"Once it accepts you, yes. Before that, the symbols just shift without meaning." Marron took the ladle back gently.

Okay. What's the best way of saying this to someone so guarded?

She took a deep breath and then said, gently as she could,"Edmund, I understand your fear of loss. I really do. But hoarding tools doesn't honor them. Using and learning from them...is better, I think."

"What if they break?" Edmund's voice was rough, and his fist tightened around his spoon. "What if they're irreperably destroyed due to misuse? Are we to just accept the loss?" There was a choked pain in his voice, like he was reliving a terrible memory.

"Unfortunately, yes. We'll have learned from the tools while they were available for use," Marron said softly. "We'll have the previous owners' stories, their knowledge and experience. That's a kind of preservation too."

Edmund stood abruptly, turning away from the table. His shoulders were tense, his hands clenched. "I had that philosophy once. Fifteen years ago, when I started collecting. I believed in accessibility. In study through use. In sharing these objects with people who could learn from them."

"What changed?" Marron asked quietly.

"Reality," Edmund said harshly. "I trusted someone. Allowed them to study a tool from my collection. They stole it. Used it for months in their little food stall business, treating a priceless historical artifact like common equipment. Then they lost it. Gambled it away in a card game because they needed quick money." He turned back to face her, and his eyes behind the glasses were wounded. "That tool is gone now. Probably destroyed or sitting in some collector's vault who doesn't even know what they have. All that knowledge, that history, that craft—lost because I was naive enough to believe people could be trusted."

The Infinite Ladle. The soup kitchen tool that could serve unlimited portions. Lost because someone treated it carelessly.

"That must have been devastating," Marron said.

"It was instructive," Edmund corrected. "It taught me that noble intentions don't protect objects. That belief in accessibility doesn't prevent loss. That the only way to truly preserve something is to control it completely."

"That sounds lonely," Marron observed.

Edmund flinched. "It's necessary."

"Is it?" Marron gestured at the display cabinets. "You have hundreds of objects here. Perfectly preserved. Beautifully documented. Completely unused. Are they actually preserved, or are they just... stopped? Frozen in time but not living?"

"They're safe," Edmund said. "That's what matters."

"But they're not fulfilling their purposes," Marron pressed. "That mixing bowl was made to mix bread. That skillet was made to cook food. Keeping them safe but unused—that's not preservation. That's taxidermy. You're stuffing them and mounting them and calling it honor, but really you're just afraid of losing them the way you lost the Infinite Ladle."

"Don't—" Edmund's voice cracked. "Don't presume to psychoanalyze me. You don't understand—"

"I understand fear," Marron interrupted. "I understand protecting yourself by not trying. By staying small. By bare minimum everything because if you don't care, you can't be hurt." She stood up from the table, meeting his eyes directly. "I spent years doing that. Cooking just enough to survive, not enough to care. Because caring meant risk. Meant possibility of failure or disappointment or loss."

"Then you understand why I preserve rather than use," Edmund said.

"No," Marron said. "I understand why you want to. But I also understand that living that way—staying small, staying safe, never risking loss—that's not actually preservation. That's just fear wearing a more respectable name."

Edmund stared at her, his expression cycling through anger, pain, recognition. "You're very certain of that."

"I'm certain that Legendary Tools were made to serve people," Marron said. "Not to be locked away. Not to be hoarded by collectors who care more about preventing loss than enabling purpose." She picked up the Generous Ladle. "This tool chose me because I use it the way it was meant to be used. If I locked it in a cabinet like your collection, it would stop working. It would become just an old ladle, beautifully preserved but functionally dead."

"You're making assumptions about how these tools work—"

"I'm speaking from experience," Marron corrected. "With three Legendary Tools that have all chosen to stay with me because I partner with them instead of possessing them. Because I respect what they're for, not just what they represent."

She said it deliberately—three tools—letting Edmund know exactly how significant her collection was. His face went pale, then flushed.

"Three," he repeated. "You have three Legendary Tools."

"Yes."

"And you're using all of them in daily service. In a food cart. In street markets and community kitchens." Edmund's voice rose. "Do you have any idea how reckless that is? How easily you could lose them? How many people would kill to possess even one—"

"I know," Marron said calmly. "I've been warned about collectors. About people who see tools as trophies. About the danger of being visible." She looked at him pointedly. "I'm aware of the risks, Edmund. I'm choosing to take them anyway because the alternative—locking tools away, keeping them safe but purposeless—that's worse than the risk of loss."

"You're going to lose them," Edmund said flatly. "And when you do, you'll understand why I preserve the way I preserve. Why control is the only real protection."

"Maybe," Marron admitted. "But maybe I'll keep them. Maybe I'll learn from them and teach others what they represent. Maybe I'll prove that use with care is possible, that trust isn't the same as naivety." She paused. "Or maybe I'll lose them and understand your pain more deeply than I do now. Either way, I'd rather try and risk loss than never try at all."

Edmund sank back into his chair, looking suddenly exhausted. "You're idealistic."

"I'm hopeful," Marron corrected. "There's a difference."

They sat in silence for a moment, the minestrone cooling slightly in their bowls, the weight of the conversation settling.

Finally, Edmund picked up his spoon and tasted the soup.

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.