Silas Thorne moved through his rice fields with calm precision, the rhythm of earth and water as familiar as his own breath. Mist veiled the morning, and peace hung thick—until he noticed something amiss.

A figure lay crumpled near the edge of the field. Silas approached, eyes narrowing. The stranger’s fine but dirtied clothes spoke of nobility; his face, delicate and unearthly, seemed out of place in Silas’s humble world.

With quiet resolve, Silas lifted him—light, fragile, unsettlingly human. Back in his cottage, he laid the man on his cot, studying him in silence. The peace Silas had guarded for years felt fragile now, already shifting.

Whoever this stranger was, Silas knew one thing: his life would no longer remain untouched.