The morning after his coronation, Kael rose before the city bells. The air of Solvantis was sharp with sea salt and wood smoke. From the window of his chamber—little more than a stone tower half-built—he could see the River Liora winding silver in the distance, and beyond it the dark ridges of the Spine of Dawn.
The kingdom was small, but it was his. And it was starving.
At the council table, the same three faces greeted him: Commander Daren with his scarred cheek, Mira the knowledge keeper with her ink-stained hands, and Old Renn leaning on a crooked cane. No gilded thrones or marble floors graced the chamber; the table was oak, rough and scarred by knives, and the banners hung threadbare.
Daren wasted no time.
"Our scouts report Ashfang raiders moving south. They'll strike within a month if unchecked. We need soldiers, not farmers."
Kael nodded slowly. His father had died by Ashfang steel. The urge to march, to strike, beat hot in his blood. Yet he pressed his palm against the table's edge, the sun mark warming faintly.
[touched thing : Oak table ; current state: scarred, sturdy ; potential usage: furniture, weapon hafts ; suggestion: reinforce with pine resin for longevity]
Not the table he cared about, but the reminder it brought. Every resource mattered. They had little enough.
"Without food, soldiers cannot fight," Kael said. "We strengthen the fields first. Then we face the Ashfang."
Renn chuckled, his voice dry as reeds. "The boy speaks sense. A hungry man cannot lift a spear."
Daren's jaw tightened, but he said nothing.
Kael turned to Mira. "How much land lies fallow near Liora?"
Mira unrolled a parchment map, smudged with charcoal. "Three villages hold claim, Majesty. Their soil has turned thin. Crops fail more each year."
Kael's pulse quickened. He remembered the whisper of the soil beneath his hand: mix clay with sand, strengthen yield.
"We will send workers to carry clay from the riverbanks. Spread it across the sandy plots. Rotate the barley with root crops."
The council stared.
Daren frowned. "Clay? Dirt on dirt? That is your plan?"
Mira's eyes sharpened. "Root crops? Our farmers know barley and beans, nothing more. Where would you learn this?"
Kael met her gaze calmly. "My grandfather spoke often of the land. He believed it could be guided, not merely endured."
At the name of Roderic, silence fell. The old king had vanished in the Spine, but his legend still lingered. To invoke him was to shield a bold idea with memory.
"Very well," Mira murmured, dipping her quill. "I will record it: In the first days of King Kael, soil was mixed with clay, and crops were turned upon their beds. Let us see if the harvest proves the words true."
---
By midday, Kael walked among the fields himself. Villagers knelt with baskets, pulling stunted barley from the dry soil. The plants were yellow, their roots thin. A woman wiped sweat from her brow, staring at the boy-king with suspicion.
"You say clay will feed us?" she asked. "Clay chokes plants. Everyone knows it."
Kael crouched beside her, touching the soil.
[touched thing : Coastal field soil ; current state: exhausted, sandy ; potential usage: low ; suggestion: mix 2 parts Liora clay, 1 part dung ash for fertility boost]
He dug a finger into the dirt. "Too loose. The water drains away before the roots can drink. Clay holds water. With ash, it will breathe again."
The woman blinked. Around them, murmurs rose. Some laughed nervously, others frowned.
"You sound like a priest," one man muttered.
Kael straightened. "No. I sound like a king who will not watch his people starve."
The words settled heavier than stone. The villagers bent their heads and began their work.
---
That night, in the half-built hall, Kael studied a broken fishing net.
[touched thing : Fishing net ; current state: frayed, brittle ; potential usage: near useless ; suggestions: weave with river flax, coat with pine oil for longer use]
He set it down, heart racing. Everywhere he touched, knowledge bloomed. Not visions, not commands—possibilities.
Mira entered quietly. She carried the Chronicles of Solvane, its leather cover patched and faded.
"You speak with confidence, Majesty," she said. "But confidence does not always make truth."
Kael looked at her. The candlelight softened her sharp features. "You doubt me."
"I record," she replied evenly. "And I see a boy speaking as if he carries centuries of wisdom. That is worth noting."
Kael's lips tightened. Should he tell her of the mark? Of the whispers only he heard? Yet something held him back. If others knew, they might call it blessing—or curse.
"Then record this," he said instead. "That I will not lead Solvane into ruin. If my words prove false, let them hang me on these half-finished beams."
For a moment, Mira's eyes flickered with something like respect. Then she bowed, quill scratching across parchment.
---
Weeks passed. Workers dug clay from Liora's banks, hauling it in carts to the coastal plots. Ash was scattered, seeds turned. For the first time in years, the soil darkened with promise.
But Daren's warnings proved true as well.
One dusk, a horn blared from Solvantis' watchtower. Smoke rose beyond the river. Raiders.
Kael raced to the walls, his heart hammering. Flames licked at the thatch of a distant village. Daren's militia scrambled into armor, their spears no better than sharpened poles.
"We march tonight!" Daren shouted.
Kael gripped the parapet. His vision swam with memories not his own—lines of soldiers with drilled discipline, shields locking, banners flying. But Solvane had no such army. Only farmers with spears.
He turned to Daren. "Hold the city. Send word to the villages to flee behind the walls. We cannot lose men in open ground."
Daren's face darkened. "Cowardice will breed bolder raids."
Kael met his glare. "And dead soldiers will leave us nothing to defend. We choose the ground. We build strength first."
The commander ground his teeth but obeyed. The villagers poured into Solvantis through the night, clutching what little they could carry. The gates closed, and the raiders melted back into the dark.
From the walls, Kael watched smoke curl into the night sky. His stomach twisted.
Mira stood beside him, silent, until she spoke softly: "Shall I record this, too? That your first defense was not with sword, but with patience?"
Kael's eyes burned. "Record it. But also record this: one day, Solvane will have the strength to strike back."
The mark on his palm pulsed faintly, as if the sun itself heard the vow.