By the time the sun slipped below the jagged rooftops of the ruined city, the palace courtyard had filled again. Torches burned in the dusk, their smoke rising in thin threads that curled against the night sky.
Families huddled together — thin fathers with their children, mothers clutching babies who whimpered softly, and the elderly who leaned on staffs worn smooth with age.
The day's cleaning had left everyone weary. Faces were streaked with sweat and dust, but there was a glimmer in their eyes that had not been there that morning. Hope was fragile, but it flickered like the torchlight.
Elara stood at the top of the cracked steps, Lysandra a step behind her, the maids and guards at her flanks. She felt the weight of hundreds of eyes pressing upward, expectant, hungry not only for food but for something more.
Her bandaged hand tightened at her side. The ache in her nose still lingered from the night before. She could not afford to faint here. Not in front of them. Not when she was about to do this again.
She turned to her maids. "Stay close. And when I tell you, help me carry what comes."
They nodded quickly, each face serious. Even Brenna, usually sharp-tongued, held her breath as though bracing for a storm.
Elara stepped back into the shadow of the ruined hall. The air was damp, smelling faintly of mildew. She pressed her palm flat against the cracked wall, though it was not the wall she touched. She closed her eyes, felt for the place between — the strange fold of reality she had discovered in another life.
Her breath caught. Pressure built behind her eyes. Her nose burned sharply, as though something inside her skull wanted to burst.
Then — the space opened.
It was invisible to most, just a shimmer, a ripple in the air like heat rising from stone. But to Elara, it was a yawning doorway, stretching into endless black. Within it, stacked and stored, were the things she had carried from her world.
She reached in with her mind, her hand following as if dipping into deep water. Her fingers brushed smooth, cool surfaces — containers, cloth, sealed packages. She grasped, pulled, and the weight fell into the ruined hall with a dull thud.
Liora and Aveline rushed forward, their skirts whispering against the stone. Together they caught hold of the first bundle — wrapped chickens, roasted and steaming within foil. The smell hit them instantly, rich and savoury, and they staggered under its unexpected weight.
Brenna dragged forward a crate of jugs, clay cool to the touch, filled with water so clean it sparkled in the torchlight. Behind her came another bundle — soft loaves of bread, golden on the outside and pillowy within.
Elara's vision swam. She tasted copper at the back of her throat. Blood slipped from her nose and dripped onto the floor.
"My lady!" Liora gasped, dropping her bundle for a moment to catch her.
Elara raised her hand sharply. "Do not touch me unless I ask."
The maid froze, stricken, but obeyed.
With a final heave, Elara pulled the last of the food through, then slammed the space closed. The pressure in her skull eased, leaving her shaking. She wiped her nose with a napkin Brenna thrust toward her, then straightened.
"Take it out," she commanded, her voice rough but steady. "All of it."
And so they carried the bundles into the courtyard.
The people gasped as the first wave of scent rolled across them.
Roasted chicken, spiced faintly with herbs that no villager here had smelled in years. Fresh bread, soft enough that it tore under a child's small fingers without resistance. Fruits so ripe their skins glistened under the torchlight. And water — clear, cold water poured into clay jugs, beading with droplets as though it had been pulled from the purest spring.
For a heartbeat, the courtyard was silent, stunned. Then a child cried out — a wail, high and desperate, not from pain but from sheer need.
Elara raised her hand. "Quiet. This will not be a feast of chaos. It will be done in order."
She pointed. "Families first. Men, women, children, the elderly. Guards, help them line up. Maids, watch the portions. Bandits—" Her pale eyes swept to the thin youths who had worked alongside the villagers all day. "You will carry food to those who cannot walk."
The boy leader, his chin still lifted despite his thin frame, nodded quickly. "Yes, my lady."
And so the order formed.