The Demon Lord's Favorite Farmer

The sickle caught the last rays of the amber sun, carving through the stalks of wheat with a rhythmic shick-shick-shick. Hafiz wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of a dirt-stained hand, looking out over the three acres he’d managed to clear before dusk.

"Just a bit more," Hafiz muttered to himself, leaning against his knees. "Come on, legs. Don't quit on me yet. If we don’t get this in before the rain hits tonight, we’re eating soggy bread for a month."

He glanced toward the edge of the field where his neighbor’s fence began. "Hey, Old Man Jace! You done for the day?"

A weathered voice shouted back from the distance. "I’m eighty, Hafiz! My back gave up four hours ago! You’re young, keep swinging that blade!"

"Yeah, yeah, easy for you to say," Hafiz laughed, standing up straight. "I’ll bring some of the harvest over tomorrow. Make sure you’ve got that honey ready for the trade!"

"Don't get your hopes up!" Jace yelled back. "The bees are as grumpy as I am today!"

Hafiz shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. He turned back to his work, but as he raised the sickle, the air in the center of his field curdled. The golden wheat didn't just sway; it shriveled. A low, vibrating hum began to vibrate in his teeth, and then, with the sound of tearing silk, the sky simply broke.

A jagged rift of violet light slashed through the air.

"What the hell is that?" Hafiz dropped his sickle, his heart hammering against his ribs. "Jace? Jace, get inside! Now!"

He didn't wait for a response. He turned to run, but his boots felt like they were sinking into lead. From the violet tear, a heavy, iron-shod boot stepped onto the soft soil. Then another. Then a dozen more.

The soldiers didn't look human. Their armor was the color of dried blood, jagged and asymmetrical, and their eyes glowed with a faint, sickly white light behind their visors.

"Secure the perimeter," a voice boomed, deep and metallic. "Don’t burn anything. We need the organic matter intact."

Hafiz scrambled backward, tripping over a bundle of his own grain. "Hey! Hey, stay back! This is private property! I don't want any trouble!"

A soldier grabbed him by the collar of his tunic, hoisting him off the ground as if he weighed nothing. "Found one, General Kael. A live one."

A tall figure stepped through the portal. He didn't wear a helmet. His skin was the color of ash, and two obsidian horns swept back from his temples. He looked at the field of wheat, then at Hafiz, with an expression that was almost... envious.

"Put him down," Kael commanded. His voice was surprisingly calm, devoid of the monstrous growl Hafiz expected.

The soldier dropped Hafiz. He hit the ground hard, gasping for air. "What do you want? If it's gold, I don't have any. Take the wheat! Take the cows! Just leave the village alone!"

Kael stepped closer, his heavy boots crushing the grain Hafiz had worked all season to grow. He knelt down, picking up a handful of the soil. He let it sift through his fingers, watching it with an intensity that was terrifying.

"You think we’re here for gold?" Kael asked, looking at Hafiz. "What’s your name, farmer?"

"Hafiz," he stammered. "Hafiz Korya. Look, man, I'm just a guy. I grow stuff. That's it."

"Exactly," Kael said. He stood up and gestured to his men. "Grab him. Secure the samples. We’re leaving."

"Wait! No!" Hafiz scrambled to his feet, but two soldiers caught his arms. "Let me go! Where are you taking me? Jace! Help!"

"Quiet," one of the soldiers snapped, shaking him. "You’re making my head ache."

"I’m making your head ache?" Hafiz yelled, struggling. "You just ripped a hole in the sky and kidnapped me! What is wrong with you people?"

Kael didn't look back as he walked toward the portal. "You should be honored, Hafiz. You’re the first thing that’s been 'alive' in our world for a century. Move out!"

"Honored? Are you kidding me?" Hafiz’s voice cracked as he was dragged toward the violet light. "I have a cat! Who's going to feed my cat?"

"We’ll get you a new one," the soldier grunted. "Now shut it."

The world turned inside out. The smell of fresh earth and evening air was replaced by the stench of sulfur and stagnant dust. When Hafiz’s vision cleared, he wasn't in his field anymore. He was in a fortress of black stone that seemed to grow out of a mountain of slag. The sky above was a bruised, permanent gray.

"Move," Kael ordered, walking down a long, echoing corridor.

"Where are we?" Hafiz asked, his voice echoing. He was shaking now, the reality of the situation finally sinking in. "This isn't... this isn't anywhere on the map."

"It's the Waste," Kael replied. "But you’d probably call it the Demon Realm. Not that the name matters. It’s dying, Hafiz."

"Is that why you’re kidnapping people?" Hafiz asked, trying to keep his footing as they hurried him along. "To help you fix your... sky? I'm a farmer, not a magician!"

"We don't need a magician," Kael said, stopping before a pair of massive, iron-bound doors. "We’ve had plenty of those. They’re great at blowing things up. They’re useless at keeping things alive."

"I don't get it," Hafiz said, his breath hitching. "What do you want from me?"

Kael looked at him, and for a second, Hafiz saw a flicker of genuine desperation in the demon's eyes. "We want what you have. That touch. That... understanding."

The doors groaned open.

The room inside was vast, lit by flickering braziers that cast long, dancing shadows. At the far end, sitting on a throne carved from what looked like a giant, bleached skull, was a woman. Her skin was pale, almost translucent, and her hair flowed like ink. She wore a gown of dark silk that seemed to absorb the light around it.

This was Velina Chariya, the Demon Lord.

As they approached, she leaned forward, her chin resting on a delicate, clawed hand. Her eyes were fixed on Hafiz, and for a moment, he felt like a bug under a microscope.

"This is the one?" she asked. Her voice was low, like the purr of a predator. "He looks... small. And he smells like manure."

"I've been working all day, sorry for the inconvenience," Hafiz snapped, his fear briefly overridden by irritation. "I didn't realize I was being summoned to a gala."

The soldiers behind him hissed, and one kicked the back of his knee, forcing him to his felt.

"Hey! Easy on the joints!" Hafiz groaned.

Velina stood up, her movements fluid and haunting. She walked down the steps of her throne, her gaze never leaving Hafiz's face. When she reached him, she circled him slowly.

"He has the scent of the sun on him," she whispered, almost to herself. "And the green. Kael, did he resist?"

"Not effectively, My Lord," Kael replied.

"I tried!" Hafiz shouted, looking up at her. "I have a sickle! I would've used it if your goons didn't have magic armor!"

Velina stopped in front of him. She reached out, her fingers cold as ice, and tilted his chin up. "You have a lot of spirit for a creature that lives such a short, fragile life. Do you know why you're here, Hafiz Korya?"

"Kael mentioned something about the world dying," Hafiz said, trying to steady his voice. "Look, lady... Your Majesty... whatever. I’m just a guy who grows wheat and carrots. I don’t know how to save a world."

"We don't need you to save the world," Velina said, her eyes darkening. "Not yet. We need to see if you're even worth the effort of keeping."

She turned away, walking toward a small stone pedestal in the center of the room. On it sat a shallow bowl filled with nothing but dry, ashen dirt. It looked like it had been burned a thousand times over.

"My people were once masters of this realm," Velina said, her back to him. "We had forests that touched the clouds. We had rivers that flowed with liquid light. Now, we have this."

She picked up a handful of the dirt and walked back to Hafiz. She looked down at him, her expression a mix of hunger and a deep, soul-aching exhaustion.

"They tell me your people can speak to the earth," she said softly. "They tell me you can take a handful of dust and turn it into life."

"It's called farming," Hafiz said, his heart hammering. "And you need water. And sunlight. And... you know, seeds that aren't dead."

Velina didn't seem to hear him. She opened her hand, letting the gray, lifeless dirt spill out onto the floor at his feet. It settled in a pathetic, dusty heap on the black stone.

"Make it bloom," she commanded.

Hafiz stared at the dirt. "What? Right now? Here on the floor?"

"Make it bloom," Velina repeated, her voice turning sharp as a blade. "Show me that the stories are true. Show me that you are the master of life I was promised."

"I can't just, I don't have tools! I don't have anything!" Hafiz looked around frantically. "You're asking for a miracle, not a harvest!"

Velina leaned down, her face inches from his. The smell of cold air and old smoke filled his lungs. "Listen to me, little farmer. My people are starving. Not for bread, but for the essence of life itself. We are fading into the gray."

She straightened up, her eyes glowing with a sudden, terrifying intensity.

"You will make this earth bloom," she said, her voice echoing through the silent hall. "You will find a way to coax life from this rot, or I will find out if your own life tastes as sweet as the sun you carry on your skin."

Hafiz looked at the gray pile of dust, then back at the beautiful, terrifying woman standing over him. "And if I can't?"

Velina smiled, but there was no warmth in it. It was the smile of a winter storm.

"Then I suppose I'll have to eat you," she said casually. "At least that way, a little bit of the sun stays within the palace. Now, get to work."