On the morning Song Yan lost his job, he carried three objects out of the Golden Harbor Hotel: a dented frying pan, half an onion, and a letter explaining that the company admired his contribution but could no longer afford his salary. The letter used excellent grammar. It did not improve his mood.

Rain filled the alley behind the kitchen. Song Yan sat on an empty oil bucket and considered his future. He was twenty-four, in debt, and qualified for a profession that required twelve-hour shifts, invisible patience, and the ability to smile while a customer returned a steak for being both too hot and too cold. His phone displayed six rejected applications. His stomach displayed a louder opinion.

His only ingredient was the onion. He cut it with his pocketknife, heated the frying pan over a maintenance worker's portable stove, and added the last spoonful of oil from his lunch box. The smell rose into the rain. At that exact moment, a circle of golden symbols opened beneath the bucket.

Song Yan fell through a royal ceiling.

He landed in the centre of a marble hall, still holding the pan. Twelve priests surrounded him. A king leaned forward on a crystal throne. Ministers, knights, scholars, and foreign ambassadors watched with desperate hope.

“At last,” cried the chief priest. “The Hero of Sacred Flame!”

Song Yan looked at the onion sticking to his sleeve. “I work in a kitchen.”

The court became silent.

They had tried to summon a warrior and received a cook. They tested him anyway. He could not lift the holy sword. The divine mirror recorded no combat talent, no noble blood, and no impressive quantity of magic. When commanded to produce sacred fire, he created a small blue flame exactly suitable for frying garlic. The king was ready to dismiss him before lunch.

Only one person followed him from the palace: a thin old woman in an apron decorated with silver stars. She introduced herself as Madam Pepper, former royal cook and current manager of the Bottomless Pantry, the most dangerous dungeon on the continent.

“The court made an error,” she said. “But errors sometimes reveal a truth.”

She handed him a black iron ladle. Pale letters appeared above it.

APPRAISAL AWAKENED. OBJECT: COMMON LADLE. HISTORY: THREE HUNDRED YEARS OF SOUP. HIDDEN PROPERTY: CAN STIR ANYTHING EXCEPT A STUBBORN KING.

Song Yan nearly dropped it.

Madam Pepper explained that the dungeon had once supplied medicine, mineral, water, and food to seven nations. Now monsters were escaping, crops were failing, and adventurers who entered the lowest levels never returned. The royal army believed the dungeon had developed an appetite for human life.

“Why ask a cook?” Song Yan said.

“Because warriors see an enemy. Merchants see a product. Scholars see a specimen.” Her eyes settled on his frying pan. “A cook must see what everything needs in order to become something else.”

Song Yan had no home in this world, no money in the previous one, and no sensible method of returning. He looked at the enormous black entrance beyond the city wall. Warm air breathed from it, carrying the scent of earth, smoke, mushroom, and something that resembled roasted chestnut.

His fear was genuine. So was his appetite.

“Do I get paid?” he asked.

Madam Pepper smiled. “If we survive.”