"It is. But it's how things are." Millie shrugged. "The Guild certification helps, though. Harder for them to dismiss us when we have the same credentials they do."

Marron thought about that—about how the street market had welcomed her when she was lost and defensive, how Millie had taught her without judgment, how these vendors were celebrating her success like it was their own.

This is what community looks like, she thought. This is what I've been missing.

"So," Millie said, pouring them both more wine. "What are you going to do next?"

"Next?"

"You're certified now. You could go back to traveling. Take contracts. Join a restaurant. Open your own place." Millie's ears twitched curiously. "What does Marron Louvel do with her shiny new credentials?"

Marron considered the question. Three days ago, she would have said she'd leave immediately—take her certification and move on to the next town, the next job, the next place where she could keep her head down and survive.

But now...

"I think I want to stay in Lumeria for a bit," she said slowly. "Now that I don't have to focus so hard on the evaluation, I'd like to actually... see the city. Experience it. Maybe learn some things."

"Learn what things?"

"The Guild offers specialization classes, right? For certified chefs?"

Millie nodded. "All kinds. Candy-making, bread-baking, butchery, fermentation—if there's a culinary skill, someone teaches it."

"I want to learn more recipes that use chicken as a main protein," Marron said, thinking out loud. "It's versatile, affordable, accessible—good for traveling chefs. But I'd also like to learn candy-making, or treat-making. Something sweet." She smiled slightly. "Your moon cakes inspired me. I've never been much for desserts, but there's something about making simple ingredients into something that brings people joy..."

"You'd be good at it," Millie said. "You have the patience. And you're learning to appreciate beauty for its own sake, not just as a requirement."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the market bustle around them.

"There's something else," Marron admitted. "Something I'm looking for."

"Oh?"

She hesitated, then pulled out her mother's notebook. Tucked in the back, barely visible, was a sketch she'd made after the dream—rough and quick, done in the middle of the night when the vision was still fresh.

A copper pot. Wide and deep, with a lid that sat perfectly flush. Simple, unadorned, but somehow radiating importance.

"I had a dream about this," Marron said quietly. "After the mimic dungeon. A copper pot that never boils over, no matter what you cook in it. No scorching, no spilling, just... perfect heat distribution and control."

Millie leaned closer, studying the sketch. "A Legendary Tool."

"You know about them?"

"Everyone knows the stories. Tools made by master craftspeople, sometimes with magic woven in, sometimes just with skill so profound it might as well be magic." Millie's voice was thoughtful. "They're supposed to be scattered across Savoria. Most people think they're myths."

"I have one already," Marron said. She pulled out her enchanted knife, the blade humming softly as it caught the light. "This was my mother's. It responds to intent, never dulls, cuts through anything like butter."

Millie's eyes widened. "That's a Legendary Tool?"

"According to the dream, yes. And the dream told me there's a pot somewhere. A copper pot that never boils over." Marron traced the sketch with her finger. "I don't know where it is. But I think... I think I'm supposed to find it."

"Then you will," Millie said with certainty. "These things have a way of revealing themselves when you're ready."

Marron tucked the notebook away. "So: stay in Lumeria, take some classes, explore the city, keep my eyes open for a magical copper pot. That's the plan."

"Sounds like a good plan to me." Millie raised her cup again. "To plans, and to staying in Lumeria a little longer."

They drank, and Marron felt something settle—not contentment exactly, but purpose. Direction. For the first time in years, she was choosing to stay somewhere, choosing to learn, choosing to be part of something instead of just passing through.

It felt strange and wonderful and terrifying all at once.

Two Days Later - Morning

Marron was drinking tea and having toast on the balcony as she watched the city wake up. She had nearly drained her cup when Mokko slid the door open, an envelope in his paws.

"This just arrived," he said. "Courier brought it."

Marron's heart jumped. She saw a mixture of things: the wax seal stamp claimed it was from Meadowbrook, but...there was no post office in that town yet. The most it had was an inn and a bakery.

She looked a bit closer and saw a mark she didn't recognize. A small, carefully drawn mimic.

She opened it carefully.

Dear Marron,

I hope this letter finds you well, and that Lumeria is treating you kindly. I wanted to write to you as soon as we arrived, but things have been... complicated.

We made it to Brookvale three days ago. The journey was long but uneventful—your directions were perfect, and your notes about the safe paths through the mountains saved us considerable time.

However, when we arrived, we found Brookvale in ruins.

The Adventurer's Guild had been there before us. They'd destroyed everything—the buildings, the gathering spaces, even the gardens the mimics had been cultivating. They claimed it was a "preemptive strike against monster threats," but we both know what it really was: fear and prejudice dressed up as protection.

Many of the mimics who lived there are scattered now, hiding. Some were killed in the initial attack. Others fled into the deeper forests. It's heartbreaking, Marron. These were peaceful creatures who just wanted to exist without harming anyone, and they were treated like monsters simply for existing.

But here's the thing: we're not giving up.

The survivors have decided to rebuild. Not in the same place—that location is compromised now—but somewhere new. Somewhere hidden but hopeful. They're calling it New Brookvale, and they've asked me to stay and help coordinate with friendly humans and other species who might support them.

I've agreed. I know it's dangerous, and I know the Adventurer's Guild won't approve, but this feels right. These mimics deserve a chance to live peacefully, and I want to help give them that chance.

I wanted you to know because you started this. Your kindness in the dungeon, your willingness to see them as people instead of monsters—that's what gave them hope that coexistence was possible. You planted a seed, Marron. We're just trying to help it grow.

I don't know when I'll be back in Meadowbrook, or if I'll be back at all. This work feels important. Necessary. But I wanted you to know what happened, and to thank you.

If you ever pass through the northern forests again, look for the copper bells. That's how you'll find New Brookvale. The mimics hang copper bells in the trees near their settlements—a signal to friends, and a warning to those who would do them harm.

Your friend,

Alexander

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