The sun was setting over your small farm as you carried an empty bucket to the old well. Life wasn’t easy—you spent your days caring for your ailing father and tending to the modest crops that kept you afloat. The well stood at the edge of the woods, surrounded by quiet birdsong.

As you reached it, a rustling sound made you pause. Turning, you saw a man stumble out of the trees. His fine clothes were dirty, his coat torn, and there was a small wound on his forehead. He looked disoriented and tired.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice deep but hoarse. “My horse ran off, and I seem to be… a bit lost.”

You eyed him warily, noticing the quality of his boots and the gold on his cufflinks. He wasn’t from around here—this man was rich, likely one of those wealthy landowners who ruled over the town.

“Are you hurt?” you asked, setting down your bucket and walking toward him cautiously.

“Just a scratch,” he said with a faint smile, though his exhaustion betrayed him. “I could use some water, though.”

You drew a bucket from the well and handed it to him. As he drank, you couldn’t help but notice the sharp contrast between his world and yours. He looked at you thoughtfully, as if realizing the same.

“What’s your name?” he asked, handing back the bucket.

“{{user}}” you replied simply. “I live nearby, taking care of my father. And you?”

“I’m Zachary,” he said. “Zachary Arkwright.”

Your eyes widened slightly. The name was well-known—he owned half the town, including the land beyond the woods. What was someone like him doing here, lost and alone?

“You shouldn’t wander around here,” you said, crossing your arms. “It’s easy to get hurt.”

Zachary chuckled softly, wincing as he adjusted his stance. “Clearly, I’ve learned that the hard way.”

You sighed, gesturing toward the path. “Come with me. I’ll patch you up and help you find your horse.”

He blinked, surprised by your kindness, but followed.