“Cheap warm bread! Get your cheap warm bread here! Just 10 quillings per loaf!” Called a voice in the crowded cobble street. The sound reverberated off the stone and the surroundings walls. Holes littered the stall behind a middle-aged merchant. The old wood, broken in multiple places, creaked against the wind. The slogan was repeated ad nauseum against the array of voices crowding the small street.

A single man stepped up to the merchant. His black and silver hair swept with the wind. The dark eyes pierced the products before him. “10 quillings? Aren’t you charging too much?”

A scoff escaped the merchant’s crooked mouth. “Hey punk, I need to make a living here too, alright?” The merchant’s eyes shifted between the rude customer before him and the possibilities behind. “So, either pay up or move on.”

The customer glanced down at the merchant. Pressure seeped past the tear ducts and dripped into the surrounding hot air. Clamoring peasants continued to walk past the stall. “How’s 3 quillings then for half a loaf?” The man asked, the tips of his fingers gliding across a dagger hilt strapped to his waist.

An echoing thump sounded off in the merchant’s ear from his chest. Cold sweat slowly dripped from his ear lobes onto the ground below. His nerves fired against the will of his spirit. Run was the only thought remaining in his head. “S-s-sure. Half... a loaf. H-here” Each word scraped like nails along the back of the merchant’s throat. The shaking hands could barely grasp the metal coins dropped into their palms.

“Thanks.” The customer responded. His voice was soft, yet carried a crude bite. His free hand grabbed the soft loaf; heat swiftly passing through the layers of his skin. Fingertips dipped slowly into the soft texture.

“M-may I know your name…?” The quivering voice of the merchant barely reaching the man’s ear.

“Why?” He replied. Dark eyes glared at the feeble merchant.

A loud gulp escaped the merchant’s throat. His muscles inadvertently pushing his body away from the danger. “I...it’s good business to know my customer’s names.” He forced through with his words. A small puddle of sweat had formed on the ground next to him.

The customer stood there. His eyes continued to monitor every motion of the merchant. Pedestrians continued to pass by as the scene unfolded. Air filled the man’s lungs. A sweeping surge of anger clung to his mind. “Duran” The man finally said. Duran’s face scrunched in displeasure from revealing his name.

“Mr. Duran…?” The merchant asked; his motion begging for additional information.

A smooth sound drifted out as Duran unsheathed his dagger. “Just Duran” he emphasized. The midday sun glared off the shiny metal blade before the merchant.

Nerves screamed in the merchant’s ear. His entire body begged to escape. Tears started to swell behind his eyes. His mouth gaped open without a word as silent air brushed past his teeth. The feeling of invisible weight could be felt all over his skin. His shoes slid across the stone ground without a hold. “T-t-t-t-t-then..” he finally choked out. A single tear slipped down his left cheek.

Duran stood there in silence. His pressure drowned the merchant in front of him. The dagger sank back into its sheath with a click. Metal clanked on the road as Duran stepped away from the stall. His lightly armored figure drifted into the crowd. Like a frantic beast, the merchant’s eyes scanned his surroundings. Relief swelled in his soul. A clammy palm touched his face in disbelief. “I-I’m still alive…” The merchant sank deep into his chair as if his muscles gave way.

“Hey old man!” A voice rang out from the merchant’s side.

Shock sped through his body like a torrent. His heart swelled inside his own throat. The merchant’s eyes darted towards the new voice. As quickly as it came, the shock left his body at the sight before him. “Oh” he sighed in relief, “What do you want, Gallup?”

“You look like you’ve seen death, old man.” Gallup replied, a large grin forming on his face.

The merchant glared at the young man next to him. “I practically did.”

Gallup’s face shifted; his brows raised ever so slightly. “What do you mean?” Concern could be felt in his words as they brushed past the merchant’s ears.

“Someone needs to alert the guards.” The merchant’s back released itself from the chair behind him. The wooden rest was drenched in sweat. His shivering hand still covered half of his face. “A dangerous man has arrived here, Gallup. Just the sheer pressure from him was enough to make my body give out.”  The words trembled in the air between them.

Gallup could feel the fear surrounding his friend. Cold sweat dripped between the cracks in his palms. “Did you get his name at least?” Gallup firmly placed his hand on top of the merchant’s shoulder.

The merchant’s head nodded in response. His eyes seemingly drifted off towards a void. A quiver in his lips complicated his speech. “Y-y-yeah…” He whispered.

Gallop stood there, his hand still on his friend’s shoulder.  A warm breeze passed through the busy street while he waited for a name. “Old man, I need his name if you want me to go to the guards.”

A brief light returned to the merchant’s eyes as he was brought back to reality. “Duran.” He said swiftly beneath his breath.

The loud street air swallowed the merchant’s response. Gallop strained his ears to hear. Blood veins emerged on his forehead from the pressure. “What was his name?” He asked again; this time raising his voice slightly.

“Duran!” The merchant shouted. His voice filled to the brim with fear. Cold sweat began to tremble off his brow. Muscles twitched in his arms which reached out and gripped Gallop’s arms. “His name was Duran!”