Armed with the small stack of Naira, Elias headed for the market. The vibrant chaos was a stark contrast to the quiet dread of the alley. The scent of spices, fried dough, and charcoal smoke filled the air, mingling with the ever-present, subtle sourness of ambient pollution. He observed the faces of the vendors, the haggling customers. Each furrowed brow, each sharp word exchanged over prices, each fleeting moment of impatience or frustration, registered to his Eldritch-attuned senses as tiny, almost invisible wisps of negative emotion, drifting like invisible spores.
He approached a small barbecue stand, the sizzling meat on skewers tempting his grumbling stomach. The vendor, a man with calloused hands and a perpetually weary expression, expertly fanned the coals. "How much for two sticks?" Elias asked, his voice a little rough from disuse. It was his first verbal interaction in this new life. The words felt clumsy on his tongue, a bridge back to a normal existence he no longer truly inhabited.
The vendor quoted a price, his tone flat. Elias handed over the exact amount, careful not to reveal any more money than necessary. As he waited for his order, he subtly observed the vendor. A deep-seated tiredness, almost despair, emanated from him—a significant pocket of pollution in its own right, albeit contained. It was fascinating, and chilling, to see the human condition translated into potential Eldritch fuel.
He received the skewers, the warm, spicy aroma momentarily distracting him from his cosmic worries. He ate slowly, savoring the flavor. The simple act of eating, of feeling the warmth of food, anchored him. This was society. These were people. And they were, for the most part, entirely unaware of the invisible, insidious war being waged for their very reality. Elias knew he had to navigate both worlds – the visible, mundane streets of Barden Yana, and the hidden, terrifying battlefield of the Eldritch. His phone hunt would be next.