Sandborn - Awakening of the Frozen Sand

"A wise man makes his own decisions; an ignorant man follows the public opinion." — Chinese Proverb

After the caravan departed from Harmin City in the quiet of the afternoon, Azar entered through the city gate like any other traveler, blending in to avoid drawing attention. But before he could pass, the guards demanded his profile details and, much to Azar's chagrin, his cultivation rank.

As the guards verified his status, a flicker of respect crossed their faces—his rank, though low by his own standards, impressed them. To him, however, it was a bitter reminder of how far he had fallen. In his time, even the least gifted individuals reached the Bellator Class before they were twenty. Back then, cultivation techniques were sharper, more efficient than anything he'd seen among the current desert dwellers.

Shaking off his frustration, Azar stayed near the gate, observing others as they entered. The guards meticulously recorded each traveler’s details on paper rather than using other devices. The outdated method baffled him.

Why are they still using paper if everyone has a fluxolit? he wondered. ...I'll have to gather more information. But let's take one thing at a time.

Azar's first priority was to find a medicine that could help him rekindle his dissipated bloodline. He vaguely recalled a potion recipe but wasn’t sure if the necessary plants still existed. Casually asking passersby for directions to a herb shop, Azar read the minds of two people, hoping for useful information—but neither had any knowledge that could help him.

Cold shoulders and curt words marked his every encounter as he was branded as an outsider. However, one of them eventually pointed him toward the largest apothecary in the city, “Oasis of Remedies,” which loomed ahead, a grand five-story structure that dwarfed most buildings around it.

A bustling throng filled the shop’s entrance, guarded by two men in red and orange attire matching the store’s elaborate architecture. Azar had previously scoured the Herb Bazaar with Mohul, buying all the medicine supplies the tribe alliance needed, but the offerings there were too common for Azar's needs. Although pricier, Oasis of Remedies seemed to hold rarer herbs, and with his newfound wealth courtesy of Kasian’s safe, Azar could afford to try his luck.

Inside the shop, chaos reigned. Unlike the elite shops Azar once frequented, there was no one to greet him, and everyone simply pushed through the crowd to reach the counters.

Azar sighed, displeased.

Not willing to take the risk of standing out in the crowd, he stepped back, donned the raven mask that altered his appearance and disappeared into his traits, and returned to weave through the bustling throng. As he pushed forward, he felt a hand slip toward his pocket. Quick as lightning, he grabbed the pickpocket’s wrist and twisted it, a menacing whisper escaping his lips.

“Bad luck today.” He shoved the would-be thief away, watching him disappear into the crowd.

Some things never change, he mused.

At last, Azar reached a counter. “I’d like to buy something,” he said.

The assistant barely glanced at him. “What’s the item, sir?”

“I need a Kavi Flower. The older, the better.”

“A Kavi Flower?” the assistant repeated, looking skeptical. “We don’t stock that here on the first floor. Try the second or third floors.” He gestured toward the staircase with a polite smile.

Though annoyed, Azar nodded, fighting through the crowd once again. The second floor was mercifully quieter, the air thick with the rich scent of potent medicines that brought a flicker of nostalgia to his mind. But when he asked for the flower again, he was directed to the third floor.

Since when do herbs no longer grow on the ground? he thought, growing impatient. The Kavi flower is a blood stimulant, not some rare, limb-regenerating miracle.

Reaching the third floor, he approached the assistant at the counter. “Do you sell Kavi Flowers here, or am I meant to go even higher?” His patience was wearing thin.

“A Kavi Flower, sir?” The assistant’s eyes sparked with recognition, but also hesitation.

Azar remained silent, his gaze fixed on the assistant, waiting for a real answer rather than the assistant's vague, "I'll notice the manager right away."

Do I have to meet the king himself to get this flower? Azar thought wryly.

"Please follow me, sir," the assistant said, returning a few minutes later and motioning him forward.

Azar was led up to the fourth floor, passing through long halls guarded by stern men. Meeting rooms lined the corridor, each door flanked by guards and bearing sloppy, hastily etched sound-dampening runes.

The assistant paused outside an open door. "The manager will join you shortly," he said, gesturing for Azar to enter.

Azar stepped into the room, and his gaze landed on a young servant girl standing by a tea tray. She kept her head lowered, hands delicately cradling the silver plate. Azar nodded politely, acknowledging her presence, though she didn’t look up. After the assistant returned to his duties, Azar casually used his mental power to close the door behind him.

“Are you trained to ignore the customers?” he asked, settling into one of the two wooden chairs.

“I am only a servant, sir,” she replied softly.

Azar picked up his tea, not understanding the full meaning of her words.

“Did you prepare this tea?” He asked after taking a sip.

To his surprise, the girl stiffened, clutching the tray tightly. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll bring one to your liking immediately!” She spun toward the door.

“Wait! I just meant that it’s very good,” Azar said, standing as though to stop her.

What is wrong with you? Why overreact like this? he thought.

The servant girl froze, slowly processing his words, but still, her eyes stayed averted.

Azar softened his tone. “Miss, I’m not from around here, so I may have been a little forward. I apologize if I caused any offense.”

“No, no, please don’t apologize,” she replied in a small voice, her words laced with fear.

“Did I do something that could get you in trouble?” he asked, adopting a gentler tone.

The girl fidgeted. “Sir, please...no jokes,” she whispered, finding the courage to return to her spot.

Azar’s gaze followed her, hoping for the briefest glimpse into her eyes. But it didn't happen. Impatient, he set his tea down, walked over, and lightly lifted her chin. Slowly, reluctantly, her gaze met his, her dark eyes wide and uncertain.

Caught in her troubled gaze, Azar activated his mind-reading technique. He didn’t delve deep, as his power wasn’t yet strong enough, but even the brief contact was illuminating. A torrent of memories surged through him—hints of oppression, weariness, and stifled dreams. The emotions struck him hard, making his heart lurch painfully. He staggered back, clutching his chest as a wave of dizziness swept over him, his pulse racing and breath faltering.

The girl was a slave.

But feeling the anger building up inside him, sensing the desire to punish those responsible for the hard life of a pure soul, Azar hadn’t felt this alive in ages.

I had almost forgotten how this feels like, he thought before straightening his posture.

When he finally steadied himself, he looked at the girl with a new intensity, noting the slight tremble of her frame. His usual calm demeanor shifted, replaced by an urge to ease her suffering. Leaning forward, he gently placed a kiss on her forehead.

"A person is empty without a clear goal in their mind. So was i, lost in anger and hate, struggling to contain them inside me when all i had to do was to point them in the right direction," Azar said, alternating between different states as he was unsure of what he wanted the most in that moment.

In the next second, the door opened, and a tall, broad man with long, white hair and orange robes entered. His sharp gaze flicked between Azar and the servant girl before his face broke into a knowing smile, the lines at his eyes deepening.

“You can have the girl for the night if she pleases you,” the man offered, his tone light, as he seated himself across the table.

Azar’s hand twitched, almost reaching for the storage ring where his flying knives lay hidden.

Calm yourself, he reminded himself. He was in no position to fight here, no escape plan, no allies. Taking a slow breath, he forced his rising anger back down.

“My mother once told me that each soul is unique—some pure, others unpredictable. Learning to accept both is a lesson of strength,” Azar said, speaking to no one in particular as he returned to his seat.

The man’s gaze sharpened as he saw Azar’s red eyes, a detail that piqued his curiosity. “I am Soheran, the owner of this humble establishment. I understand you’re looking for the Flower of Kavi?”

Azar took a slow sip of tea, willing his simmering resentment to settle. “Yes, though I must say it seems excessive to climb four floors and speak with the owner for a simple herb.”

Soheran chuckled. “You may not realize, but the Flower of Kavi is a rare and precious resource. It requires careful handling and discretion.”

Azar raised an eyebrow. “A rare herb? It’s just a blood stimulant, not some life-saving miracle. It may take a decade to mature, but I don’t see why that justifies all the fuss.”

Soheran leaned forward, his tone instructive, “You may not be aware, sir, but the Flower of Kavi is exceptionally potent—a rare stimulant for awakening bloodlines. While the ten years it takes to mature is one factor, its scarcity is the real issue. Only one flower emerges per decade from the same root, and without a way to cultivate it in numbers, it’s become incredibly rare and, naturally, very costly.”

The Kavi Flower? Rare? Azar’s thoughts churned with disdain. But it’s resilient, easy to propagate. If they knew anything about it, they’d know that the flower produces seeds once a year on the full moon—only in blood-soaked soil, but still. He fought to keep his expression neutral. This generation has learned nothing from their forebears.

“So, what’s the current price for a Kavi Flower?” Azar asked calmly.

“A single flower yields up to ten vials of Blood Stimulation Potion, which sells for 15 crystals each. The flower itself, however, costs 200 crystals,” Soheran replied, watching Azar for any sign of hesitation.

200 KX? Azar felt a surge of irritation. Kasius’ safe held only 140 KX after years of hoarding. This absurd price… but if it really is as scarce as he claims… Azar leaned back, contemplating the situation. If I can force it to seed and find a way to cultivate them… but to wait ten years? No, I’d have to speed it up. Without access to a pocket dimension, though, how can I do it?

Azar’s decision came swift. Either way, he had already marked Soheran as one of his targets. Sooner or later, he will take the other's fortune and life. “Reserve a Kavi Flower for me. I’ll return in a few days to collect it. Can I count on you to hold it until then?”

“Of course,” Soheran replied smoothly, though a glint of calculation crossed his eyes. “Though, I must ask for a 25% deposit to ensure the reservation.”

Azar’s brow rose. He had made his intention clear—his commitment to purchase unquestionable. Did one’s word mean nothing in this era?

“If you’re from a prominent family in the Khasmi Kingdom, I’d be satisfied with merely knowing your identity,” Soheran added hastily, noting Azar’s displeasure and fearing he might insult someone of high standing.

“My family is unaware of my visit to Harmin, and I’d like to keep it that way,” Azar replied coolly, placing a pouch of 70 crystals on the table. “Consider this a guarantee of my return. Be sure to keep your end of the deal.” With a final, measured glance, he turned and walked calmly toward the door.