The carriage jolted to a stop at the edge of Hearthbrook. I opened the door and smelled the village before I saw it—dust, stale smoke, the sour tang of rot.
"Wait here," I told the coachman. "We'll walk."
Lena climbed out without a word and fell into step beside me. The driver gave a respectful nod, then settled back on the bench and dozed, reins loose in his hands.
We walked along the dirt path into the village proper. Houses clustered close together—low, crooked things sewn from mud and wood. A few patches of vegetable beds tried to cling to life; most had given up. Children played among broken pots and a toppled cart wheel, their cheeks hollow, ribs ghosting beneath threadbare shirts. An old man coughed on his porch, shoulders bowed so far forward his spine might have been a wish. A woman bent over a small heap of grain, fingers trembling as she counted what she'd saved.
I swallowed. "And I thought my life was bad," I thought, picturing fluorescent lights and dead-end spreadsheets. These people didn't glance at me. To them I was another suited stranger with a ledger and a promise. A merchant. Another creditor.
A shout cut across the lane. A man stepped into their way, arms folded, eyes like flint. His shirt was patched but clean; his stance was one of someone who'd lost sleep and decided anger was cheaper than sleep. "How many times we got to tell you?" he barked. "We aren't selling our land. Get out!"
Kael stopped short. Lena did not flinch; her hand hovered at her hip for a breath, then relaxed. The villagers around them glanced over, knives half-sheathed, faces smudged with smoke and worry.
"Er—what?" Kael blinked. "I'm not—"
"Don't play dumb!" the man snapped. "You're one of them, ain't you? Sent by Lyrne? Come to take what little's left!" His voice cracked, and a few others stepped closer, eyes narrowing.
"Lyrne… Merchant Association?" I repeated, blank. "We aren't—" My words snagged on the look in the man's face.
People were gathering now: faces peering from doorways, a child clinging to a woman's sleeve. Tension tightened the village air like rope. A woman near the well spat into the dust. "You bastards," she muttered. "They send their dogs and buy the land, then demand more and more."
Lena's fingers had slid to her belt. In one smooth motion—too smooth—I watched twin daggers flash free and come up in a defensive cross between her hands. Her face was calm, businesslike. "Move one inch and I will cut your throat," she said, voice quiet and deadly.
For a heartbeat, the village froze. The farmer's jaw worked; the children stilled mid-breath. Even the wind seemed to hold back.
I put a hand on Lena's wrist. "Lower them," I said softly. "We're not here to hurt anyone."
She stared at me for a second, then lowered the blades with a soft click. The steel slipped back into leather. She stayed between me and the crowd, posture protective, eyes flinty.
I stepped forward slowly and reached out, placing both hands on the farmer's shoulders. He didn't jerk away—he was too tired for fear-driven flight—but he trembled where he stood. His knuckles were white around a splintered walking stick.
"Calm down," I said, keeping my tone steady. "I'm not a merchant collector. I have no interest in buying your land."
He grunted—half disbelief, half relief. "Then who are you? Don't play games with us."
"Name?" I asked.
"Henry, my lord," he said stiffly.
"No need to stand like you're being hanged, Henry." I gave him a half-smile. "Relax. Why were you shouting about selling the land? Tell me everything."
He shifted his weight, eyes never leaving my face. After a long breath, he answered, slower now. "They come from Lyrne. The Merchant Association. Been showing up more often. Offer a pittance for a mortgage, say it's a 'loan' to tide you over. But the fine print—" He spat into the dirt—"it's a trap. They take the land when the harvest fails, and then you starve paying rent on what used to be yours."
"And when you refuse?" I prompted.
"They come back," Henry said flatly. "Collectors, guards, thugss with smiles. Sometimes they threaten. Sometimes they burn a field to teach us obedience."
Lena's face was unreadable, but I could see the way her hands flexed at her sides. "So they bully you into selling," she said quietly.
"Exactly," Henry snapped. "We won't sell. Not our land. Not everything else gone—if we sell this, we'll be beggars." He glanced at my clothes and then at Lena. "We thought… you were with them. You had a maid and better garb. You looked like those Lyrne men."
I let out a short, surprised laugh. "I get that a lot. Been mistaken for the wrong people my whole life—only difference is I actually pay attention now." I motioned to myself once. "I'm not a collector. I'm… Kael Valenheart. Lord of Duskmoor." Saying it felt oddly foreign and heavier than I expected.
For a few heartbeats Henry just stared. Then something in him—instinct, habit—folded. He dropped to his knees and bowed so low his forehead nearly touched the dirt. "My lord! I—" His voice broke into desperate rambling. "I have sinned! I raised my voice against the lord! Forgive me! Take my life, take what you will—spare my family—"
I put a hand up. "Stop. Get up." My voice was firmer than I felt. "I said I'm not here to drag anyone to the gallows."
He didn't move—kept his forehead on his hands—only his shoulders shaking with the speed of his breathing. Lena stepped forward without a word and grabbed his collar, pulling him up into a crouch. Her hands were rough and efficient; one motion straightened his back, the other wiped a line of dirt from his cheek. Despite being a man, Henry flinched—Lena's quiet authority had a way of unmaking the bravest anger.
"You okay?" I asked him.
Henry's lips trembled. "Yes… my lord." He swallowed. "Forgive me. Forgive my tongue. We have been broken so long."
I held his gaze. For a moment I could see the life he'd worn—tired, small losses layered into a man who was still stubborn enough to stand his ground. That stubbornness was useful.
"I didn't come to punish," I said slowly. "I came because I want to change this place. This place has been neglected for far long. But I can't fix this place alone." I let the words hang between us.
He looked up, eyes wide and searching. For a second I wondered if he thought it was another merchant's lie. Then the corner of his mouth twitched, like a tiny, surprised sunrise. He nodded once, fiercely.
"Ok, lead me to the fields."