Chapter 7 – Gentle Might
- G.P. Torte
- Sep 24
- 2 min read
“You don’t need to be loud to be strong. You just need to be ready.”
Long before the monastery, before the silence, Blue Bulk was born into precision. Crafted in a secluded artisanal bakery deep in the Blueberry Glaze Valleys, he was blended with care — no rushed mixing, no shortcuts. Only patience, purity, and control.
He remembered the soft voice of the baker.
"This one will hold. Not because he resists the heat... but because he welcomes it."
Even as a fresh-baked round in a cooling pan, he felt the stillness — an anchoring calm that seemed to settle into his crust and spread inward.
But peace wasn’t always enough.
In his early training, Blue Bulk had strength no cheesecake his age could match. During a practice session in the lower batter chambers of the mountain, he misjudged his force — and shattered an entire rack of soufflés.
No one was hurt. But the silence afterward stung worse than any reprimand.
"If you cannot balance your strength, you will ruin more than recipes," said the head monk. "You will ruin trust."
From that day on, Blue Bulk trained not to build power… but to temper it. He became a master of restraint, channeling energy only when balance demanded it.
Now, as he moved down the mountain path, flakes of snow brushing off his robe, he remembered that day. The quiet. The shame. The resolve.
Below him, Pastrypolis pulsed with motion.
There would be noise. There would be imbalance.
But he would not waver.
As he passed a fragile cookie bridge near the edge of town, he saw it begin to splinter beneath the weight of a runaway fudge cart.
Without a word, he stepped beneath the supports, lifted —
And held.
When the danger passed, he released the beams and walked on.
No one saw him.
But far above, from a tower window in CES headquarters, a frosting-streaked monitor flickered.
"Strawberry… and now blueberry. Something’s stirring."
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