Kael was jolted awake by the sudden clamor outside. His heart pounded in his chest as he blinked in the early morning light, trying to make sense of the shouts and footsteps echoing through the village. For a moment, he thought it was a dream—a nightmare breaking into the peaceful stillness of Eldenwood. But the voices grew louder, more insistent, until he could no longer ignore them.
Rubbing his eyes, Kael threw on his tunic and stumbled out of bed. He could hear the familiar tone of his father's voice from downstairs, sounding more anxious than he'd ever heard before. His mother's hushed voice followed, tense and trembling. Something was wrong.
He hurried down the stairs, the wooden floor creaking beneath his feet, just in time to see the front door swing open. Standing on the threshold were three men, all dressed in fine, tailored robes that marked them as members of the village council—wealthy landowners who collected taxes on behalf of the ruling lord. Their faces were hard, eyes cold with disdain as they surveyed the humble interior of Kael's home.
"Ronan," the tallest man, a thin, hawk-faced figure, began with a sneer. "You know why we're here. The tax payment was due last week, and yet here we are, still waiting for what's owed."
Kael felt his stomach twist as his father stepped forward, wringing his hands together nervously. Ronan's broad, calloused shoulders seemed to shrink under the weight of the councilmen's gaze, his usual strength and confidence crumbling. "Please, we—we're doing the best we can. The harvest... it's still a few months away. We'll have the money by then, I swear it."
The councilman raised an eyebrow, his expression turning into a cruel smirk. "A few months, you say? Do you expect us to wait until your fields are ready? This isn't a charity, Ronan. You've been warned about the consequences of late payments."
Kael's mother, Lira, stepped up beside her husband, wringing her apron in her hands. Her voice trembled as she spoke. "Please, sir, you have to understand. We've had a rough season—too much rain, not enough sun. The crops have been slow. But we promise, once the next harvest comes, we'll have more than enough to pay our dues. Just a little more time is all we need."
The hawk-faced man's sneer deepened, and he exchanged a glance with the other councilmen. "Always an excuse, isn't it? The same tired pleas, year after year. It seems your family can't manage its affairs properly. Perhaps it's time to consider more... serious consequences."
Kael's blood boiled as he stood frozen at the bottom of the stairs, watching his parents bow and scrape, their voices cracking with fear. His fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms so hard that it hurt, but he didn't care. The sight of his father—the strongest man he knew—reduced to a pitiful figure, apologizing to these men like a dog, filled him with rage. And his mother, her usual resilience shattered, stood there quivering as if her very survival depended on the mercy of these arrogant fools.
But what could Kael do? He knew the answer. Nothing.
The councilmen were powerful, wealthy, connected. They had the backing of the lord who ruled these lands, and anyone who dared to oppose them would be met with swift and merciless retribution. If Kael so much as raised a hand in defiance, his family would suffer for it—either in fines, imprisonment, or worse. The thought of standing by, helpless, made his skin crawl.
Kael's father lowered his head, his voice barely above a whisper. "We'll pay. I swear it. Just give us more time."
The councilman sniffed, his expression one of utter disdain. "See that you do. If not, well... we may have to take matters into our own hands. We'll expect double the amount next time. And Ronan, do try not to embarrass yourself further. The village has enough riff-raff without adding your family to the list."
With that, the men turned on their heels, leaving behind a silence so thick that it weighed down on Kael's chest like a boulder. His parents stood frozen, their heads bowed in defeat, the shame clear in their posture.
Kael could barely hold back his rage. His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white, his teeth grinding together. The humiliation in his parents' eyes, the sheer helplessness—it was unbearable. He wanted to scream, to lash out, to make those men pay for the way they had spoken to his family. But instead, he stood there, trembling with fury, unable to do anything.
As the door closed behind the councilmen, Kael snapped. "Why didn't you fight back?" he demanded, his voice cracking with emotion. "Why did you let them walk all over you like that? We're not their slaves! How can you just stand there and take it?"
His father turned to him, his face pale and worn, a mixture of exhaustion and anger in his eyes. "Fight back?" Ronan barked, his voice sharp. "And what would you have us do, boy? Attack them? Get ourselves thrown in the dungeon, or worse? You think fighting those men would've changed anything? You're naive, Kael. The world doesn't work the way you think it does."
Kael's temper flared. "But they insulted us! They treated us like dirt! How can you just stand there and let them talk to you like that?"
"Because there's nothing else we can do!" Ronan roared, his voice echoing through the small house. "Do you think I don't want to fight back? Do you think I don't feel the same anger you do? But we have responsibilities, Kael. This family relies on us to survive. If we go against those men, we'll lose everything! You think we have a hard time now? It would be ten times worse if we defied them."
Kael's frustration boiled over. "So, what? We just keep bowing our heads? Keep apologizing, keep letting them walk all over us? That's not living—that's surviving like animals!"
"You don't understand, Kael," Lira said softly, her voice strained with emotion. "We do what we must to protect this family. It may not seem fair to you, but this is the reality we live in. You're too young to understand what it means to have people depending on you. To know that any wrong move could cost your family their lives."
Kael's fists tightened, his body trembling with indignation. "No. I do understand. I understand that we're weak, and that no one cares about us. That we're just... nothing to them."
Ronan's face softened for a moment, but his voice remained firm. "You're right, Kael. In their eyes, we are nothing. But that doesn't mean we should throw away our lives trying to prove something to people who hold all the power. You've got a lot to learn, boy. There's more at stake here than your pride."
Kael could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface, but his father's words rang true in a way that made him feel even more helpless. The weight of the world felt heavier on his shoulders now, crushing him with the realization that no matter how much he wanted to change things, he was just one person—powerless against forces far greater than himself.
"One day, you'll understand," Lira whispered, her voice tinged with sadness. "One day, you'll see why we have to do things this way. Until then, you need to focus on what you can control."
Kael stared at the ground, fists still clenched, but his anger slowly gave way to frustration. He hated feeling so small, so insignificant. But what could he do? He was just a boy from Eldenwood, living in a world that didn't care about him or his family.
As he stormed upstairs, Kael's mind raced with thoughts of the elves he had seen in the forest, or the legendary knights and wizards rumored to walk the streets of great kingdoms. They had power, the kind that wouldn't allow anyone to trample them. They weren't bound by the same helplessness that he felt choking him now. Kael clenched his fists again, wishing—just wishing—that he could be like them.
A futile dream of a young boy, perhaps. But it was all he had.