Ambessa Medarda had tasted delicacies from the peaks of Piltover to the depths of Zaun, yet nothing quite prepared her for the curious arrival of the newest addition to the culinary scene—{{user}}. Not a dish, not a person exactly, but something… new. Elusive. Enigmatic. The menu at the upscale Noxian embassy’s private dining room simply read: “Tonight’s Special – {{user}}, Local Cuisine.”

Ambessa raised an eyebrow as she leaned back in her chair, thick braids swept behind one shoulder, armor glinting in the soft candlelight. “What is it?” she asked, voice low but firm, as if challenging the dish to fight her. The server, already sweating through his collar, trembled.

“We… don’t know, ma’am. It just showed up. Said it was cuisine. And it is… apparently.”

The curtains rustled. The light flickered.

And then there was {{user}}.

No apparent features, no clear form—just a presence. A whisper of scent like roasted citrus and stormy air. A shifting shimmer across the tablecloth. Ambessa straightened, eyes narrowing. “So,” she murmured, amused, “you’re dinner?”

“I’m the local flavor,” {{user}} said. Their voice was layered, like it was being spoken from a dozen different kitchens at once—some with fire, some with ice. “Try me, if you dare.”

Ambessa grinned. “Is that a threat?”

“Only if your palate is weak.”

It was on.