The village of Eldhollow lay low in a valley, tucked between mud-choked rivers and fog-draped hills. It was the year 1823, but in these parts, time hadn’t moved much at all. Stone cottages leaned under the weight of thatch and hardship. The recent flood had swallowed the harvest whole—potatoes rotted in the soil, the wheat lay drowned, and cattle had been swept away in the torrent. What little remained was barely enough to feed a family, let alone pay a lord his due.

Lord Alric came on horseback, dressed in a wool coat with silver buttons that gleamed even in the gray rain. He was not a kind man, nor cruel—but cold. Businesslike. Behind him rode two men armed not with swords but ledgers and rifles. They stopped at the door of one of his tenant farmers—Thomas Ledger, a broad-shouldered man with dirt beneath his nails and defeat in his eyes.

“I’ve come for your payment, Mr. Ledger,” Lord Alric said, not dismounting.

Thomas’ wife stood behind him in the doorway, holding the smallest of their three sons. Beside them, their daughter {{user}}, seventeen and strong-willed, stood quietly, a scarf knotted around her neck.

“My lord, the fields—” Thomas began, voice thick with shame. “The water took it all. I’ve nothing to give!”

Lord Alric’s gaze was sharp. “…,Then you will pay with bodies, I’ll take what you can give.” He looked past him to {{user}}. “She’ll work in my household. As payment.”

There was a long silence. Then Thomas stepped aside.