Chapter 9: The Old Man's Trade

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The journey to the mountain had been long and demanding, a three-day trek that tested our endurance. At last, as we crested a ridge, the old man's house came into view-a sagging structure nestled at the base of a steep cliff, looking as if it were being swallowed by the mountain itself. Thorn, Vaka, Aric, and I approached slowly, exchanging uncertain glances.

Dust and an earthy scent of decay wafted from the crooked windows. The place looked abandoned, with piles of clutter surrounding the entrance-rusted tools, broken lanterns, and other forgotten objects stacked haphazardly. I took a deep breath, steeling myself, and knocked on the door.

For a long moment, silence. Then, a creak, and the door cracked open just enough to reveal a single cloudy, suspicious eye.

"What d'ye want?" The voice was hoarse, as though unused to speaking.

"We're here to make a trade," Aric said, his voice steady. He nodded toward Vaka, who carefully raised the crimson eggs, their polished surfaces gleaming even in the dim light.

The old man's eye glinted with sudden interest. The door creaked wider, revealing him fully. Bent over in a creaky wheelchair, he was cloaked in layers of dusty robes, and his hair, long and white, hung in greasy strands over a face lined with deep, sharp wrinkles. His gaze was sharp, though, and fixed intently on the ruby eggs.

"Well, well... come in," he muttered, his voice dripping with suspicion. He wheeled back into the shadows, allowing us to follow him into the cramped space.

Inside, the smell hit me-musty, stale, layered with something almost metallic. Every surface was crowded with odd trinkets and mismatched piles of ancient objects. It was as if the room hadn't seen light or air in years, weighed down by the years of hoarded items that spilled from shelves and filled the corners.

The old man wheeled himself toward us, his eyes never leaving the eggs. "What makes ye think I'd want these?"

"They're rare," Aric replied calmly. "Priceless, even. They hold ancient magic."

The old man squinted at Aric, then let out a bitter laugh. "Aye, you've got a clever tongue. I know exactly what these are. Hand them here."

Vaka stepped forward and gently placed the eggs in the old man's hands. He held them close, a twisted smile spreading over his lips as he ran his fingers over the gleaming surfaces. Then, he looked up at us, his gaze calculating.

"You wanted somethin' in return?" he asked with a mocking tone.

"Yes," I replied firmly. "We've been told you have a book. We need it."

He raised a bushy eyebrow, giving me a long, skeptical look. "The book, eh?"

"Yes," I repeated, feeling the impatience rising. "We were told you had it."

After a pause, he let out a low, rattling chuckle, clearly relishing in our discomfort. "A book," he repeated, almost to himself. He turned away and wheeled over to a cluttered shelf, reaching with a gnarled hand for a small, crumbling piece of parchment. He turned back, holding it out just beyond my reach, as if testing my patience.

I stepped forward, taking the parchment delicately from his fingers. As soon as it was in my hand, I felt a faint pulse of magic, humming within the ancient text.

"Wait..." I examined the parchment, my brow furrowing. "This is only part of the book."

The old man let out a wheezy laugh, obviously enjoying my frustration. "Ye thought it'd be that easy, did ye? One trade for all of it?" He snorted, rolling his eyes. "That's a taste. You'll need to earn the rest."

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