Chapter 5: An Artist's Routine, A Merchant's Beginning
The sun peeked gently through the curtains, painting the worn walls of Abid's apartment with golden stripes. He sat at his small dining table, sipping from a chipped ceramic mug. The tea had gone cold, but he didn't mind. His mind was elsewhere—half in Dhaka, half in the unnamed world that had begun to drift into his life like a soft breeze.
Three days had passed since he'd sent the scroll to Curator Anra. Every morning since, Abid had awakened to dozens—sometimes hundreds—of new comments in the fantasy-world reader feed.
He scrolled through them now, feeling oddly like a bookshop owner flipping through thank-you notes slipped between pages.
@FlameSinger07: "Chapter 2 gave me the courage to apologize to my brother. The part with the child waiting on the bridge… it felt like my own story."
@InkMoss: "This manga makes me want to draw again. Even though my family says stories are useless."
@Raincaller\_Arven: "Abid, if you ever visit our world… I'll bake you honeybread!"
He smiled faintly.
The system pinged.
[Daily System Reward: 'Creative Corner Upgrade I']
[New Feature Unlocked: Visual Storyboard Assistant]
A flash of blue-light shimmered across the app interface, and a new tool appeared: a virtual whiteboard where he could pin panel thumbnails, rearrange scenes, and experiment with chapter flow. It wasn't much different from professional manga creation software, but it felt more alive—intuitive, like the system was learning how he worked.
There was something comforting about the system's slow, steady expansion. It never overwhelmed him with flashy powers or absurd challenges. No timers. No pressure. Just tools. Quiet nudges. Small rewards.
Like someone leaving gifts at his doorstep without asking for anything in return.
---
By late morning, Abid was already sketching thumbnails for Journey of the Wanderer, Chapter 3. The story was unfolding almost by itself now, guided by fragments of memory and daydreams. In this chapter, the Wanderer would reach the edge of a deep forest rumored to whisper regrets at night. There, they would meet an old painter who had long forgotten the joy of creating.
It felt… personal.
Abid had once met a teacher like that. Back in art college. A man who spoke of colors like they were music, but whose fingers trembled when holding chalk. "Art is memory," he had said once. "And memories fade if not shared."
That line would go into the chapter, he decided.
"Art is memory."
He inked the panel with a gentle hand.
---
Around noon, he took his usual walk. The streets were busier than normal—perhaps due to a local wedding. Children darted past with marigold garlands, and someone was drumming from a rooftop.
Abid ducked into his favorite tea stall. The same old man was there, this time listening to a cricket match on the radio. He looked up and grunted something like a greeting.
Abid sat and ordered tea.
A younger man sitting beside him leaned over. "You're that guy, right? The one who draws comics?"
Abid blinked. "I… draw manga, yeah."
"My cousin showed me your stuff online. That one with the boy and the monster who eats shadows. Was that you?"
It wasn't. That was someone else entirely.
But Abid just smiled and said, "No, but it sounds interesting."
He didn't feel the need to correct anyone. His real audience didn't live in this world. Not yet.
Still, he wondered. One day, would people here read Journey of the Wanderer too? Or would it remain a secret bridge between him and that other place?
---
When he returned home, the system had something new waiting.
Special Request: Accept Commission from Fantasy World Reader?
Below it was a short letter.
From: Irenya, Apprentice Scribe, City of Virellin
"Dear Abid,
I hope this message reaches you. I am a young scribe in training, and your manga is the most beautiful thing I've ever read. I was wondering… would you draw something for my little sister?
She's eight years old and has never smiled since our father passed. But she laughed while reading your story. She loved the scene where the Wanderer plays the flute under the stars.
Could you draw her with the Wanderer? Just one picture. She would treasure it."
Abid stared at the message for a long time.
A simple request. But something about it pierced his heart.
Without hesitation, he clicked *Accept*.
The system pinged.
[Side Quest: "Draw from the Heart" Initiated].
[Objective: Complete an original illustration for Irenya's sister. No deadlines. No rewards. Just kindness.]
He smiled.
"No rewards," he murmured, "but everything to gain."
---
That afternoon, he cleared his desk and began a new canvas.
He sketched the girl first—based on no one he'd ever seen. Just a vague sense of softness. Wide eyes. Small hands clasped around a blanket. He gave her a smile—not wide, not forced. Just subtle. Like she was learning how to be happy again.
Then he added the Wanderer beside her, seated on a stone, playing the flute. Stars above. A soft forest background.
The final touch was a lantern between them. Its glow shaped like a bird taking flight.
He saved the image, uploaded it to the scroll delivery tool, and whispered, "For you, little one."
The scroll glowed, vanished.
And somewhere in Virellin, a grieving sister would open it.
---
That night, the system surprised him again.
You've Made a Difference.
[System Gift: "Artist's Brush – Echo Edition" acquired.]
Effect: Unlocks new brush tool with subtle texture mimicking magical ink. Bonus: Slight emotional resonance for readers in fantasy realm.
He tested it immediately—sketching a moonlit hill, a tree with windswept leaves.
The new brush was gentle, responsive. It gave his lines an almost dreamlike quality, as though the image wanted to sing.
Abid leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms.
Something inside him was changing. Not dramatically. Not suddenly. But like water carving stone over time.
He was waking up each day with purpose.
He still ate the same rice and daal. Still folded his laundry slowly. Still lived in a modest apartment no one cared about.
But now—someone out there was reading his words beneath candlelight. Smiling at his drawings. Healing, just a little, because of him.
That was more than he had ever dared ask for.
---
At midnight, he opened a blank page and wrote something small.
Chapter 3: A Forest of Regret
The Wanderer hears the trees whisper old mistakes. He nearly turns back. But an old painter shows him how to shape guilt into color. By morning, the forest no longer frightens him.
---
The next day, it would reach new readers.
And perhaps one of them would find courage beneath its pages.
Perhaps that was all Abid really wanted—to leave behind stories that softened the weight of the world.