Saying goodbye was one of the toughest things Marron had to do.
I guess it doesn't matter whether you're from Earth or another world.
It was also slightly different now, because she'd stayed in Whisperwind for a little too long.
The scent of fried shallots and sweet ginger still clung to the edges of her cart's awning, like the festival hadn't quite let go.
Marron wiped down the prep counter with one hand and held a half-finished riceball in the other, chewing absently. The market was quieter today, the post-festival energy settled into something gentler. No urgent orders. No sauce explosions. Just a few ember-glow coals cooling in the griddle and a list of "restock" ingredients waiting to be ignored for one more morning.
Across from her, Mokko was scraping something blackened off the bottom of the copper pan with grim determination. His claws were too big for the brush, but he insisted on using it anyway.
"You've got the stare," he said without looking up. "The kind you get when your head's halfway down the road but your body hasn't left yet."
"I do not have a stare."
"You absolutely do."
Marron set the riceball down and glanced toward the fountain. The same one she'd stood beside that morning, sipping pine tea and thinking about Emily Spritz. And again, like it had earlier, the spoon in her apron pocket gave a single, distinct pulse of heat.
Not painful. Not alarming. Just... a nudge. The same way Lucy hummed when Marron hesitated too long at a crossroads.
"Okay, maybe I've been thinking about it," she muttered.
"Lumeria?" Mokko guessed.
She nodded. "I can't get her name out of my head. Emily Spritz. Idol chef. 'Commands a kitchen like a concert stage.' That's not normal. And when Rocco mentioned her, my spoon reacted. Not the system. Not me. The spoon."
Mokko squinted at her. "What does that mean, exactly? Are we supposed to follow every heat-pulse you get from enchanted flatware now?"
Marron smirked. "It's more like… curiosity laced with certainty. Like I'm chasing a smell I remember but haven't tasted yet."
He snorted. "That's dangerously poetic for a breakfast conversation."
She wiped her hands, flicked open her system interface, and tapped the tiny silver ladle icon in the corner. The screen shimmered.
[New System Feature Unlocked: Culinary Region Map]
A parchment-style map unfolded in front of her eyes, stretching far beyond Whisperwind. Rolling hills, rivers, broken lines of forest, and—glowing softly to the southeast—a circular metropolis surrounded by spiraling roadways like petals on a flower.
LUMERIAThe City That Eats Like It Breathes
Below the city name, a blinking gold quest banner hovered:
[Limited-Time Regional Quest Available]Seasonal Exhibition Stage – Entry ReservedCategory: Performance Cooking / Reputation ShowcaseReward: VIP Access + Unique Upgrade Token + ???Time Limit: 14 Days
"Ohhh... that's dangerous," Marron murmured, dragging her finger across the map. The route from Whisperwind to Lumeria was longer than she expected—at least a week by cart, even without detours.
"Do I want to know what you're seeing?" Mokko asked, setting the pan down with a heavy clack.
She showed him the quest window.
He leaned in, squinting. "Exhibition Stage. Reputation. VIP access. What's with the question marks?"
"That's the part I don't like."
"You always say that right before doing the exact thing you don't like."
"I know," she said, smiling.
She hesitated before closing the interface, fingers hovering over the quest banner. The spoon in her apron didn't pulse this time, but it felt warm against her side. Like it was waiting.
Marron reached into her pocket, pulled it free, and laid it gently on the cart's counter. The metal was still polished silver, still unassuming in shape—but now it looked… expectant.
Like a key waiting for a door.
"Alright," she said softly. "Let's go find out where you came from."
+
The market was only half full, the post-festival lull giving the cobbled streets room to breathe. Banners still fluttered from wooden beams, though some were starting to fray. Marron passed a drying rack full of dyed silks, half-folded by the merchant dozing behind them, and a wolfkin toddler balancing a pomegranate precariously on their head.
She took her time.
She wasn't leaving today. Not officially. But the moment she looked at the quest marker on that system map, she knew she'd already started.
"Don't make it a big deal," she whispered to herself. "Just a little walk. A little shopping."
Lucy bobbed silently beside her, her colors muted, like she understood the weight of farewell even if no one else did.
At the spice vendor's stall—one of the first places she'd ever traded with—Marron handed over a small woven basket lined with parchment. Inside: warm spice-blend crackers she'd baked this morning, subtly dusted with powdered chive root and citrus ash.
The badgerkin vendor blinked in surprise.
"For your tea breaks," Marron said. "Don't try to eat them all in one go. Or do. They're yours now."
The vendor sniffed dramatically and grunted, turning away too quickly. "They'll go with the mintroot blend."
"I know."
Marron smiled and kept walking.
She passed by her stall next. Comfort & Crunchstood under dappled morning light, all polished wood and burnished brass. It looked nothing like the battered cart she'd woken up in outside Whetvale.
The phoenix carving above the fryer—once dormant—now gleamed faintly, as if proud.
Marron reached out and rested a hand on the counter. "You've come a long way too."
She considered opening up shop for one last lunch, but her chest already felt full. And she knew if she took another order, she wouldn't leave at all.
Near the edge of the square, two wolfkin girls came bounding toward her—Maya's younger cousins, the twins with matching braids and a terrifying talent for spice balancing. They skidded to a stop in front of her, nearly tripping over Lucy.
"Are you going to Snake Cove next?" one of them asked breathlessly.
"I heard you might go to Snake Cove."
Marron laughed, holding up both hands. "Maybe. Not right away."
"You should go," the other one said with total certainty. "They have these mushrooms that sing when you sear them."
Mokko, who had been trailing behind with a bag of produce, muttered, "They also have beetles that spit fire when insulted."
The girls gasped. "You met one?!"
"I met several. They all hated me."
Marron shook her head, smiling, and crouched to the girls' level. "If I make it there, will you come help me sell food again?"
"Only if you let us taste test."
"Deal."
They ran off whooping, immediately arguing over whether singing mushrooms or fire beetles were cooler.
Marron stood there for a while, letting the breeze tug at her sleeves.
The truth was—she had grown roots here. The people of Whisperwind had accepted her. She'd made friends. She'd helped heal a feud. She'd built something real.
And now she was going to leave it behind to chase the echo of a name and a spoon's pull.
"You're frowning again," Mokko said, stepping beside her.
"I'm just… trying not to make this feel like goodbye."
"Then don't. Call it an intermission."
Marron blinked at him.
He gestured with one paw. "Whisperwind was your first chapter. Not your last."
"Are you trying to be poetic?"
"Absolutely not," Mokko said flatly. "I'm quoting something I read on a takeout box."
She laughed—too loud—but it felt right. It loosened the knot in her chest just enough.
They walked the rest of the way back to the inn slowly, with Lucy floating between them, casting pale reflections across the stone path.
Behind them, the town continued to breathe: soft footsteps, a child's shriek of laughter, the faint sound of someone flipping flatbread in a pan.
Ahead of them, the road to Lumeria waited. A little brighter now. A little clearer.