A gleaming white-and-gold carriage rolled toward the gates of Elowen, its polished wheels kicking up faint trails of dust. The horses — sleek, high-bred, and clearly not meant for backwater roads — snorted impatiently as the village came into view.
Inside the carriage, Thalen Durei, junior tax registrar of the Southern Grain Province, leaned lazily against the silk-lined window with a bored expression.
"Let's get this over with," he muttered, flipping through a parchment. "Population count: under sixty. Last recorded tithe: none. Not even worth a ledger."
Beside him, Sister Lysaria of the Church of Radiant Dawn sat with her hands folded, eyes half-closed in silent prayer.
But as the carriage rolled past the final bend, both of them stirred.
The view that opened before them was… wrong.
Fields of green stretched in neat rows along the hillsides. Thin irrigation trenches glinted with running water under the sun. Baskets of rice and wheat sat beside storehouses, and at the center of the village, laughter echoed as children ran barefoot between shaded awnings.
The streets were swept. The roofs were repaired. The villagers - not gaunt and half-mad with drought - stood well-fed and sun-touched, chatting and carrying baskets filled with herbs, root vegetables, even bundles of cloth.
Thalen sat upright.
"…Impossible."
Lysaria pressed a hand to the carriage window, her breath catching slightly.
"This village… it thrives."
The carriage rolled to a halt near the front square.
Villagers began to gather with wary curiosity, not fear. Some even waved.
Thalen stepped out first, the surprise already hardening into suspicion behind his practiced smirk.
"This wasn't in the report," he muttered, dusting his coat sleeves. "Not even close."
Lysaria followed, eyes still wide.
"Such abundance… it could only come from the hand of the divine."
Soon, the two approached the villagers, leaving their luxurious carriage at the gates. Seeing them, the villagers began to gather in whispers.
The man spoke first, his voice nasal and clipped.
"I am Thalen Durei, appointed tax registrar of His Grace's southern grain province," he said, not bothering to address anyone in particular. "Here to evaluate your recorded tithe, collect provincial dues, and report on suspected... agricultural anomalies."
The young woman gave a respectful nod.
"And I am Sister Lysaria of the Church of Light. I was told this village had seen... miraculous changes. I am here to verify if divine favor has truly returned to the lands."
Chief Barou and the village elders stepped forward, forced smiles on their faces.
"Welcome to Elowen," Barou said carefully. "We hadn't expected visitors from the capital."
"We hadn't expected a thriving village in the middle of a drought," Thalen replied, eying the stacked harvests and humming irrigation channels with growing suspicion.
"The water flows," Sister Lysaria said, stepping closer to the well. "The people are joyful. The land breathes life. It is clear — the God of Light has touched this place."
Barou hesitated. "Well, we have been fortunate, yes—"
"You have been blessed," Lysaria corrected gently, placing a hand to her chest. "But with blessing comes obligation. Divine bounty is not private property. It belongs to all."
Thalen's smirk widened.
"Which brings us to the matter of taxation," he said. "As per revised harvest surplus codes, Article 3-B, and under ecclesiastical emergency doctrine, we will be collecting eighty percent of your grain and eighty percent of stored water as tithes."
A gasp rippled through the elders.
"You want to take everything we just grew?" Gnord asked, stepping forward.
"You misunderstand," Thalen said smoothly. "You keep twenty percent. As gratitude for your service to the kingdom and the gods."
Lysaria nodded, clasping her hands. "I know it sounds steep, but the kingdom is suffering. Others starve. If you are truly chosen, then surely your compassion extends to all."
Gnord crossed his arms. "Convenient that the church claims everything the moment crops grow."
Barou placed a hand on his shoulder, cautioning him to stay calm.
Thalen stepped forward, lips curling in disdain. "You should feel honored. You live, when others die. Your duty is not to question, but to obey."
Sister Lysaria said nothing, though her gaze lingered on the flourishing crops and the well-fed villagers with visible conflict.
"We will return tomorrow to oversee collection," Thalen declared.
"And to offer blessings," Lysaria added. "I do hope you'll be prepared."
---------------------
Soon after the two city folks left, the villagers gathered in the central square.
The feast tables were gone, replaced with wooden stools hastily dragged from homes and workshops. Chief Barou, looking far older than he had just a day before, sat at the head of the gathering beside Gnord, whose arms were crossed tightly over his chest.
Around them, the elders, farmers, weavers, and foragers murmured restlessly. The weight of what had just been demanded of them — eighty percent of everything they'd worked for — hung like smoke in the air.
Gnord was the first to speak aloud what most were thinking.
"They show up, sniff the air once, and declare the harvest theirs?" he scoffed. "Tell me, where was the Church of Light when we were dying of thirst?"
"Or the royal soldiers," said Old Mira, the local doctor. "When bandits came in the spring, who fought them off? Not a soul from the capital."
"Who here has even seen a priest before yesterday?" muttered Jorek the miller. "Last we heard, the Church had all but shut its doors. Now they come dressed in gold and demand what little we've grown?"
"There's no temple within twenty leagues," said a younger farmer. "We've made our offerings to the earth, to the rain, to the land itself. Not to some painted marble god who doesn't walk these fields."
Gnord pounded his fist lightly against the table. "Let them bring scripture, sure. But if they want grain and water, they should bring a bucket and a scythe."
The crowd rumbled in agreement, but Barou raised a hand for silence.
He hadn't spoken yet.
His face, usually so expressive, was carved in quiet thought. When he finally looked up, his voice was low and heavy.
"I think that we have to give it up..."