Cyrus's stomach growled as he pulled Sylvie through the bustling crowd—a harsh reminder of his empty belly that had long since reached its limits.
Unfortunately, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't find a restaurant or tavern that was willing to let him through its entrance. Even though he'd rinsed himself clean back at the inn, it seemed that the grime on his clothes was still noticeable enough to make every shopkeeper frown at a glance before shooing him away.
It seemed that the innkeeper was right. Forget about restaurants or taverns, not even the street merchants were willing to serve two children with their current appearance.
"Do I really have to buy new clothes if I want to get some food?" Cyrus grumbled inwardly, before mentally weighing the small leather pouch in his pocket.
His 8 silver coins were still enough to get by even if he bought a new set of clothes for him and Sylvie, but he couldn't possibly waste his money like that, right? Unfortunately, it didn't look like he had much of a choice.
Just as he was resigning himself to the idea of having to spend his scarce few coins on something as impractical as clothing, Cyrus's gaze eventually landed on a lonely street stall, a bit far from the noisy crowd and all the fancy restaurants.
There, a frail old woman stood hunched over a large simmering pot, stirring its contents methodically with her iron ladle. The faint aroma of herbs and grain drifted gently through the air, almost as if inviting hungry passersby to come take a look.
Despite having been rejected by every street merchant he'd approached so far, Cyrus still walked toward the small stall with Sylvie by his side. The red-haired girl was almost salivating, and in reality, Cyrus wasn't much different.
Still, his expression was one of forceful indifference, already numb to the feeling of being rejected. At worst, he'd just get shooed away again and would have to settle for a place that sold garments first.
Surprisingly, though, the old woman behind the stall didn't show much of a reaction to their appearance. She only glanced up as the two children approached her, giving Sylvie a perfunctory look before resting her gaze on Cyrus for a few seconds longer. Then... she lowered her head and continued to swirl her iron ladle, before her raspy, hoarse voice rang out
"I don't offer charity. You'll have to pay if you want to eat."
Cyrus's pupils widened momentarily, but he forcibly suppressed the surging emotions in his heart. He simply nodded without saying anything else. If this woman was willing to serve them, that's all he could ask for right now!
He glanced briefly at the 'menu', a patch of old paper nailed crookedly by the stall, and quickly chose the cheapest meal, two plates of hot porridge.
The old woman's eyes flickered briefly as she saw the four bronze coins Cyrus placed on the counter in front of her, and after a momentary pause, she nodded towards one of the empty tables behind her
"Have a seat. It won't take long."
The stall only had six tables in total, all of them worn and torn from years of use. Two of them were occupied already: one by a pair of middle-aged women who looked similar to the shopkeeper, quietly exchanging whispered conversations and occasional laughter, while the other by an old man in pristine white robes.
It was the latter that attracted Cyrus's attention, too, as he pulled Sylvie towards one of the empty tables.
The old man's white robes stood out sharply against the humble setting around him, making both Cyrus and Sylvie involuntarily throw him a second look.
Cyrus didn't know why, but one look at the man and he was reminded of the priests of the Goddess he'd met when he was young.
His robes were clearly different, with those long silver stripes that snaked around his chest in a peculiar manner, forming the image of a coiling snake. The man was also lacking the golden badge shaped like a giant tree that all members of the church of the Goddess had on their chests, but the feeling Cyrus got from him was similar to those priests.
The old man seemed to notice the two children staring at him and gave them a subtle smile as they passed by, one that Cyrus returned with a nod of his own before taking a seat behind the man.
Sylvie seemed like she wanted to say something, but it was at that moment that the old woman approached their table, holding two clay bowls full of porridge and a pair of wooden spoons in her hands.
She placed the food on the table with practiced ease, and after a moment of silence, she said
"Water is one bronze coin per jar. Let me know if you need any."
In the next minute or so, Cyrus had already emptied his bowl along with an entire jar of water, eventually attracting the attention of both the white-robed old man, and the two middle-aged women at the tables in front of him.
Still, he didn't seem to care about his image at all, and after a moment of serious pondering, he steeled his heart and decided to get another bowl of porridge.
Cyrus wasn't sure why: maybe it was due to the exhaustion he had yet to truly get rid of, the fact that he hadn't eaten anything since he and Sylvie escaped the Red Arena, or maybe because he was suddenly eating real food for the first time in years, but he couldn't stop himself from wolfing it down.
Even though he felt the pinch in his pouch by ordering a second bowl, he still devoured that in a matter of minutes, to the point where his stomach was beginning to hurt.
Sylvie seemed much more controlled, at least.
The red-haired girl was also hungry, but apparently not as famished, painting a much more elegant sight as she drank and ate.
In the end, it was only after they'd both cleaned up their plates that Cyrus realized something was wrong with Sylvie.
She had a conflicted look in her eyes as she stared down at the table with her head lowered, clearly torn about something.
But before Cyrus had a chance to ask her what was wrong, Sylvie raised her head and looked at him as she asked in a quiet voice:
"Cyrus... what are you going to do now?"