My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

When they finally left the marble chamber, Marron expected the corridors to look as bleak as before: cracked stone, scorched walls, moss that smelled faintly of damp metal. Instead, she froze on the threshold.

The dungeon had changed.

Stone passages that had once felt like a throat closing around them now opened into wide chambers lined with smooth flagstones. The jagged walls had softened, curved into arches that looked almost welcoming. Water trickled nearby—not the stagnant drip-drip she remembered, but a stream running bright and clear, winding through the stone like a vein of life.

Elena's mouth parted in wonder. "Is that…?"

"Yes," Marron whispered. "That's real water."

It caught the torchlight in shifting ripples, and for a heartbeat, she could almost imagine they were walking through one of Brookvale's garden courtyards after a summer rain.

Even the dwarven shrine—once blackened and broken—stood straighter now. The statues still bore scars, but they weren't toppled. Gold lines glowed faintly in the cracks, like the mountain itself had tried to mend them. Kintsugi for stone gods.

Phantasm moss had thickened into a proper blanket, soft and lush, coating the walls in green velvet. It no longer shimmered with false illusions, but with quiet life.

And the white flowers—those little blossoms that once gave her a breath of fresh air in suffocating tunnels—had burst into full bloom. Their fragrance swept through the chamber, so sharp and clean that Marron felt her lungs ache with relief.

One of the younger mimics—half-shifted, with round eyes wide as saucers—whispered, "Fresh smell."

They all slowed, staring like pilgrims seeing a miracle.

Alexander's hand brushing against the flowers as though to make sure they were real. His fingers lingered on the petals, testing their softness. His color was steady now, anchored, and the name seemed to rest on him as naturally as his sword belt.

"It's different," he murmured. His voice was still low, but no longer flat. "The hunger is gone. The place feels…awake, but not devouring."

Mokko clapped him on the back, nearly knocking him off balance. "Maybe it's not a dungeon anymore. Maybe it's home."

Alexander steadied himself with a faint smile. "Maybe."

Marron took a step forward and her knees buckled.

Mokko caught her before she hit the ground, one massive arm scooping her up like she weighed nothing. "Whoa there, Chef. Easy."

"I'm fine," she mumbled, but her voice came out thready. Everything felt distant, like she was hearing herself through water.

"You're not fine." Lucy appeared at her other side, sharp eyes narrowed. "You just anchored two mimics to your magic. You gave away a piece of yourself."

"I'll get it back." Marron tried to stand on her own, but her legs felt like overcooked noodles. "Just… need a minute."

Mokko adjusted his grip, supporting her weight effortlessly. "You can have ten minutes. Twenty. However long you need."

Alexander's expression shifted—concern flickering across his features like he was still learning how to show it. He touched the medal over his heart, instinctive, the way someone might touch a wedding ring or a prayer charm. "This was supposed to protect you. Not drain you."

"It did protect me." Marron managed a weak smile. "Protected all of us. I'm just… tired."

Elena hovered nearby, wringing her hands. "Is there anything we can do? Food? Water?"

"Water sounds good," Marron admitted.

Elena hurried to the stream, cupping her hands to bring back clear, cold water. Marron drank gratefully, feeling the chill settle in her chest. Better. Not perfect, but better.

"I can walk," she said after a moment. "Just… slowly."

Mokko set her down carefully, keeping one hand on her shoulder until he was sure she wouldn't topple over. "You tell me if that changes."

They continued through the transformed corridors, Marron leaning on her cart for support. The wheels rolled smoothly over the newly even stone, and she felt the bond between them hum with quiet reassurance. Still here. Still yours.

As they walked, other mimics began to emerge from side passages. They moved cautiously, clustering in doorways, watching with wide eyes as Alexander passed.

One of them—a woman with pale skin and dark hair who'd served under him—stepped forward. "Lieutenant?"

Alexander paused. "Not anymore."

She blinked, confused. "Then what do we call you?"

"Alexander." He said it carefully, like he was still getting used to the weight. "My name is Alexander."

The mimics exchanged glances, uncertain. Their Captain was dead. Their Lieutenant had a name now. The dungeon no longer hungered. Everything they'd known had shifted beneath their feet.

"What happens to us?" another mimic asked, voice small.

Alexander looked to Halloway, who'd been walking silently at the rear of their group.

The Guildmaster stepped forward, his weathered face stern but not unkind. "You have a choice. You can stay here, in this sealed dungeon, and build a settlement. Learn to live without deception, without violence. Or—" His voice hardened slightly. "—you can refuse, and face the consequences of your previous actions."

"The Grandmaster has offered a treaty," Alexander added. "Mimics can resettle Brookvale. A tunnel will connect it to this place. In return, no more infiltrating Whetvale. No more impersonating tallmen. No more lies."

The mimics looked at each other, then back at Alexander. The pale woman spoke again. "And you? What will you do?"

Alexander's hand went to the medal over his heart again. "Well...Halloway and Marron anchored me to this world. My path depends on where they want me to be."

Elena stepped closer to him, still holding his arm. "Mine too."

The mimics absorbed this in silence. Then, slowly, one by one, they nodded. Not all of them—Marron saw a few disappear back into the shadows, unwilling to accept the new order. But most stayed. Most chose the chance at something different.

Halloway watched this with sharp eyes. When the mimics dispersed, some following at a distance, others returning to deeper chambers, he moved to walk beside Marron.

"What you did back there," he said quietly. "Shouldn't have been possible."

Marron glanced at him. "But it was."

"Yes." He was quiet for a moment. "My shard recognized the intent. You wanted to anchor me here, instead of binding me to your will. Same with Halloway."

He looked at her with something that might have been grudging respect. "Humans are a strange lot, Chef Louvel."

"Yep. Huge ball of contradictions sometimes."

Halloway's mouth twitched—not quite a smile, but close. "The Guild will need a full report. And we'll need to establish oversight for the tunnel construction, the treaty terms, all of it."

He paused. "But… you did well. Better than I expected when I first heard you'd been captured."

"Thanks, I think."

"It's a compliment. Take it." He adjusted his cloak. "I'll be returning ahead to make arrangements. Someone needs to prepare the Guild council for the fact that we're about to have mimic neighbors."

"Will they accept it?"

"They'll have to." Halloway's voice was firm. "The alternative is another war, and we've had enough of those. Besides—" He glanced back at Alexander, who was helping Elena navigate a tricky section of uneven stone. "—if mimics can change, we can too."

He touched two fingers to his forehead in a brief salute, then strode ahead, his pace quickening. Within moments, he'd disappeared around a bend in the corridor.

Marron watched him go, then looked at Alexander. "Think he means it? About the treaty?"

"He's a man who keeps his word." Alexander's expression was thoughtful. "Even when it costs him."

Lucy snorted from somewhere behind them. "He'd better. I'm not going back into a dungeon to rescue you people again."

"You love us," Mokko rumbled.

"I tolerate you. There's a difference."

The banter continued as they walked, and Marron found herself smiling despite the exhaustion dragging at her bones. Her cart rolled steadily beside her, and with each step, she felt a little more strength returning.

The walk stretched on, each corridor revealing another change: broken stone knit together, mushrooms glowing softly like lanterns, mimic eyes wide with something that might have been awe. The younger mimic who'd whispered about the fresh smell now walked alongside them, pointing out newly bloomed flowers to anyone who would listen.

Elena asked about them—what they were called, if they were safe to eat, whether they'd make good garnish. The mimic didn't know, but they discussed possibilities anyway, voices soft and wondering.

By the time they reached the final corridor—the one that led to the exit tunnel—Marron realized her steps had lightened. The weight of survival was still there, yes, but so was something new. Something she hadn't expected to find in a dungeon.

Hope.

The tunnel sloped upward, and as they climbed, Marron saw it: a thin sliver of light at the end. Not the harsh white glare of the furnace, but something warmer. Softer.

Sunlight.

Alexander stopped so suddenly that Elena nearly stumbled. He stared at that distant glow like he'd never seen it before.

"Is that…?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Sunlight," Marron confirmed. "Real daylight."