Two years later

The scribbling of a feather pen could be heard on the outskirts of Northern River village's market, intermingling with a symphony of diverse sounds people would find either pleasant or unpleasant depending on their temperament.

Kenki calls this particular time of day 'The rush hour'. The time when the sun had begun to gently dim, infusing the surroundings with a refreshing coolness. The market tends to quickly fill up when you combine it with the fact that by this time the majority of villagers are finished with their daily tasks by now.

At this time, a notable group known as ‘The Gathering of Elders’ convenes, commanding admiration and reverence with their collective wisdom and experience, adding depth to the vibrant market atmosphere...

"Bah. Turan, stop using such cheap tricks, you wrinkled old horse!"

"Cheap tricks!? Have you ever seen your own reflection, maybe you've finally gone blind Goro!"

Two men could be found playing Shogi. The Village Head Turan, leader of Northern River Village, and his lifelong friend Goro.

One of the elders seated around the two competitors calls out disdainfully. “Behold the worm, labeling the roach as ugly, yet both of you are nothing more than despicable cheaters!”

""We're what now?""

The others jeer and laugh.

...In essence, it is a congregation of men too old to do any physically demanding labor. Their numbers are rather substantial when you factor in the size of the village, which boasts approximately two thousand inhabitants. On the verge of being called a town.

Every so often, a couple of elders would cast a fleeting gaze toward a specific market stall. In those moments, the smiles on their faces would momentarily wane, replaced with a flicker of concern.

That very stall is the origin of the scribbling sound, the stall that Kenki works at.

The scribbling stops as Ken lifts the pen off the flat block of wood, the same size and shape as a cutting board. He gives it a once-over, seeking any imperfections. A conflict of emotions streams past his facial features.

Ken scratches the back of his head. With a hint of hesitation he passes the board over to the woman in front of him. “Here you go… I suppose.” He mutters. “I won’t be able to draw anything better without you removing your cloak first."

Without uttering a word, the woman extends her hand, delicately receiving the object given to her by the boy. As her gaze settles upon the portrait, a sound escapes her lips– a bewildered “Huh…” resonating with incredulity.

The portrait itself is artfully rendered in a style reminiscent of how superheroes from earth were depicted in comic books, not that she knows that fact.

The artwork portrays the woman enshrouded in her cloak, with a bow secured to her back. The cowl obscures most of her face, revealing only a glimpse of her mouth and chin. Her attire, loose and baggy, makes it challenging to discern her exact physique.

Her curiosity seemingly piqued, she starts to scan her surroundings, her gaze sweeping over the contents of the stall.

'How does she even see with her eyes covered like that? And having a black cloak in the middle of summer? Madness, unless…'

"So you really did draw all of these by your lonesome? " She sweeps her hand over all the drawings scattered around the place, ones Ken uses to advertise his skills. Portraits of everyone in his family-- excluding himself. Drawings of some of the animals that can be found around the village - sheep, horses, cats and dogs.

Some of them he made using only his imagination.

"Every single one" Ken replies.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Even this one?” Ken’s gaze follows her finger, landing on his largest and most impressive piece of art. It showcases his interpretation of 'The Night of Quiet Skies', a legendary event from centuries past. The artwork depicts an epic clash between the patriarch of the Verdant Soul sect and a colossal six-winged hawk known as The Stormcaller.

"Yes."

"The person who defeated The Stormcaller wasn't a human."

'Oh, she is.'

"What do you mean he wasn't human? What else could he be, a cat?"

The woman chuckles.

"Maybe." She stands up from her seat, pulling something from inside her cloak. Ken takes a cautious step back as she approaches him.

"Here" she opens her palm, revealing a shining gold coin.

'She so definitely is!'

"Wait, wait!" Ken energetically waves his hands from side to side. "I can't take that, it's too much. A portrait is just four coppers."

The coin is flicked in his direction without a care in the world, he catches it reflexively. Turning to leave she acts like she doesn't hear his protests, the portrait tucked under her arm.

“You alright, kid?” Ken is startled, his heart skipping a beat as he feels a hand resting on his shoulder. He turns to find one of the men from The Gathering of Elders standing beside him.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he responds, quickly regaining his composure and steadying himself.

"She didn't do anything weird to you, did she? For a bit there you appeared awfully scared."

"No, it's not that. I didn't act like that because I was scared" The boy shows the object in his hand - a silver coin.

"Look! She gave me so much, and it wasn't even that good of a drawing. I could barely see her face."

"Oh…Bwaha hah hah hah!" The old man starts laughing all of a sudden.

With a shake of his head the elder warmly claps the boy on the back. "Such a good kid you are Kenki. Accept the gift graciously; it would be impolite to refuse such generosity. Emperor, your skill with the pen certainly is good enough to earn a tip or two." His gaze lingers on ‘The Night of Quiet Skies’ before shifting towards the direction where the woman had departed, lost in thought.

"Tell you what boy, why don't you run back home to your mother and we'll close up the stall for you."

"Uh.. are you sure?" Ken questioningly raises his eyebrow.

"Bah! What do you think, brat? We may be old but we can still lift up a couple of measly wooden planks."

'Not what I meant but whatever.'

The boy picks up his gourd, filled with ink, and straps it to his hip.

"I'll be off then."

The two wave each other off.

======================

Ken deftly twirls the coin in his hand. With practiced finesse, he reproduces the trick he’d performed minutes prior, concealing the gold coin and replacing it with a gleaming silver one instead.

'And to think that a couple of months ago I was worried about making money… in a single day I make more than I've made in a year. Crazy stuff.'

As thoughts race through Ken’s mind, he contemplates his situation. ‘Should I make a run for it?’ he wonders, but quickly dismisses the idea as him prematurely panicking. He acknowledges the concern that accepting such a drastic overpayment may lead to heightened expectations in the future. The person who gave him the money would feel like he owes them.

‘And if I’m not wrong that woman wasn’t just your average Joe. I really don't want to have anything that ties me to her.” He shakes his head, deciding to move on to something else. He unstraps the gourd from his hip and swishes it around, feeling its contents.

"Running kind of low…"

'I have all of the powdered charcoal in the world back home but no sap.' Thinking such, Ken breaks off from his usual route, heading for the outskirts of the village.

It doesn't take him long to find what he'd been looking for - A tree with a brutalized outer layer.

He finds the cup he'd accidentally left the last time he'd been around.

'Alright.' Grabbing a rock from the ground he winds himself up. With all of the strength that he can muster he smashes it into the center of the weakest point he can see.

Not noticing any results he smashes it again and again, not stopping.

Until eventually.

'Oh! There we go!' He presses the cup to the tree, collecting the escaping sap.

'Maybe I should finally switch trees, the sap is coming in but it's just so runny. But I don't want to…' He groans. 'Smashing down the bark of a tree takes ages. And I don't have something like a machete to help me out.'

'Maybe I should ask Daiki for help? No, I don't want anyone to know how I make the ink. Eventually I'll be like those scumbag printer companies, making it for pennies and selling it for stacks.'

'It should be profitable? I don't know how the people here make black ink but it doesn't get much cheaper than water, tree sap and charcoal. From what I've noticed the people around these parts are content to just use what works and not invent anything new… maybe it has something to do with the laws of the world changing willy-nilly.'

Ken stands in place, holding the cup, for about twenty minutes. He tries to punch a few more holes midway through. Much to his chagrin, it has the opposite of the desired effect.

"Finally." the boy drawls after a while, checking the contents of the cup. "This should be enough for now, I'll find a new tree tomorrow."

Careful not to spill the contents of the cup, Ken walks off.

Little did he know of the pair of azure eyes observing him from a distance.