The morning came slower than usual.
A fog hung low in the Vale, not cold, but thick enough that the rising sun struggled to find its place.
Dew clung to dead stalks, to broken fences, and to the brittle earth. The fields stretched out from the manor like the ribs of a starving beast, cracked, exhausted, and nearly grey.
The land looked hollowed-out. It felt like it had no life in it anymore. Like it had given too much, and no one had thanked it.
Kain stood at the edge of the field, arms crossed, the villagers behind him. No guards. No parade. Just farmers with empty hands and tired eyes.
These people are really hopeless, aren't they? Kain thought to himself whilst shaking his head.
"Alright," he said, his voice calm but carrying. "Let's stop pretending we have nothing to work with."
The peasants exchanged glances. A few muttered prayers under their breath, not to the Church, but to older names, ones whispered when the priest wasn't listening.
Kain stepped forward and knelt. He picked up a clump of the dirt. Dry. Pale. Dead. He let it run through his fingers and rubbed it between his palms.
"This earth is tired," he murmured. "But not dead."
From his belt, he pulled out a worn satchel. Inside were scraps of notes from his nightly hour of research, pictures, and ancient agricultural diagrams he had redrawn in secret. Ideas from Earth. Ideas this world had forgotten or doesn't even know of. Magic might exist in this place but becomes really useless if no one is able to use it to make their lives better.
"Compost," he said to no one in particular. "Mulch. Crop rotation. Greywater irrigation."
The villagers blinked.
Kain turned. "I'm not here to teach magic. I'm here to remind the land it's still a home."
A man stepped forward: old Harl, his beard yellowed by pipe smoke. "My lord… no disrespect. But we've tried. The last harvest gave us rot. The ground's cursed."
Kain didn't flinch. "No. Not cursed. Just abused. For too long, you were told to reap without feeding back. Told to grow for coin. Not for life."
He gestured. "That ends now."
They got to work. Slowly. Hesitantly. They hauled ash from the hearths, bones from kitchens, and food scraps from last night's feast—what little remained. Kain showed them how to crush it all into pits between the old furrows. He taught them how to spread it thin and cover it with straw.
He brought buckets from the manor cistern, filtered them with cloth, and poured them into hand-dug basins around the dry stalks. He placed moss around the base of the newly turned soil mounds to help retain moisture.
And most of all, he let them see him sweat. He dug. He hauled. His boots filled with mud. His shoulders ached. He swore under his breath like a peasant would.
The sun rose higher. The work grew heavier.
By noon, someone laughed not out of joy but out of disbelief. It was the first sound of hope in days.
"Barons don't farm," someone said.
Kain didn't look up. "Then maybe barons need to start."
They worked through the day. Mistrust turned to curiosity. Curiosity became motion. Old tools were found. Forgotten corners of the storehouses opened. Even the children started helping, dragging buckets and clumps of straw with tiny feet and muddy hands.
As evening fell, a soft breeze stirred across the field. For a brief moment, it didn't smell like ash. It smelled… green. Just a hint. Just a breath.
Maxwell watched from the hill above, arms folded. He didn't interfere. Didn't speak. But something in his eyes shifted.
Inside the manor, someone from the Church, a visiting priest sent to keep tabs on the boy, scowled as he looked through the window.
"Mixing old ways with new heresy," he muttered. "The land was judged for a reason."
But even he could not deny something had changed in the soil. A low tremor. A warmth that didn't come from the sun.
By nightfall, Kain stood alone again at the edge of the field. He looked down at the trenches, the piles, and the small earthworks they had made. It was nothing. A child's effort.
And yet…
He knelt and pressed his palm to the dirt.
"Thank you," he whispered.
The land didn't answer.
But it didn't turn away either.