It all started with a single sentence scribbled in the back of an ancient cook's journal:
"Beware the Last Chili Coffee. One sip and you'll either ascend to wisdom... or cry for three days straight."
Naturally, Sabel read this and said out loud:
"Well, now I have to make it."
That very morning, Sabel burst through the café kitchen doors with enough dramatic flair to shake the syrup shelf. Dressed in a coffee-stained apron and goggles made from old teacups, he pointed at Rosemary like a mad inventor announcing a new era.
"I shall summon the Last Chili Coffee!"
Rosemary, unfazed and halfway into making a humble caramel brew, looked over."You're going to poison yourself again, aren't you?"
Sabel grinned, eyes wild with mischief. "Not poison. Perfection."
Phase One: The Hunt for the Chili Bean
Legend had it the "Final Ember," a mystical chili bean, grew once every hundred years—inside a volcano-shaped flowerpot belonging to a retired fire mage who now ran a hat shop in the southern alleyway.
Sabel, naturally, barged into said hat shop, knocking over a tower of top hats."DO YOU POSSESS THE EMBER?"
The mage, a cranky woman named Bepper, shoved a hat on his head and muttered, "I'll give you the bean if you stop yelling."
Sabel kissed the bean. "I SHALL NOT WASTE YOU."
Phase Two: Brewing with Chaos
Back at the café, chaos brewed alongside the coffee.
Sabel cleared the café, turned the "Closed" sign, and created a giant magical dome so that the chili fumes wouldn't incinerate unsuspecting customers. Percival wore a mini gas mask. Rosemary stood by with healing potions. A fire extinguisher was enchanted and ready.
Sabel placed the chili bean into a golden cup, added a dash of dragon pepper dust, two spoonfuls of courage (also known as extra bitter roast), and precisely one rogue cinnamon stick. Then, with great ceremony, he whispered:
"Percolate."
Boom.
The entire café glowed red.
Steam hissed like an angry serpent. The chili bean twitched. The liquid shimmered between crimson and gold. A tiny bolt of lightning struck a spoon.
And Sabel, without hesitation, took a sip.
Phase Three: The Consequences
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then—
Sabel's eyes widened to the size of saucers.
He stood up like a zombie.
He opened his mouth.
And screamed:
"MY TONGUE IS DOING THE MACARENA!"
He ran in circles. He screamed in twelve languages. He tried to hug a broom. He tried to bite a stool. His hair turned temporarily orange. He swore he saw the meaning of life... and it looked like a jellybean holding a briefcase.
Percival, watching from his perch, said, "He's ascending."
Rosemary sighed. "No. He's hallucinating."
Finally, after a few terrifying and hilarious minutes, Sabel collapsed onto the floor with a grin that stretched wider than logic.
He gave a thumbs-up.
"Spicy... but brilliant."
Phase Four: A Surprising Success
Once Sabel recovered (and the hallucinations wore off), he tweaked the recipe just enough to make it safe for customers. The final version was milder, smokier, and slightly enchanted to make people feel like they were wrapped in a warm spicy hug.
He named it:
"The Ember Kiss."
And it sold out every single day.
It became the talk of the kingdom. "You haven't lived until you've tried the Ember Kiss," people would whisper.
One customer cried and said they remembered their grandmother's hug. Another said they dreamed in color for the first time. One knight punched a wall with joy.
And Sabel?
He took it all in with pride, holding his Ember Kiss mug and saying:
"I burned half my soul for this. Worth it."
Rosemary still banned him from making anything labeled "experimental" past 7 p.m.
But deep down—even she admitted—it was the most oddly heartwarming cup of coffee they'd ever had.
Thus, the Last Chili Coffee became legendary.
And Sabel?
He finally learned moderation.
(Just kidding. He started working on a Haunted Mango Latte the next day.)