Altair hurried toward the Medicinal Store as if his life depended on it. His shoes struck the dirt path with a frantic rhythm, kicking up dust with every step. The air felt heavier somehow, as if the encounter earlier had unsettled something deep within him.
He thought of the reason why that woman stared at him and the strange feeling he felt while she was staring. Was it her ability? But what does it do? He thought hard but couldn't come up with anything.
Perhaps, he was thinking too much and that woman just felt offended of being stared at?
If so, then she's really petty.
Still, he couldn't shake the eerie pressure that had wrapped around him back there. The woman's gaze lingered in his mind like a shadow that wouldn't fade. Whatever it was, he didn't want to cross paths with her again.
He'll just avoid her in the future.
He calmed himself and hurried towards his destination.
The wooden sign of the Medicinal Store creaked gently in the breeze as he approached. It swung lazily on rusted hinges, weathered yet dependable—like the store itself. This place hadn't changed. A rare comfort these days.
As he pushed the door open, a small bell jingled overhead. The familiar chime grounded him more than he expected.
"Altair?" a soft voice called.
He looked up to see Shan behind the counter. The young clerk's brown hair was tied back in a messy ponytail, and her old apron bore smudges. Yet her face lit up when she saw him.
"You're here again," she said with a warm smile.
"Yeah," he said, trying to catch his breath and not sound too grim. "Is the shopkeeper in?"
Shan nodded and gestured toward the back. "He's in the storeroom. Go ahead."
She was not worried about making him go directly as he was already familiar with this place.
Altair thanked her with a nod and made his way past the shelves lined with herbs and jars. The scent of dried chamomile, lavender, and bitterroot filled the air—calming, in a way. For a brief moment, it reminded him of better days, when his mother would send him here to pick up tonics.
He found Marcus crouched beside a crate, sorting through bundles of herbs. The middle-aged shopkeeper looked just as he remembered—broad-shouldered, with a thick beard streaked with gray and eyes that always seemed a little too perceptive.
Marcus looked up and chuckled. "Well, look who came crawling back. You look skinnier." He stood and dusted off his hands.
Altair tried to smile. "Good to see you too, Uncle Marcus." His tone quickly turned serious. "I came to ask again… is there any news about my father?"
Marcus paused and glanced toward the back room. "Come. Let's talk inside."
They moved into the small office—simple, with a cluttered desk, a few chairs, and parchment notes pinned to the walls. The moment they sat down, Marcus leaned forward, hands clasped.
"I've been waiting to tell you, actually. I was going to send someone to your village, but…" He sighed. "We're short on hands. Most of my workers have been dismissed."
Altair's pulse quickened. "There's news?"
Marcus nodded. "Last month, a man came by. Said he was looking for your father. When I told him your old man had been missing, he didn't ask anymore and he left almost immediately."
Altair's breath caught. "What? Who was he? Why was he looking for him?"
Marcus shook his head. "Didn't say much. I told him about your family, mentioned you and your mother were still around and searching for your father. I asked him about his purpose, but he didn't explain his reason."
Altair's brows furrowed deeply. What would someone from the capital want with my father? It didn't make sense.
"What does he look like? What's his name?" Altair asked, trying to sound composed.
"He was a tall man," Marcus said slowly, "black hair slicked back, scar under his right eye. Said his name was Dale. From the capital."
Altair felt his stomach sink. The capital?
Indeed, his father had traveled there long ago, yes—but that was years back, and he'd never spoken much about it. Was Dale someone from his past? A friend perhaps?
Why now? Why show up only after he went missing? Is he just visiting? Or he knew something about why his father went missing?
More questions piled in his head like storm clouds. But amidst the confusion, one thing was clear: he had to find this man. He had to get to the capital.
"I need to find this Dale," Altair muttered.
Marcus gave him a nod of approval. "Then you'd best leave soon. I'm heading there myself eventually, but there's still work to finish here."
Altair nodded. "I was planning to go anyway."
Marcus looked at him closely. "You're in town now… why didn't you bring your mother with you? Are you buying medicine? We still have some in stock."
Altair's expression fell. His throat tightened before he managed to speak. "…She's gone. My mother's dead."
The silence that followed was heavy.
Marcus leaned back in his chair, eyes somber. "... I'm sorry for your loss."
Altair just nodded, biting down the grief that surged again. "Thank you," he said quietly.
He shifted, then lifted the bag from his shoulder and placed it on the desk.
"I also have another business here, I wanted to ask if you'd be willing to buy this."
He opened the bag to reveal the polished white rice inside.
Marcus blinked in surprise. "This is… rice? Where did you get it?"
He reached out and grabbed a handful of rice, letting the grains slip through his fingers as he inspected them closely. "What fine, white rice... This kind of quality should only be available in the eastern region. How did you get this?" he asked, clearly surprised.
Altair tensed slightly but quickly launched into the explanation he had prepared beforehand. He too had been startled by how pure the rice was. Most of the rice in this region had a reddish or brownish tint, while this batch was pristine, almost glossy. The fruits and vegetables in the warehouse also looked different as well, that's why he chose to exchange the rice as it was easier to carry.
"It was given to me as a reward by the government," Altair said, carefully choosing his words. "I happened to return some items that belonged to a soldier who had an accident. The item was rather important, so they gave me this as a reward. I'm selling it to you, Uncle… but please, don't tell anyone."
He held his breath, hoping the explanation sounded plausible.
"Of course, I'm willing to keep it quiet," Marcus replied with a nod. "Don't worry, I won't breathe a word. But… Why exchange it for money?"
"I need the money," Altair admitted honestly. "There are a few things I have to buy. But these days, using food for trade feels dangerous. I was alone, and I'm worried that people saw me coming out of the government camp with a sack. If they guess what I was carrying… I could become a target."
Marcus stroked his beard thoughtfully. "You're not wrong. People are getting desperate. You walk around with food like this, and you're painting a target on your back."
"I know," Altair said. "That's why I came to you. I trust you."
The older man gave him a soft smile. "Still got your head on straight. Good."
Marcus examined the rice, weighed the bag with practiced hands, and then opened a drawer.
"Alright then. For this… I can give you five gold and fifty silver. It's a good price."
Altair's eyes widened slightly. The amount was more than he had hoped for. This was the first time he had ever held this much money. To put it in perspective, houses in the villages could cost as little as ten to twenty silver coins. In town, they might go for fifty silver to one gold—and even that was considered expensive.
A hundred bronze coins equaled one silver, and a hundred silver coins equaled one gold. So five gold coins… that was enough to buy a lot.
It really hit him then—food prices had soared to new heights, nearly ten times what they used to be. But his rice was exceptionally valuable: pure, with large, polished grains unlike the common ones in this region. So it makes sense to receive this much.
That's also why, when he bought things using potatoes yesterday, the seller agreed immediately. It seemed that he had suffered a loss as the things he bought were all cheap.
He unconsciously rubbed his nape.
Marcus handed him the money, he accepted the pouch with a quiet "Thank you," the clink of coins oddly reassuring.
With this… he can buy a lot of supplies.