Investment Risk

As she observed the transactions, something caught her eye—a small, isolated stall tucked in the corner, ignored by the bustling crowd. An old man sat behind it, wrinkled hands gently brushing over a pile of dried, twisted herbs that gave off a faint, exotic aroma.

Curious, Lyrasia approached. "What's this?" she asked, picking up a handful of the strange crop.

The old man looked up, his eyes twinkling with quiet determination. "Spices," he said simply. "A new kind. Grew 'em myself."

Lyrasia sniffed the bundle, the scent strong and unfamiliar. "Doesn't smell bad. Why isn't anyone buying?"

The old man let out a low chuckle. "Because people fear what they don't know. They trust wheat, barley, and potatoes. Spices? Too risky."

She frowned. "But if it's good, shouldn't they give it a chance?"

He shrugged. "That's the nature of business, young one. New things are a gamble. But if it catches on… it could be worth a fortune."