"This border city isn't safe. You'd better stay in another city—the farther, the better. I'm also closing my shop next month. My son was finally discharged from his duty in this city, and we're going back to our hometown." She kept rambling from one topic to another.
The old woman's cheerful tone made Sylene feel awkward. He had never met anyone cheerful in the vampire territory before. "Um… yes," he replied hesitantly.
The old hybrid smiled, "Not much of a talker, are you? Which city are you heading to, kid? Fuhre City is nice, or the capital would be safe. Our hometown is on the outskirts of Fuhre City—just two towns away from the capital. Next summer, the pomegranates will be good in Fuhre. I can't wait to make drinks from them—they're my son's favorite."
Sylene could feel his toes shrink anxiously. He didn't know that much about human cities. "Um, I'm not sure. I just want to go somewhere not too far from the border but nice enough to stay for a while," Sylene admitted.
"Ah, then Luen would be nice. The facilities are good, and they have plenty of medical supplies and good medics, but it's not very safe, because of a certain establishments... Forschel is farther from the border—it's relatively safe, but there are lots of nobles there. Some of them can be a real pain in the ass. Then there's Regina Town—that's my parents' hometown. They have specialty peach teas—"
Sylene stood awkwardly but listened attentively, replying politely when prompted. After a while, the old woman chuckled, amused by the boy's demeanor.
"You know, boy, not many people want to listen to an old lady like me ramble. Let me give you a special discount since this shop will be closing next month anyway. My name is Miranda."
Behind his cloak, Miranda caught a glimpse of his striking yellow-green eyes—bright and curious as they studied her.
"My—my name is Sylene," he stammered.
"Oh, what a beautiful name for a young man with such captivating eyes. It suits you," Miranda said, her voice warm with admiration.
She turned to her stock, rummaging through glass vials and bundles of dried herbs, piling them onto the counter.
Sylene hesitated, awkwardly rubbing one of his ears. Her words lingered in his mind, stirring an unfamiliar warmth deep within him. It made him happy—truly happy. The name 'Sylene' was special to him because Sir Draven had given it to him. And now, hearing someone else praise it filled him with a strange yet comforting pride.
Miranda had been watching him for a while, and after a moment, she pulled out a small collection of bottles filled with swirling, colorful liquids.
"Would you like a potion to camouflage your eyes?" she asked. "They're on sale right now."
Sylene's eyes widened in pleasant surprise.
They really have something like that? That would be incredibly useful.
He nodded quickly, then hesitated before adding, "Do you... have one for hair color as well?"
Miranda smirked. "Oh? Planning a game of hide and seek, are we?" She tapped her chin, considering him for a moment before tilting her head. "We've got all kinds—but now you've made me curious. Is your hair as striking as your eyes? If so, that could be dangerous, boy."
Sylene furrowed his finely shaped brows, unsure how to respond. Miranda sneered, then turned her gaze toward the window, watching the bustling street beyond. "These potions have some annoying side effects. They're not dangerous, but they can be irritating, and it's not recommended to use them for a long time—so there's always a lot left over." She arranged the potions on the table, while Sylene continued to gaze at them with burning interest.
"You don't know, do you?" she asked, her tone shifting. "Are you from somewhere far away?"
The question made Sylene tense. Had he made her suspicious of something?
"Good thing you're wearing that cloak," she continued before he could respond. "Keep it on. Don't let certain people get a good look at you."
Sylene remained silent, his grip tightening on the fabric of his hood.
"There are slavers in this city," Miranda went on, her voice lowering. "They like to snatch up young people—especially orphans wandering the streets. And if they happen to be from certain hybrid races or look rare… well, that only makes them more valuable. Your eyes alone would catch their attention in an instant."
She finished stacking the potions on the counter, then carefully placed them into a small storage bag—one that, despite its modest size, swallowed all the items effortlessly. When she set it down before him, it appeared no larger than a simple pouch.
Sylene was still thinking about how to disguise himself when the sight made him blink in surprise. What? That tiny bag could hold all of that?
A cold, metallic weight suddenly reminded him of the coin pouch tucked at his side—the one Sir Draven had given him. It was small... but Sylene had never counted how many were inside. The thought made him nervous. And with that sensation, a dreadful thought crept into his mind.
Is this pouch the same as that bag? No, no, it is not the right time to think of it. His eyes went to count the bottles left on the counter.
How much would this cost?
When planning his escape, money had been an afterthought. He had always known that in the world outside, everything had a price—food, shelter, even the tools and devices or the genetic modifications that were attached to his own body. Everything came with a cost, often a steep one.
But he had never had money before. Not truly.
As an experiment, he had never been given so much as a single coin. What little he originally had besides the pouch given by Sir Draven was—two silver coins and a handful of bronze—which had been gathered in secret. When it was late at night, and exhausted scientists left their desks cluttered with notes and forgotten belongings, he had sometimes found stray coins rolling into corners or tucked beneath stacks of papers. A few, he had carefully taken when no one was looking. It wasn't much, but it was all he had in those 14 years he had been there. He had prepared money before his escape, but the pouch from Sir Draven really helped a lot.
Earlier, at the cloak vendor, he had been confused when there were no price tags on the items. In fact, many stalls in the market didn't display prices at all. He had soon realized why—most of the customers bargained for everything. Vendors deliberately left their prices unclear, hoping to squeeze more profit out of the negotiations.