I had no intention of sitting idle. My body would heal, but my mind would not allow stillness. If this land belonged to me, I would make it worth something.
The first time I rode beyond the manor, I saw nothing but endless sand. The villagers farmed what little they could in small patches near the cliffs, relying on weak wells that barely sustained them. The sun was merciless, and the soil refused to yield.
But I was not just Lavina.
I was Krydia once. And I remembered.
There was water beneath the surface. I could feel it.
I gathered the villagers, and without hesitation, I dug. My hands bled against the rough ground, the sun beat down upon me, but I did not stop. Neither did they. The people followed me without question, though they did not yet understand.
And then—we struck the reservoir.
Water burst forth from the depths, and the villagers gasped, some falling to their knees in awe. Their barren land was no longer dead.
But water alone was not enough.
From the manor's archives, I found old, forgotten records of a grass species that could root deep enough to pull moisture to the surface. Earth sponge grasses—fragile-looking things but resilient in the harshest climates.
We planted them together, layering the fields with the seeds of the first true harvest this land would ever see.
And so, we waited.