The stars hung low over the Vale, they were scattered like salt across a black cloth. Kain sat against the manor wall, arms draped over his knees, his boots were covered with drying mud. The air was quiet, and the night held that kind of calmness that makes everything feel better.
The field in front of him was rough and half-turned. Not fixed. Not beautiful. But different now. Like something had been stirred awake. A small start but an important one too.
He exhaled slowly, the breath catching a little in his chest.
His eyes drifted upward.
Flashback — Earth
The lights in the city were never turned off.
Kain used to live on the 47th floor. A tall glass tower, all smooth edges and expensive silence. Marble counters. Shelves filled with books he never read. Machines that cooked better than most restaurants. A view that stretched so far you could forget anyone else existed.
At night, he'd sit by the window, a glass of wine in his hand, untouched. Below him, cars moved through on the road like veins. People moved like clockwork. Everything was clean, polished and predictable.
He should've been happy. He had what others wanted; a name that meant something in meetings, a bank account that never asked questions, invitations to all the right places.
Even the freakest parties he was invited to P.D.
But the silence in that apartment didn't soothe him. It pressed in, Heavy and Cold.
He remembered one winter night, walking barefoot across the floor just to feel the chill. Just to remind himself he was still there.
He left the window open sometimes, even when it was below freezing, it was not for the view but for the sound of wind, something raw.
His friends if they could be called that were the kind that smiled with their teeth and laughed too hard at jokes they didn't hear. They talked about markets, about trends, about people as numbers. No one ever asked him what he missed. No one ever stayed past the second drink.
And deep down, he knew: he wasn't poor. But he was starving in a different way.
One night, standing in the kitchen, dressed in a suit that fit too well, he looked at his reflection in the oven glass.
Tired. Well-dressed and Alone.
"I don't know what I'm doing anymore," he whispered out aloud. There was no one but quite.
And the quiet didn't answer.
The stars here were softer. They weren't competing with anything. Just hanging there, watching.
Kain blinked. Someone was nearby.
It was a girl barefoot, small, wrapped in a wool blanket too big for her. She clutched a piece of flatbread in her hands. It was uneven, torn roughly.
She didn't say a word. Just stepped forward and held out half.
Kain looked at her. She didn't flinch.
He took it.
They sat together on the cold stone steps, chewing in silence. The bread was coarse, burnt in one corner. It tasted like woodsmoke. Like ash.
But it also tasted real.
And for the first time in a long while, it tasted like something.
He glanced at her. "What's your name?"
She just shrugged. "Ma says not to talk much to lords."
"I'm not much of a lord," Kain said with a small smile.
She nodded, as if that made sense. As if she'd already figured that out.
They sat a little longer.
In the distance, owls called. A dog barked once. Then quiet again.
Kain let his head rest against the wall. He wasn't thinking about plans, or systems, or what tomorrow needed. Just this. Just this small moment, quiet and alive.
The girl finished her bread, wiped her hands on the blanket, and stood. "Thank you," she said.
He blinked. "For what?"
She tilted her head. "You looked tired. You look less tired now."
And with that, she padded away, back to the shadows of the village.
Kain stayed.
He looked out at the fields again. There was still so much to do. The soil still needed feeding. The tools were blunt. The water was short. And the Church was watching him.
But the land… the land had not turned away.
He stood, brushed the crumbs from his coat, and stretched. His muscles ached. His back hurt. His hands were raw.
It felt good.
With one last look at the stars, Kain whispered, "Tomorrow, we build again."
And this time, the silence didn't feel so empty.