•Heron's Shop•
[Ace's POV]
The shop smelled overwhelmingly of dried spices and sweet fruits, the comforting aroma filling every corner of the wooden interior. Cinnamon and star anise mingled with the tropical sweetness of dried mango and banana, creating a perfume that made my mouth water despite the heavy breakfast still settling in my stomach.
While Heron and his apprentice gathered our order, I examined the wares—rows of dried fruit chips arranged neatly in woven baskets: banana, sweet potato, jackfruit, cassava. Handcrafted items hung from the ceiling like offerings: hats, slippers, and bags all made from sturdy abaca fibers, their intricate weaves speaking of hours of patient labor. Jars of herbal teas and ground spices lined the back wall, their labels written in careful, old-fashioned script.
This village has so much to offer, I thought. Khaleed was a fool not to see it. But then again, desperation has a way of blinding even good men.
A rustling drew my attention.
