It was a day like any other, and yet it was the day that unmade me.
The morning broke grey and heavy, clouds low over the hills as though the sky itself sagged beneath unseen burdens. I was in the orchard with my eldest son, Gareth, showing him how to judge an apple's ripeness by the firmness beneath his thumb. He laughed when I pressed one into his palm, too sour by weeks. His voice still echoes in my mind, bright and careless, as though eternity lay before us.
By noon, we had returned to the manor for the mid-day meal. Elira oversaw the table with her usual quiet grace, the children squabbling over bread. For one brief hour, life seemed ordinary. How cruel it is, the way ruin often waits until we are most unguarded.
It began with the pounding of hooves.
At first I thought it was a guest arriving, or perhaps riders from the neighboring estate. But the sound grew frantic, desperate. The servants rushed to the windows, and I heard shouts from the courtyard. A moment later, the great doors burst open, and Thomas, one of my stable boys, stumbled inside, mud streaked across his face.
"Master! Raiders!" he cried, his chest heaving. "The north pastures, gone! They drove the cattle off, cut down the men who resisted"
I rose so quickly my chair fell back. "What do you mean gone?"
"All of them, sir. Driven off in less than an hour. They came with muskets and torches."
I could scarcely comprehend it. The herds, years of careful breeding, the pride of Dalewick, scattered like dust in a storm.
Before I could speak again, another rider staggered through the doors, his coat torn, blood on his brow. This one was Matthew, the steward's nephew. He fell to his knees before me, his voice hoarse.
"The barns, sir fire" He coughed violently, clutching his chest. "All grain stores… burned."
Elira gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. My children froze, their laughter stilled as though struck dead. I could smell the smoke already, faint on the wind, as though the very air carried proof of his words.
I tried to steady myself. "The men? Were they"
"Some escaped," Matthew whispered. "Many… did not."
And then, as though calamity were not yet complete, a third figure appeared in the doorway, William, my steward, his face ashen, his eyes wide with horror. His voice cracked as he spoke.
"The old hall, sir. It has collapsed. Your sons and daughters"
The rest was lost to me. The blood roared in my ears, drowning his words. I remember Elira's scream, shrill and breaking. I remember Gareth's empty chair at the table. My legs failed, and I sank to the floor, my hands grasping at nothing.
I had thought myself a man of composure, of reason. But in that hour, I was stripped bare, a father with ash for children, a master with ruins for wealth. I could not speak. I could not move. My servants wept around me, Elira clung to me with shaking hands, but I felt nothing but the great void opening in my chest.
Somehow, through numb steps, I found myself outside. The courtyard swam before my eyes. Above the distant hills, smoke rose in black plumes, thick against the sky. Flames licked the heavens, devouring all I had built.
Rain began to fall, sudden and sharp, as though the very firmament mocked me with its tears. I fell to my knees in the mud, my clothes soaking through, and raised my face to the darkened sky.
"Why?" The word tore from me like a wound. "Where did it all go wrong?"
But the heavens gave no answer. Only the hiss of rain upon fire, the sobs of my wife behind me, the stench of ruin carried on the wind.
I remained there as the daylight faded, unmoving, rain streaking my cheeks. My estate was broken, my wealth consumed, my children dead. In a single day, fortune had turned to ash.
Neighbors would later say it was only raiders, only chance, only ill fate. Yet in my heart I knew it was more than that. Misfortune has many faces, but betrayal wears the clearest. Some hand had guided them to Dalewick, some voice had told them where to strike, and when. And though I could not yet prove it, suspicion curled cold and sharp in my gut: Corven Hale.
That night, when at last I stumbled back inside, Elira sat by the hearth, her face pale, her eyes hollow. She did not weep. Her silence was worse than any cry. I took her hand, but found no words. What words could suffice when all had been torn away?
I went to the window, staring at the rain streaking the glass. My reflection stared back at me, gaunt, hollow, no longer the master of Dalewick, but a man undone.
And again, in a whisper that scraped my throat raw, I asked: "Why, where did it all go wrong?"
The silence answered me.