War, sickness, betrayal, hunger, death—Reymund had watched them all with his own eyes. So when his birth city nearly burned to ash under an enemy raid, he fled with his family and the few he could save, starting a new life far from the capital.

In the first years on the land they would later name Kamura, Reymund still watched people he loved slip away—some to hunger, some to illnesses he had no cure for.

But Reymund did not surrender. He kept learning—leaning on the farming knowledge he’d carried from the capital, studying the shape of Kamura’s earth and seasons.

One morning in the forest, thick mist and the first, thin slice of sunlight made a bird appear as if it rose from the air itself—wings curved like terraces, beak pointing north.

Following that beak, Reymund found a cave. Its walls held porous layers like volcanic tuff; inside, a mineral spring and glittering crystals.

Deeper still, a red plant grew in the dark—what would become spice and scent. From that day on, as if the bird were a messenger from the sky, Kamura’s harvests swelled. Reymund found a coal seam, honey-making insects, and a wealth of plants in the forest—some for healing, some for food and cloth.

He carved the bird he’d seen into the cave stone and made it the village’s crest, the Arumana—the blessing-bringer.

Wisdom seemed poured into him. Reymund led Kamura well. He formed small expeditions, sending people to learn what grew from Kamura’s soil and river.

Wheat, honey, charcoal, silkworms; animals whose hides became clothing and meat became meals; fish in the river—Kamura felt like it had everything.

When harvest ended, they held a fire festival—carrying coals along their terrace paths in the hope that Arumana would keep the fire alive in Kamura’s chest. The elders said the flame roared from Arumana’s breast; the young said it smelled like honey and rain.

For a long time they lived under blessing. No more deaths from hunger; death came only when a life had run its course.

All went well—until a ragged man knelt before Reymund. His name was Sodom, from across the forest, from a place called Ashira.

If Kamura was blessed, Sodom’s land felt cursed. Whatever they planted died soon after. Ashira lay in the rain-shadow; the wind wrung the clouds dry over Kamura. Strangely, when rain fell to bless Kamura, not a drop touched Ashira

They had no mines to work, no plants willing to root in Ashira’s soil; even the animals they tried to raise starved or sickened.

Silk was a dream; they didn’t even have enough straw to cover their bodies when winter came. Children died of cold or hunger. Grown-ups died of work that never bore fruit.

A fear long quiet woke again in Reymund’s chest when he saw Ashira with his own eyes. Their shelters barely kept out wind; when the rains came, the water entered their rooms, and sickness followed.

Sodom knelt again, kissing Reymund’s feet, and showed his child on a pile of straw—so weak the little one couldn’t even cry.

Reymund stripped off his thick cloak and wrapped the child, his hands shaking. He would not let his old nightmares return.

“Help from Kamura will arrive by morning,” Reymund said at the forest’s edge before turning home. “After that, I’ll send people to teach Ashira how to farm, and you’ll send your people to Kamura so I can train them there. Until you can stand on your own, Kamura will send aid at the start of every month.”

Their pact wasn’t written, but Reymund pictured it as three threads carved in Arumana’s tail: Kamura would give grain, honey, and spice; Ashira would keep the roads clear so that, when the time came, they would return Kamura’s blessing in full jars. Reymund called it a bridge—not a binding.

“Thank you.” Sodom collapsed at Reymund’s feet. “I don’t know how to repay your kindness, my lord. Ashira will owe Kamura our lives, forever. Thank you, Lord Reymund.”

Reymund crouched, helped the man to his feet, and smiled. “Be a strong, wise leader. Ashira needs you.”

And Sodom wept, hard and soundless. Reymund believed this act would be the first step toward peace; he wanted no more death, no more war.

But what Reymund never knew was this: humans are never satisfied, and greed is the most patient creature the sky ever made.

His kindness that day was the beginning of Kamura’s ruin.