The market woke slowly under a pale sunrise and the early light painted the cracked stones with a soft glow Kane arrived before most vendors finished preparing their stalls He moved with quiet purpose arranging jars wiping dust from his wooden table and trying to make everything look more valuable than it truly was His stand sat in the forgotten lane a narrow row of old stalls worn by wind time and neglect but Kane liked the honesty of this place The people were rough the coins were small but every trade felt real

Kane had spent the night sorting herbs He knew their shapes scents and textures well His father had once taught him how to judge the worth of leaves by rubbing them between his fingers Kane now used that knowledge to survive His dream was larger than any jar on his table but dreams meant little without coins so he worked with focus

A merchant from the northern border stopped by Kane’s stall He looked tired and travel worn His coat had been patched so many times it resembled a mosaic of faded cloth He studied the jars then pointed to one with dark leaves Tell me why yours are better than the ones sold up the main street

Kane lifted a leaf letting the light catch the subtle pattern on its surface These grow only after the short rain season Their color looks dull but when boiled they calm fever quicker than common blends They look weak but they hold strong power inside

The merchant broke the leaf between his fingers The crisp sound told him Kane was not lying He gave a slow approving nod and asked for the price Kane named a modest number low enough to seem like a simple lucky buy The man paid without argument and left with the herbs tucked in his coat

Kane felt a small spark of pride but pride alone would not change his life He needed something more He checked his coins and then glanced toward a broken bench where a crate lay half hidden Its wood was scuffed and marked with a faint emblem of a mountain goat Kane felt a tug of curiosity He approached cautiously then pulled the lid open with a careful lift

Inside were bundles of dried roots At first they looked common but Kane noticed a faint silver shimmer inside each cut end His chest tightened Frostroot A rare mountain herb with healing strength valued by healers across the empire Someone must have dumped the crate without knowing what it was Kane knew the truth though He knew the worth

A stall owner approached wiping sweat from his brow You want that old crate kid I found it behind the grain house Must be a mistake I do not want to haul it home Make me an offer

Kane forced his heartbeat to slow He let his voice stay casual and unimpressed These roots look old I can take the crate off your hands but only for a small price

The man shrugged clearly wanting to get rid of it Fine Take it

Kane paid nearly everything he had and dragged the crate to his stall He began sorting the frostroot into smaller bundles He made a sign with calm hands Rare mountain frostroot Good for fever and cold pain Limited supply

The first customer was a healer woman who knew her craft She touched a root looked at the silver sheen then stared at Kane This is frostroot She said it with a mix of surprise and suspicion Where did you get this

A traveler abandoned it I bought it honestly Kane answered simply

The healer studied him just long enough then bought several bundles paying even more than he expected Once she left others gathered Rumors spread fast People came from nearby stalls asking for frostroot wanting to stock up before it disappeared Kane sold every piece before noon The empty crate sat beside him like a silent witness to his unexpected fortune

Kane packed up early that day His pouch of coins felt heavy almost unreal His hands trembled slightly as he tied the pouch to his belt This was more money than he had ever held This was his way forward

He walked to the caravan yards where merchants prepared for long trade routes The air smelled of hay and smoke and distant spices The sound of hammering wheels mixed with shouts of travelers Kane felt pulled toward this place as if the world whispered a path only he could hear

He studied wagons and goods trying to learn what a real merchant needed He touched thick ropes examined crates and spoke with guards about road dangers He felt both small and determined Every step reminded him how far he still had to go but also how possible it now was

Kane did not notice the guild watcher at first A man in clean clothes with a small gold circle stitched on his sleeve The mark of the Royal Commerce Guild He watched Kane sort through supplies as if measuring him Kane sensed eyes on him turned briefly and saw the man but said nothing He did not know yet that this quiet moment would be the start of his first real rival

As the sun began to fall Kane stood in the yard holding the heavy pouch and imagining a future beyond the forgotten lane He imagined caravans his own trade route his own name carved into maps The wind carried dust across the yard and Kane breathed in the dry warm air

One crate had changed everything One risk had opened a door And he was ready to step through it without looking back

That night Kane slept under the stars with a courage he had never felt before The world had finally taken notice of him and he would not waste the chance The long road of trade had begun and Kane was ready