Chapter 15 – Roots and Remedies

The morning breeze in Solara City was light and crisp, brushing softly against the quiet streets as Reyan stepped outside his home with a travel bag slung over his shoulder. The sun had just risen, casting long golden strokes across the rooftops.

He'd already told his mother last night that he had some work out of town, and thankfully, she hadn't asked too many questions. Just the usual, "Stay safe, and call me."

The cab pulled up right on time.

Reyan slid into the back seat, gave the driver the village name, and leaned back as the city slowly faded into the rearview mirror.

Fields began to replace buildings. Concrete gave way to open skies.

As the car sped along the highway, Reyan found himself staring out the window, mind half-lost in thought.

A name drifted into his head.

> "Fortune Bloom."

He smiled faintly to himself.

If the restaurant was going to rise—make a name for itself—it needed more than just food. It needed identity. A soul.

He opened his phone and shot a quick message to Harven:

> [Thinking of renaming the restaurant to 'Fortune Bloom.' Sounds better than Toria Dine, and matches our theme.]

The reply came back in under a minute.

> [No issue here. Grandma's name being on the old sign was never what mattered. The fact it's still open means more. Go ahead.]

Reyan locked his phone but kept it in hand.

A soft ding—another message.

[Lily Ren: Are you free tomorrow evening?]

He smiled.

> [Reyan: I will be. Dinner?]

[Lily: It's a date then.]

With that, he slid the phone into his pocket and turned his gaze to the unfolding countryside.

He didn't know exactly what to expect—but something told him this trip might shift more than just the restaurant's fortune.

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After nearly four hours, the cab finally entered a remote village nestled along a gentle slope in the outskirts of Solara's southern hills. The air smelled cleaner here—earthy, wildflowers in bloom, and something else… older.

The driver brought the car to a halt just before the village square. Reyan stepped out and handed him ₲2,000.

> [Remaining Balance: ₲360,000]

He stretched his arms and looked around.

There was a stillness to the village—not empty, just slow.

A few elders sat under a banyan tree sipping tea, chatting softly. Children ran barefoot over stone paths. The rhythm of life here wasn't urgent—it simply moved.

Reyan followed the marked trail through narrow lanes and low fences until it stopped before a wooden house with flower vines curling around the windows.

He stepped up and knocked gently on the door.

It creaked open after a moment.

A young man—lean, dark-haired, and curious-eyed—stood there.

"Yes?"

Before Reyan could speak, a voice floated in from within the house. Calm, aged, and kind.

"Eli, who is it?"

An older woman stepped into view behind the young man. Her face was soft and wrinkled, eyes the color of dusk light. She wore a patterned shawl and walked with gentle grace.

"I'm Reyan," he said politely. "I heard you grow… a few unique flowers. I've come for those."

The old woman's lips curled into a knowing smile. "Ah. So, you've come for the Elara Petals and Mistroot Vine."

Reyan blinked, slightly surprised. "Yes."

"You're not the first. A few folks from nearby villages come for them too—but they're not exactly famous," she said, stepping aside. "Come in."

The young man—Eli, apparently—gave a small nod and held the door open.

Inside, the house was old but warm. It smelled of dried herbs and woodsmoke. A few faded paintings hung on the walls, and a handmade quilt draped over a cushioned bench in the corner.

"I'm Madra," the woman introduced. "And this is my grandson, Eli."

They led Reyan through the house and out the back door, where a garden stretched out beyond expectation.

It wasn't just a backyard—it was a field of calm.

Rows of blooms danced in the breeze—lavender, orange, pale pink. And then, toward the left edge of the field, two distinct patches stood out: one with long, silver-blue petals that shimmered like frostlight—Elara Petals, and the other, a vine of soft spiraling buds tinged with violet—Mistroot Vine.

"These two," Madra said, voice low with memory, "when dried and powdered, help calm the nerves and clear the mind. Just half a pinch—no more—is enough to make a difference."

"No side effects?"

"None," she smiled. "Not in the years we've used them. It's not medicine—it's just peace. Soft and slow."

Eli added, "I sometimes use it when I can't sleep. Or when I've had too much on my mind."

Reyan crouched to study the vines, brushing a petal gently between his fingers.

"You dry them yourselves?"

Madra nodded, then brought him a small cloth packet from the shed. "We prepare a little, just in case someone asks. We don't sell much, but we do share."

Reyan held the pouch thoughtfully, then looked up.

"I'd like to buy a large supply—weekly. I'm adding it to my restaurant's recipes. I can offer ₲20,000 a month for now."

Madra blinked, then smiled warmly. "That's generous, dear. You've got good eyes. We'll have it ready for you."

After getting their account details, he transferred ₲20,000 quickly.

> [Remaining Balance: ₲340,000]

He hesitated, then asked, "If you ever think about moving to the city—I can help. Land, a house... anything comfortable."

Madra shook her head gently. "This is my soil. I was born here. I'll likely sleep here one day too."

Eli smiled. "And I like taking care of her. We've got everything we need right here."

Reyan nodded, respect clear in his eyes. "Then I'll keep visiting."

As the sun climbed past noon, Madra smiled again. "You'll stay for lunch."

Reyan tried to decline politely, but she waved him off before he could finish.

"No guest of mine leaves on an empty stomach."

The meal was modest—rice, tender vegetables, lightly spiced lentils—but it was heartfelt. Reyan added a tiny pinch of the powder to his serving.

By the second bite, he felt it.

The tightness in his chest eased. His thoughts, once racing like a storm, slowed into a gentle drift. It was... clarity.

"…This is real," he murmured.

Madra chuckled knowingly. "Most people say the same thing."

After the meal, they sealed the deal. Weekly supply. Eli would arrange local pickup and send it to Solara City by courier if needed.

Before heading to his guest room, Reyan pulled out his phone and sent a quick message to his mother:

> [Staying the night here. Everything's fine. Back tomorrow.]

He then placed an order—two delivery bikes and one catering van for ₲98,000.

> [Remaining Balance: ₲242,000]

Before turning in, he tapped out one last message:

> [Reyan: Tomorrow evening—still good for our date?]

[Lily: You bet.]

A smile settled on his lips.

He lay back on the simple cot, listening to the sounds of the village outside—distant crickets, rustling trees, a dog barking somewhere far off.

And for once, he didn't feel the weight of survival.

Just quiet.

And a strange, rising hope.

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