The wagon rolled on for two more hours, but the world outside had already died.
Soren sat by the window, his golden eyes fixed on the passing fields—or what used to be fields. The earth was cracked open, baked the color of old, splintered bones. The trees stood like black skeletons, their bare branches clawing at a sky that hadn't bled a drop of rain in a year.
Across from him, Nora sat perfectly still, her sharp eyes watching his reflection in the glass. She rarely spoke first, but the sheer scale of the desolation outside was unsettling, even to a shadow.
"My lord," she murmured, her voice barely carrying over the rattle of the wheels. "If the rains fail for a single year, does it truly ruin a province this entirely? Look around us. Even the stones look thirsty."
Soren did not turn away from the glass. "A year without rain hurts, Nora. It kills the weak crops and thins the herds. But it does not do this."
Nora tilted her head. "Then what did?"
Soren's jaw tightened. "Men."
He finally looked at her, his eyes cold and ancient. "There are parasites who use the wrath of the gods for profit. Corrupt nobles. Greedy merchants. When the rivers run low, they dam them up. They hoard the wells. They create a monopoly on survival. Their treasuries grow fat on gold while the peasants drink mud and die."
His voice was dead calm, but his knuckles were white where his hands curled into fists on his knees.
"When we secure a foothold in the city, send a shadow-raven to the Sun Family estates. Tell them to load wagons with grain and dispatch them to the outer villages of Kohrnes."
Mother Lisa, who had been pretending to sleep in the corner, opened one eye. "Soren, that is a bandage on a severed limb. How many times will you send food? Once? Twice? You cannot feed a province forever."
Soren's golden eyes hardened. "I know, Mother. Food is just to keep them breathing. To cure the disease, I have to take absolute control of this city's water. If I don't, these nobles will drain the blood of the poor until there is nothing left but ghosts."
Nora leaned forward, the shadows in the wagon seeming to pull toward her. "My lord, that is treason. The Shadow of the Dragon is always watching. The Emperor has spies in every tavern and brothel. If you openly destroy a noble's business, the capital will brand you a rebel before you even reach Tengarr."
Soren smiled. It was not a kind smile. It was the smile of a trap snapping shut.
"I am not going to destroy any noble, Nora. I am going to make them my slaves."
Before the silence could settle, the driver's voice cracked like a whip from the front seat. "My lord! We have reached the gates of Kohrnes!"
The walls of Kohrnes rose from the dust like the ribcage of a rotting beast.
They had once been magnificent, built to withstand imperial sieges, but now the stone was heavily scarred and crumbling. The massive iron gates stood wide open, not out of hospitality, but because the hinges were too rusted and broken to close.
The wagon rolled to a halt. A lone city guard stepped into the road, leveling a rusted spear. His armor was mismatched, his face hollowed out by hunger, his eyes feral.
"Halt! Who enters Kohrnes?"
"We fly the banner of the Sun Family," the driver answered flatly. "Open the way."
The guard let out a dry, hacking laugh. He spat a wad of dust onto the road. "The Sun Family? You think I'm an idiot? The Golden House of the West traveling in a single, unmarked wood wagon? Don't play games with me, or I'll drag you down and beat the toll out of your hide."
A soldier riding beside the wagon didn't speak. He simply reached into his pouch, pulled out a heavy, pure gold coin stamped with the rising sun and crossed spears, and tossed it into the dirt at the guard's feet.
The guard froze. He dropped to his knees, snatching the coin. He bit it. He rubbed the dirt off the crest. Slowly, the arrogance drained from his face, replaced by absolute, trembling terror.
"The... The Sun Family..." he stammered, looking up at the wagon like it was a loaded cannon. "Forgive me! I thought... I thought a high lord would travel with a grand procession. With armies! With gold!"
"We brought what matters," the driver said coldly. "Move."
The guard scrambled out of the way, pressing his back against the ruined wall. The wagon rolled into Kohrnes.
The first thing Soren saw was the death of dignity.
People were draped over the doorsteps like discarded rags. Children with swollen, malnourished bellies lay in the dirt, too weak to cry. In an alleyway, three grown men were tearing each other apart with their bare hands, their faces bloody, fighting over a single, muddy puddle left from a spilled cup.
"Please! The gods have mercy, please!" an old woman screamed at the cloudless sky, tearing at her own hair. "My grandson is burning! Just one drop!"
Soren's fingers dug into the wooden windowsill until the wood began to splinter.
The wagon slowly passed the central plaza. In the middle of the square stood a massive public well. It was completely dry. But sitting directly in front of it was a fat merchant lounging behind a wooden table. Stacked behind him were dozens of heavy, dripping waterskins.
Nailed to the table was a chalkboard: WATER – 10 SILVER A SKIN.
Mother Lisa covered her mouth, her voice a horrified whisper. "Ten silver... for a single skin? By the gods. A farmer doesn't make ten silver in a month."
Soren said nothing. His eyes tracked the line of desperate people—mothers trading their wedding rings, men giving up their ancestral swords, just for a few mouthfuls of water. Most were turned away, beaten back by the merchant's hired thugs.
The wagon finally pulled up to a massive estate at the heart of the city. The contrast was sickening. The walls were pristine white, the iron gates gleamed, and deep inside the courtyard, Soren could see lush green gardens that had no right to exist in a dead city.
A servant scrambled to announce them. Moments later, the heavy gates groaned open, and the master of the house stepped out.
Lord Heno was a withered lion. He was thin, his skin the texture of old parchment, his white beard trimmed with desperate neatness. He wore deep blue silk and heavy gold rings, but his eyes betrayed him. They were the eyes of a man who wore a crown but possessed no kingdom.
He bowed deeply as Soren stepped down from the wagon. "Lord Soren. The heavens bless us. The genius of the Sun Family graces my humble home."
Soren walked forward, his golden smile perfectly in place. He didn't shake the old man's hand. Instead, he gently took it, bowed his head, and kissed Lord Heno's gold ring.
"The honor is entirely mine, Lord Heno," Soren said, his voice dripping with absolute respect.
Lord Heno blinked, stunned. He had fully expected this terrifying teenage prodigy to demand submission. Instead, he was being treated like an emperor. A warm, genuine smile cracked the old man's weathered face.
"You are a true gentleman, Lord Soren. Please, come inside. The road is cruel; you must rest."
Soren followed him into the estate. Behind him, Nora instantly melted into the shadows of the courtyard, vanishing from existence.
The dining hall was an illusion of wealth. The tapestries were faded, the silver silverware was tarnished black, and the feast laid before them was pathetic: a few roasted root vegetables, tough, stringy meat, and wine that had been watered down to a pale pink.
Soren sat perfectly straight across from Lord Heno, his hands folded in his lap. He hadn't touched a single bite.
Lord Heno noticed. He set down his fork, his shoulders slumping. "Forgive the table, Lord Soren. My family's treasury is not what it used to be. As you saw in the streets... Kohrnes is dying."
Soren smiled gently, leaning forward with the warmth of a concerned friend. "My lord, I am not hungry. Do not apologize. But I confess, I am confused. Merchants in the West tell stories of Kohrnes. They speak of a city of endless fountains and happy people. What happened here?"
Lord Heno's eyes grew distant, locking onto a faded tapestry of a lion leading an army.
"There is an old proverb, Lord Soren," Heno whispered. "When the lion grows old and his roar fades, the foxes take over the kingdom. And the donkeys become the generals."
The old man looked down at his trembling, ringed hands.
"That is my fate. The gods stopped the rain, and the people panicked. The lesser noble houses, the water merchants, the corrupt captains of the guard... they seized the reservoirs. They locked me in this beautiful estate like a prized bird in a cage. I am a ruler in name only. But the people outside? They still see my banner. They curse my name every day, blaming me for their thirst."
He suddenly froze, realizing he had just confessed his absolute weakness to the most dangerous young politician in the empire. Panic flared in his eyes. "Forgive me! I speak out of turn. Do not burden yourself with an old man's sorrow."
Soren's smile remained, but the warmth vanished from it entirely. It became something predatory.
"Lord Heno," Soren said softly. "Allow me to start a business in your city."
Heno blinked, thrown entirely off balance. "A business? What kind of business thrives in a graveyard?"
Soren reached into his tunic and pulled out a single sheet of heavy parchment. As he set it on the table, golden light bled from his fingertips. Ancient, glowing runes burned themselves into the paper, illuminating the dark dining hall.
"A business of water."
Lord Heno stared at the Soul Contract, mesmerized by the glowing magic. "I can sign this, Lord Soren... but it means nothing. I have no soldiers to enforce it. I cannot give you the city."
Soren's smile widened, sharp as a blade. "That is my work, my lord. Not yours."
Heno hesitated, his finger hovering over the glowing text. "I will sign. But beware, boy. I do not wish to see you dead. Or my city burned."
He pressed his thumb to the parchment. The light flared and vanished, sealing the pact.
Soren stood smoothly, slipping the contract back into his coat. "No one will die tonight, my lord. Except those who deserve it."
He turned and walked out, his boots clicking like a countdown on the marble floor.
In the dark corridor outside, the shadows peeled away from the wall, revealing Nora.
"Mother Lisa has retired with the servants, my lord," she reported. "What is your command?"
Soren took a heavy, black travel cloak from a hook and swung it over his shoulders, pulling the hood low over his golden hair.
"We are going for a walk, Nora," he said, stepping out into the cold night. "I want to see the real city."
Midnight in Kohrnes was a suffocating thing. There was no oil for the streetlamps. The only light came from the pale moon and the dying embers of trash fires where desperate families huddled for warmth.
Soren moved through the slums like a ghost, his golden eyes completely hidden beneath his black hood.
They approached a rundown tavern, one of the only buildings still making noise. Through the cracked, filthy windows, Soren watched a crowd of men drinking cheap, sour ale.
Standing on a table in the center of the room was a young man. His clothes were ragged, but there was a strange, metallic gauntlet strapped to his right arm. He was swaying heavily, a half-empty bottle sloshing in his left hand.
"I went to the Iron Lion Empire!" the young man screamed at the ceiling, his words slurring together. "I studied under the masters! I am an Iron Artist! I bend steel and spirit!"
The tavern erupted into cruel, mocking laughter.
"And look at us!" the boy roared, kicking a mug off the table. "Our city is turning to dust! And when I tell the nobles I can pull water from the deep earth, they laugh at me! They call me a lunatic!"
He hurled his bottle against the stone wall. It shattered into a hundred pieces.
"Fuck all of you!" he screamed, tears of rage cutting through the grime on his face.
A brawl erupted instantly. Fists flew, chairs cracked over skulls. Soren stood in the dark street, watching the chaos with absolute, unblinking focus.
Nora touched his arm. "My lord, this is a waste of time. Should we move on?"
"No," Soren said softly. "Watch."
The tavern doors violently burst open. The massive, bearded tavern owner dragged the young Iron Artist out by his collar and hurled him down the stone steps. The boy hit the dirt right at Soren's feet, spitting blood.
"Don't ever come back here unless you have silver, you worthless beggar!" the owner roared, slamming the heavy wooden doors shut.
The young man groaned, pushing himself up onto his hands and knees. He wiped the blood from his split lip and glared at the closed door.
"Rot in hell, you fat pig!" the boy yelled. "When my art is famous, I'm going to buy this entire street! I'll buy your tavern, and I'll drink every drop of wine by myself!"
He let out a pathetic, drunken hiccup and slowly looked up.
Standing over him, blocking out the moonlight, was a figure in a black cloak. Beneath the dark hood, two eyes glowed with terrifying, unnatural gold light.
Soren looked down at the bleeding, broken artist. His lips curled into a perfect, chilling smile.
"Hi," Soren said quietly. "Do you want to work for me?