Chapter 6 – Tears of the Earth

"In this field, it's not only humans who cry."

The sound of their own footsteps squelching in the mud had already become the official soundtrack of the journey.

It didn't take long before the road started to fade into open fields.

First came some shrubs. Then a crooked wooden fence.

And then... the crops.

Onions. Lots of them.

But not normal onions. These were... strange.

Short plants, with twisted leaves, and white bulbs half-buried in the soil—trembling.

Yes, trembling.

Some... sniffled. Others... hiccupped. And a few were very clearly making a sound that resembled... crying.

At the edge of the field, standing there, unmoving, staring into nothing like a man questioning every decision he'd ever made in life—

was a man.

Unkempt beard. Straw hat. Clothes of someone who had stopped caring long ago.

Arms crossed. That hollow stare of someone who had seen too much... and lost the war against his own onions.

Kael stepped closer, adjusting the wet cloak on his shoulders.

"Uh... good afternoon," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "We're looking for a farmer who sent a request to the guild about... crying onions?"

The man turned slowly, his sunken, red eyes locking onto them—clearly from excessive crying.

"...That would be me," he replied with a sigh that sounded like it carried the weight of seven lifetimes. "Keboru."

Tharon spoke from the sheath, his voice metallic and dry.

"Well, at least he's straightforward.

I thought we'd have to interrogate a lettuce first."

Keboru didn't blink. He simply raised a shaky hand and pointed to the field.

"I... I tried, okay? But... they... they..." He sniffled.

"They get dramatic.

They start crying. Begging.

Saying they have dreams. That they weren't meant to be onions.

That they were born to dance. Or write poetry..."

Unable to continue, he rubbed his eyes, trembling.

"And then I... I start crying too... I can't... I just can't..."

Kael's eyes widened.

"...You've got to be kidding."

Tharon cut in, deadpan:

"This is worse than any curse I've seen.

It's agricultural emotional terrorism."

Keboru tried to pull himself together, wiped his nose on his sleeve, took a deep breath, and said:

"You're here for the request, right?"

Kael nodded. "Yeah. And, uh..." — he scratched the back of his neck again, awkward — "Old Thalga also asked if you could set aside a few of the crying onions for her... if possible."

Keboru looked up. His eyes lit up for a moment.

"Thalga...? That grumpy old hag's still alive, huh?"

He let out a laugh that was half forced, half nostalgic.

"That witch still owes me a bottle of salamander liquor since..." — he paused, counting on his fingers — "...thirty years ago."

Tharon didn't miss a beat:

"So you're from the same generation of plagues.

That explains a lot."

"She still cusses out customers and sells intel from behind the counter?" Keboru asked, now properly laughing.

Kael gave a half-smile, shrugging.

"Worse now. She coughs halfway through her sentences too."

"Ha!" Keboru slapped his thigh.

"She never changes. Alright, alright. If it's for her, I'll set some aside."

He sniffled again. "That is... if you manage to harvest them, of course..."

Tharon buzzed with venomous enthusiasm:

"Oh, clearly. Defeating crying onions is going to be the highlight of our adventuring careers."

Keboru took a deep breath, stepped back a few paces, wiped his muddy hands on his pants, and pointed toward the field.

"They're all yours.

If you can handle it... good luck."

Kael took a deep breath. A long one.

He stared at the onion field—

a field that seemed to be... staring back.

"...Alright. Let's do this."

Tharon rattled in his sheath, nearly trembling.

"If any of these onions call me 'Sir Blade,'

I swear I'm throwing myself into the nearest forge."

Kael sighed.

"Same. Honestly, same."

He took the first step into the field...

Still about twenty, thirty meters to go...

and they could already hear it.

Not the wind. Not birds.

Crying.

"This... this is actually happening?" Kael muttered, squinting, trying to figure out if he was even awake.

Tharon clinked dryly:

"Worse—

now you'll never be able to unhear it."

The closer they got, the louder it became.

Deafening.

A chorus. A chorus... of onions.

"Aaaaah... don't pull me out... I'm just a baaaaby... I wasn't born for this...!"

"I have sprouts to care for! Three sprouts!"

"Let me liiiiive, I haven't even fulfilled my dream of becoming a decorative onion!!"

Kael dragged a hand down his face.

"This... this isn't real. This can't be real."

Tharon echoed from the sheath, his voice vibrating:

"This is a crime. Against sanity. Against... everything."

They decided to start with the edge of the field.

Carefully.

Step by step—like approaching a cage with some unknown creature inside.

Kael crouched in front of one onion.

Big. Round. Trembling.

Its little eyes sparkled on the skin, and when it noticed him...

"AAAAAAH, HELP!!!" it screamed, like it was being murdered live.

"I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING! I DIDN'T DO ANYTHING, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!"

Kael jumped back, almost falling onto his behind.

"What the hell?" — he clutched his chest — "This is worse than I imagined."

Tharon chimed in:

"Just grab it already. Pull it out before it calls the vegetable lawyer."

The onion didn't stop:

"I... I... I HAVE ASTHMA! I CAN'T BE COOKED!! I HAVE ASTHMA!!" — it coughed, struggling. — "I'M PREGNANT!!"

Kael's eyes went wide as he gripped the onion's stalk.

"What?"

"THREE SPROUTS! THEY'LL BE ORPHANS!"

Tharon scoffed:

"Cut it out, man. It's bluffing. Doesn't even have a uterus—it's an onion!"

Kael pulled hard—PLUCK!—the onion came free from the ground, still trembling, sobbing.

"MONSTERS!!!"

He tossed it into the sack, exhaling deeply, already sweating.

"Okay. One. Next."

They moved on.

The next one seemed calmer.

Until Kael crouched down.

It opened one eye. Then the other.

And whispered in a soft, seductive voice:

"...You... you're better than this... look at you... handsome... strong... fearless... a hero... not the type to... to pull innocents from their home... right...?"

Kael blinked.

"A-are you... flirting with me?"

Tharon didn't waste a second:

"Bro, if you fall for an onion's line, I'm jumping on the road and letting the cart run me over."

"Come here, handsome... come here... put down that sword... let me stay... let me live..." — it blinked again. — "I could be your salad... whole... or sliced..."

Kael reached out, trembling, and grabbed the stalk...

"N-N-N-NO!!! I LIED!!! I HATE YOU!!!" — it burst into uncontrollable sobbing.

He pulled — PLUCK! — and tossed it in the sack.

"Okay. Two. Let's keep moving, let's keep moving..."

They went on.

Further ahead, an onion seemed... asleep.

Kael approached slowly and lifted the stalk.

Suddenly, its little eye snapped open:

"If I don't see you... you don't see me!!!" — it shoved the leaf into its own face, trembling. — "INVISIBLE!!! I'M INVISIBLE!!!"

Tharon muttered:

"Organically flawless. Almost makes you feel bad about crushing such genius."

Kael pulled — PLUCK! — and tossed it in the sack.

"Three."

The fourth looked calmer. Just... sniffing, staring into space.

Kael crouched down. It looked at him and said:

"...Take me already... I can't live in this cruel world anymore... I was born to suffer... my life is a mistake..." — sniffled — "I just wanted... just wanted to be... to be... a quality broth..."

Kael blinked.

"That was... kind of deep."

Tharon, sarcastic:

"Yeah. Makes you almost want to cook it with extra care. Or not."

PLUCK! — into the sack.

Further ahead, a fat, sassy onion stood its ground.

"Hey, hey! Step back, half-assed adventurer.

Do you KNOW WHO I AM?

I'm the best onion in this whole field.

Three-time Onion of the Year award winner.

You can't just pull me out. That's a crime against gastronomy."

Kael crossed his arms.

"And what if I do?"

"You'll lose stars on the guild's Yelp.

Get a reputation for incompetence.

You'll..."

PLUCK! — into the sack.

Tharon just commented:

"Talked too much, lived too little."

They breathed heavily. Sweaty. Tense.

The field still looked like a botanical madhouse, full of sobs, screams, laments, and drama.

But... they had five onions. Maybe more, depending on their courage.

Kael looked at Tharon.

"This is the worst day of my life."

Kael took a deep breath, wiped the sweat — or was it tears? — off his face.

Barely recovered, he spotted another onion frantically waving its leaves, like it was trying to fly away.

"NO, NO, NO!!! I HAD A DREAM! I... I... I WANTED TO BE..." — it trembled, squinting its eyes, full of drama — "...A BALLERINA!!!"

"...What?" Kael stopped, staring in disbelief.

It spun its little leaf, tripped over its own stalk, and fell sideways, sobbing:

"I practiced pirouettes every day... but I was born... born in the wrong place!!"

Tharon shot in, without missing a beat:

"Congrats, now you're harvesting onions with an existential crisis."

Kael ran a hand over his face, knelt down, and held the stalk.

"...Sorry. Really."

"NOOOO! NOT ME! GET SUMIKA NEXT TO ME! SHE'S ALWAYS BEEN SOURER THAN I AM!"

Tharon, sharp as always:

"Don't like her. You take this one."

Kael pulled — PLUCK! — and before tossing it in the sack, caught himself with a lump in his throat.

"...She just wanted to dance, man."

Tharon snapped, sarcastic:

"And now she's gonna dance in a frying pan. That's life, partner."

They moved on. And then... an older onion?

Leaves yellowing, wrinkled, tiny eyes, trembling voice:

"Ahhh... you again... lost generation... all you think about is pulling others out... back in my day, onions stayed in the ground until they fell on their own... nowadays it's all rush... violence..." — and coughed weakly.

Kael looked at Tharon, shocked:

"She's... old. I feel like a criminal now."

Tharon replied coldly:

"Yeah. This just became a crime against botanical seniors. Come on, finish it."

"Ahhh... don't do this... for the love of... ahhh, my sciatica! Ow... ow..." — it groaned, putting a leaf on its lower back.

Kael held it gently, almost with a tear in his eye:

"...Sorry, ma'am."

"I knew... I knew it would end like this... my little grandonions will know... you're monsters... monsters..." — it coughed again.

PLUCK! — and into the sack it went.

Kael sighed, eyes already a bit red. Tharon was silent too, a bit uncomfortable, then rattled his sheath:

"...Okay. That was heavy. I admit it."

They took a few more steps, and...

An onion was playing dead. Lying down, leaves crossed on its chest, eyes half-closed, leaf-tongue sticking out.

— "...I... am... dead... you can leave... I've gone to a better place..."

Kael raised an eyebrow.

— Seriously?

She cracked one eye open quickly.

— "I'm dead, alright, trust me..." — then shut it again.

Tharon fired back immediately:

— Bro... that's Oscar-worthy acting. Don't waste that talent.

Kael grabbed the stem.

The onion's eyes popped open instantly:

— "NOOOO, NO, NO, NO!!! PRANK!!! HELP!!!" — it started kicking dirt everywhere. — "I RUN A BUSINESS! I SELL VEGAN CAKES!!! I CAN'T DIE!!!"

Kael was already laughing and crying at the same time.

— This is madness. This isn't a mission, it's psychological torture.

Tharon shook with laughter inside his sheath:

— Man... if this doesn't at least double our pay, I'm walking out on my own.

They reached another onion... this one looked like it was in pain.

— "Aaah... oww... you can't! I've... got a pebble in my shoots! I need rest! Medical leave!!"

Kael held his face.

— ...A pebble in your shoots???

— "Yesss... it's serious... very serious..." — it coughed. — "It could turn into acute shootitis..."

Tharon cut him off:

— Shootitis... that's not even real. Pull it quick before she invents another medical specialty.

Kael pulled — PLUCK! — and the onion fell into the sack, still grumbling:

— "Injustice... broken system... I'm suing you..."

Kael was wrecked. Tears mixed with mud, he couldn't tell if he was crying, laughing, or questioning all his life choices at once.

They walked up to another onion, which, as soon as it noticed them, started spinning its leaf like a fan, flailing wildly:

— "NOOOO NO NO NO NO NO NO!!! I'M TAKING OFF!!! I'M TAKING OFF!!!"

Kael looked, barely holding in laughter.

— Is this for real?

— "I'M A HELICOPTER NOW!!! YOU CAN'T CATCH ME!!!"

Tharon, shaking with laughter:

— Every second of this torture is worth it. I take back everything I said.

Kael held firm as the onion flailed:

— "NOOO!!! I HAVE A FLIGHT SCHEDULED!!!"

PLUCK! — into the sack.

Kael dropped down into the mud, clutching his knee, staring off into nothingness.

— ...This is... this is surreal. I'm... I'm messed up.

Tharon swayed, calmer now, taking a deep breath like someone who's been laughing until they can't breathe:

— Man... if someone told me this, I'd never believe it. Never.

And the sound... the sound of collective crying echoed in the background. The entire field sounded like an apocalyptic choir of wails, screams, and melodrama fit for a soap opera.

Kael rubbed his face, took a deep breath, stood up, dusted the mud off his clothes, looked around, and said in a tone like he was ready to move on:

— Let's go. Before I start thinking they might actually be right.

Tharon replied, dryly:

— Too late for that, partner. Too late.

They left the field with swollen, red, burning eyes. It was impossible to tell if it was from the onions, the laughter, or the existential crisis that hit them like a ton of bricks. Their entire lives seemed to have been uprooted along with those onions. And the sound... the sound of the onions still echoed behind them, far away, like a choir of lost souls screaming at the sky.

Farmer Keboru was standing there, waiting. He discreetly wiped his eyes, trying to hide it with that crooked little smile, like someone who didn't want to admit they'd broken down too.

— I... — he cleared his throat, breathing deeply — you... you did it. Damn onions... — his jaw trembled.

Without saying much more, he grabbed the guild paper with shaky hands and scribbled his signature.

— Done. Finished... — he sighed heavily, like a man shedding an ancient burden. — And... here. — He handed over a bag full of those damned things. — For Thalga. Tell her that... — he paused, taking a breath — I still remember what she did at the harvest in '22.

Kael held the bag like it was a cursed relic.

— Got it... noted.

Tharon shook his waist, that always venomous tone creeping in:

— If someone told me I'd one day sympathize with an onion, I'd have laughed. Well, here we are.

Keboru took another deep breath, adjusted his hat.

— Good luck... and may the onions never haunt your dreams again.

Kael stared at him.

— Too late for that.

The farewell was dry, hesitant, like no one really wanted to stare at their own reflection for too long after all that. They turned their backs and hit the road.

Their footsteps sank into the drying mud, now starting to harden. The smell of wet earth mixed with that sharp, raw scent of crushed living plants, like it had soaked into their clothes, their skin, their very souls.

Silence stretched for a few minutes. Just the footsteps, the wind, and that kind of uncomfortable silence that settles when everyone's busy reevaluating their entire existence.

Until Tharon, of course, broke the mood:

— You know... now that I think about it, maybe we really are the villains of this story.

Kael scoffed.

— Screw you, Tharon.

— Just saying. Look at us. Carrying a bag full of encapsulated tears and botanical trauma.

Kael kicked a rock on the path, his foot sinking into the hardening mud.

— Just don't make me think about it too much.

— Too late, partner. This is gonna haunt you for the rest of your life.

They kept walking. The sun... wasn't that blazing sun anymore. It was slowly setting. That golden light started stretching the shadows along the roadside, painting everything in a dirty orange glow, with that end-of-day smell that mixes hope and melancholy.

Up ahead, the horizon was already fading, darkening slowly in a lazy, slow transition between day and night.

The silence grew heavier. It wasn't that uncomfortable silence of fresh trauma anymore... It was something else. Denser. More... profound.

And they kept going. Step after step. The sound of their own footsteps was all that could be heard now.

End of Chapter 6.