"The truth seems problematic. 'Going to visit mimics to investigate a potentially magical ladle' doesn't inspire confidence."

Marron laughed despite herself. "Maybe just 'research trip to the northern territories'? It's vague but not technically a lie."

"Works for me." Millie stood, stretching. "All right, Chef Louvel. I'll see you in three days. Try not to overthink things between now and then."

"I make no promises."

"Fair enough."

Day 5 - Fourthday

Marron spent most of the day organizing her cart.

Everything needed to be packed efficiently—supplies accessible but secure, weight distributed evenly, the copper pot and her Whisperwind knives stored safely but within reach.

She made lists, checked them twice, repacked sections multiple times until everything felt right.

Mokko watched with amused patience. "You've reorganized the spice drawer four times now."

"I need to be able to find things quickly. We might not always have time to dig through everything."

"Or," Mokko suggested, "you're nervous and this is how you cope."

Marron stopped mid-reorganization and sighed. "Okay, yes. I'm nervous."

"That's normal. You're about to travel to a mimic settlement most people won't go near, to investigate an artifact that might be magical or might be ordinary, all while hoping that mysterious collectors don't decide you're interesting."

"When you put it that way, it sounds even worse."

"But you're still going."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Marron sat down on her bed, looking at the cart, at the copper pot gleaming in the afternoon light, at her notebook full of documentation about Legendary Tools.

"Because I need to know," she said finally. "I spent so long doing bare minimum, not caring about anything because caring hurt too much. But these tools—they're teaching me that caring is what makes things matter. The food cart amplifies intent. The copper pot requires patience. If there's a third tool out there, and it has something to teach me—"

She paused, finding the words.

"—then I need to learn it. Even if it's scary. Even if I might be wrong. Because that's what growth looks like. Doing things that scare you because they matter."

Mokko smiled. "There's the Marron I've been waiting to see."

Lucy burbled from her jar, forming a small heart.

"All right," Marron said, standing up. "Enough philosophizing. Let's finish packing this cart."

Day 6 - Fifthday

Two days before departure, Marron did something she'd been putting off: she visited Copper & Thyme one more time.

Simone was in the middle of lunch service when Marron arrived, but she waved her to a table near the window—the same table where they'd talked about the copper pot.

"Give me ten minutes," Simone called over the sound of plates and conversation.

Marron waited, watching Simone work. The restaurant was busy but not overwhelmed—a steady stream of customers who clearly appreciated good food without pretension. The kind of place Marron aspired to create someday.

When the lunch rush finally subsided, Simone brought over two cups of coffee and sat down with a satisfied sigh.

"Busy day," she said. "Good tips, though. Can't complain."

"The food smells amazing."

"Roasted chicken with herbs today. Simple but done right." Simone smiled. "So, what brings you back? Please don't tell me you're returning the pot."

"No! No, I'm keeping it. It's—it's perfect. Exactly what I needed." Marron wrapped her hands around the warm coffee cup. "I'm actually leaving Lumeria for a few weeks. Traveling north on a... research trip."

"Research?"

"Looking into other items like the pot. There might be more of them out there, and I want to understand what they are, how they work, why they exist."

Simone's expression shifted—surprise, then understanding. "You're collecting them."

"Not collecting. Learning about them. There's a difference."

"Is there?" Simone's voice was gentle, not accusing. "Be careful, Marron. My grandmother used to say that people who seek power—even benevolent power—can lose themselves in the search. They start wanting the tools more than they want to use them."

"I'm not seeking power. I'm seeking knowledge."

"Sometimes those are the same thing." Simone took a sip of coffee. "But I trust you. You proved you understood the pot not by what you wanted from it, but by what you were willing to give to it. Patience. Attention. Care. That's the mark of someone who respects these things."

"Thank you," Marron said quietly.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Three weeks, maybe. Depends on what I find."

"And your apartment?"

"Paid in advance. Classes on hold. Everything arranged."

Simone nodded approvingly. "Smart. And you're traveling with companions?"

"Two friends. Mokko and Millie."

"Good. Don't go alone." Simone's voice was firm. "Ever. These tools might attract attention you don't want. Having people who watch your back—that's not optional."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, drinking their coffee.

"When you get back," Simone said finally, "come tell me what you found. Even if it's nothing. Especially if it's nothing. I want to know how the story ends."

"It's not ending. It's just beginning."

"Even better." Simone smiled. "Safe travels, Chef Louvel. And take care of that pot. It chose you. Don't make it regret that choice."

"I won't."

Day 7 - Sixthday - Evening

Marron's last night in her apartment before the journey.

Everything was packed. The cart was organized, supplies loaded, defensive equipment stowed. Her Whisperwind knives were sharpened and ready. The copper pot was wrapped securely but accessible. Her documentation notebook was tucked safely in her travel bag.

She'd said her goodbyes—to Henrik and Vivienne, to Simone, to Zara and the other Guild apartment residents. She'd paid her rent, settled her accounts, left instructions for Mrs. Chen about forwarding any urgent mail.

Now, in the quiet of her apartment, with Mokko reading by lamplight and Lucy gently bubbling in her jar, Marron sat at her small kitchen table and wrote one more letter.

+

Dear Mom,

I know you're not in Savoria. I know this letter will never reach you. But I need to write it anyway.

I'm leaving tomorrow on a journey north. I'm going to investigate something—a tool, like the ones you might have understood if you'd been a chef in this world. Tools that respond to care and skill and intention.

I've found two so far. A food cart that makes humble food taste better when I cook with real intent. And a copper pot that teaches patience—it's slow to heat, but once it finds its temperature, it never wavers.

Now I'm going to look for a third. A ladle, supposedly. Something that understands hunger and need.

I'm scared, Mom. Not of the journey itself—though that's intimidating enough. I'm scared of caring this much again. Of investing myself in something that might fail or disappoint me.

But I think that's the point. These tools don't work for people who hold back. They work for people who are willing to care, even when it's scary.

You taught me that, back in the diner. You cared about every plate that went out, even when your hands hurt, even when business was slow, even when it felt pointless.

I forgot that lesson for a while. But I'm remembering now.

I wish you were here. But since you're not, I'm trying to make you proud anyway.

Love,

Marron

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