The orc trade did not unfold like a single event, but like a sequence of small, heavy decisions.
One after another, they stepped up to the stalls. No crowding, no hesitation without reason, no unnecessary talking. Everything felt reduced to what was necessary.
Samuel watched as one of the older orcs weighed his coins in his hand long before he even approached a stall. As if he was not counting them, but comparing their weight against something invisible. Then he moved on, decided, stopped, bought.
Cloth first.
Always cloth.
Thicker clothing, reinforced seams, simple cuts. Nothing that looked good in the classical sense. Everything that worked.
Another orc bought shoes. Not new ones, but reinforced. The merchant spoke little, and the orc even less. The coins changed hands as if both sides had already understood that words here were only delay.
Samuel only now noticed that almost every purchase followed the same order.
Protection.
Food.
Future.
And exactly in that order, decisions were made, without anyone ever saying it aloud.
Next to one of the smaller stalls, an orc woman stood who Samuel already knew from the caravan. Her hands did not tremble, but they were slow, deliberate, as if every movement had to be controlled. She placed her coins on the table.
The merchant opposite her pushed a bundle of cloth toward her.
Nothing more.
No smile.
No regret.
No pressure.
Only exchange.
Samuel watched as she studied the bundle a moment longer before taking it. As if checking whether it was truly enough. Whether it was enough for what was still to come.
Then she turned and left.
Without a word.
A little further on, two younger orcs bought seeds.
Not many.
A small pouch, barely heavy in the hand. One of them opened it briefly, looked inside, closed it again, as if confirming that hope in this form must have exactly this weight.
Samuel swallowed.
"They're really spending everything on this…" he murmured.
Gustov stood beside him, not looking at the merchants but at the people.
"For clothing first," he said calmly. "Then food. Then everything else."
He paused briefly.
"If anything is left at all."
Samuel watched as an orc placed his last coins on the table. No more hesitation in the movements. Only silent acceptance of what this decision meant.
The merchant took the coins.
And gave him seeds.
Less than Samuel had expected.
Exactly as much as was needed.
Not more.
Not less.
The orc nodded once.
Then left.
Samuel watched him go.
"Is that… all?"
Gustov shrugged slightly.
"He cannot give more." "Or there is no more?"
Gustov did not answer immediately.
Then:
"That is the same difference the market always shows you."
Samuel did not fully understand what he meant.
But he did not ask again.
Farther back, the merchant himself moved between customers, calm, controlled, as if he was not observing the rhythm of the market but determining it.
And then it happened.
He lifted his head briefly.
Not abruptly.
More casually.
His gaze drifted over the orc caravan.
It lingered a moment longer than necessary.
Only a brief instant.
But Samuel had the uncomfortable feeling that this glance was not random.
But deliberate.
The market continued to work, as if it were its own living system.
Not chaotic. Not calm.
But something in between.
A constant shifting of goods, voices, and decisions that never truly stopped, only changed direction. As if the place itself could never fully decide whether it wanted to stay or move on.
Samuel was still standing slightly apart from the caravan.
He had intended not to stand out.
Not to go closer.
Not to get involved.
But that became harder with every minute.
The merchant in the center of the market drew attention without demanding it. Like a point around which things organized themselves without anyone consciously noticing. Not loud. Not spectacular. And precisely for that reason, difficult to ignore.
And the longer Samuel watched him, the more something else bothered him.
Not his words.
Not his goods.
But the way he stood.
As if he did not belong.
And at the same time as if he was the only one who knew exactly that he belonged.
The merchant was tall.
Not towering, but clearly above the average of humans and orcs around him. Perhaps one meter eighty. His body was slim, almost thin, but not in a fragile way. More like something deliberately reduced. No unnecessary mass. No wasted strength.
Every movement looked controlled.
As if he did nothing he had not already decided beforehand.
His long coat fell smoothly to his knees. Dark, but not simply black. It held a depth that shifted slightly with the light, as if the fabric itself could not decide which shadow belonged to it. The edges were cleanly finished, but without any exaggeration. No signs of wealth. More like function that had learned to appear elegant without intending to.
His face was calm.
Too calm for this place.
And then there was his eye.
The left one.
The iris was damaged.
Not blind.
But broken.
As if something had once struck it and it had never fully decided to return to its original form. Light entered it, but it reacted differently from the other eye. Not incorrectly. Just… delayed. As if it did not see the world at the same moment as the other.
Still, nothing escaped it.
That was the unsettling part.
Samuel realized he was looking at him again, even though he did not want to.
The merchant did not notice immediately.
Or pretended not to.
Then, without looking up, he finished a conversation with a customer, took a small pouch of goods, and set it aside.
Only then did he raise his head.
And his gaze met Samuel's.
This time it lingered.
Not oppressive.
Not aggressive.
More… interested.
As if recognizing something he did not expect to find here.
Samuel felt something tighten inside him.
He was not supposed to stand out.
Not here.
Not with him.
He inhaled calmly and forced himself to move normally.
Then he took the first step.
And another.
Slowly.
As if he were only coincidentally moving in this direction.
The merchant did not watch him continuously. He continued working, speaking to another customer, moving goods across the table, as if he had already categorized Samuel into something that did not require immediate attention.
That might have been the most unsettling part.
That he did not seem surprised.
Samuel finally stopped at the outer edge of the stall.
Not directly in front of it.
Not close enough to enter the merchant's immediate space.
The merchant now noticed him consciously.
And finished the current exchange without haste.
"You are not here to buy," he said calmly.
It was not a question.
Samuel hesitated briefly.
Then nodded slightly.
"No."
The merchant studied him for a moment.
His gaze moved over him once, unhurried.
Not like a merchant assessing value.
More like someone examining the structure of a story.
"Then you are here to ask," he said finally.
Samuel paused.
He had not planned to speak.
Not yet.
But now, standing here, he realized he would not get a better opportunity.
He lowered his gaze slightly, as if searching for words that would not reveal too much.
"Maybe," he said carefully. "I am looking for something."
The merchant smiled faintly.
Not mocking.
Not kind.
More like someone confirming a known development.
"Information is power in every world," he said calmly. "This one is no exception."
He paused briefly and placed a hand on the table.
"That is why it is also my most expensive good."
Samuel swallowed slightly.
The merchant continued without taking his eyes off him.
"I usually demand much from those who ask for it."
Another brief look.
"Yet I will give it to you for free."
Samuel blinked.
That was not what he had expected.
He immediately felt suspicion rise.
"Why?" he asked cautiously.
The merchant tilted his head slightly.
"Because you have something I find highly interesting."
Silence.
Not loud.
But dense.
Samuel felt the market continue behind them, but this small space detached itself from it, as if enclosed by an invisible frame.
"I don't understand," Samuel said slowly.
The merchant looked at him.
Then lifted a hand slightly, as if sorting something in the air.
"There are stories," he began, "about worlds that are not separated, only… kept apart."
His voice remained even.
Calm.
Controlled.
"And sometimes," he continued, "that order develops cracks."
He looked directly at Samuel.
"No deviation this time."
"When worlds touch, rarely anything elegant happens."
He paused.
"Sometimes someone is pulled out."
Another glance.
"And sometimes someone gains entry."
Samuel felt his heart skip a beat.
But his face remained controlled.
He could not show how much it affected him.
The merchant observed him closely.
As if reading every reaction.
Then he leaned back slightly.
"That is all I need to say."
Silence.
The market continued around them, but everything felt slightly farther away, as if the noise no longer fully reached this place.
Samuel searched for a question that was not too direct.
"And why are you telling me this?"
The merchant did not answer immediately.
He looked at him for a long moment.
The damaged eye seemed slightly delayed again, as if observing a different angle of reality.
Then he spoke.
"Because you are searching without knowing what for."
Samuel held his gaze.
"And you know it?"
A faint, barely visible smile.
"I know many things."
Pause.
"But not everything is meant to be said immediately."
Samuel felt a knot forming inside him.
He had to be careful.
But he needed to ask enough.
"Is there… a way back?" he finally asked, quieter than before.
The merchant did not move.
Then:
"Back."
He repeated the word as if testing it.
"That is an interesting concept."
Samuel grew uneasy.
"I mean… to my world."
For a moment something shifted in the merchant's expression.
Not surprise.
Confirmation.
As if he had expected that exact phrasing.
He stepped closer to the table.
"There are always ways," he said calmly. "But ways are not gifts."
He paused.
"They are price relations."
Samuel did not understand immediately.
The merchant lifted a hand slightly.
"You want to return," he said. "So you ask for a way."
He tilted his head minimally.
"But you do not ask what you are willing to give."
Silence.
Samuel held his gaze.
The merchant looked at him as if weighing something invisible.
Then he said more quietly:
"Information usually costs very much."
A short pause.
"But you have already paid before you even asked."
Samuel frowned slightly.
"What?"
The merchant smiled again.
This time more clearly.
"Your existence here."
Silence.
"You are not from here," he said calmly. "That is obvious."
Samuel remained still.
The merchant continued:
"That alone is already a question that demands an answer."
He lifted his hand slightly.
"That is why you receive yours."
He leaned forward slightly.
"I demand nothing from you."
Pause.
"Not yet."
Samuel exhaled slowly.
The merchant straightened again.
"Sometimes worlds are not connected intentionally," he said. "Sometimes it just happens."
He made a small gesture toward the sky.
"And sometimes the one who falls… is not the only one who notices."
Silence.
Then:
"Your answer is not here in the market."
Samuel lifted his gaze slightly.
"Then where?"
The merchant stepped back.
His voice became calmer, more distant.
"In the history of this world."
He pointed faintly north.
"In places that remember more than they tell."
A short pause.
"Eaterweite's great library in the capital."
Samuel froze slightly.
The name lingered.
The merchant looked at him once more.
And this time there was something in his gaze almost like curiosity.
"There, things that were forgotten begin," he said softly.
Then he turned away.
As if the conversation had ended.
But before Samuel could move, he added without turning:
"And Samuel…"
The name hit like a quiet blow.
He had not said it.
Not aloud.
Not consciously.
The merchant was already half turned back into the market.
"Perhaps you have already found your answer."
Then he continued working.
As if the conversation had never fully existed outside the normal flow of trade.