"I don't know," Alexander admitted. "But I know this—you're learning things with each tool. Care, patience, generosity. What if the real protection is what you're becoming through using them? Someone who understands feeding people on a level most chefs never reach?"

That was... actually a disturbing thought. Not because it was wrong, but because it implied the tools had a purpose beyond just making better food. Like they were teaching her something specific, building toward something.

Seven tools meant seven lessons.

So...what happened when somebody collected and learned all seven of them?

"You're spiraling," Alexander observed. "I can see it happening."

"Sorry." Marron forced herself to take a breath, to focus on the present instead of the terrifying unknown future. "You're right. I'm overwhelmed."

"Understandably so."

They stood in silence for a moment, the forest whispering around them. Somewhere in the distance, an owl called. The settlement's fires glowed warm through the trees.

"I'm going back to Lumeria in a few days," Marron said finally. "I have classes to make up, an apartment waiting. A life that's... normal. Or as normal as anything gets for me now."

"Will you look for the other tools?" The question was carefully neutral, like Alexander was trying not to influence her answer.

"I don't know," Marron said honestly. "Part of me wants to just... be a Guild chef. Cook good food, make a living, not deal with legendary artifacts and collectors and whatever else comes with this." She touched her pocket where she'd tucked the notification crystal from the System earlier. Three Legendary Tools confirmed. Four more waiting.

"But?" Alexander prompted.

"But I think about those tools locked in dungeons, being treated like loot instead of what they were meant to be." Marron's voice had gone quiet, intense. "Keeper said they were community tools. Meant to serve people, help them, make life better. And instead they're... trophies. Prizes for adventurers who don't even understand what they have."

"That bothers you."

"Yeah. It really does." Marron looked up at him, meeting those warm brown eyes. "These tools choose their wielders, right? They respond to care and understanding. So what happens to a tool that's locked away, never used, never understood? Does it just... sit there? Alone? Waiting for someone who gets it?"

Alexander's expression had gone soft. "You're thinking of them as beings, not objects."

"Aren't they, though?" Marron gestured helplessly. "The cart knows my intent. The pot responds to patience. The ladle understands need. They're not just magic items—they're... aware. Conscious, maybe. At least enough to choose who uses them."

"Then they're lucky you found them," Alexander said quietly. "Because you see them as partners, not tools to exploit."

The word partners settled something in Marron's chest. Yes. That was exactly what they were. Not possessions, but partners in the work of feeding people.

"I'm still scared," she admitted.

"That's wise." Alexander straightened, glancing back toward the settlement. "But Marron? For what it's worth? I think you're exactly the kind of person who should be carrying these things. Not despite your fear, but because of it. Because you're scared enough to be careful, but brave enough to keep going anyway."

"Is this a pep talk?" Marron asked, trying to lighten the mood before she started crying again.

"This is a lieutenant checking on someone important to his people." Alexander's smile was gentle. "You fed us when we were starving. You showed us that we deserved better than survival rations. That kindness wasn't conditional on us being human." His form flickered slightly—just for a moment—before stabilizing. "That matters, Marron. More than you know."

Something in his voice made her throat tight. "You're doing better," she said instead of addressing the emotional weight. "Your form. It barely flickers anymore."

"Good food and sunlight." Alexander looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers like he was still getting used to them. "Turns out mimics need those things just as much as anyone else. Who knew?"

"Everyone, probably."

"Not us." His voice went wry. "We'd convinced ourselves we deserved the gruel, the darkness, the isolation. That's what monsters got, right? But you didn't treat us like monsters. You treated us like people who were hungry."

"You were people who were hungry."

"Exactly." Alexander met her eyes. "And that's why the tools choose you. Because to you, there's no contradiction in that sentence. People who are hungry deserve good food. Full stop. No qualifications needed."

Marron wanted to argue, to deflect, to point out that she'd been in bare minimum mode for years and wasn't exactly a paragon of generosity before all this started. But looking at Alexander—at the settlement he'd built, at the mimics she'd fed tonight, at the hope that had replaced desperation—she couldn't deny that something had changed.

Maybe not in who she was, but in what she was willing to let herself become.

"Okay," she said finally. "I hear you. I'm allowed to be overwhelmed, but I'm also doing okay."

"Better than okay."

"Don't push it."

Alexander laughed—a genuine, surprised sound that made him look younger. "Fair enough. Should we head back? Your friends are probably wondering if I'm interrogating you about ladle secrets."

"Are you?"

"Absolutely not. Those are yours to figure out." He started walking back toward the settlement, and Marron fell into step beside him. "Though if you ever want to talk about them, I'm happy to listen. We mimics are good at keeping secrets."

"I'll keep that in mind."

They walked in companionable silence, the settlement lights growing brighter as they approached. Marron could see the guest tent where her friends were probably already settled in, probably worrying about her, probably ready with more support whether she wanted it or not.

"Thank you," she said as they reached the edge of the communal area. "For checking in. For... all of this."

"Thank you for feeding us," Alexander countered. "Both times. And for seeing us as worth feeding."

He headed toward his own tent—the lieutenant had responsibilities, people to check on, a settlement to run—and Marron made her way toward her friends.

She found them exactly where she expected: Mokko and Millie playing some kind of card game on the floor, Lucy watching from her jar with rapt attention. They all looked up when she entered.

"Everything okay?" Millie asked carefully.

"Yeah." Marron settled onto her bedroll, suddenly exhausted. "Alexander just wanted to make sure I wasn't having a breakdown about the whole 'seven Legendary Tools and collectors hunting them' thing."

"Are you?" Mokko's tone was deceptively casual.

"Probably." Marron pulled off her boots with a sigh. "But not tonight. Tonight I'm too tired."

"That's the spirit," Mokko said dryly.

Lucy burbled and formed a sleeping symbol—a little crescent moon.

"She's right," Millie said, setting down her cards. "We should all get some rest. Tomorrow we can start planning the route back to Lumeria."

"And figuring out how to explain all this to your teachers," Mokko added.

Marron groaned. "Chef Henrik is going to have opinions about me acquiring another Legendary Tool."

"Probably," Millie agreed. "But that's a tomorrow problem."

"Tomorrow problem," Marron echoed, lying back on her bedroll. Through the tent fabric, she could hear the settlement settling down—quiet conversations, the crackle of dying fires, the ever-present whisper of the forest.

She had three Legendary Tools now. Three lessons learned. Three aspects of feeding people that she was still integrating into who she was becoming.

Four more tools were out there somewhere. Four more lessons waiting.

But Alexander was right—she wasn't alone in this. She had friends, allies, connections. She had the tools themselves, choosing to stay with her.

And maybe, just maybe, she was becoming someone who deserved to carry them.

"Hey Marron?" Mokko's voice drifted through the darkness.

"Yeah?"

"You did good today."

Something warm and complicated twisted in her chest. "Thanks, Mokko."

"Just stating facts."

Marron smiled into the darkness, letting exhaustion pull her toward sleep. Tomorrow she'd worry about collectors and the journey back and making up classes and all the other complications her life had accumulated.

Tonight, she'd just be the soup lady who'd fed a community and learned what generosity meant.

That was enough.

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