Diamond Town — A Month After the Plague Began
Marquess Raynold sat slumped at his desk, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion, dark circles etched beneath them like permanent bruises.
Sleep had long abandoned him, even though he had tried everything to help his people—introducing the witches' medicine, organizing healers, pleading with nobles.
But none of it mattered.
Rather than gratitude, the people retaliated. They refused the medicine, their eyes turning instead to the Church, clinging desperately to faith over reason.
Raynold hadn't foreseen that. He had waited, just as his liege instructed—waited for the right moment to act.
But the Church hadn't waited. Like rats, they had seized the opportunity, preaching hope while the plague was fresh and terrifying. They stole his momentum, his influence.
His fist slammed onto the desk in frustration, rattling the inkwell.
