The one who greeted them was a man who appeared to be in his early fifties. He had long hair streaked with gray and a thick beard of the same color. His eyes were deep and sharp as if they were not merely looking at them but dissecting them, trying to trace their origins, their history, perhaps even the very place where they had been born.
Yet beneath that intense scrutiny, his body stiffened almost immediately. It was subtle, but unmistakable.
He was observing something about them that forced him into silent readiness, as if he had sensed a threat he could neither name nor measure yet for now.
"What can I help you with?" the man asked in a cold tone. "This is just a potion shop. I only sell cheap potions."
Erend, Eccar, and Aesa exchanged brief glances. The man spoke as if he did not want them lingering in his shop any longer than necessary.
"Um… we're not here to buy potions," Erend said carefully.
"Then you may leave," the man replied without hesitation.
