"Okay," Marron said, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Tonight is perfect for something warm and simple. Egg drop soup."

There were curious murmurs among the crowd. "Something nourishing that fills you with warmth after working hard today." Her voice was filled with nostalgia so thick the crowd leaned in, intrigued.

"When you've had a long day, sometimes simple and quick is best."

There was a murmur of appreciation.

Marron picked up her whisk and the bowl of eggs.

The moment of truth.

After the soup was made, she would find out if the ladle was Legendary, or just a really good ladle.

She beat the eggs quickly, until it was a pale yellow mixture. The copper pot's stock was at the perfect temperature, a gentle simmer that wouldn't scramble the eggs into clumps.

With one hand, Marron picked up the Generous Ladle. With the other, she slowly poured the beaten eggs into the simmering stock, using the ladle to stir in a gentle, circular motion.

The eggs ribboned out in delicate strands, cooking instantly in the hot broth, creating those characteristic whisps and clouds that made egg drop soup so visually appealing. The stock turned golden, rich with egg, the ginger and garlic aroma deepening into something warm and inviting.

Marron added a touch of rice vinegar for brightness, a sprinkle of white pepper for subtle heat. Salt to taste. A drizzle of sesame oil that bloomed across the surface, adding nutty depth.

The soup was done.

She looked down at the Generous Ladle in her hand, at the symbols in the bowl. They were still shifting, but slower now. More purposeful. Like they were waiting for one more thing.

Serving, Marron realized. It's about how I serve them.

"Bowls," she called, and Alexander immediately started distributing them—simple wooden bowls, stacked and ready. The mimics passed them forward until everyone had one.

Marron picked up the copper pot—light enough to manage, even full—and started walking through the gathered crowd with the Generous Ladle in her other hand.

The first person was a young mimic who'd introduced himself earlier as Finn. He'd been one of the ones mixing mortar all day, and he looked exhausted—his form flickering more than usual, like maintaining it was taking effort he didn't quite have.

Marron dipped the ladle into the soup.

And the ladle... knew.

She felt it in the way the ladle settled, in the way it filled to a specific depth without her conscious control. When she poured into Finn's bowl, the portion was generous—more than a standard serving, enough to fill the bowl nearly to the brim.

Finn's eyes widened. "That's—"

"What you need," Marron said softly, and moved to the next person.

A middle-aged woman named Iris, who'd been working on roof frames. Her form was stable, solid, but there was something tired in her eyes. The ladle filled again—less than Finn's portion, but still substantial. A full bowl, enough to satisfy.

Next was a younger girl, maybe fourteen in appearance, who'd been carrying materials all day. The ladle gave her a generous portion, recognizing growing hunger.

Then an older mimic, one of the more stable forms Marron had seen, who'd been supervising construction rather than doing heavy labor. The ladle served less—enough for a meal, but not overwhelming. Just what was needed.

Marron moved through the crowd, and the ladle adjusted.

Some mimics received brimming bowls. Others got smaller portions, even when they held their bowls out hopefully. One man actually tried to ask for more, and the ladle simply... didn't give it. It served him exactly what it had already decided, not a drop more.

"Hey," the man protested, "I'm still hungry—"

"Are you?" Keeper's voice cut through, gentle but firm. The masked figure hadn't moved from his position near Alexander, but his blue-eyed gaze was focused on the complaining mimic. "Or are you used to eating more than you need?"

The man flushed and looked down at his bowl. After a moment, he mumbled, "...Probably the second one."

Marron continued serving, watching the ladle work. A young mimic with a flickering form received a large portion. An older mimic with stable features received less. Someone who looked well-fed but worn-out received a moderate amount—not fuel for the body, but comfort for the spirit.

The ladle understood the difference between physical hunger and emotional hunger. Between need and want. Between what would nourish and what would simply fill space.

When Marron reached Alexander, she paused. The lieutenant looked at her with those warm brown eyes, patient and curious.

The ladle dipped, filled to a moderate amount, poured. Not the largest serving, not the smallest. Just... exactly right.

"Thank you," Alexander said quietly.

Keeper was last. The tall, hooded figure held out his bowl, and Marron tried not to feel intimidated by those bright blue eyes watching her from the smooth, pale mask.

The ladle dipped into the soup and came up with the smallest portion Marron had served all night—barely half a bowl.

Keeper took it without comment, but Marron saw the slightest tilt of his head. Acknowledgment. Understanding.

He doesn't need much, Marron realized. Maybe because he's old. Maybe because he's already sustained by something else. Or maybe because what he needs isn't food.

She served Mokko next (a generous portion—he'd been carrying supplies all day), then Millie (moderate, because she'd mostly been observing), and finally Lucy, who got a tiny portion that she absorbed into her jar with gleeful bubbling.

Marron looked down at the ladle in her hand.

The symbols had stopped shifting.

In the bottom of the bowl, clear and readable in a script that Marron somehow understood despite never learning it, words had appeared:

For the cook who gives not what is wanted, but what is needed. For the heart that understands the difference.

A notification chimed in her mind—soft and warm.

[Achievement Unlocked: True Generosity] [Legendary Tool Confirmed: The Generous Ladle] [New Ability: Portion Sense - You can now intuitively understand how much someone needs to eat, even without the ladle] [Bonus: Recipes prepared with the Generous Ladle will adjust their nourishment based on the eater's true needs]

Marron's vision blurred. She blinked rapidly, trying not to let the tears fall, but one escaped anyway—sliding down her cheek and dripping into the copper pot.

"Marron?" Millie's voice, concerned.

"I'm okay." Marron's voice came out rough. "I'm—it worked. The ladle. It's real."

Alexander stood, his bowl in hand, and the entire gathering followed suit. Forty mimics, standing, holding their perfectly-portioned soup.

"To the soup lady," Alexander said, his voice carrying across the tent. "Who feeds us not just our bodies, but our hearts."

"To the soup lady!" the mimics echoed, and this time Marron didn't even try to protest.

She just stood there, holding her Legendary Tools—the copper pot that taught patience, the ladle that taught generosity—and let herself feel it.

Pride. Joy. Purpose.

The belief that maybe, just maybe, she was becoming the kind of person who deserved to hold such things.

"Okay," she said, her voice wobbling only slightly. "Everyone eat before it gets cold. And someone please pass me a bowl so I can have some too."

Laughter rippled through the tent, warm and genuine, and Marron finally let herself smile.

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