Peter Manser's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

Peter pushed his cart to the main plaza as dawn crept over Whispering Icehills. His hands gripped the cold metal handles. The wheels rattled over frozen cobblestones. He found a clear spot and set up his station. The garlic butter sizzled as he heated his pan. Within minutes, the smell of seared scallops drifted through the morning air. A few people slowed down, sniffed, then kept walking. He called out his price. No one stopped. He adjusted his approach, smiled bigger, offered samples. Still nothing. By noon, he'd sold two skewers. His jaw tightened. He needed to learn fast what this town actually wanted, or his empire would die before it even started. Peter packed up early and walked the streets, watching what people actually ate. They grabbed warm bread from corner shops. They sipped thick soups from clay mugs. The cold made them want comfort, not fancy seafood. He spotted a small garden tucked behind a building, wildflowers still blooming despite the chill. A transparent dome covered them, keeping the sun from burning the delicate petals while blocking the worst of the wind. Someone here understood protection, patience. Peter stopped and stared at it. His food needed the same thing—the right shelter, the right environment. He couldn't force scallops on people who wanted stew. He had to build his empire on what they'd actually buy, not what he thought was best. Tomorrow he'd start over with a new menu.