Rio the Wanderer and the Town of Memories

第1話 The Town that Sells Memories－１－

The highland wind carried a hint of moisture in the morning air, gently brushing Rio’s hair. The smell of dry grass mixed with distant dust, leaving a faint sting in her throat as she breathed. On her shoulder, the mechanical bird Crow shook his wings and whispered sharply.

“The next town… they call it the Town that Sells Memories.”

Rio frowned. For an eighteen-year-old girl, the name sounded too strange. Inside her, unease and curiosity rose at the same time. A town where people sold pain and joy like objects—the thought alone made her chest tighten.

Far away, white walls stood tall. In the morning sun, they shone like floating petals, beautiful and dreamlike. But as she came closer, she saw the walls were carved with complex patterns, giving a very different impression. The shifting shadows made her feel as if the town’s secrets were hidden there, and her heartbeat quickened.

The tires of her bike kicked up sand, the sound soft against the cobblestones. On the wind came the faint noise of hooves and the cries of distant birds. Excitement and fear filled her chest, shaking her whole body like the wind itself.

“…Is this really the town?” Rio whispered. Her voice melted into the morning air, carried away with the scent of sand.

Crow rustled his wings and answered firmly. “No doubt, Rio. The rumors were true.”

Rio took a deep breath. She reminded herself of her resolve—to carry both pain and joy as her own. At eighteen, she was still young. Her curiosity about the unknown was strong, but so was the fragility of emotions that sometimes felt too heavy to bear.

Passing through the gate, the scenery of the town changed at once. Neat rows of buildings, stone-paved streets, and townsfolk with calm expressions. But their faces all looked the same, with almost no rise or fall of emotion. People who laughed, people who frowned, people who acted surprised—it all seemed controlled, as if they were living inside a carefully made balance.

All around the town stood small shops, their signs reading Memory Trading Company, Hall of Remembrance, House of Oblivion. Behind the windows, memories shimmered softly inside glass bottles, catching the light. Each time sunlight touched them, the glowing particles inside the bottles rippled like fragments of time locked away.

“Welcome, traveler.”

The voice belonged to a small girl. Her clear eyes and pale skin gave her an almost transparent look, and though it was their first meeting, she felt strangely familiar. She said she worked at one of the town’s “memory shops.” Opening the door with her small hand, she smiled.

“In this town, you can sell the memories you don’t need. Sad memories, painful memories, embarrassing ones… all of them.”

“Sell…? And someone buys them?” Rio asked, a little uncertain.

“Yes. Many people want to experience someone else’s life. Pain and joy alike are consumed as stories.”

Rio stepped inside the shop. She picked up one of the clear bottles on the shelf. A faint light swayed within it, and in an instant a memory flooded into her mind—flames of battle, screams, the smell of blood, voices crying. Someone’s suffering came back to life so vividly that her hands trembled and her chest tightened.

“This one… was sold by a soldier ten years ago, during the war. He himself has already forgotten it.”

“And did that make him happy?” Rio asked quietly.

The girl smiled, then fell silent for a moment. “Who knows? But he said it made him feel lighter.”

Rio gently put the bottle back. She looked out at the town. Everywhere, people had let go of their pain and lived in calm, uniform peace. But was that peace truly happiness? The question spread quietly in her heart.

As Rio walked through the town, the noise of the marketplace surrounded her. Brightly colored cloth, fruits, and the scent of spices filled the air. Her footsteps echoed on the stone pavement.

Amid the crowd, Rio observed people’s small gestures. In an old man’s hand was a bottle holding the memory of his first love—the quickening heartbeat of holding hands, the warmth of blushing cheeks. When a customer touched the bottle, they smiled, but their eyes carried a quiet ache.

A young mother was selling the memory of her child’s first steps—the warmth of small hands, a voice, a smile. By letting go of that moment, she seemed to lighten the weight of her daily life. Nearby, a boy was trying to sell the joy of meeting his first friend. Inside the bottle, his laughter seemed to shine like light.

Rio thought to herself—selling pain might bring relief, but did it also strip away the depth of emotions? Would joy and warmth also fade away?

On her shoulder, Crow shook his wings and whispered sharply, “Rio, you’re trying to protect your own heart from this town’s way of thinking.”

“…Yes, I suppose I am.”

That night, at the inn, Rio’s eyes met a young man sitting by the window. His face was pale, his body thin, and his gaze sharp yet empty. His eyes carried deep exhaustion.

“You’ve seen them too, haven’t you? The bottled memories?” he asked.

“I have… Did you sell yours?”

“Of course. I sold all the memories of losing my family. I don’t have to cry anymore.”

“And… are you happy?”

The young man gave an empty smile. “I don’t know if I’m happy. But the past is gone. All I have now… is an empty present.”

Rio looked at him closely, and ripples stirred in her heart. To know someone’s pain, to understand someone’s joy—that was part of what she loved as a traveler. But if that was lost, then what meaning would her journey hold?

Later, on the rooftop of the inn, Rio gazed up at the stars. The wind brushed her cheeks, and distant streetlights flickered faintly. Crow shook his wings softly and whispered, “Rio, do you have the resolve to travel while carrying pain?”

Still staring at the night sky, Rio answered, “Yes. Pain and joy alike—they are proof of my journey.”

In her chest, the images of the town swirled—the people’s quiet happiness, the smiles without pain, the memories sealed in bottles. All of them asked her the same question: what does her journey truly mean?