《Shadows of Dalmora》 Before the storm Since I was a child, school had always fascinated me. Unlike most of my classmates, who dreaded studying, I thrived on it. My mother¡¯s proud smile, her eyes lighting up over something as small as a piece of candy given to me for good behavior, is a memory I hold onto. It¡¯s funny how we tend to overlook the simplest joys in life. ¡°Aidan! Aidan! Are you still not ready? What have you been doing all this time?¡± ¡°Huh? Oh, right. Give me a second, I¡¯m almost ready.¡± I tend to get lost in my thoughts¡ªit¡¯s a bad habit I¡¯ve been trying to shake for years. We should already be out the door, and here I am daydreaming. ¡°The soles of those shoes¡­¡± my father muttered as I hurried past him, ¡°they¡¯re terrible.¡± ¡°Hm?¡± I glanced down at the frayed footwear. ¡°Don¡¯t worry, Dad. They¡¯re not uncomfortable.¡± ¡°How can they not be? You¡¯re practically walking barefoot.¡± ¡°You just don¡¯t get it. It¡¯s part of the design¡ªmultipurpose shoes,¡± I joked with a weak smile, hoping to ease his concern. Normally, he would¡¯ve laughed, but instead, his brows furrowed deeper. ¡°I¡¯d try gluing them back together, but¡ª¡± ¡°We don¡¯t have the means,¡± I cut in softly. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Dad. If it starts bothering me, I¡¯ll tell you, I promise.¡± ¡°Alright¡­¡± He sighed heavily, his worry etched into every line on his face. A sharp knock on the front door cut through the moment. It was strange¡ªvisitors this early were rare. I started toward the door, but before I could reach it, my father¡¯s hand gripped my wrist firmly. ¡°I¡¯ll get it,¡± he said, his tone low and unreadable. Our eyes met, and I understood without words. I nodded, stepping back as he moved past me. Instead of lingering, I retreated to the kitchen, giving him the privacy he clearly needed. ¡°Morning, Mom. How did you sleep?¡± ¡°I slept well, honey. Here, don¡¯t leave the house with an empty stomach.¡± ¡°Thanks¡­¡± She placed a small piece of bread and a glass of water on the table. That was breakfast¡ªmeager, but given our circumstances, it was more than I expected. For months now, life in Dalmora had deteriorated. Most resources were funneled toward the army. The war hadn¡¯t just stagnated the economy; it had hollowed it out entirely. ¡°Is something wrong, honey?¡± ¡°It¡¯s nothing.¡± I took a small sip from the glass, leaving it half full. ¡°Is Elyra still asleep?¡± ¡°You know how she is. She stays up late reading every night.¡± ¡°I didn¡¯t think she loved reading that much,¡± I said, chuckling softly. ¡°She¡¯s just like you were. I remember when you were her age, you¡¯d sneak into our room late at night with a book in hand.¡± ¡°True. We¡¯ve always been a family of readers.¡± ¡°And proudly so!¡± No matter how bleak things were, talking to my mom always lifted my spirits. Her optimism was infectious, her warmth a constant. She had once been the heart of the town tavern, her love of cooking bringing people together. When the war began, the tavern shut its doors, and her job disappeared. I can still picture her smile in that place, surrounded by laughter and the scent of fresh bread. I wish she could go back one day. ¡°By the way, I¡¯m not hungry.¡± I set the glass and bread back on the table. ¡°Excuse me? What are you saying? Aidan, you can¡¯t go out to work with your father on an empty stomach. You¡¯ll collapse.¡± ¡°You know I don¡¯t feel like eating first thing in the morning. I¡¯ll be fine.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± ¡°We need to save what little we have. I¡¯d rather Elyra gets to eat.¡± The kitchen fell into a heavy silence. Mom thought she was hiding it well, but I wasn¡¯t blind. The dispensary was nearly empty, and there was barely enough food to last the week. Both she and Dad had lost significant weight in recent months, skipping meals to ensure Elyra and I could still eat. ¡°How long have you known?¡± ¡°It¡¯s obvious. Look at yourself in the mirror. And Dad¡­ he fainted twice last week while we were in the fields.¡± I paused, lowering my voice. ¡°You might be able to fool Elyra, but not me.¡± ¡°We didn¡¯t want to worry you, honey¡­¡± ¡°I know. I¡¯m not upset, but I wish you¡¯d tell me these things. I¡¯m an adult too, you know.¡± ¡°You¡¯re right¡­ I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s just, with so much going on, we didn¡¯t want every morning to start with bad news¡­¡± I reached out, gently taking one of her frail hands in mine. ¡°We¡¯re a family, Mom. We¡¯ll get through this together.¡± Her smile wavered as a tear slipped down her cheek. ¡°You¡¯ve grown so much, my son.¡± ¡°Hey! It¡¯s a little offensive that you¡¯re only just realizing.¡± ¡°In my eyes, you¡¯ll always be my baby, you know.¡± ¡°Mom, I¡¯m 20.¡± ¡°You always say that.¡± I could have stayed in the kitchen, talking with her all morning. But my father¡¯s raised voice echoed from the entrance, sharp and uncharacteristically angry. The words were muffled, but his tone left no doubt¡ªsomething was wrong.This novel''s true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there. ¡°I think I¡¯d better see what¡¯s going on.¡± ¡°Alright,¡± Mom said, her smile dimming. ¡°But remember, don¡¯t let your temper get the better of you in front of those people.¡± ¡°I know. I just want to understand what¡¯s happening.¡± I released her hand and made my way to the front of the house. With each step, my father¡¯s words grew clearer, the tension in his voice clawing at me. He was not an easy man to upset, which only made my unease deepen. ¡°You¡¯re going to kill us all!¡± My father¡¯s voice cracked with rage, his words cutting through the morning air. This was not a good sign. ¡°Just remember, this isn¡¯t optional. The new quota applies to all farmers in the area. You¡¯re not special, so stop whining,¡± retorted the soldier coldly. ¡°You¡¯re demanding nearly everything we produce in a year! What the hell are we supposed to live on through winter?¡± As I suspected, my father was once again arguing with someone from the State Guard. It happened every time they came, and every time it only brought more trouble. From a distance, I watched the scene unfold. Standing stiffly in his polished uniform, the soldier loomed over my father. Once the Police Force, the State Guard had been absorbed into the army, their uniforms and ranks inflated with misplaced authority. These soldiers weren¡¯t protectors anymore¡ªthey were enforcers. ¡°I¡¯ve already told you what to do,¡± the soldier barked, his patience fraying. ¡°Meet the damn quota and shut up.¡± ¡°You¡¯re supposed to be here to help us! Useless bastard! You¡¯re a disgrace¡ª¡± Before my father could finish, the soldier struck him across the face with the hilt of his sword. The blow landed with a sickening thud, and my father crumpled to the ground like a rag doll. ¡°Dad!¡± I rushed to his side, dropping to my knees. Blood poured from his broken nose, staining the dirt beneath him. ¡°Maybe this will teach him to keep his mouth shut,¡± the soldier sneered, standing over us. ¡°Dad, can you hear me?¡± My hands hovered uselessly, trembling as I tried to assess the damage. Hearing the commotion, my mother came running from the kitchen. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw my father lying in the dirt, blood streaming from his face. ¡°What is this!? Are you out of your mind!?¡± she screamed, her voice raw with desperation. The soldier¡¯s expression darkened. His hand tightened around the hilt of his sword as he raised it again, this time aiming for my mother. ¡°No, no, stop!¡± I jumped between them, my hands raised in surrender. My heart raced as fear and adrenaline coursed through me. ¡°Wait! Please, wait! We¡¯ll meet the quota! W-whenever you want, it¡¯ll be ready!¡± The soldier stared at me coldly for a moment before sheathing his sword. Without another word, he turned and left. My legs shook uncontrollably as the tension drained from my body. I had never been in a situation like this before. I didn¡¯t even know how I¡¯d managed to stop him¡ªI just had to. Then I heard her voice. ¡°W-why did that man do that to Papa?¡± My heart stopped. Elyra. She¡¯d seen everything. "Elyra... Don¡¯t worry," I said, forcing myself to stand. My movements felt heavy, like wading through mud. No child should have to see something like this. I knelt down to meet her gaze, blocking her view of our parents. ¡°A-Aidan?¡± ¡°Calm down, little one.¡± I pulled her into a hug, resting her head against my chest. She didn¡¯t need to see anything more. Behind me, my mother¡¯s trembling voice broke the silence. "I¡¯ll take your father to his room..." I glanced over my shoulder to see my father struggling to his feet, supported by my mother. His face was pale, his movements unsteady, but he was alive. Barely. ¡°Yes, Mom,¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯ll come with you in a moment.¡± As they left, I stayed with Elyra, holding her a little longer. ¡°Hey,¡± I said softly, "aren¡¯t you hungry?¡± ¡°H-hungry...?¡± she murmured, her voice small. ¡°Come on.¡± I stood and guided her to the kitchen. Pulling out the piece of bread my mother had set aside for me earlier, I handed it to her. ¡°Do you like it?¡± She stared at it for a moment before shaking her head. ¡°N-no... We always eat the same thing. I don¡¯t want bread.¡± ¡°I know it¡¯s hard, but if you eat all the bread, you¡¯ll get a prize.¡± Her small face lit up with curiosity. ¡°A prize?¡± ¡°Yeah.¡± I hesitated, the words catching in my throat. ¡°If you finish all the bread, I¡¯ll take you to Mama¡¯s tavern again.¡± Her eyes widened, and for a fleeting moment, her innocent excitement shone through. ¡°Really? You promise?¡± ¡°I promise,¡± I lied, forcing a smile. The tavern was gone, burned to ash like everything else. There was no prize, no happy day waiting at the end of all this. But she didn¡¯t need to know that. Not now. ¡°Okay! I¡¯ll eat all of it, and you¡¯ll take me to the tavern!¡± ¡°That¡¯s the deal.¡± I smiled again, even as the weight in my chest grew heavier. As she nibbled on the bread, I rose to leave. ¡°There¡¯s water here if you get thirsty. I¡¯m going to check on Mama and Papa.¡± ¡°What? But I want to go too!¡± she said, her lips forming a pout. I crouched beside her again, brushing a strand of hair from her face. ¡°Not this time, Elyra. I need you to stay here and finish your breakfast, okay? Be good for me.¡± Her pout deepened, but she nodded. ¡°Okay...¡± I stood and turned, glancing back just once before heading toward my parents¡¯ room. Her small figure, still munching on the bread, was a fragile light in the growing shadows of our world. I just hoped my lie would buy her a little more time to hold on to that light. ¡°We have one month to give him a big amount of the wheat we have grown¡­¡± My father said in a low, defeated tone. ¡°The harvests have been good this year. How much did they ask?¡± ¡°Ninety percent.¡± My heart sank as I heard my father''s words. Ninety percent of our harvest meant practically nothing would be left for us to survive the winter. Even with good harvests, there was no way we could meet such an outrageous demand and still sustain ourselves. "That''s insane..." I muttered under my breath, clenching my fists. "It¡¯s impossible," my mother whispered, her voice trembling. "We barely have enough to get by as it is." "We''ll figure something out," my father said, though his tone betrayed the words. He wasn''t convincing anyone¡ªnot even himself. His face was pale, his broken nose still bleeding slightly despite my mother''s attempt to clean it up. "No, we won''t." The words escaped me before I could stop them. My parents looked at me, startled by the harshness in my voice. I continued, "Not if we keep letting them treat us like this. Ninety percent? They¡¯re not just taking our crops¡ªthey¡¯re taking our lives!" ¡°Aidan,¡± my mother began softly, ¡°please, don''t talk like that. We can''t fight them.¡± ¡°Why not?¡± I snapped. ¡°Because they have swords? Because they wear uniforms? They¡¯re supposed to protect us, not beat us into submission.¡± ¡°Aidan.¡± My father¡¯s voice cut through my frustration like a blade. ¡°Enough. You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re saying.¡± ¡°I know exactly what I¡¯m saying,¡± I retorted. ¡°We¡¯re going to starve if we don¡¯t do something. Dad, you passed out in the fields last week. Mom, you¡¯ve stopped eating so Elyra can have your share. How long can we keep this up?¡± My father looked at me, his weary eyes filled with a mixture of anger and helplessness. "And what do you propose we do, son? March into their barracks and demand fair treatment? They¡¯d laugh in your face before cutting you down." ¡°I... I don¡¯t know,¡± I admitted, my voice faltering. ¡°But I can¡¯t just stand by and watch this happen. There has to be another way.¡± ¡°Aidan, we¡¯ve survived this long by keeping our heads down,¡± my mother said. ¡°We don¡¯t have the strength to defy them. Please, don¡¯t put yourself in danger.¡± The room fell silent, the weight of despair settling over us like a suffocating blanket. I wanted to argue, to scream that there had to be a solution, but the truth was, I didn¡¯t have one. All I had was anger and a growing sense of helplessness. "I''ll figure something out," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I promise, I won¡¯t let this destroy us." Neither of my parents responded, their silence speaking louder than words ever could. I turned and left the room, my mind racing. For Elyra¡¯s sake¡ªfor all of our sakes¡ªI had to find a way to protect what little we had left. As I stepped into the dim light of the hallway, I heard my father¡¯s voice behind me, low and broken. ¡°We¡¯ve lost so much already, this is it.¡± I stopped, my chest tightening. I couldn¡¯t let their fear hold me back. If I didn¡¯t act, we¡¯d lose everything. But deep down, I knew he was right. Whatever path I chose, it would come with a price¡ªand I wasn¡¯t sure I was ready to pay it. Beneath the Scorching Sun The day before had been terrible. The commotion caused by that soldier had shaken our family to its core. I could still hear my father¡¯s defeated voice, see my mother¡¯s tears, and worst of all, remember Elyra witnessing everything. I had spent the night lying awake, desperately trying to come up with a plan to escape our situation. But my ideas were nothing more than fantasy¡ªthe wild flailing of a mind too afraid to face reality. Reality always strikes harder than any dream and today was no exception. My restless night left me drained, and once again, I skipped breakfast. Working in the field was taking a toll on my body. The scorching sun burned my skin, and the heavy humidity left me drenched in sweat. It was disgusting. I swung the scythe back and forth, cutting the wheat in hurried strokes. Right now, the quota was all that mattered. ¡°At this pace, we could have all the wheat cut in a few days,¡± I said, trying to sound optimistic. ¡°We just need to keep going, and we¡¯ll be fine,¡± replied my father. ¡°Just remember, if you need to rest, even for a little while, you can. I¡¯ll handle your part while.¡± ¡°Rest? We still have too much work ahead. It¡¯s far too early to start thinking about that.¡± ¡°I¡¯m just saying¡­ you¡¯re not as young as you used to be. I don¡¯t want to have to send you to a retirement home just yet,¡± I joked, forcing a smile. ¡°Ha! Boy, I was harvesting wheat long before you were even born.¡± The fact that we could still joke under the blazing sun, despite our hunger, our desperation, and the looming deadline, said a lot about my family. We were tough¡ªlike armor, forged through hardship. The strongest shield I knew. Or so I wanted to believe. But it was hard not to notice how my father¡¯s frail arms struggled to lift his scythe. We work at completely different paces now. His body was failing him, but his spirit remained unbroken. ¡°Let me get that one,¡± I said, stepping closer as he fumbled to cut a thicker stalk. He didn¡¯t resist, just nodded silently and moved to another patch. I tried not to let it bother me, but it did. A part of me wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all¡ªhow a man like him, who had given everything to his family, was now being ground down to nothing. Instead, I swallowed the anger and kept cutting. ¡°I brought water,¡± came my mother¡¯s voice behind us. I turned to see her walking toward us, carrying a clay pitcher and a few wooden cups. She was dressed for work, though it was clear the outfit didn¡¯t suit her. Her sleeves were rolled up, exposing pale arms that had never been meant for fieldwork. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to come out here,¡± my father said, though his voice lacked conviction. He was glad to see her. ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous. I¡¯m not going to sit in the house while you two wear yourselves out. Besides, the field belongs to all of us.¡± I took a cup of water and drank slowly, savoring it. My mother knelt beside the basket where we had piled the wheat, carefully tying the bundles together. She wasn¡¯t used to this kind of work, but her hands moved with determination. ¡°Mother, where¡¯s Elyra?¡± ¡°She¡¯s inside, trying to solve one of those old puzzles we kept stored away.¡± ¡°Lucky her,¡± I muttered. My words came out before I could stop them. I didn¡¯t want Elyra out here, baking under the sun like the rest of us¡ªbut I couldn¡¯t help envying her freedom. ¡°You¡¯ll get your turn to rest once you¡¯re my age,¡± my father said, not looking up from his work. ¡°For now, this is what growing up feels like.¡± I gave a tired chuckle. ¡°I didn¡¯t think growing up meant feeling like a corpse.¡± ¡°Better a tired corpse than a hungry one,¡± he replied, the usual sharpness in his voice dulled by exhaustion. My mother joined in. ¡°It¡¯s not as bad as you think. There¡¯s a strange comfort in knowing you¡¯re providing for the ones you love. Even if it leaves you sore and sunburned.¡± I paused, wiping sweat from my brow. ¡°And what if we can¡¯t provide? What if no matter how much we work, it¡¯s not enough?¡± ¡°You find a way,¡± my father said firmly, finally looking at me. ¡°You¡¯ll scrape and claw until you make it. That¡¯s what parents do.¡± His words lingered, and my gaze fell to the wheat in front of me. ¡°Sounds exhausting.¡± ¡°It is,¡± my mother said softly. ¡°But it¡¯s also worth it.¡±This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Before I could reply, a sharp metallic sound rang out. My stomach dropped. I turned just in time to see my father collapse to his knees, his scythe hitting the ground beside him. ¡°Dad!¡± I shouted, running to his side. ¡°I¡¯m fine,¡± he rasped, but his shaking hands betrayed him. ¡°Just need... just need a second.¡± ¡°No, you need to get inside,¡± I said, already glancing at my mother. ¡°Now.¡± She didn¡¯t argue. Instead, she crouched beside him, one arm under his shoulder as she tried to help him up. He wavered, barely able to stand. ¡°Can you walk?¡± I asked, though I already knew the answer. ¡°I can manage,¡± he mumbled. ¡°Take him,¡± I told my mother, trying to sound steady even as my heart pounded. ¡°Get him out of the sun. I¡¯ll finish this.¡± She nodded, though the worry in her eyes mirrored my own. Together, they stumbled toward the house, leaving me alone in the field. I gripped the scythe tighter. The sun felt hotter now. Heavier. But I couldn¡¯t stop. Not yet. The words of my parents lingered in my mind long after they left. The field felt heavier without them¡ªjust me, the wheat, and the oppressive heat. I tried to keep working, but with each swing of the scythe, doubts crept in. Maybe we wouldn¡¯t make it. Maybe no matter how hard we tried, this field would never be enough. I wiped my brow, my fingers trembling as they brushed against my damp skin. My father said I¡¯d get my chance to rest someday. That hard work would pay off. But looking at him, bent and broken after years of toil, how could I believe that? He had given everything¡ªhis body, his strength, his pride¡ªand still, he couldn¡¯t stop. Rest wasn¡¯t a reward. It was a luxury. One we might never earn. I stopped mid-swing, pressing the scythe into the dirt to steady myself. My chest felt tight, the weight of exhaustion and frustration pressing down harder than the heat. I wanted to scream. To throw the scythe and run. Instead, I kept cutting. Tears blurred my vision, but I let them fall. I didn¡¯t have time to wipe them away. How did it come to this? Dalmora wasn¡¯t perfect, but it had been ours. A small, quiet place where families could live without fear. Where happiness didn¡¯t come from wealth but from knowing you had enough. But now? Now, even that is gone. And as the sun dipped lower, stretching the shadows across the field, I felt something shift inside me. Anger. Not my parents. Not at Elyra. Not even at the soldier who had beaten my father. Anger at the world that allowed this to happen. I gripped the scythe tighter and kept cutting. The day felt endless. My arms ached, and the scythe dragged heavier with each swing. I had been cutting for hours, my thoughts circling back to my father¡¯s collapse and the weight of the quota. The field stretched around me, golden and almost infinite, all I could see was how little we had harvested and how much more was left. I tried to focus¡ªone stalk at a time, one swing after another¡ªbut no matter how hard I pushed, I couldn''t stop questioning myself. Would it ever be enough? Could we even make it through the winter? Then I smelled it. Smoke. I straightened, wiping sweat from my forehead once again. The scent was faint but growing stronger, sharp and bitter. No. I spun around, my eyes darting across the field. The crops were fine¡ªno fire. The house was untouched. But the smell lingered. I dropped the scythe, the clang echoing louder than it should have, and took a few steps toward the edge of our property. That¡¯s when I heard it¡ªvoices carried on the wind. Angry. Urgent. My stomach twisted. The Dastens. I ran toward the line of trees that separated our farms, my boots kicking up dirt. The Dastens had always been good neighbors¡ªfarmers like us. Hardworking, kind people. Mr. Dasten often shared tools with my father, and his wife sent Elyra small treats whenever they had extra flour. They had two sons, both older than me, who had helped build the fences between our properties. And now their house was burning. I froze at the edge of the treeline. Thick, black smoke poured from the roof. Flames crawled up the walls like hungry animals, devouring everything. I wanted to look away, but I couldn¡¯t. The shouting grew louder. Then I saw them. Soldiers. For one terrifying moment, I thought the war had reached us. But no¡ªthe uniforms weren¡¯t foreign. They were ours. The State Guard. Why? I ducked instinctively, pressing myself low against the ground. My pulse pounded so hard it hurt. The Dastens weren¡¯t rebels. They weren¡¯t criminals. They were just farmers¡ªlike us. So why? The quota. Had they refused to pay? Fallen short? I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Panic clawed at my chest, bile rising in my throat. If the Dastens had been targeted, what stopped the Guard from coming for us next? I wanted to move, to run to the house and stop them¡ªor to run home and warn my family¡ªbut my legs wouldn¡¯t budge. All I could do was watch. The flames roared louder as the roof collapsed, sending sparks into the air like dying stars. The soldiers moved methodically, as if they had done this before. One of them kicked over a water barrel, spilling its contents into the dirt. A scream cut through the crackling fire, and my breath caught in my throat. I couldn¡¯t see who it was¡ªone of the sons, maybe¡ªbut the sound was sharp and raw. Then it stopped. I felt something inside me crack. This wasn¡¯t just punishment. It was a warning. And we were next. Ashes of Uncertainty My body trembled, gripped by adrenaline and terror. I had just witnessed an act of cruelty unlike anything I had ever seen. My legs felt weak, but I forced myself to move¡ªcrawling backward at first before finally managing to stand. I didn¡¯t know what to do. My thoughts were tangled, but one thing came through clearly¡ªI had to tell my parents. I ran. I didn¡¯t stop to think. I didn¡¯t look back. My legs burned, my chest heaved, but I pushed forward until the house came into view. I threw the door open so hard it slammed against the wall with a loud crash. The noise startled Elyra, who rushed out of her room, her face pale. ¡°Aidan? What¡¯s wrong?¡± she asked, her voice trembling. I wanted to speak, but the sprint had left me breathless. I leaned heavily against the doorframe, one arm clutching my side. ¡°Get¡­ Mom,¡± I gasped, forcing the words out between shallow breaths. ¡°It¡¯s important.¡± Her eyes widened. ¡°What happened? You¡¯re scaring me.¡± I hesitated. She was too young. Too innocent. I couldn¡¯t tell her what I had seen¡ªnot yet. ¡°Something with the crops,¡± I lied, forcing a weak smile. ¡°Nothing serious. Just¡­ get Mom.¡± She looked at me doubtfully but nodded and ran toward our parents¡¯ room. I let myself slide down the door frame, pressing a hand to my face. My thoughts spun wildly. The Dastens¡¯ home¡ªburning, crumbling into ash. The soldiers. The smoke. I clenched my fists to steady myself. Seconds later, Mom appeared, her expression tight with worry. ¡°Aidan? What¡¯s going on?¡± Before I could respond, she spoke again. ¡°Your father has a fever.¡± The words hit like a punch. ¡°What? A fever? How?¡± ¡°I don¡¯t know,¡± she said, her voice trembling. ¡°He started burning up not long after he got back. I¡¯ve been using wet clothes to cool him down, but it¡¯s not enough. He¡¯s still weak.¡± I dragged a hand down my face, covering my eyes to stop the panic rising inside me. This couldn¡¯t be happening. Not now. With Dad bedridden, everything became more complicated. I couldn¡¯t finish the quota alone, and without medicine, there was no telling if he¡¯d even recover. ¡°Is he awake?¡± I asked quietly. ¡°Yes. He hasn¡¯t been able to rest.¡± I nodded grimly, straightening my posture even as my legs threatened to buckle. ¡°We need to talk¡ªall of us.¡± From the corner of my eye, I spotted Elyra peeking through the doorway, her face lined with worry. ¡°Not you,¡± I said firmly. ¡°Go to your room.¡± ¡°But I want to listen!¡± she whined, her lip trembling. ¡°I¡¯ll explain everything later, I promise,¡± I said, softening my tone. ¡°But for now, I don¡¯t want too many people crowding Dad¡¯s room. It might make him feel worse.¡± It was a terrible excuse, but I didn¡¯t have the strength to come up with anything better. Elyra hesitated, then finally nodded and shuffled back to her room. I exhaled slowly and turned back to Mom. ¡°Let¡¯s go.¡± We stepped into the dimly lit bedroom. The sight of my father lying there, drenched in sweat and barely able to move, hit me like a hammer. He looked fragile¡ªlike a man holding on to what little strength he had left. I approached the bed slowly, forcing my voice to stay steady. ¡°Dad¡­ how are you feeling?¡± ¡°Not great,¡± he admitted with a weak smile. ¡°But nothing I can¡¯t handle.¡± ¡°What¡¯s going on, Aidan?¡± he asked, his voice strained. ¡°Elyra said something happened with the crops. If you need help harvesting, I can¡ª¡± ¡°The Dastens,¡±I interrupted, the words catching in my throat. ¡°They¡¯re dead.¡± The room went silent. Dad¡¯s expression froze, and Mom¡¯s hand flew to her mouth. ¡°What?¡± Dad croaked. ¡°Their house¡­ it¡¯s gone. The State Guard burned it. I saw it myself.¡± I had tried to stay strong, but the words broke something inside me. My voice cracked, and I had to look away. ¡°They refused to pay the quota. I think¡­that''s the only explanation.¡± Mom sat down hard on the edge of the bed, her face pale. ¡°Are they coming here?¡±she whispered. ¡°Not yet,¡± I said quickly, though the words felt hollow. ¡°We still have time.¡± Dad tried to sit up, but the effort left him coughing violently. I rushed to steady him, guilt twisting inside me. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t be moving!¡± Mom snapped. He waved her off weakly. ¡°If we¡¯re next, we need to have the quota ready.¡± His words sent a chill down my spine. We weren¡¯t ready. Not even close. ¡°But it doesn¡¯t make sense.¡± My voice wavered, caught between disbelief and anger. ¡°Why would the State Guard do something like this? It¡¯s excessive. If they¡¯re so desperate for the quota, killing the farmers won¡¯t help! It¡¯s¡ªit''s insane!¡± I paced the small room, my hands trembling. My father lay still, his breathing shallow, but his eyes followed me with sharp intent. ¡°There¡¯ve been... rumors,¡± he said, his voice rough and strained. I froze. ¡°Rumors? What kind of rumors?¡± I demanded, turning to face him. He shifted slightly, wincing as if even that small motion drained what little strength he had left. ¡°The government is no more,¡± he whispered. ¡°These decisions¡­ these extreme measures¡­ I heard some parts of the State Guard are acting on their own.¡± That¡¯s when I finally realized. ¡°On their own? Are you saying the crops we¡¯re working for¡ªthe quota we¡¯re struggling to meet¡ªmight not even be going to the real army?¡± My voice cracked as frustration boiled over. ¡°It¡¯s possible.¡± His eyes locked on mine, and suddenly I felt small, like a child again. His gaze¡ªfirm yet heavy with exhaustion¡ªcut deeper than any words could. ¡°Dalmora is lost.¡± The room seemed to shrink around me. My chest tightened.Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there. Lost? The word echoed endlessly in my head. This small, broken country¡ªour home¡ªhad always been battered by the wars of others. We were pawns caught between titans, struggling just to survive. But even then, I had believed we could hold on. I had believed we could rebuild. Now it felt like all of that had been an illusion. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to speak. ¡°No,¡± I said softly, but there was no conviction behind it. ¡°We¡­ we can still¡ª¡± ¡°Aidan.¡± His voice cut through my denial, steady despite his weakness. ¡°You need to face this. They won¡¯t stop. Not until they¡¯ve taken everything.¡± I wanted to scream. To fight. To run until I found someone¡ªanyone¡ªwho could make this nightmare stop. But I couldn¡¯t. My father was dying. My family was falling apart. And I couldn¡¯t do a damn thing about it. I clenched my fists so tightly my nails bit into my palms, but the pain barely registered. ¡°What do we do?¡± I asked, though the words felt hollow. ¡°We survive,¡± he said. ¡°No matter what it takes.¡± Survive? What was the point of surviving if it meant living like this? I didn¡¯t want to scrape by, clawing at the edge of existence. I wanted to live¡ªa real life. A quiet, ordinary life where I wouldn¡¯t have to count every grain of wheat or fear every shadow on the horizon. But that wasn¡¯t the world we lived in anymore. My father was right. Pretending otherwise wouldn¡¯t change reality. Survival was all that mattered now. I exhaled slowly and nodded. ¡°Dad, how much time do we have before they come for the quota?¡± ¡°That man¡­ he said by the end of the month.¡± ¡°I see.¡± I turned and left the room, leaving my mother to tend to him. Night had fallen, but there was no time to rest. My body ached, but my mind refused to stop. Passing Elyra¡¯s room, I hesitated. I¡¯d promised to explain everything, to tell her the truth. But how could I? I walked past her door and into the kitchen, grabbing a piece of bread. I took a small bite¡ªjust enough to push away the hunger. It would have to do. Outside, the night air was cool, and the silence felt heavier than usual. I retrieved the scythe I¡¯d abandoned earlier and went back to work. Cut. Gather. Repeat. The hours blurred together, and before I knew it, dawn crept over the horizon. The next morning, I returned to the house, taking another bite of the same piece of bread before heading back to the fields. For my family. For my future. For my dignity. Cut. Gather. Repeat. The blisters on my hands burst, raw and stinging, but I didn¡¯t stop. The scythe and I had to become one. Every swing had to count. I couldn¡¯t waste energy¡ªnot when so much was at stake. Days passed. The fields shrank. My body screamed for rest, but I pushed forward. Four days later, I stood in the kitchen, staring at the last bite of bread. My final portion. I chewed slowly, my stomach twisting¡ªnot from hunger, but from fear.. I¡¯d left the little food we had for Dad and Elyra, and this single piece of bread had been my only reserve. Now it is gone. As I swallowed, I saw my mother shuffle past the hallway. Her thin frame looked more fragile than ever, the sharp lines of her ribs visible beneath her dress. She had taken scraps from my father¡¯s meals, but it wasn¡¯t enough. At this rate, my family would starve before the end of the month. That thought clawed at my mind, tightening its grip with every passing second. Then it hit me¡ªthe Danstens. Their house was gone, burned to the ground, but maybe¡­ maybe something survived. Anything. I didn¡¯t have time to hesitate. I grabbed my scythe and an old leather bag before heading toward the ruins. The walk felt longer than it should have. When I arrived, the sight stopped me in my tracks. The Danstens¡¯ home¡ªor what was left of it¡ªstood like a skeleton against the gray sky. The charred remains of walls jutted out at odd angles, and ash covered everything like a burial shroud. I swallowed hard and stepped closer. The back door hung loosely from its hinges, swaying slightly in the wind. I pressed my shoulder against it, and with a groan, it gave way. Inside, the air was thick with the stench of smoke and something far worse. The walls were blackened, crumbling in places, leaving gaping holes where sunlight poured in. I moved carefully, my boots crunching over debris. My eyes scanned the wreckage, searching for anything¡ªtools, food, even scraps of cloth. But as I stepped forward, my foot hit something solid. I looked down.. Bones. I staggered back, my heart almost stopped. There, strewn across the scorched kitchen floor, were the remains of the Danstens. Or what was left of them. I forced myself to look, even as tears blurred my vision. Charred flesh clung to blackened bones, twisted and broken. The fire had consumed them, erasing everything they were¡ªeverything they could have been. My stomach churned, but I couldn¡¯t tear my eyes away. I had played in this house. Laughed with these people. And now¡­ Now they were nothing but ashes. I was about to collapse in tears when I heard it¡ªa sound, faint but unmistakable. Someone else was here. Panic gripped me instantly. I wasn¡¯t supposed to be here. I scrambled into one of the ruined rooms, pressing myself against a wall and peering through one of the cracks. A soldier. He entered through the front door as if he owned the place, and it didn¡¯t take long to realize he was doing exactly what I was¡ªsearching. Was his family starving too? Or was it something else entirely? I tracked his movements carefully, trying to stay out of sight, but then it happened. My foot slipped on a shard of glass, the sound echoing like a gunshot. Pain flared as the broken glass sliced through my shoe. ¡°Who¡¯s there?!¡± the soldier barked. His voice was sharp, angry. I froze for a moment before limping out of my hiding spot, hands raised. ¡°It¡¯s me! Don¡¯t shoot!¡± ¡°And who the hell are you?¡± he snapped, his weapon already pointed at me. ¡°M-my name¡¯s Aidan. Aidan Kael.¡± The whole time, the man kept his pistol trained on me. I didn¡¯t know much about weapons, but I recognized the design immediately¡ªa Gamma gun. Dalmora still used these outdated relics, a reminder of how far behind we were compared to other nations. These weapons fired projectiles by channeling Gamma energy, a substance found in trace amounts within human blood. Gamma energy wasn¡¯t magic or some mystical gift. It was a naturally occurring particle¡ªmicroscopic, invisible¡ªthat circulated through the bloodstream like any other compound. Its origins were still debated, but decades ago, scientists had figured out how to harness it. With the right technology, Gamma could be extracted, amplified, and weaponized. These pistols pulled small doses of Gamma directly from the user¡¯s blood, converting it into high-speed projectiles capable of piercing metal and stone. But there were limits. Each shot drained a small reserve of Gamma from the wielder, and while the body could regenerate it over time, the recharge wasn¡¯t instant. Depending on the design, it could take anywhere from seconds to minutes to regain enough energy to fire again. If used without caution it could kill the wielder. That vulnerability made Gamma weapons feel outdated and clunky¡ªtools of second-rate armies like Dalmora¡¯s. But that didn¡¯t make them any less dangerous. Gamma energy wasn¡¯t limited to weapons, either. It powered generators, fueled industrial machines, and could be manipulated to create magnetic fields or reinforce materials. Rumors even suggested some factions were developing more advanced technology to weaponize it in ways people couldn¡¯t yet imagine. I stared at the gun in his hand, my body tensing. One shot was all it would take to kill me. But if I could make him miss, I¡¯d have seconds¡ªjust seconds¡ªto act before it recharged. ¡°Aidan Kael¡­ You¡¯re not one of the Danstens.¡± ¡°No, sir. I was just¡ªjust looking for anything that could help my family. My dad¡¯s sick, and we have nothing left.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯re wasting your time,¡± he spat. ¡°There¡¯s nothing here. Now get out.¡± ¡°Then what are you doing here?¡± I asked before I could stop myself. The soldier took a step closer, his gun never wavering. ¡°You really want me to repeat myself, boy?¡± He loomed over me, his uniform dark green with black accents. The coat he wore looked more like a cloak, heavy and menacing, with Dalmora¡¯s symbol embroidered on the back. At his side hung a blade¡ªa sword meant for close combat. And then I saw it. The rings. Sareth Dansten¡¯s rings. The soldier¡¯s fingers glittered with them¡ªclean, polished, untouched by fire. The realization hit me like a hammer. This wasn¡¯t scavenging. He¡¯d taken those rings from Sareth¡ªwhile he was still alive. My blood boiled. Memories of the screams as the Danstens¡¯ house burned surged back, and I knew. I knew this man was part of it. ¡°Drop the scythe,¡± he ordered. ¡°Turn around and walk away. Now.¡± ¡°O-okay¡­¡± I obeyed, slowly lowering the scythe and turning as instructed. He snatched my bag without hesitation, rummaging through it. ¡°You¡¯ve got nothing,¡± he sneered. ¡°At least the last ones had something worth taking.¡± That was it. The dam inside me broke. I spun around and lunged at him. He didn¡¯t expect it. Not from someone like me¡ªhalf-starved and desperate. His weapon fired, but I had already knocked his arm aside. The Gamma shot burned across my shoulder, searing my skin. I ignored the pain. We hit the ground hard, but he was bigger, stronger. I fought to keep him down, my fists pounding against him. My first punch landed awkwardly, sending a jolt of pain through my knuckles. My second was even worse. He shoved me off, but as I fell, my hand found the scythe. I didn¡¯t think. I just acted. The blade arced through the air, and then¡ª Blood. So much blood. The curved edge of the scythe had buried itself in his throat. His eyes went wide, shock and terror frozen on his face as he tried to breathe. Tried to speak. He couldn¡¯t. He was choking on his own blood. I staggered back, dropping the weapon as if it had burned me. ¡°N-no¡­¡±¡ªThe word barely escaped my lips. ¡°No, no, no.¡± Tears blurred my vision as I sank to my knees. My hands were shaking¡ªwet and red. ¡°I¡¯m sorry¡ªI¡¯m sorry¡ªI didn¡¯t mean to¡ª¡± But he wasn¡¯t listening. His body slumped to the floor, his eyes still fixed on me, wide and empty. I couldn¡¯t breathe. My chest heaved, but it felt like there wasn¡¯t enough air in the world to fill my lungs. What had I done? What had I done? The last thing he saw was me¡ªhis executioner. Aidan Kael, a murderer.