Phainon leaned against a post of the thatched shed, looking somewhat embarrassed.
As he desperately waved his hand, trying to fan away the overpowering stench, he explained,
"When I was little, I fed sheep, but the manure in the pen was always handled by the adults..."
"Oh my, you can't even do this much work?" Cipher teased. "Our little savior is a real man, you know. Who would've thought he'd never done any dirty work as a child?"
As he smelled the pitchfork Cipher was bringing closer and closer, Phainon's face grew even paler.
"I did some proper work, okay?"
That fermented smell, sharp enough to pierce his skull, seemed to drag him back to a scorching summer afternoon...
It was no less intense and suffocating than the stench of the compost pile beneath the old tree at the village entrance.
Back then, he and his friends would pinch their noses and race past it, their laughter shrill, as if running fast enough could leave the smell behind—leave all their troubles behind.
Cipher blinked mischievously. "Then tell me, what did you usually do in the village?"
"Harvest wheat?" Phainon said uncertainly, his thoughts drifting toward the land that held the most memories of his life.
Even the pungent smell before him seemed to fade somewhat beneath the fragrance of wheat.
"The wheat fields in Aedes Elysiae were beautiful. Whenever the wind blew, they looked like waves of gold."
His gaze softened as he recalled the past.
It was as though he could see that boundless golden sea rising and falling beneath the sun, heavy ears of wheat brushing against one another with a soft rustling sound.
"Though it wasn't really harvesting. I just followed the adults around and picked up fallen wheat stalks."
Phainon smiled brightly.
"Those wheat awns would