A morning like molten amber spilled over the village of Eldervyn, carrying with it the scent of damp soil mingled with the fragrance of "Moonlight Bloom"—flowers Rayan had planted years ago. His fingers brushed the trunk of the blood-loving tree, its crimson leaves pulsing like suspended hearts, while the system whispered:
*\[10 trees planted. Growth points for today have been exhausted.]*
Beads of sweat rolled down his back as he cleaned the chicken coop, where the "Fire-Feather" birds let out crackling sounds like burning leaves whenever he approached. The silver coins he earned from selling his crops buzzed angrily in his pocket, echoing Mark's mocking words: *"Even chickens flee the stench of your poverty!"*
The auction was held in the old marketplace, where stone pillars were draped with blue silk ribbons twisting like ghosts in the midday breeze. Rayan inhaled the incense wafting from a dragon-shaped burner, releasing violet smoke that stirred memories of jinn legends. Among the crowd, he spotted odd wares: bottles containing mist that formed weeping faces, rugs with serpentine threads, and "Blood Fruit" seeds that throbbed with a pulse like a severed heart when touched.
When the emaciated horse appeared, Rayan's muscles tightened like a drawn bowstring. The animal's faded brown eyes resembled dried-up wells, yet something in Rayan's chest clenched, as if pierced by a blade. He raised his hand to bid—but Mark's voice cut through like a knife:
"Five gold coins!"
The crowd turned, curious, as the auctioneer—a man in a silver mask shaped like a featureless face—shouted:
"Mr. Mark bids enthusiastically! Any challengers?"
Rayan swallowed his rage like a burning coal and offered everything he had. Mark laughed:
"Ten gold! Isn't that the price of your entire house?"
Laughter rolled through the crowd like poisoned snowballs. Rayan clenched his fists until they bled, as the system whispered:
*\[Warning: Heart rate dropping.]*
As he left, he passed Mark, who sneered:
"A weak horse for a weak servant."
Rayan picked up a black seed abandoned on the ground, resembling a piece of petrified coal, and glanced at the horse Mark had taken, smiling. On the way back, he swore to the wind:
"The day will come when I await your cries… as trees await the rain."