Blackmoya Village, at dawn. The thick fog had yet to fully disperse, and layer upon layer of white frost had frozen the smoked meat hanging outside solid as a rock.
Several villagers who had risen early waited for breakfast, breathing white mist and stamping their feet in the cold wind. Bored out of their minds, they gathered together and started gossiping.
"This damned weather gets worse every year. Two of Ron's animals froze to death last night—both were fine sheep. Normally, just stuffing them with grass would make them put on weight fast. They were docile too, so you barely even had to watch them. What a shame."
"Yeah, exactly! His wife had raised them for a whole year. She cried her eyes out."
"Forget livestock. The crops in the fields still haven't shown any signs of life. The ground's hard as stone. One swing of my hoe nearly dislocated my wrist. If I hadn't seen it was dirt with my own eyes, I'd have thought I'd struck a rock! Who knows how much grain we'll harvest this season? If this keeps up, in a few years, our whole family will be drinking the northwest wind again."
"Never mind whether we can harvest enough grain. You should figure out how to get into the mountains and gather this year's ore tax early. Otherwise, when those Royal Court Knights come, you might not even survive the year!"
Those final words immediately silenced everyone. It felt as though a huge boulder had settled on their hearts, leaving their chests tight with frustration.
After grumbling for a while, one man looked up at the gray sky. His gaze fell upon the faint beam of light that pierced heaven and earth, and he lowered his head, muttering softly.
"Do you think the things the