The morning in Ravencourt was quiet.
Too quiet.
From the high balcony of the estate, Aleron stood alone, staring at the lands that stretched endlessly beyond the horizon.
Fields. Villages. Roads.
A kingdom that looked whole.
But felt… empty.
"…the harvest failed again this season."
The voice drifted up faintly from below.
Aleron didn't move.
"…again?" another replied. "That's the third time this year."
"They say the soil's just not giving anything anymore."
"…then how are we still supplying the capital?"
A pause.
"We're not. Most of it's being bought from outside. Traders from Solmire are charging double now."
Aleron's eyes narrowed slightly.
Bought… from outside?
For a land this large?
"…if this keeps going," the first voice whispered, "we won't be able to afford it much longer."
Silence followed.
Heavy.
Uncomfortable.
Real.
Aleron turned away from the balcony.
Something about it…
Didn't sit right with him.
That night—
He left.
No escorts.
No guards.
No announcement.
Just a simple cloak, pulled low over his head, blending him into the darkness as he slipped past the estate gates.
No one stopped him.
No one noticed.
The air beyond Ravencourt felt different.
Colder.
Less controlled.
The further he walked, the more the illusion of power faded.
The roads became uneven.
The houses smaller.
The people quieter.
By the time he reached the village, the sun had barely risen.
It was… worse than he expected.
The fields were dry.
Not completely barren—
But weak.
Uneven patches of crops struggled to grow, their color dull, their leaves thin.
Farmers moved slowly across the land, their expressions tired.
Resigned.
"…this won't last another month."
Aleron paused near the edge of a field.
Two farmers stood nearby, their voices low but clear.
"We already reduced the planting twice," one said. "If we cut more, we won't have enough for winter."
"And if we don't?" the other replied. "The soil's already exhausted. Look at it."
A foot pressed into the ground.
Dry.
Cracked.
Aleron stepped forward.
"…When was the last time you changed the crop?"
The two men froze.
They turned.
Surprised.
"…who are you?"
"Just a traveler," Aleron replied calmly.
They exchanged a glance.
Then one of them sighed.
"…we don't have the luxury to change crops."
"What grows, grows."
"And right now… barely anything does."
Aleron crouched slightly, running his fingers through the soil.
It crumbled too easily.
Too loose.
No structure.
"…you're draining it," he said quietly.
"…what?"
"You're planting the same crops. Over and over."
He looked up.
"No recovery time. No rotation."
The farmers frowned.
"…rotation?"
Aleron stood.
"There are crops that restore the soil."
"Not just take from it."
"You alternate them."
"Let the land recover while still producing."
They stared at him.
Confused.
But listening.
"…and while you're at it," Aleron continued, "you need water control."
He pointed toward a shallow ditch nearby.
"That's not irrigation. That's runoff."
"You're losing half your water before it even reaches the crops."
"…so what do we do?" one of them asked, hesitant.
Aleron walked toward the edge of the field, scanning the terrain.
"There's a slope just beyond this area."
"If you dig channels—controlled ones—you can guide the water properly."
"Not flood everything."
"Not waste it."
The farmers exchanged another look.
This time—
Different.
"…and the seeds?" the older one asked. "Even if we fix the soil… we don't have enough to risk experimenting."
Aleron was silent for a moment.
"…then don't risk all of it."
They blinked.
"Start small."
"One section."
"Test it."
"If it works—you expand."
"If it fails—you lose almost nothing."
Silence.
The wind passed through the weak crops.
"…you talk like someone who's seen this before," the farmer said slowly.
Aleron looked at the fields.
At the cracked soil.
At the struggling life.
"…something like that."
He turned.
Preparing to leave.
"…wait."
Aleron paused.
"…if this works…"
The farmer hesitated.
"…we won't need to rely on outside traders as much."
Aleron didn't answer immediately.
Solmire.
Trade dependency.
Inflated prices.
A weak land…
Was an easy land to control.
"…then make it work," he said.
And with that—
He walked away.
The sun rose higher behind him.
By the time he returned to Ravencourt…
The estate looked the same as before.
Grand.
Powerful.
Untouchable.
But now—
He could see it clearly.
A kingdom that could not feed itself…
Was not a kingdom.
It was a dependency.
And dependencies…
Could be controlled.
Aleron stepped back into the shadows of the estate, unnoticed once more.
His expression was calm.
But his thoughts—
Sharp.
Trade routes.
Food supply.
Soil.
Water.
Weaknesses.
All of them.
Good.
That meant—
They could be fixed.
And when they were—
Ravencourt would no longer need to bow to anyone.
Aleron looked out once more, toward the distant lands beyond the estate walls.
This time—
He wasn't just observing.
He was planning.