"Need," Marron said. "The decree was destroying people's livelihoods. Someone needed to do something. I happened to be in a position to try."

"But why you specifically? There are other Guild chefs. Other people who could have organized resistance. Why did you take on that role?"

The question felt like a test, but Marron couldn't identify what he was actually testing for.

"Because I cared," she said simply. "And because I could. Those felt like sufficient reasons."

Edmund studied her for a long moment, then made a note in his journal. Marron tried not to let it rattle her.

"You're being very careful with your words," Edmund observed. "I appreciate that. It suggests you understand this conversation has weight." He closed the journal. "Let me be direct, Ms. Louvel. I'm interested in your cooking methods. Specifically, I'm interested in why your food produces unusually consistent results. Better results than your skill level alone should generate."

There it was. The actual question, laid bare.

"I use good ingredients," Marron said. "I pay attention to technique. I care about what I'm making. That's not unusual—that's just basic competence."

"It's more than that." Edmund's voice was gentle but insistent. "I've eaten at your cart. I've spoken to people who've had your food. The consistency isn't normal. Your heat control is too perfect. Your portions are too precisely calibrated to individual need. Your flavors are too well-balanced for someone who only earned certification a few months ago."

Marron's heart was pounding, but she kept her expression neutral. "Are you accusing me of something?"

"I'm observing," Edmund corrected. "As a scholar of culinary history and material culture, I notice patterns. And Ms. Louvel, you have a pattern that suggests..." He paused, choosing words carefully. "That suggests you're working with equipment of unusual quality."

"Good knives make a difference," Marron said. "Lord Jackal Alexander gave me a set of Whisperwind steel. They're excellent."

"I'm sure they are." Edmund's smile didn't reach his eyes. "But that's not what I'm talking about, and I think you know that."

Silence stretched between them. Marron sipped her tea, buying time, trying to figure out how to navigate this without confirming or denying anything.

"Let me tell you what I think," Edmund said finally. "I think you've come into possession of pre-cataclysm tools. Objects of genuine historical significance. Tools that carry craftsmanship from an era we can no longer replicate." He leaned forward slightly. "And I think you're using them daily, treating them as ordinary equipment, without fully understanding what you're carrying."

"That's quite a theory," Marron said carefully.

"It's not a theory." Edmund's voice went quieter, more intense. "It's pattern recognition. I've spent fifteen years studying pre-cataclysm craft. I know the signs. The consistency. The subtle improvements that seem impossible. The way food just works better than it should." His eyes behind the glasses were sharp. "You have them. Don't you?"

Marron met his gaze steadily. "What if I did? What would you do about it?"

"I would help you understand what you're carrying," Edmund said immediately. "These tools aren't just cooking equipment. They're historical artifacts. Links to knowledge and craft traditions we've mostly lost. They deserve respect, documentation, proper care—"

"They deserve to be used," Marron interrupted. "That's what they were made for. Not to sit in collections. Not to be documented and preserved behind glass. To feed people."

Edmund's expression shifted—something flickered behind the polite facade. Surprise? Recognition? Pain?

"You sound very certain of that," he said quietly.

"I am certain." Marron set down her teacup. "Professor Erwell, I appreciate your interest in culinary history. But if this conversation is about you trying to acquire or study equipment I may or may not have, then I think we're done here."

"I'm not trying to acquire anything," Edmund said, though his tone suggested that wasn't entirely true. "I'm trying to ensure that objects of profound historical value are treated with appropriate care."

"By locking them away? Studying them instead of using them?"

"By preserving them." Edmund's voice gained intensity. "Do you have any idea how rare these tools are? How easily they can be lost, damaged, misused? Using them daily, in street food carts, exposing them to common wear and tear—that's not honoring them. That's risking destruction of irreplaceable historical artifacts."

There was something raw in his voice now. Something personal. Like this wasn't just academic interest—it was something deeper, more emotional.

"What happened?" Marron asked quietly. "To make you feel this way?"

Edmund went very still. For a moment, Marron thought he wouldn't answer. Then he adjusted his glasses—that nervous gesture—and said, "This isn't about me."

"I think it is," Marron said gently. "You're not just an academic cataloging historical objects. You're someone who's afraid of losing something important. What did you lose, Professor Erwell?"

The silence that followed was heavy with unspoken things.

Finally, Edmund picked up his journal, opened it to a marked page, and turned it to face her.

Inside was a detailed sketch of a ladle—beautiful, elaborate, nothing like the Generous Ladle but clearly from the same era. Beneath the sketch were notes in Edmund's neat handwriting:

The Infinite Ladle. Lost 8 years ago. Never recovered.

"I didn't lose it directly," Edmund said, his voice carefully controlled. "I trusted someone with it. Allowed them to study it, to understand it. They stole it. Used it carelessly. Lost it to chance and stupidity. And now it's gone. Probably destroyed or traded away to someone who has no idea what they're holding."

Marron looked at the sketch, understanding flooding through her. "That's why you want to preserve tools. Because someone misused one you trusted them with."

"Someone destroyed one," Edmund corrected. "Through carelessness. Through treating priceless historical artifacts like common objects." He closed the journal. "So yes, Ms. Louvel. If you have pre-cataclysm tools, I'm concerned. Because I've seen what happens when they fall into the wrong hands."

"And you think I'm the wrong hands?"

"I think you're untrained. Unaware of historical significance. Using tools daily in ways that risk damage." Edmund's voice softened. "I don't think you're malicious. But I think you're unintentionally reckless."

Marron sat back, processing this. Edmund wasn't just a collector—he was someone traumatized by loss, who'd turned that trauma into obsessive control. Who believed preservation meant possession because trust had failed him.

She understood it. Even sympathized with it, in a way.

But she still couldn't agree with it.

"The tools were made to be used," Marron said finally. "That was their purpose. To serve communities, to help people, to make daily work better. Locking them away to preserve them defeats the entire reason they were created."

"Using them risks destroying them," Edmund countered.

"Living risks dying," Marron said. "That doesn't mean we should spend our whole lives in protective bubbles." She leaned forward. "Professor Erwell—Edmund—I understand that you've experienced loss. That someone you trusted hurt you by misusing something precious. But that doesn't mean all use is misuse. That doesn't mean everyone who carries these tools will treat them carelessly."

"How can I know that?" Edmund's voice cracked slightly. "How can anyone know that?"

"You can't," Marron said honestly. "You can't control everything. You can't prevent all possible loss by holding tight enough. Sometimes you just have to trust that people will do their best."

"My best wasn't good enough," Edmund said quietly. "I trusted, and it failed. I won't make that mistake again."

The conversation had reached an impasse. Edmund's trauma versus Marron's philosophy. Preservation versus use. Control versus trust.

Neither of them was going to convince the other. Not today.

"I think," Marron said carefully, "that we see these tools very differently. And I don't think this conversation is going to change that."

"No," Edmund agreed. "I don't think it will." He looked at her across the table, his expression unreadable behind those glasses. "But Ms. Louvel—Marron—if you do have tools of historical significance, please. At least document them. Record their properties, their origins, what you learn from using them. So that if something happens—if they're lost or damaged—at least the knowledge survives."

It was a reasonable request. Almost an olive branch.

"I can do that," Marron said. "Documentation. Recording what I learn. That seems fair."

"Thank you." Edmund stood, clearly considering the conversation concluded. "I won't push further today. But I want you to understand—my interest in these tools won't disappear simply because you asked me to stop. They're too important."

"I understand," Marron said, standing as well. "And I want you to understand—I'm not giving up tools that chose to work with me just because you're afraid of loss."

"Chose?" Edmund's expression shifted. "You believe they choose their users?"

Marron realized she'd said too much. "It's a figure of speech."

"No," Edmund said slowly. "You meant it literally. You believe these tools have agency. Preference. The ability to accept or reject users." His eyes behind the glasses were suddenly sharp with renewed interest. "That's... that's a significant claim. Do you have evidence?"

"This conversation is over," Marron said firmly. "Thank you for lunch, Professor Erwell. I hope your research goes well."

She turned and walked out of The Harvest Table, heart pounding, aware that she'd just confirmed far too much to someone who was far too interested.

Behind her, she heard Edmund make one final note in his journal.

The sound of that pen scratching paper followed her all the way out into the street.

Millie was waiting two blocks away, as promised.

"How bad?" the rabbitkin asked immediately.

"He knows," Marron said. "Or suspects enough that it doesn't matter. He thinks I'm being reckless with historical artifacts. He wants me to document everything and preferably stop using the tools in daily service."

"Are you going to?"

"Document? Maybe. Stop using them? Absolutely not." Marron rubbed her face. "He lost a tool eight years ago. Someone stole it from him, misused it, lost it completely. Now he's obsessed with preventing that from happening again."

"By controlling every tool he finds?"

"By preserving them," Marron corrected. "Or that's how he sees it. Preservation through possession. Can't lose what you never let go of."

They walked in silence for a while, heading back toward the Guild district.

"What are you going to do?" Millie asked finally.

"Keep cooking," Marron said. "Keep using the tools the way they were meant to be used. Keep learning from them. And hope that Edmund Erwell decides I'm not worth pursuing."

"And if he doesn't?"

Marron thought of Edmund's journal, of that final note being recorded, of the intensity in his voice when he talked about preservation and loss.

"Then I'll deal with it," she said. "The same way I dealt with the Merchant's Guild. By refusing to back down from what I know is right."

"Even if it makes an enemy of an obsessive academic with resources and connections?"

"Even then."

Millie didn't look convinced, but she didn't argue. They walked back to Marron's apartment together, and the afternoon sun cast long shadows across Lumeria's streets.

Somewhere behind them, Edmund Erwell was probably still sitting at The Harvest Table, making notes about tools that chose their users, about chefs who talked about partnership instead of possession, about the fascinating case of Marron Louvel who had something remarkable and refused to hand it over.

Marron had made an impression. Whether that was good or bad remained to be seen.

But one thing was certain: Edmund Erwell wasn't going to forget about her anytime soon.

And she wasn't going to forget about him.

[Quest Update: Know Your Observer]

[Status: Initial contact made. Edmund Erwell suspects you have Legendary Tools in your possession. Proof of documentation and proper preservation are desired.]

[New Information: Edmund lost a tool 8 years ago to theft/carelessness. This trauma drives his current obsession with control.]

[Warning: You revealed that tools "choose" their users. This increased his interest significantly.]

[Edmund Erwell will continue observing. Next contact inevitable.]

[Prepare accordingly.]

If you find any errors ( broken links, non-standard content, etc.. ), Please let us know < report chapter > so we can fix it as soon as possible.