At the farthest edge of the kingdom, nestled between low hills and golden fields, a gentle drizzle began to fall.
The clouds overhead were soft and gray, not ominous at first glance. To the weary farmers working under the open skies, it was a welcome change—a promise of good crops, of water for their soil.
But the first sign that something was wrong came quickly.
A middle-aged farmer, Rahl, who had been hoeing a row of young sprouts, stumbled and fell to one knee. His companions nearby looked up as he cried out, clutching his side.
"Rahl?"
One of them called, hurrying toward him.
"I—I don't feel right…"
Rahl murmured, his voice slurred and weak. Then he gasped and fell forward completely.
Blue, vein-like rashes spread rapidly across his exposed arms, climbing up to his neck. The skin looked swollen and blistered where the rain had soaked into his clothes.
His face twisted with pain.
"What in the god's name…"
