Five judges entered, all wearing white and gold robes. Marron recognized the head judge immediately—the woman with hair like polished steel, the one who'd told her warmth could be beautiful.

The judges walked slowly through the room, observing each dish from a distance first. Making notes. Conferring quietly.

Marron's heart hammered in her chest.

The head judge stopped at her station. Looked at the soup. Looked at Marron.

"French onion soup," she said. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, ma'am," Marron replied, proud of how steady her voice sounded.

"The same dish as your initial evaluation."

"Yes. But presented differently."

The judge's expression was unreadable. "We'll see." She moved on to the next station.

Marron wanted to scream. We'll see? After everything she'd learned, everything she'd worked for—we'll see?

But she held still, hands clasped, waiting.

+

The judges arrived at station one and started judging the nervous man's chicken. They tasted methodically, making notes, their faces revealing nothing. The candidate looked like he might be sick.

Station two—the orc's pastries. One judge smiled slightly as she tasted. A good sign.

Station three—Marron's soup.

The head judge sat down at the evaluation table. Another judge brought her the bowl of soup, setting it carefully in front of her.

The judge looked at it for a long moment. Studied the presentation—the cream-colored bowl, the golden cheese, the thyme sprig. The steam still rising, carrying that incredible aroma.

Then she picked up her spoon.

She broke through the cheese first, just as Marron had instructed Millie to do. Let the steam escape. Scooped up a spoonful that included broth, onion, bread, and cheese.

Tasted.

Marron stopped breathing.

The judge's eyes closed. She chewed slowly, thoughtfully. Swallowed. Opened her eyes.

And smiled.

It was small—barely there—but it was a smile.

She took another spoonful. Then another. The other judges tasted as well, passing the bowl between them, each taking their portion.

"The caramelization is exceptional," one judge murmured.

"The balance between sweet and savory is perfect," another added.

The head judge set down her spoon and looked directly at Marron. "And the presentation. Tell me about your choices."

Marron's mouth was dry, but she found her voice. "The bowl is tapered to concentrate the aroma. The bread is visible beneath the cheese to show the layers. The thyme sprig hints at the herbaceous notes in the stock. And the cheese—" She paused. "The cheese is browned like that because I wanted it to look as rich as it tastes."

"You wanted us to see the work before we tasted it."

"Yes."

"Beauty revealing truth."

Marron blinked. Had the judge really just said that? "Yes. Exactly."

The head judge made a note on her paper, her expression still neutral. "Thank you. We'll continue."

They moved to station four—the beastkin's fish. The plating was stunning, and the judges seemed impressed. Then station five—more pastries, these ones less successful than the orc's. And finally, station six.

Millie's moon cakes.

Marron watched as the judges examined them—the perfect moon-and-stars pattern, the golden-brown color, the careful plating on painted ceramic. One judge cut into a cake, and the molten caramel filling oozed out, darker than Marron remembered, more amber than gold.

The judges tasted.

One of them closed her eyes, the same expression of surprised pleasure that Marron had seen on her own face days ago.

"The filling," one judge said. "It's different from your initial evaluation."

"Yes," Millie answered, her voice calm. "I added salt for balance, and vanilla for complexity. The sweetness is still there, but it's not one-note anymore."

"It's much improved." The judge made a note. "The technique on the dough is flawless. The presentation is, as before, exceptional."

Millie's ears twitched. Marron imagined different emotions were running through her friend at this point--whether it was relief or hope, she wasn't sure.

The judges finished their circuit and returned to their table at the front of the room. They conferred quietly, heads together, papers shuffled and compared.

The candidates waited.

Marron felt like she might vibrate out of her own skin. She'd done everything she could. The soup was perfect—she knew it was perfect. The presentation was thoughtful, intentional, beautiful in its honesty.

But was it enough?

+

The head judge stood. The room fell into complete silence.

"Candidates," she began, her voice carrying easily in the small space. "You have all demonstrated growth since your initial evaluations. Some of you more than others."

Marron's hands clenched behind her back.

"Station one." The judge looked at the nervous young man. "Your chicken was competently prepared, but the presentation was rushed and your sauce failed. You may retest again in one week. Use that time to practice your fundamentals."

The young man's shoulders slumped, but he nodded.

"Station two." The orc. "Your pastries were excellent—both in execution and presentation. You have passed your evaluation. Congratulations."

The orc's face broke into a huge grin. He pressed his fist to his chest in what looked like a traditional gesture of gratitude.

"Station three."

Marron's heart stopped.

The judge looked directly at her, those steel-gray eyes unreadable.

"Your soup," the judge said slowly, "was technically perfect. The caramelization took time and patience. The stock was well-balanced. The bread choice was appropriate. The cheese was aged and melted properly."

Marron waited for the "but."

"And your presentation—" The judge paused. "It showed us what we needed to see. You chose a bowl that concentrated the experience. You showed us the layers. You guided our eyes and noses before we ever picked up a spoon. You made warmth beautiful."

Does...does that mean...? Marron's throat felt dry as she waited for the judges' full response.

"Your dish demonstrated that you understand what we tried to teach you the first time: that presentation is not vanity, but communication. That beauty can reveal truth without hiding it. That food speaks before it touches the tongue."

The head judge smiled—a real smile this time, warm and genuine.

"You have passed your evaluation. Welcome to Lumeria's Culinary Guild."

Marron felt her knees go weak.

She'd passed.

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