The Sovereign Codex.

The dirt was stuck to Edrin's hands just as it had been before. He pushed the hoe down into the dry earth and dragged it back, the same motion he had been doing since the morning began. Sweat dripped down his neck and soaked his shirt collar. The sun was high over Rhel and showed no mercy at this time.

His younger sister’s voice, thin and distant, came from the house and said that mother said the well was low again.

Edrin did not look up from his work. He said that he knew.

He went back to his work. The rows were not straight this year. The soil felt less firm, harder in a way that seemed like the land itself was tired of them. One more bad harvest would mean the tax collectors would take the fields. Everyone in Rhel understood this fact. No one spoke it out loud.

His mother stepped outside, casting a shadow across the yard. She held a small basket filled with dried beans. Her eyes went, as they did every time, to the old walking stick leaning against the house wall. It remained there. She would not move it. She also would not throw away the worn boots or the patched cloak that still held a faint scent of smoke and old blood.

Edrin’s father had come back with a damaged leg and a promise from the crown. That promise did not come true. Only a limp and silence remained.

Edrin wiped his forehead with the back of his wrist. He did not dislike the kingdom but found it hard to accept that those in control cared whether men like his father lived or died.

News had been traveling through the settlement for several days about fighting at the northern border that had increased in intensity, involving Dravaran raiders, with more dead and more injured being the usual topics of conversation. Wars always felt distant until they got closer. Edrin did not pay much attention to this talk. He had many rows left to finish and a sister who needed food for the winter.

The hoe hit a stone, and he muttered a curse under his breath as he bent down to pull it free.

At that moment, shouting broke out.

Children’s voices, sharp and high-pitched, raced between homes, yelling about soldiers coming.

Edrin straightened up. Dust rose along the road leading into Rhel. He expected a patrol, supply wagons, or maybe some noble’s escort that would ask for water and then leave. The kingdom often sent its people through small towns when it suited them.

The horses entered the square at a slow, cautious pace. They were not just passing through. They were stopping.

There were six riders. Then eight. Then there were more. Their armor looked clean. Their horses appeared well-fed. The royal banner of Nareth unfurled above them, the deep blue and silver catching the afternoon light. People stepped out from doorways. Some wiped their hands on their clothing. Others stood frozen in place.

Edrin’s mother had already walked to the yard's edge. The basket she held was forgotten in one hand.

An officer dismounted. He looked older than the others, his face was worn, and his voice carried well across the square. He unrolled a thick piece of parchment and held it up for everyone to see the seal.

“By order of the crown and in light of the worsening conflict along the northern border,” he began, “every household containing a fighting-aged man must provide one recruit for the royal levy. Refusal will lead to the loss of land and property.”

The words landed heavily, like stones.

Silence followed. Only the soft sound of a horse’s hoof stamping and the distant cry of a child who did not understand the situation were heard.

Edrin’s mother turned towards him slowly. Her face turned pale. The lines around her mouth deepened. She did not say anything. She did not need to. Their household had only one man old enough to qualify.

That man was him.

The officer continued reading names. One household after another. Some men stepped forward without a word. Others were pushed by brothers or fathers. A woman began to cry and was quickly silenced.

Edrin’s fingers tightened around the hoe until the wood pressed into his skin. He still felt the dirt under his nails. The same dirt that his father had worked after the army returned him broken. The same dirt that would no longer belong to them if he chose to refuse.

He looked at the banner. The silver threads sparkled in the sunlight as if they had never seen blood or unfulfilled promises.

Now, his sister stood outside as well. She was behind their mother, eyes wide, gripping the edge of her dress.

The officer’s voice kept going, steady, practiced, indifferent.

Edrin felt tightness in his chest. Not exactly fear. Something colder. The same cold that settled into their house after his father stopped walking without the stick. The same cold that came whenever someone from the capital spoke of duty and sacrifice while their own sons stayed far from any battle.

He had planned to stay. To work the land. To feed his mother and sister through one more winter, then another. He had never wanted the wars of the kingdom. He had never thought the people who ordered those wars would ever consider the men they used.

The officer paused just long enough to clear his throat.

Then he spoke the next name.

“Household of Rhal.”