My Food Stall Serves SSS-Grade Delicacies!

Back at the Apartment - Afternoon

Marron set the copper pot on her kitchen counter, no longer wrapped or hidden. It gleamed in the afternoon light, the inscription visible, the copper warm-toned and welcoming.

Two Legendary Tools.

A food cart that sealed dungeons.

A pot that never boiled over.

She pulled out her notebook and added to her documentation:

Discovery: The copper pot was in Simone's possession for 15 years. She gave it to 11 other people before me, and all brought it back saying it was ordinary. The pot doesn't reveal itself to everyone—only to those who are ready to understand it.

This suggests Legendary Tools might have some form of consciousness or selection criteria. They don't just work for anyone. They choose their partners.

Question: How many more tools are there? Lord Alexander says stories vary—seven, thirteen, or more. Need to find more information.

Question: What happens when you collect multiple tools? Do they work together? Is there a greater purpose?

Question: Who else is looking for these tools? Alexander warned me to be careful—some people collect them as trophies. Need to be discreet.

Next steps: - Continue learning to work with both tools - Pay attention to dreams—they seem to be significant - Look for hints about other tools - Document everything

She closed the notebook and looked around her new apartment—small but hers, with space for her cart, a proper kitchen for her pot, windows that let in good light.

Mokko was arranging books on a small shelf. Lucy was exploring the bathroom, fascinated by the enchanted faucets.

"It's home," Marron said quietly, testing the words.

"I thought Meadowbrook Commons was home?" Mokko asked.

She smiled because it was true.

"Meadowbrook will always be our hometown," she clarified. "but until we return, this is our new home base."

And for the first time since arriving in Savoria, that word felt true. It wasn't a temporary shelter, even if they had to pay rent.

Now there were two legendary tools in her possession.

Marron frowned a little at that.

"Does that mean we'll be hunted down by the next dungeon?"

Lucy burbled from her jar. "Hope not! We like you here."

"I do too, but...I don't want my food cart to get swiped again. Or this pot."

Though, if the pot was swiped, it would probably be given back. It's not as flashy as the cart.

+

Marron's first week in the Guild Apartments passed in a comfortable rhythm that felt almost surreal after months of constant movement and survival mode.

Mornings, she attended Henrik's poultry class—learning to debone whole chickens, master different stocks, create dishes that showcased technique without overwhelming the main ingredient. Her Whisperwind knives continued to draw attention, but she'd gotten better at deflecting questions with vague references to "family connections."

Afternoons were for Maestra Vivienne's candy-making sessions—tempering chocolate, pulling taffy, creating brittles and caramels that required precision and patience. The copper pot proved invaluable here, its steady heat control making sugar work significantly less stressful.

Evenings, she experimented in her apartment kitchen, testing how the food cart and copper pot worked together. She discovered that food made in the pot and served from the cart seemed to carry something extra—not just nourishment, but comfort. Warmth that went deeper than temperature.

Mokko noticed it first. "Your soup tastes like... safety," he said one evening, struggling for words. "Like being home."

"That's the tools working together," Marron said, making notes in her documentation notebook. "The pot provides perfect conditions, the cart amplifies the intent behind the cooking. They're partners."

Lucy had simply burbled contentedly and formed a heart shape.

By the end of the week, Marron had fallen into a routine: classes during the day, cooking and experimentation in the evening, selling excess food at the street market twice a week to maintain her finances.

Her coin purse was healthier than it had been in months—she was actually saving money instead of just scraping by.

She'd made friends, too. Zara from the poultry class had become a regular lunch companion, and several other Guild apartment residents had invited her to the communal lounge for evening tea and cooking gossip.

It was comfortable.

Stable.

Almost normal.

Marron kept waiting for something to go wrong.

+

Day 8 - Morning

The knock on her door came just after breakfast, while Marron was reviewing her notes on chocolate tempering.

"Mail delivery!" called a cheerful voice.

Marron opened the door to find a young courier—a catfolk woman with orange tabby markings and a leather satchel slung across her shoulder.

"Chef Marron Louvel?"

"That's me."

"Letter for you. Came through the northern routes, special delivery." The courier handed over a thick envelope sealed with dark green wax. The seal showed a design Marron didn't recognize at first—then did, with a slight shock.

A mimic. Stylized and artistic, but definitely a mimic, its form caught mid-shift.

"Sign here, please."

Marron signed the delivery log with trembling fingers, her mind already racing. Alexander. It has to be from Alexander.

The courier departed with a cheerful wave, and Marron closed the door, staring at the envelope.

"What is it?" Mokko asked, looking up from his breakfast.

"Letter from New Brookvale. From the mimics."

Lucy bubbled curiously, pressing against her jar.

+

Dear Marron,

I hope this letter finds you well and settled in Lumeria. I've heard through merchant contacts that you earned your Guild certification—congratulations. Your mother would be proud. (I know you said she's never been to Savoria, but I imagine wherever she is, she's proud nonetheless.)

Things in New Brookvale are complicated, but improving. The settlement grows slowly. We have forty mimics now, and more arrive every few weeks—refugees from other regions where they were hunted or driven out. The glamour mages Guildmaster Halloway recommended have been invaluable. With their help, several of our people can now maintain stable human forms long enough to trade in nearby towns.

The food you taught us to appreciate has made a profound difference. We're not just eating to survive anymore—we're enjoying meals, sharing recipes, arguing about seasoning like a proper community.

But I'm not writing just to update you on our progress.

Three weeks ago, while clearing land for new housing, one of our builders unearthed a buried chamber. Inside, we found artifacts. Pre-cataclysm, we think.

Most of the items were mundane: pottery shards, rusted tools, remnants of daily life. But one piece stood out.