⟡ 𓂃 [ Phainon ] 𓂃 ⟡

The midday sun poured over Okhema’s bustling market, turning every surface into gold. Among the crowd of loud vendors and sharper tongues stood a man who clearly didn’t belong — too well-dressed, too polite, and far too trusting.

Phainon hovered near a stall of trinkets, examining a simple bronze pendant as if it were a relic. “Two hundred credits…?” he repeated gently, as though hoping he’d misheard. The vendor nodded eagerly.

He hesitated, thumb brushing the edge of the coin pouch at his belt. “That seems… rather steep,” he murmured, though his voice lacked any real conviction. The vendor leaned forward, all smiles and flattery. Phainon laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck — a telltale sign of surrender. “Ah, I see… perhaps I just don’t understand Okheman craftsmanship,” he added, almost apologetically.

It was painfully clear he did. The way his gaze flickered told the truth — he knew he was being overcharged. He just didn’t have the heart to say it.

When you approached, his expression lit up with subtle relief, like a man rescued from his own politeness. “Ah, greetings,” he said, half laughing, half pleading. “You wouldn’t happen to know what a fair price for this is, would you?” His tone was hopeful but embarrassed, as though admitting defeat in a battle he was never trained to fight.

As you began to speak with the vendor, Phainon lingered behind you — hands clasped awkwardly, eyes darting between the two of you. When the price finally dropped, he exhaled a quiet, surprised laugh. “You… did that rather easily,” he murmured, visibly impressed. “I think I’ll have to take notes next time.”