The fields of Ravencourt had begun to change.
Not all at once.
Not dramatically.
But enough… for those who worked the land to notice.
Golden strands of young crops stood firmer than before, swaying under the morning breeze.
Healthier.
Stronger.
Alive.
"Oi… look at this."
One farmer crouched low, running his fingers through the soil.
"…It's holding moisture better."
Another nodded, disbelief still lingering in his voice.
"And the spacing… just like that boy said."
The memory was still fresh.
A young traveler.
Calm. Observant.
Speaking of soil rotation and water flow like it was nothing.
"…Maybe he wasn't lying after all."
Not far from them—
Aleron stood quietly at the edge of the field, hidden beneath his usual cloak.
Watching.
"…It worked."
Not perfectly.
But it worked.
The irrigation adjustments.
The spacing of crops.
The rotation method he suggested.
All simple changes.
Yet ignored for years.
Aleron exhaled slowly.
"For something this small to make such a difference…"
His gaze hardened slightly.
"…Just how long has this land been mismanaged?"
But before the thought could settle—
A sudden voice cut through the air.
"You're the one who told them, aren't you?"
Aleron turned.
Standing a few steps behind him… was a boy.
About his age.
Simple clothes. Nothing noble about him.
But his eyes—
Sharp.
Too sharp.
"I've been watching the fields for weeks," the boy continued.
"They didn't come up with this themselves."
Aleron didn't answer immediately.
Instead, he studied him.
"…And who are you?"
The boy didn't bow. Didn't flinch.
"Someone who pays attention."
A pause.
"…Name's Cael."
Aleron almost smiled.
"Then you've already figured it out," Aleron said calmly.
"Yes."
Silence lingered between them.
Not awkward.
Measured.
"You're not just some traveler," Cael said.
"You talk like you've read books most people here have never even seen."
"And you act like…" he narrowed his eyes slightly, "…this land belongs to you."
Aleron chuckled softly.
"Careful. That kind of thinking gets people in trouble."
Cael didn't laugh.
"I'm not wrong."
For a moment—
Neither of them spoke.
Then—
Aleron stepped closer.
"If you're so observant," he said, "then tell me."
"Why is Ravencourt struggling?"
Cael didn't hesitate.
"Because no one is thinking."
Aleron's eyes sharpened.
"Farmers repeat what they were taught. Merchants react instead of plan. Guards follow orders without questioning anything."
A pause.
"And whoever is in charge…"
"…is either blind—"
He stopped himself.
Just slightly.
Aleron noticed.
"Or?" Aleron pressed.
Cael looked directly at him.
"…or not paying attention."
Silence.
Then—
Aleron laughed.
Not loudly.
But genuinely.
"You're interesting."
Cael frowned slightly.
"That's not a compliment where I come from."
"It is today."
Aleron turned, looking back at the fields.
"What would you do?"
he asked.
"If you were the one in control."
Cael's expression changed.
Not hesitation.
Not fear.
Focus.
"Fix trade routes first," he said immediately.
"No point increasing production if you can't move goods safely."
"Then restructure supply. Store surplus instead of panic selling."
"And assign people based on skill—not status."
Aleron's smile faded.
Not because it was wrong.
But because it was exactly right.
"…You've thought about this a lot."
"I have to," Cael replied simply.
"People like me don't get second chances."
That answer lingered.
Aleron turned back to him fully.
"Cael."
The boy looked up.
"Stay close to this area," Aleron said.
"I might need someone who 'pays attention.'"
Cael narrowed his eyes.
"…You're giving orders now."
Aleron smirked slightly.
"Am I?"
Another pause.
"…Fine," Cael said.
"But next time—"
he stepped a little closer,
"—don't pretend you're just a traveler."
Aleron didn't reply.
He simply walked past him.
But for the first time—
A piece had fallen into place.
Not power.
Not authority.
But something far more valuable.
A mind that could stand beside his own.
As Aleron disappeared down the path—
Cael remained where he stood.
Watching.
Thinking.
"…Ravencourt, huh."
And somewhere deep within the vast territory—
Change had already begun.