The next morning, Kael's self-pity was rudely in interrupted by a booming voice from outside.
"Carseain! Get your lazy butt out here!"
The sudden shout snapped him from his thoughts.
Kael'tar rose from the table and opened the door to find Haron standing there, a burly man with a tangled beard and a permanent scowl. He held a hoe in one hand, tapping it against his palm for emphasis.
Kael frowned and opened the door to find a burly older man with a scraggly beard standing in the yard, a hoe slung over his shoulder.
"You think the fields will plow themselves?" the man barked, waving the tool in Kael's face.
Kael'tar stared at him, unimpressed. "Do you know who you're speaking to?"
The man snorted. "Yeah, I'm talking to Carseain, the farmer who's been slacking off all morning. Now move it before I—"
Kael raised a hand, intending to unleash a blast of dark energy that would teach this fool some respect.
Except… nothing happened.
His brow furrowed.
He concentrated harder, willing the familiar surge of power to rise within him.
Still, nothing.
"Are you broken in the head now too?" the man barked, glaring at Kael. "I don't have time for your nonsense! Didn't you say you want to work in fields to earn more money?"
Kael sighed, rubbing his temples. "Fine. Lead the way, peasant."
The man's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing, motioning for Kael to follow.
As Kael trudged behind him, his mind raced. No power, no wealth, and no reputation.
He glanced at his calloused hands and then at the muddy fields stretching before him.
Kael'tar glared at the rows of uneven, rocky soil stretching before him like a battlefield he was woefully underprepared for.
The rusty plow leaned against a nearby fence, mocking him with its decrepit state.
Haron, the burly man who had so rudely summoned him, planted the hoe in the ground and gestured broadly to the field. "We need to finish plowing this section before sundown. Think you can handle that, Your Highness?" he asked mockingly.
Kael'tar's lips twitched at the man's tone. If only you knew.
Without a word, he picked up the plow, gripping its splintered handle.
The weight felt unnatural in his hands.
He gave it an experimental tug, and the plow barely budged.
"You're joking," Kael muttered under his breath, his annoyance mounting.
Haron crossed his arms, smirking. "What's the matter? Too much for you?"
Kael ground his teeth. "Step aside, peasant."
With a deep breath, Kael threw his weight into the plow.
The wooden wheels creaked, the blade groaned against the soil, and for a fleeting moment, he thought he had it under control.
Then the plow hit a rock.
Kael stumbled forward, his grip slipping as the plow jerked to a halt.
Haron burst out laughing, slapping his knee as he watched the Kael glare daggers at the offending rock.
"Not so easy, is it?" Haron teased.
Kael straightened, brushing the dirt from his tunic with as much dignity as he could muster. "This equipment is garbage," he said flatly. "No wonder your fields are in such a pitiful state."
Haron's laughter cut off abruptly, his expression darkening. "Listen here, boy. You may have been born with your head in the clouds, but out here, you earn your keep. Now, quit whining and get back to work."
Kael'tar considered his options.
He could continue to argue, but what good would it do without his powers?
Instead, he turned back to the plow, his mind already working on a new strategy.
Hours later, Kael'tar leaned against the fence, sweat dripping down his face.
His arms burned, his back ached, and his hands were blistered from the rough wooden handles.
"I've faced armies," he muttered to himself. "I've destroyed sects. Yet here I am… defeated by dirt."
Haron strolled over, carrying a bucket of water. "Not bad for your first day," he said grudgingly, handing Kael the bucket. "You're not completely useless."
Kael drank deeply, the cool water easing the fire in his throat. "High praise," he said dryly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
Haron chuckled. "Don't get used to it."
That evening, Kael'tar sat by the fire in the tiny house, his younger brother, Ryn, chattering beside him.
Their mother hummed softly as she mended a shirt, the faint glow of the flames casting warm shadows on her face.
As Ryn recounted a wild story about a wolf sighting near the village.