The sky darkened faster than it should have.
Not storm-dark.
Not angry-dark.
Just… heavy.
Clouds slid over the sun like a curtain being slowly pulled shut, and the air cooled in a way that made even the crops grow quiet.
Rylan looked up from the field.
"…It's getting late."
Lyra followed his gaze. "Yeah. The sky looks like it's thinking too hard."
He nodded, then pointed toward the hut.
"You should come inside. The ground gets cold at night."
She blinked. "You're just… inviting me?"
"…Yes?"
She smiled, small and tired. "Good. I didn't feel like sleeping in a crater again."
Inside the hut, it was simple.
A table.
Two stools.
A single lamp.
Clean, warm, lived-in.
Rylan lit the lamp, its glow softening the shadows.
"There's water," he said. "And bread."
Lyra sat, stretching her arms. "You live quietly."
"…Is that bad?"
"No," she said gently. "It's rare."
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment.
Then Lyra spoke.
"You never ask why I fell from the sky."
Rylan thought.
"…You'll tell me when you want to."
She smiled at that.
Outside, the wind passed over the farm like a hand smoothing a blanket.
That night, the field slept peacefully.
---
Morning
The next day arrived with a sharp, clear dawn.
Sunlight cut through the clouds like a blade, and the world felt… alert.
Rylan was already outside when the sound came.
A horn.
Then another.
Then a loud, magically amplified voice rolling across the land from the direction of the kingdom.
> "By decree of Eldoria Kingdom, under royal authority and sealed by the High Council, all capable minds regardless of origin, status, or past are hereby summoned to present themselves for evaluation and selection into the Royal Army's Tactical and Strategic Leadership Division, a command-focused role responsible for battlefield planning, resource management, troop survival efficiency, adaptive warfare response, and future military doctrine, with priority given to individuals demonstrating exceptional intelligence, unconventional problem-solving, and calm decision-making under pressure."
The sound echoed.
Villagers froze.
Birds scattered.
Lyra slowly turned toward Rylan.
"…That's big."
Rylan said nothing.
He looked at his field.
The crops.
The hut.
The quiet life.
Then he looked toward the distant road leading to the kingdom.
"…They're not asking for soldiers," Lyra said. "They're asking for thinkers."
Rylan clenched his hands.
His heart was calm.
Too calm.
He exhaled.
"…If I go," he said slowly, "the farm will be alone."
The field rustled softly.
As if saying: We'll be fine.
Lyra watched him carefully.
"…And if you stay?"
"…The world will keep moving anyway."
He closed his eyes.
Thought of his grandpa.
Thought of the land.
Thought of the strange path opening ahead.
He opened his eyes.
Steady.
Clear.
Resolved.
"My decision is..."