Winter had fully given way to spring, the biting cold replaced by the damp warmth of the season's first rains. The fields were growing again, but the work was hard. Harder than I remembered it ever being. But as I toiled each day, I noticed something strange about my body—it was changing, growing stronger with each passing span. My arms thickened, muscles rippling beneath the skin that had once been soft.. Hair grew in places where I hadn’t seen it since before I came here, and I could feel a strength returning that I once commanded. The farm was working its magic on me, slowly restoring the power I had once wielded in my old life.

Still, the heaviness of the winter months clung to the farm like a shadow, refusing to be shaken. It wasn’t just the lingering cold or the hard labor. It was the absence of news from Jacob. We had heard nothing—no letters, no word of his mission. Sophia kept watching the road as if any day now he would ride in and tell us all how foolish we were to worry.

But the longer the silence stretched, the more the anxiety grew. Ged buried himself in his work, pushing the rest of us hard, but even he couldn’t hide the worry that creased his brow each time we gathered at the table. Reece kept to himself more and more, frustration evident in every tense exchange.

It was early morning when the rider came into view through the mist, his silhouette dark against the pale light of day. At first, it was just the soft thudding of hooves, distant and hollow, as if the sound came from the earth itself. But as he drew closer, the noise grew sharper, more distinct, and a heavy sense of foreboding settled over the farm. I could feel it, even before I saw the King's Guard uniform gleaming under the thin sunlight. His armor was polished to a cold sheen, the sigil of the King’s Guard etched boldly into his chest plate, but the somberness on his face told the real story.

There was no urgency in his approach—just a slow, deliberate pace, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The kind of look a man wears when he’s about to deliver news that will break someone. My stomach twisted with dread, as the rider stopped in front of us.

The silence was suffocating. Even the birds stopped their morning song. The wind stilled, as if the very world sensed what was coming. My breath hitched, my chest tight, the feeling that something terrible was about to happen growing stronger with every passing second. The rider’s face remained grim as he reached into his saddlebag, pulling out a folded piece of parchment, the edges worn, Jacob's name scrawled across it in ink.

Sophia was the first to step forward. Her eyes were wide, filled with a growing horror that I could see swelling inside her. “No...” she whispered, her voice trembling, fragile, as if it could break at any moment.

The rider handed Ged the letter, his voice quiet, respectful, but carrying the weight of finality. “For the family of Captain Jacob.”

Ged took the letter with trembling hands, and for a moment, none of us breathed. His fingers fumbled with the seal as he broke it open, unfolding the parchment. His eyes scanned the words, but his expression didn’t change—just grew more shadowed, more hollow.

Then, quietly, he spoke. "He's gone."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and the world seemed to tilt for a moment. Jacob. Gone. It didn’t feel real. He’d always been a larger-than-life figure, strong, dependable, the one who kept the Ministry at bay. And now... gone.

I heard Sophia’s sob before I saw her collapse. “No!” she screamed, her voice piercing the silence like a sharp blade, shattering the quiet that had settled over us. Her wail was more than just grief—it was agony, the kind of sound that came from deep within, from a place of unimaginable loss.

She fell to her knees, hands trembling as tears streamed down her face, and the rider, even used to delivering these kinds of messages, looked away, his own expression tightening in discomfort.

Ged swallowed hard, his voice rough as he finally spoke, forcing out the words none of us wanted to hear. “Killed... in action. They’d cleared out of Moss Side. His unit was sent north... didn’t make it.”

The farm felt hollow after that, like all the life had been drained from it in an instant. Sophia’s sobs filled the air, raw and uncontrollable, while Ged just stood there, his face pale, his eyes distant. His brother was gone, and nothing would be the same again.

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I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. All I could do was stand there, my mind spinning, trying to process it. Jacob was the reason I was here, the man who had saved my life back in Moss Side. He had been more than just a protector to this farm; he had kept the Ministry’s cruelty at bay with his station, his reputation. Without him, the farm felt exposed. Vulnerable.

Jacob was gone.

And we were left standing in the shadow of what that meant.

The farm felt hollow after Jacob’s death, a grief pressing down on all of us. Sophia moved like a shadow, her usual spark gone, while Ged tried to push us forward, knowing the work had to continue.

A few days later, the sound of carts and horses broke the stillness of the afternoon. I stepped out of the barn, my hands still coated in dirt from working the soil, and saw them. The Ministry enforcers, passing by in a grim procession. Prisoners, chained in the back of their carts, their faces beaten and bruised, their bodies slumped in defeat.

They were from a neighboring farm. I recognized some of them, though their features were barely recognizable beneath the blood and dirt. The Ministry had come for their taxes, and when they couldn’t pay, they’d taken everything—including their freedom.

My stomach twisted as the carts drew closer. At the front of the group, riding tall and proud on his horse, was Grayden. The man’s cold eyes swept over the farm, and when they landed on me, his lips curled into a sneer.

"Afternoon, boy," he called out, his voice dripping with mockery. He slowed his horse as he approached, pulling something from his saddle. My blood ran cold as I saw it—Jacob’s sword, the one I had seen him carry so many times before. Grayden swung it in front of him, inspecting the blade like it was some sort of prize.

"You know," he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "your uncle put up a good fight. A damn shame, really." He turned the sword in his hand, the sunlight glinting off the metal. "Could’ve been useful to the Ministry. But he got... above his station."

A deep, burning rage flared inside me, hotter than anything I’d felt before. The urge to tear the man from his horse and make him pay, almost overwhelming. But I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Not here, not now, with Sophia and Ged watching. Not with the family already in mourning. I swallowed the anger, though it sat in my throat like a bitter taste.

Grayden gave me one last look, his eyes filled with satisfaction, before he spurred his horse forward, the rest of the enforcers following behind, their laughter mixing with the rattling of chains and the groans of the prisoners.

As they passed, Sophia clutched my arm, her nails digging into my skin. She didn’t say anything, but I could feel the tension in her body, the fear that had taken hold

That night, as I lay in bed, the events of the day swirled endlessly in my mind. Grayden’s smug grin, the battered prisoners, Jacob’s sword in the hands of that monster—all of it circled like vultures waiting to descend. The Ministry wasn’t just some distant shadow looming over us; they were here, on our doorstep, and without Jacob’s strength, without the reputation that had shielded this farm, we were nothing but prey.

I had been planning to leave once Jacob returned. He had saved me back in Moss Side, brought me to this farm, and for a while, I thought I might stay—until the time was right. But with him gone, the thought of leaving troubled me, even though I knew I could. I could pack up and disappear into the wind, just another wanderer. It would be easy—safer, even. The Ministry’s eyes would eventually turn elsewhere, wouldn’t they?

But that was a lie. I couldn't leave Sophia unprotected, imagining her as one of those poor people beaten and chained in the back of a prison wagon. The Ministry was everywhere. Their reach extended into every corner of the world, every field, every farm. Even if I left, what would stop them from coming back, tightening their grip on Ged, on Sophia? They were relentless, like weeds choking the life out of everything good and decent. I wanted to protect them all—Sophia, Ged, even Reece, despite the widening rift between us. But how? How could I stand against something as vast and corrupt as the Ministry?

My body was growing stronger, the hard work of the farm thickening my arms and toughening my resolve. But even with the light weaving, even with the power inside me, I was still just one man. One man against an army. The thought of facing the Ministry alone—it was laughable, almost ridiculous. What chance did I have against their numbers, their control?

I stared up at the ceiling, the darkness pressing in around me. A spark—that’s all I was. A single spark against the raging inferno that was the Ministry. And yet, something inside me wouldn’t let go of the thought that maybe, just maybe, that spark could grow. That it could catch fire, ignite something bigger than myself.

My body stiffened beneath the blanket, feeling the heat of the decision simmering inside me. I couldn’t leave. Not now. I couldn’t keep hiding, pretending that everything would be alright if we just kept our heads down. The world wasn’t going to fix itself, and the Ministry certainly wasn’t going to back off.

Something had to change. I had to change. I needed to become stronger, smarter. I had to find a way to protect the people here—Sophia, Ged, the ones who had taken me in when I had nothing. And if it meant stepping into the fire, facing the Ministry head-on, then so be it. I would find a way, or die trying.