A few hundred yards from the Stark estate gates, situated on a slight hill that offers a panoramic view of the town, stood the unassuming residence of K.J. Sharpe.

The young, blonde-haired farmer stood in the field, his hair tousled by the light breeze. His fair skin was kissed by the sun, not deeply tanned but enough to show the long hours spent working outdoors. His build was average—not muscular nor stocky, but lean, with the wiry strength of someone accustomed to hard labor. His arms and hands, calloused from years of tending the land, moved with practiced efficiency as he worked. His blue eyes, striking against his fair complexion, often held a quiet thoughtfulness, a reflection of the reserved nature he was known for.

He moved diligently through the field, gathering matoes—plump, round vegetables with a reddish-orange hue—and tatoes, golden-brown and starchy. His worn brown tunic clung to him with the faint sheen of sweat from the day's labor, and a patched leather belt held the canister slung at his hip. His movements were steady, though fatigue had begun to settle into his lean frame. After a while, he paused, setting the canister down on the wet, murky ground to catch his breath, brushing a stray lock of hair from his brow.

His gaze wandered down the hill to the bustling streets of Astria below. Traders mingled with townsfolk, moving in a lively, colorful throng, while atop the towering walls, soldiers in gleaming crimson armor patrolled. Their spears and bows caught the light of the afternoon sun, glinting faintly against the backdrop of the towering stone walls that surrounded the city.

"MUTE!" The sharp yell cut through the air, breaking his quiet moment of rest. K.J. turned to see a stocky, blond boy standing at the fence that bordered his property. It was Ridgel, flanked by his usual companions, Mack and Pincher. K.J. recognized them immediately. They were regular tormentors, boys who seemed to find endless amusement in mocking him. Pincher, so named for his habit of pinching others, sneered along with the others, their eyes full of mean-spirited mischief.

"Mute"—the name had stuck, a cruel reference to K.J.'s partial deafness. He could hear little from one ear, and the other was almost completely lost to him. The nickname had followed him for nearly nine cycles, ever since he had come to live with his uncle after his mother's death when he turned ten. The boys were almost a year younger than him, but they'd been relentless since his arrival, always finding ways to provoke him.

K.J. turned away, deciding to ignore them as he had done so many times before. The word had long since lost its sting, but the memories of why it began still lingered. He remembered the day he buried his mother, the day he moved to this farm, and the day he became "Mute" to everyone around him. He had learned to endure.

But as he shifted back to his work, something hit him hard on the back of the head. A matoes, thrown with spiteful precision, splattered across him, its red juices running down the back of his neck. For a moment, K.J. froze. His temper flared, hot and sharp, but he quickly swallowed it. Inhaling deeply, he steadied his breath, forcing the anger to dissolve. Exhaling, he wiped at the back of his neck, knowing there was no use in reacting. It would only make them laugh.

"HEY!" A loud, stern voice boomed across the field, deep and commanding. William, K.J.'s uncle, marched toward the boys, his heavy frame shaking the earth beneath him. His round, plump face was set in a scowl, and his thick hands rested on his hips as he spotted one of the boys—Ridgel—reaching for another tatoe dangling from the vines along the fence.

"What're you boys up to?" William barked, his voice carrying the authority of someone not to be trifled with. "Keep throwing those tatoes, and you'll owe me crowns!"

At the mention of crowns, the boys froze, their smirks faltering. They knew well the weight of such a warning.

Crowns were the heart of Gaia's economy, coins that passed through the hands of merchants, nobles, and common folk alike. The currency system was based on three distinct types, each serving different levels of trade and exchange.

Bronze Crowns, the most common, were the everyday currency of the people. Made of dull copper, they were used for basic purchases—food, clothing, tools, and simple wares. A handful of bronze crowns could get you a night's stay at a humble inn, a fresh loaf of bread, or a round of ale at the local tavern. In Astria, farmers like K.J. might receive a pouch of bronze crowns after a day's labor or a week's harvest.

Silver Crowns held greater value, were minted in finer detail, and were used for larger transactions. A single silver crown could buy a fine horse or pay a skilled blacksmith for a custom-made sword. For most citizens, silver crowns were a symbol of some degree of success, often exchanged for higher-quality goods or traded in the bustling central markets of Astria. Silver crowns also played a key role in trade between towns and provinces, as merchants bartered for rare goods and luxury items from far-flung regions of Gaia.

Gold Crowns were the currency of the nobility, royalty, and the very wealthy. Gleaming and heavy in hand, gold crowns could change the fortunes of a person in an instant. They were used to purchase estates, rare jewels, or even entire fleets of ships. The nobles of Astria, like the Stark family, dealt mostly with gold crowns, their wealth and power were reflected in their ability to hold such valuable currency. Few common folks ever saw a gold crown up close, let alone held one.

But even beyond crowns lay the Moonlets, the most prized and rare currency in all of Gaia. Moonlets weren't just coins; they were crafted from stones that fell from the sky, remnants of star showers that streaked across Gaia's night sky every five cycles. These star stones, harvested from the craters where they landed, held mystical properties, some were even said to enhance magic or offer protection to those who carried them. Moonlets were rare, used only by the wealthiest and most powerful. Entire kingdoms had been traded for a handful of Moonlets, and rumors whispered of ancient rituals tied to their celestial origins.

William, fully aware of the value of even a single crown to a farmer's livelihood, eyed the boys sharply. "You break my vines or waste my crops, and I'll be takin' your pocket money for the next season," he warned, his voice firm.

Ridgel, Mack, and Pincher exchanged glances before slowly backing away, muttering under their breath as they disappeared down the road. William watched them go, his frown easing as he turned back to K.J., who had remained quietly at his post.

"Don't let them get to you, lad," William said, softer now. "Some rich like them folk've got no respect for hard work."

K.J nods.

As soon as William disappeared back into the house, the boys crept back to the fence, their mocking laughter quickly returning. Ridgel, emboldened by William's absence, leaned forward with a sneer.

"You've got no place here, Mute! You're just a commoner!" Ridgel jeered, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Hahaha!" Pincher screeched, trying to laugh hard enough to make it echo, though his attempt sounded more like a forced cackle.

K.J. stood still, his hands tense by his sides, trying to block out their taunts. He had grown used to their cruelty over the years, but it didn't mean the words hurt any less.

Suddenly, a commanding voice cut through the air like a whip.

"ENOUGH!"

The voice was strong, authoritative, and unfamiliar to the boys. They froze, their mocking smiles vanishing as the echo of the command faded. The sound of hooves clopping against the cobblestone path drew their eyes toward the right side, where the road led up from the direction of the Stark Castle gate. A small troop of soldiers appeared, their armor gleaming in the sunlight.

At the front of the group rode a figure they instantly recognized—High Commander Knight Ryan Guzman, Prince Oliver's closest companion and childhood friend. Ryan sat tall in the saddle, exuding power and authority with every movement. His armor, a striking mix of iron and silver, was polished to a gleaming finish, the most pristine piece across his broad, muscular frame. A long sword rested at his hip, its hilt adorned with the Phoenix crest of the Stark family, the fiery symbol of their lineage and dominion.

Ryan's stern gaze was locked on the boys, and even from a distance, they could feel the weight of his presence. His deep hazel eyes, sharp as the blade at his side, flicked between the trio of troublemakers, daring them to speak.

The soldiers beside him, clad in matching crimson armor, remained silent, but their hands were at the ready, gripping their spears and watching the scene unfold. The golden trim of their armor glinted under the sun, marking them as part of the elite guard of Astria.

Ridgel and his friends shifted nervously, suddenly aware of how small and insignificant they seemed in the presence of the High Commander.

"Do you think you can speak to anyone in Astria with such disrespect?" Ryan's voice was steady but edged with steel. "Especially a citizen under the protection of the Stark family?"

The weight of his words hit hard. K.J.'s uncle, William, was not just any commoner—he served directly under the royal family as the supervisor of farming in Astria. His service to the Starks had earned him protection and respect throughout the region. As his nephew, K.J. fell under that same protection, something the boys had clearly underestimated.

The boys were too stunned to respond, their mouths opening and closing as they struggled to form words. Pincher, who had been the loudest moments ago, seemed to shrink behind Ridgel, his face paling.

K.J., who had been standing silently through the exchange, felt an unfamiliar wave of relief wash over him. Ryan Guzman's intervention was unexpected, but he knew enough about the High Commander to understand that his word was law.

Ryan's gaze softened slightly as it shifted to K.J., a faint nod of acknowledgment passing between them. Though K.J. didn't know the High Commander personally, he had heard stories of the man's fairness, and more importantly, his deep bond with Prince Oliver. It was said that the two were like brothers, inseparable since childhood.

Ryan turned back to the boys, his tone unwavering. "If I see or hear of you harassing anyone again, you'll answer to me. Now get out of here."

Ridgel, Mack, and Pincher didn't need to be told twice. They stumbled over themselves in their haste to leave, their bravado crumbling as they rushed away, disappearing down the path.

Ryan halted his horse nearby and turned his gaze toward K.J., his expression softening. "My apologies to those who lack respect for you or your uncle. You may be a commoner, but it's clear you're a hard worker, just like him."

He gently tugged the reins, bringing his horse to face K.J. more directly. "I want to personally apologize for their rude behavior," he added, his voice sincere. With a respectful half-bow from the saddle, he signaled his good intentions.

K.J. responded with a brief bow of his own, nodding silently in acknowledgment.

Ryan's eyes gleamed with curiosity, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "What's your name, boy?" he asked, his tone friendly yet commanding.

K.J. remained still, hesitant to respond.

Ryan raised an eyebrow, leaning forward slightly. "You can't speak?" he wondered aloud, studying K.J. for a moment.

Before K.J. could react, William emerged from the house, bowing deeply to the High Commander. "His name is K.J.," William said. "He speaks, but only to those he trusts. And trust doesn't come easily for him."

Ryan's expression shifted, intrigue flickering in his eyes. "Oh, I see," he said, glancing back at K.J. "So, I'm not someone you trust, even though I'm the High Commander?"

K.J. stood frozen, his unease evident in the way he held himself, his eyes casting downward as if unsure of how to respond. The weight of Ryan's position only made the moment more intense.

Ryan let out a hearty laugh, the sound warm and genuine. "Rest easy, K.J.," he said, a smile lingering on his lips. "You're sharp and hard-working, just like your uncle. I want to thank you for keeping your composure and not confronting those boys. It takes more strength to hold back than to give in to their taunts."

He settled comfortably in the saddle, his chestnut-brown horse shifting beneath him as he relaxed. Ryan's gaze lingered on K.J. for a moment, as if assessing him, curiosity flickering behind his eyes. He turned to one of the elite guards at his side. "Is Prince Oliver in need of a courier?" he asked casually.

"Yes, Commander," the guard responded without hesitation.

Ryan's attention was swiftly redirected to K.J., a thoughtful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "K.J., I would like to propose an opportunity for you to advance beyond your current status as a commoner." His voice resonated with the promise of potential, hanging in the air like an unspoken expectation of greater fulfillment.

K.J.'s heart raced. He glanced quickly at his uncle, William. The older man's eyes widened, fully grasping the significance of the moment. This was no small chance—this was a path that could elevate K.J. beyond the life of farming, beyond the limitations his station had set for him. Excitement flickered inside K.J., but almost instantly, fear crept in as well. His deafness loomed large in his thoughts, a constant reminder of the obstacles he would face. How could he possibly serve Prince Oliver with his condition? And what about the farm? He couldn't abandon his uncle to manage everything alone.

K.J. stood frozen, his gaze dropping to the ground, the internal conflict visible in his eyes. He was torn—between the limitations imposed by his deafness, his duty to William, and the allure of something far greater than he'd ever imagined.

William, sensing his nephew's hesitation, stepped forward. "Sir, if I may..." he began, his voice tentative. Ryan hummed, turning his attention to the older man, his curiosity piqued.

"There's something else you should know about K.J.," William continued, pausing briefly to find the right words. "He's... well, he's nearly deaf. He can hear a little from his good ear, but mostly, he reads lips."

Ryan half-nodded, his expression shifting as understanding dawned. It made sense now—the cruel nickname, the way K.J. remained so quiet. "Is that why they call you 'Mute'?" Ryan asked gently. "Because you can't hear or speak like they do?"

K.J. nodded slowly, a mix of shame and acceptance in his expression.

Ryan studied him for a moment, his eyes thoughtful. "And are you afraid Prince Oliver will give you a hard time because of it?"

K.J. nodded again, this time more reluctantly. He wasn't sure how someone as high as Prince Oliver would view someone like him, someone who struggled with hearing and speaking.

Ryan leaned back in his saddle, his gaze softening. "You're not the first to worry about serving someone like Oliver Stark. But I can tell you this—what matters to him is loyalty, heart, and a willingness to try, no matter the obstacles. Deafness won't make you any less valuable to him. He's not like those boys."

K.J. struggled to fully trust Ryan's words, uncertainty lingering in his chest. But after a few moments of hesitation, he took a deep breath and, with a nervous smile, raised his hand in a thumbs-up, signaling his willingness to accept the offer.

Ryan's face lit up with approval, his smile broad and genuine. "Excellent. One of my guards will come for you in the morning to bring you to the castle," he said, his voice full of encouragement.

With a swift click of his tongue, Ryan urged his horse forward, the rhythmic sound of hooves echoing as he and his elite guard trotted down the street, resuming their patrol.

Left in the quiet aftermath, K.J. lowered his gaze, his nerves creeping back in. His fingers fidgeted, twiddling his thumbs anxiously as doubt tugged at him. Could he do this? Was he ready for such a change?

Sensing his nephew's unease, William stepped closer, placing his broad, weathered hand—a farmer's hand, warm and steady—over K.J.'s. "You'll do fine, lad," William said, his voice full of quiet reassurance. "I'll be just fine without you helping on the farm. It's time for you to live a little."

A warm smile softened William's features, a quiet pride shining in his eyes. "And don't forget to drop the canister off at the grocery stand for Miss Mattie. She'd appreciate it."

K.J. nodded, the small gesture easing some of the tension in his chest. He wasn't just leaving behind the farm; he was stepping toward something bigger. But for now, he had one more task to complete.