The Inner Inn sat on the eastern edge of the village, a warm, timber-framed structure that smelled of yeast and woodsmoke. It was a place of stagnation—people came here to hide from the wind, to drink Ruby's spice wine, and to forget that the valley was slowly dying.
Leo sat at a corner table, his rucksack heavy on the floor between his boots. It was the third day of the month. Takakura had told him that the merchant arrived on days ending in three.
At 12:00 PM sharp, the door opened.
Van did not walk in; he occupied the space. He was a large man, dressed in orange robes that looked like they were woven from expensive silk, yet he carried the distinct, metallic scent of a pawn shop. He wore round, opaque glasses that reflected the room without revealing his eyes.
He carried a crate on his back that seemed far too heavy for a human spine, yet he moved with a strange, buoyant grace.
"Greetings," Van boomed, his voice a smooth baritone that sounded like coins tumbling into a velvet bag. "I bring goods from the Outside. I bring batteries. I bring penicillin. I bring the comforts of the century you left behind."
He set the crate down on the counter. It hit the wood with a heavy thud that rattled the glasses on the bar.
Leo stood up. He walked to the counter and dumped the contents of his pockets onto the wood.
The "treasure" from the Excavation Site looked pathetic in the warm light of the Inn. Three twisted copper bangles, a silver earring with the stone missing, and a handful of grey ore.
"I need to liquidate this," Leo said. "I have a debt."
Van adjusted his glasses. He didn't pick up the jewelry. He hovered his hand over it, his fingers twitching like he was playing an invisible piano.
"Interesting," Van murmured. "You went to the deep strata. Carter usually forbids that."
"He made an exception," Leo said, conscious of the bandaged Cursed Hoe throbbing against his right palm.
"I don't buy gold for the melt value," Van explained, picking up the tarnished earring. "Gold is common. In the city, this is scrap. But here... ah." He held the metal up to his ear. "This one hums. It's a capacitor. It holds a charge from the Pre-Collapse era. A tiny echo of the Goddess's old frequency."
Van put the earring down.
"The metal is worthless. The memory inside it is worth 400 Gold."
Leo blinked. "400?"
"Collectors in the city pay a premium for 'Haunted Artifacts,'" Van grinned. "They like the tingle it gives them when they wear it at dinner parties. They call it 'Rustic Chic.' I call it 'Residual Radiation.'"
"You're selling the tomb," a voice said from the shadows.
Leo turned. Sitting in a high-backed chair near the fireplace was a young woman. She had short, rust-colored hair and wore a flannel shirt that looked two sizes too big. She was reading a book on geomorphology, and she hadn't looked up once.
This was Nami.
"It's just metal," Leo countered. "It's debris."
Nami turned a page. "It was part of a system. You're stripping the wiring out of a house that's still standing."
"The house is falling down," Leo argued. "The soil is dead. The Goddess is a statue. If I don't sell this, I can't buy seeds. If I don't buy seeds, the farm stays dead."
Nami finally looked at him. Her eyes were sharp, devoid of the desperate hope that filled everyone else in the valley.
"Maybe it wants to be dead," Nami said calmly. "You treat the hardpan like a problem. Maybe it's a scab. The valley is healing from the last time humans tried to force it to overproduce. You're just another infection trying to reopen the wound."
Leo bristled. "I'm restoring order. It's basic thermodynamics. I'm inputting energy to reverse entropy."
"You're fighting gravity," Nami shrugged, returning to her book. "But go ahead. Buy your seeds. Watch them drown."
Van cleared his throat, sensing the tension. He was a merchant; conflict was bad for business unless he was selling weapons.
"400 Gold," Van repeated. "A fair price for history."
He slid a heavy pouch across the counter. Leo took it. It felt light, but it was enough to keep Dr. Hardy away for a week.
"Now," Van said, opening a side compartment of his crate. "Since you are the new farmer, perhaps you need supplies? The work is... physically taxing, is it not?"
He pulled out a glass bottle filled with a neon-yellow liquid. It fizzed violently.
"Bodigizer," Van announced. "Imported. Pure caffeine, Taurine, and a proprietary blend of crushed stamens from the carnivorous plants in the southern swamps. One swig, and your fatigue vanishes. You can till a field in an hour without breaking a sweat."
Leo looked at the bottle. He looked at his bandaged hand.
He knew what this was. It was another shortcut. Just like the Cursed Tool. It was a way to bypass the biological limits of his body.
"How much?" Leo asked.
"500 Gold," Van said.
"I only have 400."
"I offer credit," Van smiled, his teeth white and predatory. "For a small interest rate."
Leo stared at the neon liquid. He was exhausted. His back ached. His hands were raw. One drink, and he could work through the night. He could force the land to yield.
Then he looked at Nami. She was watching him over the top of her book. She wasn't judging him; she was predicting him. She expected him to take the easy way. She expected him to be just another city boy who couldn't handle the reality of the dirt.
Leo looked at Van.
"Do you have seeds?" Leo asked.
Van looked disappointed. He put the Bodigizer away. "I have basic stock. Grass seeds. Fodder."
"I'll take four bags of grass seed," Leo said. "And a whetstone for an iron hoe."
"Grass?" Van raised an eyebrow. "Grass doesn't sell. You can't eat it."
"It breaks up the soil," Leo said, remembering a chapter from his textbooks on restorative agriculture. "Deep roots. It fixes nitrogen. It prepares the ground for the real crops next year."
"It's a long investment," Van warned. "You won't see a profit for a while"
"I'm not looking for profit yet," Leo said, placing the coins on the counter. "I'm looking for a baseline."
Leo walked out of the Inn, the heavy bag of grass seed slung over his shoulder. The air outside was cool and smelled of impending rain.
He hadn't bought the energy drink. He hadn't bought the miracle cure. He had bought grass—the humblest, slowest plant in existence.
As he passed the window, he saw Nami watching him leave. She didn't smile, but she nodded, a microscopic acknowledgement.
He hadn't proven her wrong yet. He was still the invasive species. But for the first time, he wasn't trying to act like a god or a machine. He was acting like a farmer.
He walked back toward the bridge, his Cursed Tool heavy and silent against his wrist.
"Variable update," Leo whispered to the night. "We are extending the timeline."