his amusement was warm and devoid of mockery, the knot of shame in her chest softened into a bashful, sheepish smile.
"It was... remarkably delicious," she whispered, her fingers nervously twirling a stray lock of silver hair. "I have never tasted such incredible food."
"Good. Because you’re going to need all that energy," John replied, leaning forward and resting his forearms on the table as his expression shifted to business. "Now that you’re fed, we need to talk about what we’re going to do next."
She tilted her head to the side.
"Allow me to introduce myself again, I’m John Smith, and I run this place. The name of our territory is..." he paused, thinking of a name. Well he had already introduced that he is a United States Special Forces, well maybe, for the meantime, he can use it.
"United States of America," John finished. "And we are very unfamiliar with the place around here. Though I know you lost your memory when you were sealed but I believe that you can be the bridge between us and this world."
John stood up, offering his hand once more. "I’d like to invite you to our central command center. We’ve conducted aerial reconnaissance of the surrounding area, and I want to show you our findings. Maybe a coastline or a map layout will spark something."
Elenore looked at his steady, outstretched hand. This strange warrior had shattered her eternal prison, shielded her from a monster, and treated her with utter kindness without asking for anything in return.
She placed her delicate hand into his, giving a soft, determined nod.
"I will help you however I can."