The journey away from the palace felt akin to an incremental descent into a foreign realm, one that Lass had only briefly observed through official reports and truncated visits. As she and Astra traveled ever deeper into the outskirts of the Kingdom of Elthra, the weight of the cursed affliction became painfully apparent.
The expansive fields that once stretched lush and bountiful were now barren and desiccated, crops left to rot in their furrows. Lass pulled Astra to an abrupt halt, her spirit sinking as she watched haggard farmers, faces lined with exhaustion, endeavor desperately to salvage whatever remnants remained. A cluster of women bent wearily over the parched earth, hands encrusted with dirt, murmuring fervent yet futile prayers to gods who had long since ceased to heed their pleas.
A gaunt child sat solitary in the dust at the edge of the field, clutching a handful of withered wheat stalks. His cheeks were hollow, his eyes aged far beyond his few short years. When Lass met his gaze, he did not smile or wave. He merely stared, as if hope were an unfamiliar notion he had forgotten long ago.
Lass's throat constricted. "I had no inkling," she whispered silently to herself, stroking Astra's neck as if to ground her wavering spirit. She had known circumstances were dire, but witnessing the suffering firsthand inflicted a different kind of anguish.
As she continued onward, the dirt road led her to a diminutive village that seemed to exist in perpetual gloom. Homes were crumbling, and the air was thick with the scent of decay. A market square that should have bustled with commerce lay eerily silent, save for the occasional murmur of hushed dialogues. People drifted aimlessly, eyes downcast and shoulders bowed beneath intangible burdens.
Lass dismounted slowly, leading her horse Astra cautiously through the crowded village square. Her plain cloak and worn traveling clothes allowed her presence to go largely overlooked amidst the numerous downtrodden locals. Her heart ached as she watched a mother break off a small piece of stale bread to hand to her young child, seemingly the only meal they had for the day. Though the child's smile in response was small, it appeared genuinely grateful, as if even this meager offering was a gift beyond measure.
"Please, any spare coins?" a frail, rasping voice called out from nearby.
Lass turned towards the source of the plea and saw an emaciated old man leaning back weakly against a crumbling stone wall, his outstretched hand trembling visibly. His clouded eyes spoke of endless hunger, and his threadbare clothes were hardly more than patched rags clinging to his gaunt frame. Reaching into her coin pouch, Lass retrieved a small coin and pressed it reassuringly into his palm. The man gazed up at her in disbelief and profound gratitude.
"May the gods bless you," he croaked softly, clutching the solitary coin to his chest as if it represented his very salvation.
Forcing a wan smile, Lass continued onward yet felt her heart breaking further with each heavy footstep. How many more souls here were suffering so, barely sustaining life from one hour to the next? How much longer could this kingdom and its people endure under such dire circumstances?
Rounding a bend, she soon spotted a humble wooden hut set apart on the edge of the village outskirts. A weathered sign hanging askew creaked faintly in the breeze, its faded painted letters still discernible as "Merra's Remedies." Intrigued, Lass led Astra closer and pushed open the protesting front door to peer within. An array of fresh and dried herbal scents wafted out to envelop her senses.
Inside, an aged woman with keen eyes and a face etched deep with lines of sorrow stood grinding herbs within a worn but well-used stone mortar. Her gnarled hands moved deftly through long practice, though a pervasive weariness shadowed each motion. Shelves lining the walls stood sparsely stocked, telling evidence of dwindling supplies and resources.
"Come for medicine?" the old woman said wearily without glancing up from her work.
Lass nodded. "I saw your sign," she replied calmly. "Though I'm just passing through, it seems you could use an extra set of hands. What do you need help with?"
The woman—Merra, Lass guessed—paused and lifted her head, surveying Lass carefully. Well-worn boots and a sturdy cloak suggested a traveler, but few dared wander these troubled lands. "Not many make the journey now," Merra noted. "When suffering is constant, luxury is a distant memory."
Lass shifted, holding her tongue. Hardship was universal, though some endured more than others.
Merra snorted and resumed grinding herbs. "What we need is deliverance from this curse, not extra laborers," she muttered bitterly. "These meager plants provide little relief from the contagion consuming the realm."
Lass stepped closer, heart heavy with empathy. "This curse—is there any hope it might be lifted?" she asked gently.
Merra's hands stilled, and fiery anger flashed in her eyes. "Hope?" she spat scornfully. "That died with the last harvest. The royal line is to blame—generation after generation, sequestered in splendor while the people waste away under the scourge they unleashed. We suffer the consequences of their actions yet feel none of their comforts." Her voice trembled with accumulated sorrows.
Lass felt as though the ground had fallen out beneath her feet. The long-buried guilt she carried resurfaced with a vengeance, cutting deeper than ever before. She longed to reveal the truth to Merra—to explain that she too knew the curse's sting, that she cared profoundly for her people. But she knew such disclosure would serve no purpose here. Revealing herself in this moment would only invite further outrage and resentment.
Instead, she swallowed back her remorse and nodded solemnly. "I'm deeply sorry," she said softly.
Merra surveyed her intently, seemingly searching her face for some sign. Whatever she uncovered caused her shoulders to relax, if only slightly. "Apologies change nothing," she replied, her voice cracking. "But... it's a kind word. Kind words have become scarce."
Lass watched grimly as Merra returned to her labor, hands trembling from fatigue. Something within hardened like steel, crystallizing into resolute purpose. Until now, she had lived cloistered in the palace, shielded from the full extent of suffering endured by her people. But presently, she understood. She felt their agony, desperation, and dwindling hope.
"I must depart," Lass stated, her voice steadier. "Thank you, Merra, for the work you do. Its importance exceeds what you know."
Merra glanced up, surprise flickering in her tired eyes. "Travel with care," she said. "And should you truly wish to assist, pray the curse is broken before all is lost."
Lass nodded and took her leave of the hut, her heart heavy yet driven. She mounted Astra and rode from the village, the memory of every hungry child and bitter word reverberating in her mind. The weight of her duty pressed down, but so too a fresh sense of purpose.
The sky dimmed as shadows crept across the hills, the wind howling a foreboding tune through barren branches. Lass shuddered and clutched her amulet, its lingering warmth the sole comfort against the impending gloom. Though the road ahead loomed long and lonesome, failure was not an option—too many souls had suffered under the sinister spell.