Chapter 6 - The Lord’s Decree

Years drifted by, each season blending into the next as life on the farm rolled on. The taxes crept higher with every passing year, squeezing the villagers dry. But thanks to my hunting skills, we never went hungry. Every trip into the forest brought in fresh game, enough to keep us fed and sell off some meat and furs at the market. The weight of the rising taxes was real, but we managed to stay afloat. Barely.

I sat in the yard, sharpening my blade, feeling the smooth rhythm of metal against stone. The sun was warm on my back, the air carrying the scent of earth and grass. My father, Orin, leaned against the fence nearby, watching me with a rare, satisfied grin.

"You're keeping us going, son," he said, his voice carrying a hint of pride. "Not sure what we'd do without you."

I glanced up, meeting his eyes briefly. He didn't say things like that often. "Just doing what I can too help out, Dad. Can't let them starve us out."

My mother, Selene, stepped out from the cottage, wiping her hands on her apron, the light catching in her tired but gentle eyes. "Always so modest," she teased. "We'd be lost without you, Lucan. Your hunting has saved us."

I nodded, offering a big smile. The truth was, I didn't mind it. Hunting had become second nature, a way to feel useful while the kingdom's grip tightened around our throats.

"I wish it could stay like this," my mother said softly, coming to rest beside my father. "Quiet. Just the three of us."

I stood, instinct already on alert. "What's going on?" I called out, stepping forward as they closed the distance.

Rylan skidded to a stop, bent over, gasping for breath. "Lucan… we have to… the meeting hall."

Lyra, breathless, her eyes dark with fear, added, "It's urgent. We need to go. Now."

Something clenched tight in my chest. I could feel the shift in the air, the heavy weight of bad news hanging over us. I grabbed my sword without a second thought. Whatever was happening, it wasn't good.

"Let's go," I said, already moving.

I pressed forward, pushing through until I could see it—the source of the chaos. A tall figure stood on a wooden platform, dressed in the colors of the lord's house. His cold, detached gaze swept over us, the scroll in his hand unrolled like some grim proclamation of doom. His voice boomed, clear and cutting through the noise, indifferent to the panic it caused.

"By decree of Lord Eldran," he announced, "all boys and girls above the age of 15 are to be conscripted into the Forsaken Legion."

The words slammed into me, each one like a punch. My pulse quickened, heart hammering in my chest. The Forsaken Legion. The stories had always felt distant, like something that happened to others. Never us. Never here.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry as sand. Rylan stood next to me, his jaw clenched, eyes wide in shock. Lyra's hand trembled at her side, her face pale as if all the blood had drained from it. We were 15. We were the next to go.

A sharp noise broke through the tension, and I turned. Behind me, my father crumpled to his knees, his shoulders shaking violently. His hands covered his face, muffling the broken sobs that escaped him. Beside him, my mother reached for him, but her own tears were already streaming, carving silent rivers down her cheeks. Her lips moved, trying to say something, but no words came. Only the raw, quiet sound of grief.

I stood frozen, my feet rooted to the ground.

The crowd stirred, a ripple of fear spreading like wildfire. Murmurs turned into shouts, angry voices rising above the chaos.

"This isn't right!" someone yelled from the back, his voice cracking with desperation. "You can't take our children!"

A man stepped forward, fists clenched, his face twisted in rage. "We've already given everything! What more do you want?"

Before he could take another step, the sharp clang of steel silenced the air. One of the knights, armored and menacing, unsheathed his sword with a swift, practiced motion. Without a word, he drove his boot into the man's chest, sending him sprawling into the dirt. The knight hovered over him, blade gleaming in the afternoon light, a silent threat that hung in the air like a storm about to break.

The crowd fell into an uneasy hush, fear swallowing any trace of rebellion.

The envoy, unfazed by the display, continued in his cold, commanding tone, "Tomorrow morning, we will return to collect those enlisted. Every boy and girl over 15 will report to the square." His eyes swept over us, a cruel smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "If you don't… the taxes will rise to 90 percent. But…" He let the pause linger, twisting the knife. "If you send your children, we will graciously lower the tax rate. From 70 to 50 percent."

The words hit like a hammer. People glanced at one another, the weight of impossible choices pressing down on them. No one spoke, but the looks said it all—send their children off to die, or starve under the burden of crushing taxes.

My fists tightened, nails biting into my palms as the reality sank in. There was no way out. Tomorrow, they would come, and we'd have no choice.

I turned to Rylan and Lyra, their faces drained of color, eyes wide with fear. Their hands shook, barely able to steady themselves. I could see it—the panic, the dread crawling under their skin. Forcing down the knot in my throat, I managed a smile, soft and hollow.

"We'll get through this," I said, voice barely above a whisper. "I swear, nothing's going to happen to us. We'll survive. We'll figure it out."

They didn't speak, just stared at me, eyes pleading for the certainty I didn't truly feel. But they nodded, holding on to that thin thread of hope.

As I turned to my parents, my heart sank. My father hadn't moved, still on his knees, his hands gripping the soil like it was the only thing keeping him grounded. My mother stood beside him, her face streaked with tears, her lips trembling as she tried to hold it together. But the cracks were showing.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and walked over, my smile faltering. "Dad, Mom... I'll be okay," I said, the words catching in my chest. I knelt beside them, pulling them into a hug, feeling the weight of their trembling bodies. My father's hand clutched my shoulder like he was holding on for dear life. My mother... her sobs tore through her, ragged and painful, as she clung to me.

"No, Lucan," she choked out, her voice frantic. "No. We can't let them take you. We can sell the farm—run away! We'll find somewhere else, we'll—"

Her words tumbled out in a broken rush, and I felt her desperation, her hopeless need to fix what couldn't be fixed. Her fingers dug into my arm, like she was afraid that if she let go, I'd be lost forever.

"Mom," I said softly, trying to keep my voice steady, though it trembled with the weight of everything crashing down on us. "Running won't help. They'll find us. It'll just make things worse. But I promise you... I'll come back. I'll survive this."

She shook her head violently, her tears falling faster. "You can't. You can't go, Lucan. I won't let you—"

I wrapped my arms around her tighter, feeling the tremors in her body. "I'll come back," I whispered again, more to convince myself than her.

The silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating. My father said nothing, but I could feel his silent grief, the weight of his sorrow in the way he held me, as if trying to memorize the moment.

As dusk settled, we walked back home together, the fading light casting long shadows over the fields. Each step felt heavier, every breath harder to take. When we reached the house, no one said a word. The night hung thick with unspoken fears.

Inside, the quiet was unbearable. We sat together, huddled close as if holding on to this one last night, trying to make it last forever. But deep down, we all knew the morning would come, and everything would change.

And as the night crept on, the looming shadow of what awaited us tomorrow felt closer than ever.