She hurried over and plunged both hands into one of the piles. The grains slid through her fingers with a dry rustling sound.

They felt smooth and surprisingly dense.

Each one was roughly the length of her little finger. Much larger than any wheat grain she remembered from Earth. Warm from the sun.

Real.

On the scale of kingdoms, it wasn’t much.

Yet somehow the pile felt more valuable than gold.

A shadow suddenly fell across her.

A large hand reached past her. Wet forest surrounded her.

Silas had stepped up behind her.

As naturally as breathing, her tail curled around his calf.

Mirabelle followed his arm upward with her gaze until she found his golden eyes.

"So this is it?" he asked in his deep, melodic voice.

The lynx female’s eyes curved into crescents: "Yeah."

A moment later Kaelith appeared beside her.

His gaze briefly swept over Mirabelle before moving to Silas.

Then his attention settled on the basket.

"So this can supposedly be stored for twenty years?"

Mirabelle nodded.

"If it’s kept dry and protected from pests."

Fascinated, the hyena picked up a grain and rolled it between his fingers.

Lucien appeared on her other side.

Now she was completely surrounded by her males.

The realization should probably have felt strange. Instead, the bond beneath her skin pulsed warmly.

Alive.

Comforting.

"And how exactly do you eat it?" Lucien asked. He picked up a grain before Mirabelle could stop him and immediately put it into his mouth.

Much like someone testing a gold coin for authenticity, he bit down on it.

"So that’s not how you do it", Mirabelle laughed. She reached up and plucked the grain from his mouth.

To do so, she had to rise onto her toes and lean forward.

Immediately, Silas’ arm settled around her waist to steady her. Yet once she was standing securely again, he didn’t let go.

To her surprise, she didn’t mind.

At the moment, being around all three of them felt strangely easy.

Natural.

Comfortable.

So she decided to stop worrying about it and simply see where things went.

It wasn’t as though Kaelith had suddenly started acting superior because she had chosen him first. Nor were the fox and panther treating him like a rival.

If anything, the three males seemed more curious than hostile.

Maybe this really would be easier than she’d feared.

Thoughtfully, she stared down into the basket while her males unintentionally shielded her from the activity around the courtyard.

Then a thought sparked her curiosity.

She activated Merchant’s Eye. Immediately, a window appeared.

[Thorn-Grass Grain

Classification: Agricultural Resource

Quality: Good

Estimated Value: 3 Feral Cores (Stage 1) per sack

Storage Life: 10-20 Years

Strategic Value: High

Description: A durable food source capable of supporting population growth, trade expansion, and long-term food security.

Recommended Action: Process into flour.]

’Okay.’ Her ears twitched thoughtfully.

’So it’s not worth much yet.’

Another window appeared at the edge of her vision.

Then another.

And another.

Every object she glanced at seemed eager to provide information.

Useful information.

Distracting information.

Mirabelle rubbed her temple.

She still had grain to process.

The rest could wait.

"Merchant’s Eye: Off."

Mirabelle immediately felt the pressure on her concentration ease.

Useful ability.

Potentially dangerous if left running all day.

Especially around people.

Some things were distracting enough without additional statistics attached to them.

She watched another basket of grain being carried toward the wind-affinity user.

Dust danced through the sunlight. Servants shouted excitedly. Golden grain continued piling higher and higher.

A smile slowly spread across her face.

’Now I’m curious whether that changes once we turn it into flour.’

Would the value rise?

Would the system recognize the difference?

Would merchants?

Her eyes narrowed. Only one way to find out.

She turned.

Then immediately found herself facing a wall of male.

Silas stood on one side. Kaelith on the other.

Neither moved.

Also the panther made no attempt to let her go.

After a few seconds, Mirabelle carefully untangled herself from his arms.

Then she looked from one to the other.

They looked back.

For two seconds, nobody did anything.

Then Mirabelle sighed and pushed herself between them.

"Excuse me."

Silas shifted half a step too late.

Kaelith grinned and deliberately made the gap just wide enough for her to squeeze through.

Mirabelle felt his amusement through the bond and refused to acknowledge it.

Behind her, Lucien made a quiet sound that suspiciously resembled laughter.

She ignored that as well.

The courtyard was bright now.

Not yet noon, but close enough that the sun had climbed high over the inner walls and poured warm light across the stone floor.

The cleaned grain glittered in small golden mounds. Dry husks had gathered in pale drifts along one side of the courtyard, pushed there by the wind-affinity user.

The air smelled of sun-warmed stone, dry grass, and the faint earthy sweetness of grain.

Mirabelle lifted one hand and gestured toward the squirrel Beastman:

"You. Come here, please."

The squirrel male immediately straightened.

"Yes, Your Grace." He hurried over, ears alert, tail twitching behind him.

Mirabelle crouched beside one of the grain piles and picked up a handful.

The grains were hard against her palm.

"Now we need to break these."

The squirrel Beastman frowned: "Break them?"

"Grind them." She rubbed a few between her fingers. "Not into pieces. Into powder."

Owen, who had followed her, looked down at the grain: "Powder?"

Mirabelle: "Flour."

Blank expressions.

Right.

New concept.

Mirabelle stood and looked around the courtyard. Her gaze fell on the stone floor, then the pillars, then the empty training space.

Mirabelle: "We need two stones."

The squirrel Beastman’s ears perked.

"How large?"

Mirabelle held her hands apart.

"Large enough that one can lie flat on the ground. Smooth on top, but not polished. The surface needs to be rough enough to crush the grains."

The male nodded slowly.

"And the second?"

"Smaller. Heavy. Rounded. Something that can be moved over the first stone." She mimed the motion with both hands.

"The grain goes between them. Pressure and movement crush it. At first it will only break apart. Then we keep grinding until it becomes fine."

The squirrel Beastman stared at her hands, then at the grain. Understanding began to dawn.

"You want a grinding stone."

"Yes." Mirabelle mentally smacked herself in the forehead. That should have been the first thing she’d mentioned.

"One flat base stone and one moving stone."

His expression sharpened in concentration.

Mirabelle continued before he could run off:

"The upper stone needs either a handle or grooves where people can grip it. If it’s too smooth, no one will be able to move it properly."

The squirrel male nodded

Owen: "And the grain?"

"We pour it little by little onto the lower stone."

She crouched again and drew a rough circle in the thin dust on the courtyard floor.

"Here. The flat stone. The grain goes in the center. The upper stone moves over it."

She drew arrows around the circle.

"Back and forth at first. Later, if you can shape a round upper stone with a hole in the middle and a handle on top, we can rotate it."

The male’s eyes widened.

"A hole in the center?"

"Yes. Grain goes in through the hole. As the upper stone turns, it crushes the grain between both stones. The flour comes out along the edges."

Owen’s brows lifted.

"That sounds faster."

"It should be." Mirabelle pointed toward one side of the courtyard.

"But for today, we start simple. A flat lower stone. A heavy upper stone. A wooden frame around the bottom would be useful, or at least a shallow stone rim, so the flour doesn’t spread everywhere."

The squirrel Beastman immediately looked toward the shaded walkway. 𝙛𝒓𝒆𝙚𝒘𝒆𝓫𝙣𝓸𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝒄𝒐𝓶

"I can raise a shallow lip around the base."

"Good. And we need clean bowls or cloths to catch the flour."

Owen turned toward the servants:

"Bring clean trays. Wide ones. Also cloth. Fine cloth."

A servant bowed and hurried away.

Mirabelle nodded, pleased.

"Once we grind it, we may need to sift it."

The squirrel Beastman stepped into the center of the courtyard and placed both hands on the ground.

The stone beneath him trembled.

A low grinding sound rolled through the courtyard.

Several servants stopped working to watch.

Slowly, a rectangular slab rose from the floor.

Not separate from it at first, but shaped out of it, as if the courtyard itself were being persuaded to change its mind.

Mirabelle watched, fascinated.

The stone-affinity user narrowed his eyes.

His fingers flexed.

The slab smoothed.

Then roughened again in fine, even ridges.

Not polished.

Not jagged.

Perfect.

A shallow rim rose around three sides, leaving one side open where the flour could be brushed into a waiting tray.

"Like this?" he asked.

Mirabelle crouched beside it and ran her fingers carefully over the surface.

Rough enough to grind.

"Yes."

The squirrel’s tail flicked with pride.

Then he shaped the second stone.

This one was smaller, oval, and heavy-looking, with two grooves along the top where hands could grip it.

Mirabelle smiled.

"That should work."

The first tray arrived.

Then the second.

Owen placed one near the open side of the rim.

A few servants gathered close, curiosity overcoming caution.

Mirabelle took a small handful of Thorn-Grass grain and scattered it across the lower stone.

The sound was soft.

Dry.

Tiny grains clicking against stone.

"Now."

The squirrel Beastman narrowed his eyes.

The upper stone rose from the ground.

The heavy slab hovered briefly above the lower stone before slowly descending into position.

A few grains cracked beneath its weight.

The Beastman’s ears twitched in concentration. Then the upper stone moved.

Stone scraped against stone.

Pale powder began to appear between the golden fragments.

Owen leaned closer.

"That’s flour?"

"Not yet," Mirabelle said. Her voice was quiet, almost reverent. "But it’s becoming flour."

The squirrel Beastman pushed the stone again.

And again.

The courtyard filled with a new sound.

Stone over stone.

Grain breaking.

The beginning of something that felt far larger than the tiny pile beneath their hands.

Behind her, the three males had gone silent.

Mirabelle didn’t turn around.

She couldn’t.

Because if she did, they might see how ridiculously emotional she was getting over crushed grain.

And she still had some dignity left.

Probably.

Maybe.

The powder gathered slowly.

Uneven.

Coarse.

Far from perfect. But real.

Mirabelle stared at it.

Then a smile spread across her face.

"Again," she said.

The squirrel Beastman looked up.

Her grin widened.

"Let’s make flour."