Ahead of them, Kael finally spotted it.

The potion shop stood slightly off the main road, marked by a faded sign and a row of dull-colored bottles displayed behind thick glass. It wasn’t flashy, which made it perfect. Places like this didn’t attract attention. They attracted necessity.

Exactly what he needed.

Kael stepped inside without hesitation. A bell rang above his head signaling his arrival and entry.

The sound was small, but it snapped clean through the quiet inside the shop. The moment he crossed the threshold, the scent hit him, sharp, bitter, layered with something medicinal that stung the nose. It wasn’t unpleasant so much as it was honest, like the air itself didn’t bother with comfort, only function.

Shelves lined the walls, filled with vials of varying sizes and colors, each faintly glowing under the dim light.

Some sat in padded racks like they were fragile enough to shatter from a wrong glance. Others were sealed in wax, thick and dark, like whatever sat inside didn’t want to be contained.

A man stood behind the counter, older, thin, with eyes that had seen too many desperate customers to care about another one. His hands moved without hurry, wiping at the same spot on the counter like routine was the only shield against the kind of people who walked in bleeding.

He glanced up briefly. "State what you need. No browsing if you’re bleeding on my floor."

Kael let out a slow breath, steadying himself as he approached. He kept his steps even, his shoulders squared, as if posture could bully his organs into obedience. "Something for internal damage," he said, voice slightly rough but controlled. "Fast acting."

The man’s eyes narrowed just a fraction. He didn’t lean forward, didn’t show concern, only evaluation. "Internal damage isn’t something you ’fix’ fast. Depends on the cause. And that... doesn’t look like simple internal damage..."

Kael hesitated for half a second. That was half a second too long. Not because of pride, but because the pause let his body choose its own timing.

Another cough broke through.

This time, he couldn’t hold it back.

The sound tore out of him, wet and heavy, and blood stained the inside of the mask again, a darker, heavier spill than before.

His hand braced against the counter, fingers tightening as he forced himself to stay upright. The wood creaked slightly under the grip, and he hated that tiny betrayal, hated that the shopkeeper could hear strain.

The shopkeeper’s expression changed, not to concern, but to calculation.

"That’s really not normal," he muttered. "You poisoned? Cursed?"

Kael wiped at the mask with the back of his hand. The gesture was pointless, paper didn’t wipe clean, but it bought him a breath. "If I knew, I wouldn’t be asking. Something, something Nine Destruction Yang or whatever..."

The man studied him for another second, then turned, reaching for something behind the counter. His hand moved to a shelf lower than the others, where the bottles looked less like consumer goods and more like ammunition. "Ah... energy collapse... deviation... Got something that might slow it. Expensive."

Kael cursed inwardly, and the curse came out through his teeth as if the pain needed a place to go. "How expensive..."

The shopkeeper looked at Kael up and down, from the stained mask to the stitched leather to the way Kael’s stance still refused to sag. "Don’t think you can afford it kid... it’s five thousand cores... You look like you’re pretty new here too..."

Kael’s gut twisted, not from fear of debt, but from the sudden understanding that he’d walked into the one answer he couldn’t buy. Five thousand might as well have been a different language. He didn’t even have the dignity of bargaining. Bargaining was for people with leverage.

And that was when the door opened again.

The faint sound of boots against wood carried through the shop, followed by the subtle shift in air that came with multiple people entering at once. Not one set of footsteps. Several. Controlled. Confident.

Kael didn’t turn.

He didn’t need to. The moment they stepped in, he felt it. Not hostility, not yet. But attention.

Focused. Intentional. On him, and him alone. Prey has been found, attention was unavoidable.

Behind him, Iori stepped inside with the rest of the group, his eyes landing immediately on the lone figure at the counter.

White mask. Blood. Still standing.

For a brief moment, everything else in the room faded. The shelves, the shopkeeper, the dim bottles, none of it mattered compared to that posture.

Then recognition settled in, not of the face, but of the presence.

And Iori’s expression darkened, just slightly.

"...Found you."

"Son of a bitch, that all that’s missing," Kael said as he turned to face the group.

The motion made his chest tighten again, but he kept his shoulders loose like he wasn’t paying a price.

Several members, all Sun Clan, one of them looked like he wore gear that could probably buy out the entire shop. The metal plates caught the lantern light and threw it back like polished arrogance.

Iori seemed adamant on his recognition; Kael’s mask wasn’t going to hide him.

"Kael, Kael, Kael, shouldn’t have run away with my loot back then!" Iori approached.

Kael didn’t step back. He didn’t step forward either. He planted his feet where they were and let the tension sit between them like a blade held sideways.

"No fighting in the shop, get your business outside, or I’m calling the Guards."

The shopkeeper’s voice cut through the air like a lid snapping shut. No panic. No tremor. Just a rule stated by someone who had survived long enough to enforce it.

"Guards won’t make it in time before I take care of this fucker’s ass," Iori said.

"You sure about that?" the shopkeeper said, and the question landed heavier than it should have for such a calm tone.

"You sure you want your sun clan banned from dealing with the association of merchantry and crafting?"

Iori frowned, he looked at the senior member who explained, "They have a cyndicat, don’t cause trouble in their shop, it’ll be a pain in the ass to mediate. Also, I told you, we’re not here on personal vendetta. You," the senior asked Kael, "Are you the one that cleared, the first floor in record time."

Kael’s breath hitched, not from shock, but from the way his lungs protested being forced to hold air. "I’d rather not answer that," Kael coughed.

"Kid, you still need that potion?" the old man asked.

Kael cursed; he didn’t have money to buy it, nor the ability to afford one. The room felt smaller now, corners closing in with every second he stood still.

"I don’t suppose you do credit..." Kael asked.

"No," the answer was as flat as it could get.

"Shit," Kael cursed, and it wasn’t even aimed at the man. It was aimed at himself. At his luck. At the timing. "I don’t suppose there is something else to alleviate the pain?"

"If you need anything, the Sun Clan can buy it for you," the Senior member said.

Kael’s eyes flicked toward him, quick, sharp, unimpressed. "Sorry, I don’t take charity."