Lumeria smelled different after the dungeon.
Marron noticed it the moment she crossed the threshold back into the city proper. Wet stone. Cook smoke. Old wood. Life continuing without ceremony. The noise came back in layers—footsteps, distant voices, a cart rattling over cobbles—but none of it pressed at her the way it once had.
She walked slowly.
Her body felt tired in an honest way. Not drained. Not overextended. Just used.
The Food Cart rolled beside her, its wheels quieter than she remembered. The wood looked duller in daylight, the grain less luminous, but it moved easily, responding to her hands without hesitation.
"You're still you," she murmured, adjusting her grip.
The Cart did not answer. It did not need to.
By the time she reached the inn, the sky had shifted toward evening. Clouds hung low but dry, the rain finally spent. She guided the Cart into its usual place and secured it, checking the wheels out of habit. Everything held.
Inside, the air was warm.
