A Good Man Awakens

Chapter 20: Ministry's Power

Winter had fully given way to spring, the biting cold replaced by the damp warmth of the season's first rains. The fields were growing again, but the work was hard. Harder than I remembered it ever being. But as I toiled each day, I noticed something strange about my body—it was changing, growing stronger with each passing span. My arms thickened, muscles rippling beneath the skin that had once been soft.. Hair grew in places where I hadn't seen it since before I came here, and I could feel a strength returning that I once commanded. The farm was working its magic on me, slowly restoring the power I had once wielded in my old life.

Still, the heaviness of the winter months clung to the farm like a shadow, refusing to be shaken. It wasn't just the lingering cold or the hard labor. It was the absence of news from Jacob. We had heard nothing—no letters, no word of his mission. Sophia kept watching the road as if any day now he would ride in and tell us all how foolish we were to worry.

But the longer the silence stretched, the more the anxiety grew. Ged buried himself in his work, pushing the rest of us hard, but even he couldn't hide the worry that creased his brow each time we gathered at the table. Reece kept to himself more and more, frustration evident in every tense exchange.

It was early morning when the rider came into view through the mist, his silhouette dark against the pale light of day. At first, it was just the soft thudding of hooves, distant and hollow, as if the sound came from the earth itself. But as he drew closer, the noise grew sharper, more distinct, and a heavy sense of foreboding settled over the farm. I could feel it, even before I saw the King's Guard uniform gleaming under the thin sunlight. His armor was polished to a cold sheen, the sigil of the King's Guard etched boldly into his chest plate, but the somberness on his face told the real story.

There was no urgency in his approach—just a slow, deliberate pace, like he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. The kind of look a man wears when he's about to deliver news that will break someone. My stomach twisted with dread, as the rider stopped in front of us.

The silence was suffocating. Even the birds stopped their morning song. The wind stilled, as if the very world sensed what was coming. My breath hitched, my chest tight, the feeling that something terrible was about to happen growing stronger with every passing second. The rider's face remained grim as he reached into his saddlebag, pulling out a folded piece of parchment, the edges worn, Jacob's name scrawled across it in ink.

Sophia was the first to step forward. Her eyes were wide, filled with a growing horror that I could see swelling inside her. "No..." she whispered, her voice trembling, fragile, as if it could break at any moment.

The rider handed Ged the letter, his voice quiet, respectful, but carrying the weight of finality. "For the family of Captain Jacob."

Ged took the letter with trembling hands, and for a moment, none of us breathed. His fingers fumbled with the seal as he broke it open, unfolding the parchment. His eyes scanned the words, but his expression didn't change—just grew more shadowed, more hollow.

Then, quietly, he spoke. "He's gone."

The words hit like a punch to the gut, and the world seemed to tilt for a moment. Jacob. Gone. It didn't feel real. He'd always been a larger-than-life figure, strong, dependable, the one who kept the Ministry at bay. And now... gone.

I heard Sophia's sob before I saw her collapse. "No!" she screamed, her voice piercing the silence like a sharp blade, shattering the quiet that had settled over us. Her wail was more than just grief—it was agony, the kind of sound that came from deep within, from a place of unimaginable loss.

She fell to her knees, hands trembling as tears streamed down her face, and the rider, even used to delivering these kinds of messages, looked away, his own expression tightening in discomfort.