The next day, early in the morning, Rowen woke up at exactly 6:00 a.m.
He lay there for a moment, staring at the wooden ceiling of his small upstairs room. The faint morning light slipped through the shutters, casting narrow beams across the floor.
No noise outside. No footsteps. No market sounds yet. Just silence.
He sat up slowly, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and glanced toward the corner where the portal had shimmered last night. Gone now, but the weight of what he saw of what the land could do still lingered.
Rowen got to his feet, washed his face, and got dressed
Downstairs, the shop waited to be opened. But first, he prepared a quick breakfast—some stew, half a loaf of bread, and water. Nothing fancy, but it filled him up.
After eating, he cleaned the bowl, then stood still for a moment.
The land.
Two hours had definitely passed since last night.
Were the potatoes ready?
Did anything else grow?
Had the energy dropped even more?
