Atem shook his head lightly. "Just looking around."
"Ah." The driver grinned. "Checking shipments?"
"Something like that."
The driver didn't pry further. Azure Harbor people weren't nosy by nature. Too many ships, too many secrets—no one lived long by poking into the wrong ones.
The carriage eventually eased to a halt, then came to a stop. The driver gave the console a light tap and peeked outside.
"Alright, you're here. Oron Street."
Atem stepped down and immediately felt the change in atmosphere.
Oron Street was known across the entire Iron Yards as the poorest stretch of land. The air always carried the smell of coal dust mixed with the metallic tang of discarded scraps. Half-finished tools, broken gear wheels, and bundles of warped metal lined the edges of the road.
Most of the people living here were novice smiths still learning their trade, or scrap-workers who survived by melting and reshaping whatever useless metal they could scavenge.
Atem walked a few steps before a rough yet familiar voice called out to him.
"Atem! Heading to see Old Man Ash again?"
He turned and spotted Uncle Geo leaning against a stack of dented gear casings. Geo wore the same worn-out clothes he always did, stained with soot and oil.
Atem offered him a polite smile. "Yes, Uncle Geo. Old Man Ash hasn't been doing well lately, so I came to bring him some medicine." He tried to keep his tone light, almost teasing. "You know how stubborn he is. If I don't force it into his hands, he'll pretend he's completely fine."
Geo let out a snort that was half a laugh. "Stubborn? Every single person here has bad health, boy. That's what working in this place does to you."
Atem felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "Uncle Geo… I wasn't trying to say you're wrong. I really just—"
Before he could finish, another voice echoed from behind him, sharper and filled with annoyance.
"Geo, stop bullying the child. He has more manners than you ever had."
An elderly woman shuffled toward them, leaning heavily on her wooden cane. Her back was hunched so deeply it looked like she carried an invisible weight.
"Atem," she said with a small smile, "you've helped all of us so much these past two years. You don't owe anyone here an explanation. Don't waste your breath on this old man."
She shot Geo an accusing glare.
Atem felt a warm but uncomfortable tightness in his chest. He lowered his head politely. "Auntie Seles, it's nothing like that. I'm not doing anything special. It's just business, really. I'm not helping for free."
The old woman waved her hand dismissively. "Business or not, kindness is kindness. We know what you've done."
Atem didn't know how to respond, so he simply gave a small nod. He walked past them with a gentle wave, not wanting the conversation to continue.
He did not dislike their gratitude, but every time they thanked him, it reminded him how fragile life was here—and how little he could actually do.
Behind him, Auntie Seles watched him go and let out a soft sigh.
"What a good kid that boy is," she murmured with a faint smile.
Geo scratched his beard and nodded. "He really is. Hardworking, respectful, and never looks down on any of us. If fate treats him well, he might climb higher than any of us ever have." His expression softened for a moment. "Honestly, if he hadn't been around during the last winter, many families here would've suffered far worse."
Auntie Seles tightened her grip on her cane. "May the heavens give him an easier path than the one we walked."
Atem proceeded down a narrower side lane that led deeper into Oron Street.
Workers hauled crates of scrap along the road, bent backs and tired arms straining as they moved between the forges. No one here had the luxury of rest. Those who did were usually too sick to stand.
At the very end of the lane stood a squat workshop with a slanted roof, its wooden sign half-burned from an accident years ago.
ASH & CO. TOOLS
The paint had peeled so badly that only "ASH" and half of a crooked "T" remained.
Atem paused at the doorway.
The interior was dark, lit only by the embers of a small forge at the back. The heat was weak—far too weak for proper crafting. On a stool beside the workbench sat Old Man Ash, his massive shoulders hunched, his once-powerful arms wrapped in cloth bandages.
"You're early today," the old smith said without looking up. "Didn't think I'd see you until noon."
Atem chuckled softly. "Just delivering you some Cold Restoration Pills while they're still fresh."
"Tch. Don't waste those on an old mule like me." Ash waved a dismissive hand, but the motion lacked strength. "Save them for the harbor fever that's been rolling in."
Atem's expression tightened.
"So the rumors are true then? It's spreading again?"
Ash let out a dry laugh. "Rumors? Boy, half the workers here look like ghosts. Fever started near the Old Docks. Should've stayed there, but idiots don't rest—so it walked right in."
He coughed into his sleeve.
Atem stepped closer. "Uncle Ash, you should see the Blue Lotus Hall. They'll treat you—"
"No."
The old man's voice was firm, even though he was exhausted.
"Help me turn that. Need to finish the last order before sunset."
"You were trying to finish the gear casing for Hammerwright's order?"
Ash snorted. "Trying, yes. Succeeding? Hah."
Atem unrolled a fabric bundle from his coat and held out the small ceramic jar inside.
"It's the lung-clearing blend—same as last time. Drink it twice a day."
Ash gave the jar a suspicious look. "You're charging me for that, right?"
"Yes."
"How much?"
"Three coppers."
Ash glared at him. "That's the price you give the toddlers in the Docks."
Atem looked him straight in the eye.
"And it's the price you'll accept—unless you'd prefer I add a discount."
Ash let out a rough laugh, which immediately turned into a cough.
"Bah… fine. Three coppers."
He took the jar with a reluctant hand. "Your medicine works. Annoying how well it works."
Atem smiled faintly. "I'll take that as praise."
Ash's gaze shifted toward the forge embers.
"You didn't come only to preach health, boy. Something else is chewing at your thoughts."
Atem paused for a moment.
"…There was a man from the Harbor Authority today. Merin."