A long table stretches between the ancient trees of the Ember Woods. Candles float above every dish. The air smells of roasted things and woodsmoke.

A well-dressed hedgehog with a monocle bows and gestures you toward a chair. "Welcome," he says. "My name is Fig. This feast is for you. Five courses. Five choices. Every time you eat something, it changes how your body feels."

He points to the candles floating above the table. "See those? They stay bright when your body feels good. They go dark when it does not. Try to keep them lit all the way to the end."

The long table stretches ahead of you into the Ember Woods. Three bowls steam under the first candle — a warm golden porridge, a fizzy pink drink that pops and sparkles, and a little plate Fig has set to the side. "The feast is long," Fig says, adjusting his monocle. "Choose well for the first course. Your body will remember it."

A wooden cart covered in living vines rolls to a stop beside the table. The sides fold open, revealing roasted vegetables in every color — broccoli, spinach, bright red peppers. But tucked in the far corner, half-hidden behind a bunch of greens, is a bowl of golden cheese puffs. Your stomach feels a little tight. What you eat next will matter.

A stone fountain rises from the center of the table, pouring three separate streams into their own basins. One is clear and still. One glows amber and thick. One shimmers pale green with floating mint and berries. Your head feels foggy. There's a dull ache starting behind your eyes. You are thirsty.

Fig leads you away from the table to a small stone kitchen built into the trunk of an old tree. A fire crackles inside. On a hot iron pan, root vegetables sizzle and pop. Carrots glazed in honey. Beets with crispy brown edges. Sweet potato rounds with a pinch of salt. The smell fills the whole clearing. On the counter beside the oven sits a basket of soft white rolls. Your belly still feels heavy from the last course.

You reach the far end of the table. Only one candle is left. It flickers in a slow, tired way. Three things wait on the final platter — a bowl of bright fruit and crushed nuts drizzled with honey, a five-layer cake with glowing sugar crystals, and Fig's own small plate. He stands quietly at the side, watching without speaking. The feast is almost over. Choose how you finish it.

The last candle flickers in the dark Ember Woods.

Fig stacks the dishes quietly. Then he pauses. "There is a garden at the edge of these woods," he says. "Things grow there that have never been on any table I have hosted. Odd shapes. Odd smells." He adjusts his monocle. "Word is, some of them bite back." A long pause. "Probably nothing." He smiles and says nothing else.