Marron measured honey into the pot—the jar the village had given her that morning, thick and golden and smelling faintly of wildflowers. Her hand shook slightly as she poured.
The Copper Pot had always regulated its own temperature before. Had never let anything burn or overcook. But now it was just a pot over heat, subject to the normal rules of physics and fire.
She'd have to watch it. Manage it. Pay attention every second.
"Stir constantly," the Champion said, grinding something in the Verdant Mortar with smooth, practiced motions. "Honey scorches fast once it gets hot."
Marron stirred, watching the honey begin to thin and bubble. How hot was it? A hundred degrees? One twenty? She had no idea, no magical feedback telling her the exact temperature—
The Copper Pot pulsed once.
Not warm. Not friendly. But... communicating.
A sensation pressed against Marron's awareness: not yet.
She kept stirring, kept watching the honey transform from thick syrup to liquid gold.
