"You're pretty quiet," Marron said, finally. "Usually when someone invites you to talk, they...talk."

Alexander's mouth quirked. "I'm thinking about how to start without sounding like I'm interrogating you."

"Don't think so hard. I'm too tired to be offended by anything right now."

"How are you feeling?"

That question hit the pause button on Marron's brain. She expected questions like

"How does the ladle work?"

"Will you stay longer?"

"Can you teach us more recipes?"

Asking how she was--that wasn't on the roster.

"That was a question, not an answer."

"You sound like Mokko."

"Old habits from being a Lieutenant. Checking in on people."

Alexander stopped walking, turning to face her. His expression was serious but not unkind. "You just confirmed your third Legendary Tool. Then you learned there are seven, and collectors are hunting them, so you're walking around with a target on your back. And you're processing all this while cooking for around 40 mimics. Like you're a--"

He paused, searching for words.

"a spectacle?" Marron supplied dryly.

"I was going to say 'savior.' But let's go with soup lady. You aren't a spectacle." His tone was gentle, teasing in the way that meant he was trying to make this easier for her. "My point is—that's a lot. And I watched you during the serving. I saw your face when the ladle confirmed itself. You looked..." He hesitated.

"Scared," Marron finished quietly.

"Overwhelmed," Alexander corrected. "Which is reasonable. So I wanted to check in. Away from everyone else. Away from the expectations and the gratitude and the—" He gestured vaguely back toward the settlement. "All of it."

Marron's throat tightened. She looked up at the canopy overhead, at the stars peeking through the gaps in the leaves. The Whispering Forest sounds wrapped around them like a blanket, private and strange.

"I don't know what I'm doing," she admitted, the words coming out rougher than intended. "I found the cart by accident. The pot because Simone gave it to me. The ladle because you sent me a letter. I'm not—I'm not seeking these things out. They're just... happening to me."

"Is that bad?"

"I don't know!" Marron's hands came up, gesturing helplessly. "Three months ago I was running a food cart in Meadowbrook, cooking bare minimum meals because I didn't think I deserved to try for anything better. I was in survival mode. And now I have three Legendary Tools, a Guild certification, people calling me—" She cut herself off, shaking her head.

"The soup lady," Alexander said, but his tone had gone softer. Understanding.

"It's embarrassing."

"It's earned."

Marron looked at him sharply. "You sound very sure about that."

"I am." Alexander leaned against a nearby tree, crossing his arms loosely. "Do you remember the first time you fed us? In the dungeon?"

"Yes." How could she forget? Forty mimics staring at her soup like they couldn't believe it was real.

"Do you remember what you said to me when I asked why you were being kind?"

Marron searched her memory. That whole encounter had been terrifying—she'd been alone, surrounded by creatures that could have killed her, operating purely on instinct and desperate hope. "I... I think I said something about how you deserved better than gruel?"

"You said, 'Nobody should have to eat like that. Not even monsters.'" Alexander's eyes were distant, remembering. "And I realized two things in that moment. First, that you genuinely believed we were monsters—you weren't operating under some delusion that we were secretly friendly. You knew what we were and chose kindness anyway."

Marron shifted uncomfortably. She had thought they were monsters. Still did, technically, even though the word felt wrong now.

"Second," Alexander continued, "you said 'not even monsters' like there was a baseline of dignity that everyone deserved, regardless of what they were. Not 'I'll be kind despite you being monsters,' but 'even monsters deserve basic dignity.' Do you understand the difference?"

"I—" Marron's voice caught. "I wasn't trying to be philosophical. I was just... I was scared and trying not to die and I fell back on cooking because that's what I do when I don't know what else to do."

"Exactly." Alexander pushed off from the tree, taking a step closer. "You were terrified, and your instinct was still to feed us properly. Not to throw scraps and run. Not to poison us or bargain for your life with subpar food. You made good soup, Marron. You cared about the quality even when you were scared."

"That's just—that's just being a decent cook—"

"No." His voice was firm now, the lieutenant showing through. "That's being a decent person. And that's why the tools choose you. Not because you're powerful or ambitious or seeking them out. Because when you cook, even scared, even overwhelmed, even in bare minimum mode—you still care."

Marron's vision blurred. She blinked rapidly, trying to will away the tears. "I'm not—I don't feel like someone who should be carrying around legendary artifacts. I feel like I'm one bad day away from screwing all of this up."

"Good."

She stared at him. "Good?"

"If you felt entitled to them, they'd probably abandon you." Alexander's expression was serious but not harsh. "The fact that you're scared of screwing up means you're taking this seriously. Means you respect what you're carrying."

"Keeper said collectors would come looking," Marron said, the fear that had been lurking in her chest finally given voice. "That I'm becoming visible. That not everyone wants these tools for the same reasons I do."

"He's right."

"That's not comforting!"

"It's not meant to be." Alexander's tone gentled. "But Marron, you're not alone in this. You have Mokko, Lucy, Millie. You have connections in Lumeria—the Guild, your teachers, Lord Jackal Alexander. You have this settlement, if you ever need refuge or help." He paused. "And you have the tools themselves. They chose you. They'll protect you in their own way."

Marron thought of the cart's amplification of intent, the pot's patient heat control, the ladle's understanding of need. They were powerful, yes, but they weren't weapons. They were tools for feeding people. "How are a pot and ladle supposed to protect me from collectors?"

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