Morning dew still drifted over the stretch of wheat that had yet to turn fully gold.
The heads of grain swayed gently, as if uncertain whether their time had come to be harvested or whether they should remain a little longer beneath the sun.
Rea walked slowly along the narrow path between half cut stalks and scattered remnants of wheat strewn across the soil.
Some stalks lay crushed underfoot; others had begun to rot, left uncollected.
At the edge of the field, an elderly woman sat upon a flat stone. Her back was bent with age, her palms caked in mud, her breathing heavy and uneven.
Rea approached her.
"Grandmother, the wheat isn't ready for harvest yet, is it?"
The old woman lifted her face slowly. The wrinkles at the corners of her eyes deepened as she offered a faint smile.
"A week ago," she said softly, "a swarm of insects came, hungry beyond reason. They devoured our crops. Thankfully, Priest Souza protected our fields with his magic and drove them away. We managed to save half."
"And now," she continued, "we have no choice but to harvest everything, ready or not."
"I see," Rea murmured.
She looked across the field.
Women worked tirelessly in the mist-laden morning, swinging their sickles in steady rhythm. Their children gathered the fallen stalks behind them. Though the air was still cold and heavy with fog, sweat already dampened their backs. Yet not a single complaint rose from their lips.
The sound of blades slicing through stalks mingled with the whisper of wind, offering a small measure of relief against exhaustion. The field was their livelihood their hope for daily survival.
"I don't see any of the men helping," Rea said quietly.
The old woman gave a soft chuckle that sounded more like a sigh.
"They have their own duties. Some are hunting. Others are repairing the damaged irrigation channels. At least we mothers still have two hands to tend the harvest."
Though Horgaz was a small village of only a few families and young folk, the fields were usually the men's responsibility. Today was different.
Not far from where Rea stood, a middle aged woman with mud streaked across her face worked steadily. Beside her, a small girl with short hair struggled to lift a bundle of wheat nearly larger than her own body.
Noa.
The girl worked without complaint. Her movements were precise, her eyes focused. Now and then her mother would caution her to slow down, but Noa only nodded and resumed her task.
A faint smile touched Rea's lips.
There was something unyielding in that small frame something that suggested she was not merely helping with the harvest, but defending something far more precious.
Horgaz practiced a communal farming system. The land belonged to no single owner; they worked it together and divided the yield equally. There were no landlords to hoard grain, no monopolies to twist trade to their advantage.
It was this system that had allowed the village to endure even in the face of failed harvests.
But Rea knew the world beyond Horgaz was not so simple.
The insects that had attacked a week ago were no ordinary pests. Their pattern of appearance was unnatural. Locusts typically swarmed in the height of summer and multiplied in vast numbers. And yet, they had struck only this small village then vanished without a trace.
Another detail troubled her: the men "having their own duties." If the matter were not serious, there would be little reason for them to abandon the fields at such a time.
Footsteps sounded along the dirt road leading toward the heart of the village.
The rhythm was calm and measured. A man in ivory-white robes walked along the edge of the field. Upon his chest was embroidered a silver lotus the emblem of the Goddess Liliyan, believed to bless the fertility of the soil and the abundance of harvest.
His robes were neat, though the hem bore faint stains of mud. His hair was combed back simply, his face clean and serene.
He stopped a few steps from the working women and pressed his palms together before his chest.
"May today's harvest proceed smoothly," he said gently. "May the grace of Goddess Liliyan remain with Horgaz."
Several women nodded respectfully. Some smiled; others offered quiet words of thanks.
Rea glanced at the elderly woman beside her.
"He is the priest of the Temple of Goddess Liliyan, isn't he?"
The old woman's smile grew warm.
"Yes, that is Priest Souza," she replied proudly. "He serves at the temple of Goddess Liliyan. He was the one who helped us when the insects came last week."
"With his prayers and power, the pests were driven away. He asked for no payment. He even provided remedies to restore the damaged crops."
The lines on her face deepened as she smiled.
"Priest Souza is a kind man. He often visits to ensure our village is well. He says that Goddess Liliyan teaches us to care for both land and people with equal compassion."
Rea nodded quietly, listening without interruption.
Meanwhile, Priest Souza moved through the field, greeting each worker in turn. When he reached Rea and the elderly woman, he paused and inclined his head in polite greeting.
"Good morning," he said warmly. "I do not believe we have met before. Are you a visitor to our village?"
His voice remained calm and courteous, never rising despite the bustle around him.
Rea returned the bow.
"Yes. I am staying here for a time."
"A small village such as ours is always open to those who come with good intentions," Priest Souza replied with a faint smile. "I hope you find comfort in Horgaz. Should you require assistance, the Temple of Goddess Liliyan is always open."
The morning wind stirred gently, lifting the edge of his white robe.
Afterward, he resumed his walk among the workers, occasionally helping lift bundles of cut wheat.
In the field not yet fully gilded by harvest, the atmosphere remained simple filled with labor, hope, and the quiet faith that even a difficult season could be endured together.