Once upon a time, there was a Kingdom called Gexoria. At the heart of Gexoria stood a sprawling tower made out of silver and gold, which gleamed softly in the moon's embrace. Within the tower's highest chambers stood a gleaming silver mirror, entwined in vines and glowing with runes etched on its sides. Legends said that the mirror was built by a sorcerer who had mastered the art of space and time as a blessing to the first King of Gexoria, guiding the kingdom to eternal prosperity. 

It was said that the mirror could see all thoughts, hear all feelings, and measure all intentions and decree the rightful path for every citizen of Gexoria. The first King, it was rumoured, had once muttered under his breath that he was cold, and the mirror had decreed that all citizens wear wool on Fridays. And so they did, for six generations, without question. The Seventh King of Gexoria, Edward, consulted it constantly, just as each generation before him did. Every proclamation made by the mirror was religiously jotted down on scrolls and disseminated to the masses. All obeyed the mirror's declaration without question, for the mirror meant life itself, surpassing both heart and mind. 

On the eve of every full moon, the ritual began. The King, clothed in a black silk robe with silver inscriptions, began the gradual ascension up the tower, accompanied by a guard and a scribe. For every five steps taken, a bell was rung by the guard. For every seven steps taken, the King, scribe and guard bowed, each motion measured to precision and perfection, as if everything was being recorded by the mirror. 

Lancelot tried to keep his hands steady as he followed quietly behind the King, being careful to count his steps properly after each ring of the bell. He initially did not want to partake in this. He knew how important this ritual was, for it decided the future of the kingdom. It was only after much persuasion from his captain that he decided to do this. "It is a great honour to partake in, Lancelot. Your future generations will be blessed by the mirror and the great heavens."  Yet, even as he ascended, his steps felt heavy. He had heard what happened to the last guard who had miscounted. Allegedly, reassigned to the outer walls. No one had heard from him since. The air felt tense, as though the mirror was already watching, already deciding.

After what felt like an eternity, the trio reached the chamber where the mirror rested. The King slowly approached the mirror and knelt before it. The other two followed suit. 

"The time is nigh again, O Great Guardian and Omniscient Protector of Gexoria! I, your most humble servant, prostrate myself before your silver gaze and beseech thee to bestow upon us the eternal wisdom, the unyielding strength, and the celestial insight without which our pitiful, trembling hearts would falter! Speak, O Mirror, and let your boundless will guide us, lest we crumble into chaos, the very foundations of Gexoria!" proclaimed the King. 

The mirror's surface started rippling in waves of silver, its runes starting to glow and flare. Its booming voice echoed across the room, deep and ethereal.

"Great King of Gexoria, heed my counsel for the Kingdom shall prosper! Every citizen of the Kingdom shall speak no falsehoods on Tuesdays, and walk backwards for one hour every week so that humility may mark their steps. Let all windows be polished at midnight, as a reminder that the light of Gexoria shall never falter! And to you, the wise ruler of Gexoria, three deliberate claps shall be performed before you consult me, lest your reflection grow weary of your foolish mortal affairs." 

The scribe began scribbling furiously on his scroll. The King retreated slowly from the mirror, face pale but serene. "It will be done," he said. "Gexoria shall obey without question." Lancelot, who was observing tensely from the corner of the room, began to relax a little. 

Suddenly, a whiff of freshly baked bread from the baker's a few streets down wafted in. The heaviness of the room seemed to be slowly lifting, anchored by the smell of the simple, ordinary comfort of the bread. 

"Must be from Madam Lou's bakery," Lancelot proclaimed, sniffing the air. "The things I wouldn't do to get my hands on her sourdough recipe!"

Out of nowhere, the mirror started rumbling again, this time more vigorously than before. The King retreated hastily towards the door, looking fearfully towards Lancelot. "You fool! You have cursed us all!" 

Lancelot, who fell during the initial rumble, cowered in the corner in shock. What did he even do to warrant the mirror's divine wrath? Was it his casual and careless comment about the bread? 

The mirror's voice started again, deep and majestic as before:

"Absolutely! Here's a clear, step-by-step recipe for a classic sourdough bread that will give you a crusty exterior and a soft, airy interior. I'll include tips to help even if you're a beginner."

The King blinked, looking terrified yet slightly confused. Lancelot, who was still pressed against the corner of the room, stared at the runes, trying to understand what centuries of tradition, faith and ritual had to do with the act of kneading flour. Even the scribe, who until moments ago had copied down every decree issued by the mirror without question, hesitated to take down what the mirror was currently spewing. For the first time in his career, he did not know whether what he was hearing was sacred or simply absurd. He was not sure there was a difference.

"Your highness..." Lancelot whispered, "Does the mirror... want us to bake?"

The King nodded his head solemnly, seemingly enlightened. "See to it that the recipe is copied in full," he said. "And someone find out what Madam Lou has been feeding her starter. I suspect there may be a follow-up decree."

 

The mirror came to a rumbling stop, proclaiming one last line in its almighty voice:

"If you want, I can also give you a quick version for a beginner that skips the long bulk fermentation and still tastes great. Do you want me to do that?"