The tools had given her purpose. Power. The ability to help people in ways she never could have managed alone.
And now they wanted payment for that gift.
Mokko's hand landed on her shoulder, gentle but grounding. "Mar? You're shaking."
She was. Her whole body trembled with the force of trying to hold her ground against the collective will of four ancient, powerful artifacts that did not accept "no" as an answer.
"I can't," she whispered. Her throat felt tight. "I can't be what they want me to be."
"What do they want?"
"A collector. A thief. Someone who puts their completion above everything else—above respect, above partnership, above my own judgment."
She turned to face Mokko fully, needing to see a human face. Needing to be reminded that she was more than just a vessel for ancient tools with ancient purposes.
