Days turned to weeks, but the weight on Aira's chest never lightened. The horrors she had witnessed—the old woman's execution, the brutal punishment of the tax-defaulter—were permanently carved into her mind. She had stopped trying to rationalize them, stopped trying to make sense of the cruelty. This was simply how this world worked. The same world she had created with her own hands. And she was powerless within it.
Winter was approaching, and with it came the threat of hunger. The village's weak harvest meant food was scarce, and already the weaker members of the community were beginning to suffer. Children's ribs were more pronounced beneath their skin, their hollowed eyes filled with hunger. Elders sat in silence, their bodies withering away, awaiting the inevitable. The nobles and the church, of course, cared little for such suffering. Their taxes had been paid; that was all that mattered.
Aira sat by the small fire in their hut, watching as her mother carefully rationed what little grain they had left. Joren sat beside her, unusually quiet. Even he, in all his boundless energy, seemed to understand the weight of their situation. Their father was out in the fields, desperately trying to gather whatever scraps of food he could before the frost came.
"How long will this last?" Aira finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her mother didn't look up. "As long as it has to."
Aira's grip tightened on her own tattered dress. She wanted to scream, to ask why this was normal, why they had to suffer while nobles gorged themselves on feasts in their marble halls. But she knew there was no point.
This was fate. The fate of a commoner. The fate of a woman.
A Sudden Arrival
One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, a group of armored men rode into the village. Their silver-plated armor gleamed under the dimming light; the sigils of the ruling noble house embroidered onto their capes. The villagers immediately bowed, pressing their foreheads to the dirt without hesitation. Aira clenched her teeth but followed suit. Defiance meant death.
"We seek new recruits for the war effort," one of the knights announced. His voice was cold, impassive. He might as well have been speaking of collecting cattle. "Able-bodied men, aged fifteen and up. Line them up."
Aira's blood ran cold.
War? She had known it existed—wars between kingdoms, battles for land and power—but it had always been a distant thing. A tragedy that belonged to men in castles, not to peasants struggling to survive. But now it was here. And they were taking her village people for it.
The village elder quickly gathered the boys and young men, lining them up before the knights. They all stood rigid, their expressions unreadable, but Aira could see the fear in their eyes. Some were barely older than Joren.
Aira's father stood at the front, his fists clenched. He wasn't young, but he was strong. The knights looked him over before nodding in approval. "You'll do."
Her mother gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. Aira's breath hitched. They were taking him.
"No," her mother whispered. "Please, my lord, he's all we have—"
The knight didn't even spare her a glance. "You'll receive compensation."
Money. That was all a man's life was worth.
Aira's father stepped forward before her mother could say another word. He met her gaze, his expression calm but firm. "Take care of them," he said softly.
Aira felt something inside her snap.
Before she knew what she was doing, she stepped forward, placing herself between the knights and her father. "Take me instead."
The village fell silent.
The knight raised an eyebrow. "You?" A chuckle escaped his lips. "What use is a girl on the battlefield?"
"I can fight," she lied. "I'm stronger than I look."
Her mother grabbed her wrist in horror, but Aira didn't budge. She couldn't let them take her father. He was the only reason they were still alive. If he left, if he died on some distant battlefield, who would protect them? Who would work the fields, who would keep their family from starving?
The knight studied her for a long moment before shaking his head. "Women belong in the home."
With that, he signaled to his men. They seized her father and dragged him toward their horses. Her mother collapsed to her knees, sobbing. Joren screamed, but no one stopped them. No one ever stopped them.
Aira stood frozen as her father was mounted onto a horse, bound in chains like a prisoner. Their gazes met one final time.
Then he was gone.
The Cost of Powerlessness
That night, Aira didn't cry. She couldn't. There were no more tears left.
Her mother sat in silence, staring at the floor, her hands limp in her lap. Joren curled up beside her, his small shoulders shaking. Aira sat apart, staring at the fire, her thoughts a whirlwind of rage and despair.
She had tried. She had stepped forward, had begged them to take her instead. But they had laughed. Because she was a girl. Because she was a commoner. Because she was powerless.
How long would this continue? How long would she watch as the people she loved were torn away, as innocent lives were trampled underfoot? How long would she remain nothing?
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
She refused to accept this.
If this world only valued power, then she would find a way to obtain it. No matter what it took.
For the first time since she had arrived in this world, Aira made a vow.
She would not remain powerless forever.
She would find a way to change this world.
Even if it killed her.