The registration hall buzzed with activity as practitioners of traditional medicine from across the country gathered, their formal robes creating a sea of varying colors and insignias. Elder Harding and I approached the registration desk, but I couldn't ignore the dismissive glances and hushed whispers directed our way.
"Old Harding and some nobody," one elderly practitioner muttered just loud enough for us to hear. "Why does he even bother coming back year after year?"
Another chimed in with a smirk. "Thirteenth time's the charm, perhaps?"
Their laughter grated on my nerves, but Elder Harding simply kept walking, his face a mask of practiced indifference. The slight slump in his shoulders, however, told me everything.
"You don't have to tolerate that," I said quietly.
He gave me a weary smile. "Save your energy for battles that matter, Liam. I've weathered worse storms than the hot air of old men."
