Day 1: Arrival
The final portion of the road dissolved not into the grand gate of a baronial seat, but into a desolate, gray track that led straight toward ruin. The carriage journey ended, not with the fanfare of arrival, but with the ominous, choked silence of an abandoned settlement.
Kael stepped out of the carriage. The wind here was no mere breeze; it was a tireless enemy, carrying a fine, pale gray dust that coated everything—the skeletal branches of stunted trees, the worn stone of the few remaining structures, and the very air he breathed. The sun was a remote, sickly disk struggling to penetrate the perpetual haze.
The administrative seat of the Ashen Frontier—Ashfall Village—was less a village and more a collection of slowly disintegrating structures. It was a cluster of stone and timber buildings huddled against a low, wind-worn hill, designed to catch whatever meager shelter the terrain offered. Half the roofs were collapsed, windows boarded up with splintered, rotting wood, and the overall atmosphere was one of slow, inevitable decay. There was no sound of children, no livestock, and certainly no hint of a marketplace. Only the ceaseless moan of the wind and the creak of loose hinges served as the settlement's soundtrack.
Kael's soldier's mind, the mind of Adrian Cole, went immediately to work. This was a hostile, degraded environment, and his first action must be a rapid site assessment, classifying the defects of the infrastructure.
Infrastructure Defect 1: Water Source. Near the center of the square, a shallow, crudely lined stone well sat covered by a makeshift, rotting lid. The area around the lip was dark, muddy, and stained with waste runoff from the nearby, poorly managed waste pits. Diagnosis: Highly prone to surface contamination.
Infrastructure Defect 2: Food and Logistics. The supposed granary was a sagging, heavy stone building, its double doors hanging open. A quick glance confirmed the interior was largely empty. No crops grew in the surrounding fields—just cracked, pale earth that looked mineral-rich but nutrient-starved. Diagnosis: Supply chain failed; seed stock compromised.
Infrastructure Defect 3: Defense and Command. The palisade encircling the settlement was short, uneven, and constructed of rotted, splintered wood. It offered less resistance than a well-placed hedge. The few figures Kael saw moving were thin, listless, and cloaked—their energy reserves clearly depleted. Diagnosis: Defenseless, population exhausted.
The internal system, responding to the proximity of acute danger, pulsed in Kael's mind, providing precise, objective information regarding the most immediate threat to mass survival.
[CRITICAL DANGER ALERT: Primary well water source is severely contaminated with pathogenic material. Consumption without treatment will result in mass epidemic sickness and mortality (Typhoid/Dysentery) within 14 days. Threat Severity: Extreme.]
Immediate problem: Water, disease, and morale.
Kael turned instantly to the escort of knights, who had dismounted, their armor clanking softly. Sergeant Rylen stood ready, expecting orders regarding the disposition of the baggage.
"Sergeant Rylen," Kael said, his voice carrying the authority he had established on the road. "Have two of your men post guard on the well immediately. Rope off the area. Under no circumstances is anyone—knight, commoner, or even you—to drink from that well until I give the explicit command. Is that understood?"
Rylen frowned deeply, struggling to reconcile the order with generations of village practice. "My lord, securing the supplies is one matter. But the well? We have survived on that water for the whole journey. It is the only source—"
"It is a source of death, Sergeant," Kael cut him off, his tone absolute. He was a lieutenant who knew the lethality of a compromised water table, not a noble worried about a water spirit. "You swore to follow the Imperial Chain of Command. I am ordering you to deny access to the water source. Now."
Rylen saw the clinical conviction in the Baron's eyes and the lack of concern for local tradition. He snapped a terse salute. "Securing the well, my lord."
As the knights moved to cordon off the well, Kael strode toward the largest stone building, which functioned as the baronial manor. It was a title far too grand for the crumbling structure. He was met at the doorway by a tall, gaunt man in surprisingly neat, if faded, robes.
"My lord Baron Veynar," the man said, bowing stiffly. "I am Steward Elms. I confess, we had lost hope of your arrival." His tone was heavy, suggesting that the arrival of a new Baron was merely the arrival of a new victim.
"Steward Elms," Kael acknowledged, stepping past him into a gloom-filled hall that smelled of mildew and dust. "I need three things immediately. First, all ledgers and records pertaining to the barony's finances, land holdings, and current stores."
Elms blinked rapidly. "The ledgers, my lord? They are messy—the previous Baron rarely cared for such things."
"Second," Kael continued, ignoring the man's confusion. "A detailed list of the remaining population—the full three hundred souls—categorized by age, physical capability, and current health status. Third, the location of any remaining seed stock, no matter how small or poor the quality."
Elms swallowed hard, his gaunt face pale. "My lord, there is little to record. And less to eat. Your predecessor... he took what was valuable and left nothing. We are starving, my lord. The land itself is a tomb."
Adrian Cole's eyes narrowed. He left nothing. The nobility had not simply exiled Kael to a wasteland; they had sent him to inherit a vacuum of supplies and a demographic catastrophe, guaranteeing his demise within weeks.
"Steward Elms," Kael said, turning to face him. "I am not interested in the accounting of failure. I am interested in the resources remaining for survival. Bring me the ledgers and the population data. I require an immediate inventory and analysis."
Kael's gaze was steady, his tone hard as glass. "Until then, you will send word through the village: No one leaves the settlement. The work starts tomorrow, and every able-bodied person will be earning their ration. We will not be waiting for rescue. We will be building it."
The Steward looked at the young Baron, seeing not the disgraced son of a Duke, but a figure giving orders with the cool, unforgiving precision of a logistics expert facing a zero-supply situation. The despair that had long paralyzed Ashfall cracked slightly, admitting the first tiny shard of a new command structure.