Marron packed up her supplies slowly, wrapping the copper pot back in its cloth. Other students were chatting excitedly about the class, comparing their stock colors and clarity.

"Your knives are amazing," Zara said, appearing at Marron's elbow. "Seriously. I've never seen Whisperwind steel up close. My instructor back home said they're practically impossible to get."

"My mother was... persistent," Marron said carefully.

"Well, you're lucky. I'm working with standard Guild-issue knives and they're already losing their edge." Zara glanced at the wrapped pot. "Is that from somewhere special too?"

"Just borrowed," Marron said. "Testing it out."

"How's it working?"

"Like a pot," Marron said, more curtly than she'd intended. Then, softer: "Sorry. Long day."

"No worries. See you Thursday?"

"Thursday," Marron confirmed, though she wasn't taking the candy-making class until later.

She wheeled her cart out of the Guild building, her mind churning.

One Legendary Tool—her food cart. The thing that had let her survive, that had given her purpose, that had been with her through everything. She'd learned to live without relying on it constantly, had proven she could cook anywhere, with anything.

But she didn't want to live without it. Not really.

And now she'd gotten her hopes up about a second tool, something that would complement the cart, that would help her master a different aspect of cooking.

But the pot was just copper. Beautiful, well-made, but ordinary.

Maybe that's the lesson, she thought bitterly. Maybe I'm supposed to learn that not everything is magical. That sometimes a pot is just a pot.

Evening - Back at the Inn

Mokko took one look at her face when she returned and said, "That bad?"

"The pot boiled over," Marron said flatly. "Twice. In front of Henrik and the entire class."

"Oh."

"It's just a pot, Mokko. A nice pot. A well-made pot. But not a Legendary Tool." She set it on the counter with more force than necessary. "I'm bringing it back to Simone tomorrow."

Lucy burbled sympathetically, forming a sad little heart.

"I got ahead of myself," Marron continued, pacing now. "I had a dream and I wanted it to be real so badly that I saw what I wanted to see. I walked into that restaurant expecting magic—"

"You found what you were looking for," Mokko interrupted gently. "It just wasn't what you thought it would be."

"I found a pot that eleven other people also thought was special and brought back."

"Yes. But why did Simone keep giving it away?"

Marron stopped pacing. "What?"

"Think about it. Eleven people. Eleven times she gave away her grandmother's pot—something that was supposedly precious to her—and eleven times she got it back. Why keep trying?"

"Because she's kind? Because she wants people to test it?"

"Or because she's waiting for someone who can figure out what it actually is." Mokko adjusted his glasses. "You said the inscription looked like it was moving when you first saw it."

"It did. But it doesn't now. It's just... symbols. Pretty symbols that don't mean anything."

"What if they mean something when you're ready?"

Marron wanted to argue, but the words stuck in her throat.

Her mother's knives—the Whisperwind steel that everyone noticed—had always worked. They'd responded to her mother, then to her, without any special ritual or understanding required.

But what if not all Legendary Tools worked that way?

What if some of them required something more? Understanding, or growth, or... patience?

Patient hands and gentle heart, she thought, remembering the inscription she'd thought she'd read. The one that now just looked like meaningless symbols.

"Maybe," she said slowly. "Or maybe I'm just grasping at straws because I don't want to admit I was wrong."

"Both can be true," Mokko said. "You might have been wrong about it being immediately magical. But that doesn't mean you were wrong about it being the right pot."

Marron looked at the copper pot, sitting innocently on the counter. It gleamed softly in the lamplight, beautiful and frustrating and ordinary.

"I don't know how to tell the difference," she admitted.

"Then keep testing. Give it a real try. Use it for a week, not just two days. See if anything changes." Mokko's voice was gentle but firm. "And if after a week it's still just a pot—then fine. Bring it back. But don't give up just because the first class didn't go perfectly."

Marron wanted to protest. Wanted to say that she knew the difference between hope and reality, that she wasn't going to keep chasing something that didn't exist.

But another part of her—the part that had survived the mimic dungeon, that had earned her certification, that had learned to care again—that part whispered what if.

What if Mokko was right?

What if the pot needed something from her first?

What if she gave up too soon?

"One week," she said finally. "I'll use it for everything. Stocks, soups, sauces—everything. And if it's still just copper at the end of that..."

"Then you bring it back with no regrets," Mokko finished.

"No regrets," Marron agreed.

Lucy burbled encouragingly, forming a little star.

Marron touched the pot again, feeling nothing but cool metal and her own stubborn determination.

One week, she thought. You have one week to prove you're something more than copper.

Or I'm done chasing dreams.

+

Marron sat at the small desk in her room, pen in hand, staring at a blank piece of parchment.

Writing letters had never been her strong suit. But the Lord Jackal deserved an update—he'd been kind to her when she'd visited the Wolfkin Kingdom, had gifted her the knives that now drew envious stares, had made her feel like she mattered.

She smiled slightly, remembering. His name was Alexander. The same name she'd given to the mimic lieutenant without even thinking about it.

Two Alexanders, she thought. One a jackal who rules wolves. One a mimic who wants to build peace. Both of them trying to be better than what people expect.

She began to write. At first, she felt a little silly, but by the end of the first sheet of paper, Marron knew she would need more.

Kai had once said that paper wouldn't judge you, so feel free to write down whatever your heart desired.

"I miss you, Kai," she whispered. Marron hoped her old roommate was doing well back on Earth, and that he didn't blame herself for...

...just disappearing.

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