Chapter 22
The marketplace was alive with noise—merchants shouting their prices, the clinking of coins, and the laughter of children darting between stalls. The smell of roasted meat mixed with the sharp scent of freshly chopped wood, and for a moment, it almost felt like a normal day.
But the man knew better.
His body ached, his breath was short, and a deep chill settled into his bones despite the warmth of the sun overhead. He had felt it for days now—the creeping sickness that clawed at his insides—but he had no time for weakness. His children needed to eat.
Shifting the bundle of firewood on his back, he approached a buyer. "Good wood, strong. It'll burn through the night," he said, his voice rough from the constant cough scratching at his throat.
The merchant eyed him warily. "You look pale."
"Just tired." He forced a smile, pressing the back of his hand to his nose as another shiver passed through him.
