Location: Branhal – Barley Fields Time: Days 8-10
Morning – Day 8
The morning air was damp with dew, the earth still soft from the last rain. A faint mist curled above the fields where Branhal's barley struggled in brittle patches of exhausted soil. The stalks that should have stood waist-high drooped like tired men under a weight they could no longer bear.
Alec stood at the edge of the main field with Balen the steward, a ledger tucked under the balding man's arm. Two laborers — Marna, a gaunt widow, and Terek, a young ox-handler — waited nearby, watching Alec with uncertain eyes.
"These rows are too tight," Alec said, crouching to examine the soil. "Overplanted, undernourished, and harvested without replenishing anything the soil lost."
Balen cleared his throat. "I've told the workers to add animal waste when it's available."
"It's not enough. You're stripping the nutrients without replacing them. That's why your yield shrinks each season."
Balen looked defensive. "And what would you suggest? We don't have gold for more land."
"You don't need more land," Alec said, standing. "You need rotation. Divide this field into thirds. Barley in the first, legumes or clover in the second — they'll fix nitrogen back into the soil — and leave the third fallow to recover. Rotate each season."
The steward stared at him.
"Three fields, three uses," Alec said. "In two years, your harvest will double."
Marna tilted her head. "That sounds like leaving one third of the land to do nothing."
"Not nothing. Resting," Alec said. "You've worked your earth to death. Letting it recover is how you keep it alive."
Terek scratched his chin. "And this... this clover thing. You eat it?"
"The animals do," Alec replied. "And their waste, in turn, feeds the land."
Balen remained unconvinced. "That's not how it's been done."
"That's why you're starving."
The words landed heavy in the air.
Alec didn't flinch.
Marna looked at the field with new eyes. "We'll do it," she said quietly.
Terek nodded. "Can't be worse than last harvest."
Balen looked annoyed, but said nothing.
Alec turned back toward the village. "We'll need digging tools, buckets, and wood for channel shaping. I'll show you how to irrigate too. You're wasting half your rainfall."
Balen called after him. "And what should I tell Harwin?"
Alec didn't look back. "Tell him I'm growing his future."
Later That Day – Movement Begins
By midday, more laborers had joined. Mira, though not participating, stood nearby observing with curious eyes, as Alec drove wooden stakes into the ground and directed workers to begin carving shallow trenches through the western edge of the field.
The work wasn't fast — the tools were crude, the soil clumped with years of poor management — but the method was new, and people watched with awe as water from a small river tributary was gradually directed into the channels, moistening rows with deliberate control, rather than chance.
"You act like this is a battle," Terek muttered, shoveling beside Alec.
"It is," Alec replied. "A battle against time, ignorance, and scarcity."
Mira approached during a break, offering water.
"You're going to break them at this rate," she said.
"I'm showing them how to break their limits."
She handed him a rag to wipe his face. "You don't stop, do you?"
He looked at her, confused. "Why would I?"
"Because people aren't machines."
"No," Alec said. "But they're capable. More than they think."
She studied him a moment longer. "You were raised in a place without softness, weren't you?"
He blinked. "Softness is inefficient."
She gave a soft, almost sad smile. "So is loneliness."
He said nothing. And she didn't press.
Evening – Lysa's Approach
The evening sun dipped behind the treeline, casting long shadows over the field. Alec sat on a fallen log, examining a crude diagram scratched into a flat slate — a crop rotation pattern, with companion planting notes marked in symbols the villagers could understand.
"Impressive," came a voice behind him.
He turned slightly to see Lysa standing there, arms crossed, hair pinned up with a copper comb.
"You've spent more time in the dirt these past three days than most of Branhal's farmers," she said.
"It's where real growth happens," Alec said.
She stepped closer, glancing down at his diagrams. "You're not just smart. You're focused. Relentless."
"I was trained to be," Alec said.
"Trained?"
He paused. Then, "My childhood was... structured."
She sat beside him without asking. "You don't talk about it."
"There's nothing to talk about. It was walls, equations, commands."
"And no people?"
"No people I wasn't ordered to study or report on."
Lysa watched him quietly. "That explains why you don't understand half the looks Mira gives you."
Alec blinked. "What looks?"
Lysa laughed. "Exactly."
He looked down at his slate. "Mira is useful. She observes well."
Lysa tilted her head. "So do I."
He met her eyes. She didn't look away.
"You're not here just to grow food," she said. "You're building loyalty. Among the laborers. The commoners. Even Jorren's speaking more favorably of you."
"They're just following the logic," Alec said. "If something works, it should be kept."
"That's not how people work," Lysa said. "But it's how leaders think."
She stood and adjusted her cloak.
"I want in."
"In?"
"Whatever you're building," she said. "Whatever structure you're forming around you. I want to be part of it. You don't understand this world, Alec — but I do."
He considered her. "You're Harwin's niece."
"Exactly," she said. "And he's not going to last forever."
Day Seven – The Split Begins
By the seventh day, Alec's changes were impossible to ignore.
The western fields had been reorganized. Irrigation channels had been shaped. The land now lay in clearly marked divisions — some furrowed, others seeded with clover, others left alone, as he instructed.
And the people?
They were working harder. But they weren't grumbling anymore. They were learning.
Even Harwin came to see it — standing on the field's edge in silence, flanked by Balen and Silla.
"I never thought I'd see it," Balen murmured. "Alec said he could double our yield. I didn't believe him."
Harwin watched Alec from afar, who stood surrounded by three youths copying his trench angles in the dirt with sticks.
"He's not done," Harwin said. "And we need to decide what to do when he is."
"You sound worried," Silla said.
"I am," Harwin replied. "The people are starting to look at him the way they used to look at me."
Later That Night – Friction
Mira's hut was quiet, lit only by the faint glow of embers.
"You've drawn a line in the village," she said. "You see it, don't you?"
"I see a line between what was and what could be."
"Harwin's watching you now. Not just observing — calculating."
"I expected that."
She poured tea, passing him a cup.
"And Lysa?" she asked.
Alec took the cup, sipping slowly. "She's useful."
"She's ambitious."
"That's also useful."
Mira sat across from him, brow furrowed.
"You still don't understand, do you?" she said.
"Understand what?"
"The weight of what you're doing. You're not just introducing ideas. You're changing how people see themselves. You're creating power where there was none. That always leads to blood, Alec."
He looked into the cup.
"I've seen worse," he said.
"And you think that makes it better?"
"No," Alec said. "But it makes me ready."