“This was a mistake.”

“Yeah. It’s not too late to go back. Maybe get a job at the library?”

I scowl. Their words make my blood boil. The library is no place for someone like me! What a preposterous idea. An insult.

But…she might have a point.

We stand beside my field, surveying the wild landscape. Overgrown weeds. Boulders and logs. A tiny, sad little patch of radishes.

And holes. So many holes.

They dot the landscape like craters in an alien world.

Maybe this is a failure. Maybe I really should move back into town…

“Y’all are right.” A sigh leaves my lips. “Farming is tough. It’s a foolish dream.”

“But you’re a fine builder. There’s talent in those hands.” Dahlia moves in, patting my back.

I flash a weak smile. She’s a stocky young lady with determined eyes and hair pulled into a practical bun. She understands hard work. When the weather warms, she leaves the village, traveling the continent and returning with rare goods. A woman born to be a merchant—born with talent.

What talents do I have?

“Or you could go work with Brom. He’s still getting his farm started.” Clara gives an encouraging nod. “But believe me, you’re no worse than he is. I worry he’ll be dead by the end of Frostwhisper. More muscle than sense, that one.”

Clara is an enigma. Kind eyes but a sharp tongue, she doesn’t have time for failure. Dressed in overalls and heavy leather boots, she’s fit to be a farmer too. I suppose that’s how most of us are though. Unlike folks in the city up north, we’re a practical bunch—raised by the land.

City slickers poke fun at us, but they best remember who grows their food…

“Well, look at that. You summoned him.” Dahlia squints, peering up the hill outside my property.

“Oh no.” Clara grimaces.

A young man races down the dirt path, arms flailing. He’s a wiry fellow with wild brown hair and tattered clothes. He wears a wide grin. His feet catch a loose stone, nearly sending him tumbling.

“Hey! Hey!” He waves.

It’s Brom.

My closest friend.

Well, maybe that’s pushing it. We grew up together in the village though, and we’re certainly no strangers. He claimed land north of town, and I claimed a plot down south—dueling farms.

“How goes it?” I wave while he screeches to a halt, panting like a dragon.

“I…you…he said…!” Hands on his knees, Brom gasps for air, large brown eyes flipping between us.

Whatever message he’s trying to deliver, it’s not making any sense.

“And then…monsters…wait. Are those radishes?” He perks up, eyes fixating on my field.

“Oh, yeah. Finally sprouted.” I shrug.

“No way!” He trots into the dirt, flinging his arms wide. “Your first crop! A maiden voyage! Taming the land!”

He’s right. Nestled amidst the sea of thorny weeds is a tender little patch. Planted in tidy rows, the radishes bask in the sun, drinking deep of its energy.

“Heh.” I stand up straight. “See, ladies? At least someone believes in me. Y’all are too harsh.”

“What’s with all the holes though?” Brom whirls around, staring at the craters.

“Been trying to dig a well. No luck though.” My brows furrow. “It’s a problem. I can’t keep hauling water from the river.”

“Hmmm…” Brom strokes his chin, deep in thought. “Have you heard of water-sniffing gophers? You can buy ‘em in the city! If you want a well, you just gotta buy critters attuned to water magic. Maybe a fish would work! Can we teach a fish to smell water?”

“By the gods…” Clara looks up at the sky, exasperated. “Brom, is that why you came all the way out here? Needed to share more of your farming wisdom?”

“Oh, Miss Clara…didn’t see ya there.” Brom looks away, cheeks turning pink. “Erm, no. Gaius sent me.”

“Gaius?” I perk up. “You’re running errands for the mayor now?”

“N-no, not exactly. He wants people to stop by the village square. There’s a visitor in town. A visitor! When was the last time a traveler stopped in our valley? I reckon it’s been at least three seasons! And you’ve gotta see him, Willem! He’s got monsters. Monsters!”

Brom hops up and down, arms trembling.

Dahlia’s eyes widen. Clara flashes a skeptical expression.

“Did you say…monsters?” My eyes narrow, darting across the field.

My little farm is nestled along the edge of the Rainsong Woods. The lower woodlands are picturesque—dew crystals hanging from branches, wild berry bushes, and jiggly forest slimes out for afternoon strolls.

But as the forest rises into the mountains, it changes. Trees grow dark and dense. Strange creatures prowl. Our valley is beautiful, but there are places we never go. The elders warn us. Their elders warned them. As far back as anyone can remember.

Such is life in the Village of Verda—beauty at the world’s edge.

“That’s right.” Brom nods with gusto, hair flopping on his forehead. “He’s from up north—a treasure hunter from Galanta!”

“Really?” Clara’s cold expression melts, replaced with raw curiosity.

“Now that’s something you don’t see every day.” Dahlia puts her hands on her hips. “What’re we waiting for? Let’s go!”

The journey begins. Trekking to the hill’s crest, an ocean of greenery unfurls, grass swaying under the blue sky. A breeze carries the floral, bitter scent of pollen while we walk the dirt road. The sun shines bright—not a cloud to be seen. I can’t help but breathe deep, absorbing the clean, warm air. My ears tilt, listening to the cry of an airborne creature.

High overhead, a butterfly the size of a falcon flutters, its orange wings square and symmetrical. Its long, curly mouthpiece emits a deep coo, booming over the peaceful grasslands. It’s a cubeflapper, and it’s not alone.

Down near the grass, bees larger than pigeons buzz between wildflowers. Black and red stripes adorn their bodies. They’re nectarflies, and they’re a fixture in our valley—perfect pollinators. They’re docile unless you threaten their crystalline nests. One of these days, I want to buy my own hive. Just think of it…Willem the Beekeeper!

A fine addition to the farm, indeed.

“Yessir, I’ll be heading south next week. Gotta get moving now the weather is warm.” Dahlia prattles away, speaking more to herself than anyone in particular.

This is how it goes each year. Seedtide is a time of change and rebirth. The first season, it’s when wildflowers bloom and villagers make big plans.

As the year wears on, the seasons will shift, ushering in Sunburst—my favorite. It’s a heavy, hot season. It’s prime weather for lounging on the beach and chomping into juicy melons. But now that I’m farming, it’ll be a challenge. I’ll need to buy a hat…

And when Sunburst fades, Harvestmoon arrives. It’s a strange time of year. Sure, the red and orange leaves are pretty, but the world becomes…odd. The spirit realm grows close, resulting in unsettling, unpredictable events.

And finally, Frostwhisper comes, heralding the year’s end. Snow piles in the valley, barricading villagers in their homes. The lakes and rivers freeze over. The forest grows silent. It’s a dreamy, sleepy season. The perfect time to sip hot cocoa with cinnamon…

“Where ya goin’ this year?” Brom asks.

“El’sor.” Dahlia perks up. “A journey through the desert! There’s a bloke named Darren who’s got a shipment waiting for me. He’s a southern crop merchant! Now that we have new farmers, I wanna get my hands on rare seeds.”

“Will we get a friends-and-family discount?” His eyes light up.

“Nope.” She grins and gives him a nudge.

Yes, a Seedtide stroll with the crew. I look up at the sky, sun warming my cheeks. Time seems to slow on afternoons like this—moments that can last forever.

The road carves through the countryside, passing the crossroads to Varian Farm and Moonberry Vineyards. I’m on good terms with the Moonberry family, but the Varian Clan…they’re something else entirely. To be frank, I’m not thrilled about setting up shop so close.

But there’s no time to dwell on that. Far in the distance, a flash of sapphire blue catches my attention.

Our valley is a bowl, enclosed on all sides by soaring, craggy gray mountains. North of the village, the centerpiece stands tall—the grand waterfall. Even from this distance, its foamy, roaring stream is visible. It rains from the tallest mountain peak, emitting a low rumble. It’s a work of art—a hidden gem in our corner of the continent.

“Y’all headin’ ta town?” a voice calls out while we walk.

Pastures divide the rolling green hills, leading up to a big red barn. It’s Cain’s ranch—the town beastmaster.

The man waves, black beard fluttering in the breeze. His dark skin is wrinkled and weathered like the hide of a tortoise. He sits on a stool, running a brush through the coat of a shaggy, horned creature—a woolly brahmen. An entire herd meanders through the field, drifting like fluffy clouds through the sky.

“You bet, Cain!” Brom waves. “Ya comin’?! We got a visitor!”

“Bah!” He waves a hand. “I don’t got time for no city folk! But if he needs work, I’ll pay him to shovel dung!”

He lets out a cackle. It slices through the air.

Cain is a stern fellow. Rough around the edges but kind once you get to know him. That ranch has been in his family for generations. It’s his baby.

It’s a common theme in our valley. Most folk are descended from the original settlers—humans who tamed the land and built a sanctuary. Well, for the most part. They weren’t perfect. Things haven’t always been easy here…

“Almost there!” Brom skips while Verda comes into view.