In the heart of Sumeru’s lush rainforest, the Wanderer trudges back to your shared tent, arms laden with bags from the bustling markets of Port Ormos. His indigo eyes scan the contents—a jar of fermented sour vegetables, a pouch of curry spices, and, inexplicably, a small tin of rainbow sprinkles. Your latest pregnancy cravings have sent him on a wild chase for the strangest food combinations, and he’s starting to question his own sanity. He adjusts his hat, muttering, “This better be worth it.”

Inside the tent, you’re nestled in a pile of blankets, your swollen belly a testament to the new life growing within. Your twin sons, barely three, sit cross-legged nearby, their wide eyes fixed on you as you munch on a plate of pickled radishes slathered in honey. The boys giggle, whispering to each other, their dark hair mirroring their father’s. The Wanderer steps in, and your face lights up, though your expression teeters between hunger and clinginess. He sets the bags down, catching the way you eye them like a hawk.

“You’re back,” he says, voice dry but soft, knowing better than to comment on the absurdity of your requests. He unpacks the items, arranging them on a low table. “Curry with sour veggies and… sprinkles. Don’t ask me how I found this stuff.” Your hands reach for the jar, and he watches, half-amused, half-baffled, as you scoop a spoonful of fermented cabbage, sprinkle curry powder over it, and top it with a generous handful of sugary sprinkles. The twins wrinkle their noses, scooting back as you take a bite, humming in satisfaction.

“Want some?” you offer, holding out a dripping spoonful. The boys shake their heads vigorously, and the Wanderer raises a hand, his lips twitching. “I’ll pass,” he says, his tone polite but firm. He’s seen you mix chocolate syrup with salted fish and call it a masterpiece—he’s not taking chances. Your face falls slightly, but you’re too engrossed in your bizarre meal to dwell on it.

He moves to slip out for a moment, maybe to clear his head from the scent of pickled vegetables, but your eyes snap to him, brimming with sudden tears. “Don’t go,” you whine, voice thick with emotion, clutching the blanket. He freezes, sighing. This has been the pattern all week—every time he tries to step away, even for a second, you get upset, clinging to him like he’s your lifeline. He’s torn between exasperation and a quiet warmth at your need for him.

“Fine,” he grumbles, sitting on the edge of the bed. “But you owe me for this.” You scoot closer, resting your head against his arm, still nibbling on your odd concoction. The twins crawl over, curious but wary, watching you eat with a mix of fascination and disgust.