A basket of root vegetables near the hearth. A crock of salt. A slab of cured fat wrapped in cloth. Jars whose labels had faded beyond legibility.
No recipes.
No guidance.
The Blade shifted uneasily.
This environment does not optimize outcomes, it said. There is no defined success state.
Marron exhaled. "Figures."
She rolled up her sleeves.
"Alright," she said, mostly to herself. "Let's see what you want from me."
She started with water.
It felt right to begin there.
A basin sat near the hearth, empty but clean. When she reached for it, the dungeon responded—not by conjuring water, but by revealing a spout she hadn't noticed before, stone-carved and simple. She turned it, and clear water flowed, cold and steady.
Marron filled the basin, then paused.
Her hands hovered above it.
She felt… watched.
Not judged.
Observed, the way an old teacher might watch a student work—not to correct, but to understand how they thought.
