The aroma of freshly cooked stew filled their small but cozy home. Mara sat beside her father, her wooden spoon clinking against the bowl as she eagerly scooped up her meal. Her mother smiled warmly, placing a small piece of bread on her plate. Laughter echoed around the dinner table, a rare but cherished moment of peace. The fire crackled gently in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
Then, the alarm bell rang.
The warmth vanished in an instant. Shouts and screams erupted from outside. The door burst open as a neighbor frantically yelled, "Bandits! The bandits are attacking!"
Chaos swallowed the village. Houses burned, filling the night with thick smoke. The metallic stench of blood replaced the scent of stew. Mara's father grabbed his axe, urging her and her mother to run. She wanted to stay, to fight alongside him, but her mother's grip was ironclad as they fled into the darkness.
She never saw him again.
The village fell that night. When the sun rose, it illuminated nothing but charred remains. Their home was gone, looted and burned. The surviving villagers gathered in silence, hollow-eyed and mourning. The brave men who had fought were dead, leaving behind only women, children, and a few wounded men who could do nothing but curse their own powerlessness.
The days after the attack were worse than the attack itself. The bandits had stripped the village of everything food, livestock, tools. Hunger became their greatest enemy. For two weeks, they scoured the land, eating whatever they could find roots, grass, even insects. But it wasn't enough. The weaker ones succumbed first. Neighbors, friends one by one, they perished.
Mara's mother fell into despair. She barely spoke, barely moved. And then, one morning, she simply did not wake up. Mara shook her, cried out her name, but her mother's body was cold. She was alone.
Another week passed. More villagers died, their bodies growing thinner until they collapsed. Desperation forced them to eat anything that seemed edible. Some grew sick, poisoned by rotten food. The days blurred together, filled with hunger, grief, and the distant hope that someone would come to save them.
Then, one fateful afternoon, the sound of hooves echoed through the ruins of their village.
A carriage bearing the crest of Ravennest arrived, flanked by soldiers. At its head rode a man wearing a beautiful attire Lord Vincent himself. His gaze, sharp and calculating, swept over the starving villagers. He did not speak for a long moment, merely observing the suffering before him.
Then, with a single gesture, he ordered his soldiers to distribute rations. The villagers fell to their knees in gratitude as bread and dried meat were handed out. Mara had never tasted anything so delicious. For the first time in weeks, she felt warmth in her stomach. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep them alive for a few more days.
As Lord Vincent's carriage prepared to depart, the villagers came to a decision. They could not stay in the ruins of their home any longer. If they wanted to survive, they had to move forward. And so, with what little strength they had left, they followed the road, heading toward Ravennest the only place that offered a sliver of hope.
Mara clutched the last piece of bread she had been given, her heart heavy with sorrow but alight with determination. She would survive. She had to.
And so, with dozens of other refugees, she took her first step toward a new life.
Mara stepped cautiously onto the stone-paved streets of Ravennest, her worn sandals barely holding together after weeks of travel. Around her, the remnants of her village those who had survived the horrors of the bandit attack moved hesitantly, overwhelmed by the sheer size and energy of the bustling town before them.
The towering walls of Ravennest had seemed like salvation from a distance, but as they were led through the gates, their status was immediately made clear. They were visitors, nothing more. Allowed entry, but not welcome to stay indefinitely. Without coin, without belongings, and with nothing to their names, the reality of their predicament sank in.
Hunger clawed at Mara's stomach, a sensation she had grown accustomed to, but one she would not let consume her. She had survived too much to falter now.
Her first instinct was to beg for food. It wasn't dignity she sought it was survival. The moment she and her people sat by the streets, hands outstretched, they were met with wary gazes. Some townsfolk ignored them entirely, while others regarded them with suspicion. But a few, just a few, took pity. A half-eaten loaf of bread here, a bowl of thin broth there small mercies that meant everything to those who had been starving for weeks.
Mara quickly realized that huddling together wasn't efficient. A large group of beggars in one place only made people avoid them more. So, with what little influence she had left, she gathered those who trusted her and urged them to spread out across the town.
"Stay in pairs," she instructed, her voice firm despite her exhaustion. "Don't take more than you need. If you get food, share with the ones who don't."
She divided them as best as she could, placing them on different streets, near bakeries, in front of taverns, and along the market paths where foot traffic was heaviest. Some resisted the idea at first, ashamed of the act, but in the end, hunger silenced pride.
For a time, it worked. They were able to scrounge enough to stay alive. But as days passed, the number of refugees arriving in Ravennest grew. More faces, more hands, more mouths to feed. The limited kindness of the townsfolk was wearing thin, and the struggle to survive became fiercer. Arguments broke out between beggars over territory, fights over scraps of food became common, and Mara's influence began to slip through her fingers.
She tried to maintain order, to find a way to make things better. But there was only so much she could do. She wasn't a noble, nor a merchant, nor a warrior. She was just a girl trying to keep herself and those she cared about alive.
One night, as she sat against a cold stone wall, exhausted from another fruitless day, she buried her head in her arms. The burden was too heavy, the situation too dire.
Begging was hard. And it wasn't getting any easier.
The days of begging had turned into a battle for survival.
Mara clenched her fists as she watched two boys, no older than ten, wrestle over a half-eaten loaf of bread. She wanted to intervene, but what could she say? That they should share when there wasn't enough to go around? That they should be patient when their stomachs screamed otherwise?
The fights became more frequent, more violent. The soldiers stationed around the town had begun to notice. They didn't act yet, but Mara saw the way they looked at them now with wary eyes and tightened grips on their weapons. She knew what would come next. If the situation continued, the refugees would no longer be tolerated. They would be forced out of Ravennest to fend for themselves in the wilderness.
That was a death sentence.
Ravennest was a prosperous town, but it took care of its own. They were outsiders, just people who had wandered in, unwanted and without purpose. No noble, no leader, would allow a growing population of vagrants to linger in their city. Mara understood this, yet the thought of being cast out after finally making it this far filled her with dread.
Then, an announcement rang through the streets.
"By the decree of Lady Vivian, a grand medical program shall be held for the citizens of Ravennest! All who are sick, injured, or in need of care shall receive free treatment, medicine, and operations as necessary. Our lady has heard the pleas of her people and has chosen to act with kindness and justice!"
A surge of excitement rushed through the streets. People cheered, their voices echoing through the alleyways and marketplaces. It was a grand gesture proof that Lady Vivian cared for her people.
But Mara and the other refugees were not among them.
The words had been clear: for the citizens of Ravennest.
Not them.
She turned to the others, seeing the same crushed expressions she felt twisting in her own heart. She had tried so hard to bring them here, to find a place where they could live. But in the end, they were still outsiders. Unwanted. Forgotten.
The realization weighed heavily on her. If they weren't even worthy of healing, then did they truly have a place here? Or anywhere?
Mara's heart pounded in her chest as she knelt on the cold stone road, her forehead nearly touching the dirt. The night air was still, yet her body trembled not from the chill, but from fear and desperation. This was her last chance. If she failed now, the children among them might not survive the coming days.
She had spent hours debating, wrestling with the weight of her decision. Begging in the streets had turned into a battle for survival. More refugees arrived daily, and they were running out of places to go. The soldiers had not driven them out yet, but Mara knew it was only a matter of time before they were forced beyond the town's walls, left to fend for themselves in the wild.
Her only hope now was to reach Lady Vivian.
Mara's hands clenched into fists as she remained kneeling in the middle of the path, waiting. The dim glow of lanterns flickered in the distance, signaling the approach of the noblewoman's carriage. The sight made her breath hitch. Would they run her over? Would the guards cut her down before she could even speak?
She didn't know. But she had to try.
A soft rustling sound broke the silence. At first, she thought it was the wind, but then she realized others had joined her.
An old man, thin and frail, slowly lowered himself to his knees beside her. Then a mother with a baby wrapped in a tattered cloth followed. One by one, more of the refugees knelt in the street, their heads bowed, their bodies forming a silent, unmoving wall. The town's residents, those who had homes and food, stopped in their tracks, watching in silence. Some whispered among themselves, recognizing what was happening. The older ones understood first.
This was a plea. A desperate, final gamble.
Mara bit her lip, her body tense as the sound of hooves grew louder. The carriage entered their view, its polished frame gleaming beneath the lanterns. The soldiers riding alongside it immediately reacted, shouting orders and moving to clear the path.
Mara shut her eyes tightly, bracing herself.
The moment of truth had come.