Amidst a sun-kissed field of cabbage, Yura and Yue-liang toiled on their knees, diligently pulling weeds. Their surroundings buzzed with the labor of fellow villagers, all engrossed in the sprawling fields belonging to Lady Shy-ren Nakagawa. Supervisors patrolled the area, vigilant against any hint of idleness, but the workers didn’t even try to cheat. They all seemed to work to the best of their ability.

"I saw it," Yura proclaimed, breaking the steady rhythm of their work.

Yue-liang's eyes flickered with unease, but he averted his gaze, feigning ignorance as he continued to crouch and laboriously clear the earth of unwanted plants. His hands bore the traces of the task, smudged with dirt that cunningly concealed a curious silver mark on his left palm.

"Don't try to lie to me," Yura pressed on, her voice hushed by the presence of others nearby.

Squeezing his teeth, Yue-Liang finally relented. "Fine, but let's talk about this later, when we're alone."

For the moment, the conversation was set aside as they returned to their shared duty, working side by side with the rest of the villagers. Hours passed, and their efforts were rewarded with the customary payment of two copper galleys from the watchful supervisor.

An opportunity to speak appeared after when they were able to fill their empty stomachs with a modest meal of rice and pickled radish, provided to them generously. Unfortunately, the crowded gathering around the stall, where the meal was given away, lacked the privacy for an intimate talk, so they decided to postpone, exchanging only looks.

The day's work continued, and they found themselves separated by assigned tasks. Yura was directed to brew a fresh batch of rice wine, while Yue-liang faced the challenge of chopping wood at a different location. Alongside several men, he stood before towering wood-chopping stumps, where they had to carry the wood onto the block, splitting it with deft swings of their axes.

The resonant echoes of iron striking the timber filled the air, occasionally accompanied by the satisfying crackling of neatly split logs. In this laborious setting, the sharp stench of sweat mixed with the more pleasant hint of fresh wood.

In that spot, he spent a few hours working tirelessly. When his shift came to an end, he left, crossing to a cluster of warehouses, each housing an array of different goods, including firewood, pickled foods, bags of rice, and barrels filled with rice wine. The air was thick with the scents of various commodities, creating a sensory tapestry that surrounded Yue-liang as he navigated the bustling storage area. His eyes occasionally wandered to the jars of pickled delicacies, tempting him with the idea of a clandestine meal, but the presence of vigilant guards, day and night, swiftly quashed such thoughts.

Exhausted from the day's work, Yue-liang approached Chief Shu, one of the overseers responsible for Lady Nakagawa's land, who stood near the only road that had access to the cluster of warehouses. The older man had a perpetual hunch and held his hands behind his back. A thin mustache adorned his upper lip and a sprinkling of hair marked his chin. Dressed in the same humble attire as everyone else in the village. He was notified about the completed work by Yue-liang, who extended his hand to receive his earnings.

Panting from his efforts, the boy presented his palm to the chief, revealing the silver mark, resembling a star, slightly smeared with dirt, but nevertheless clearly visible. In an instant, Shu seized the boy's hand before he could pull it back.

"What is this?" the old man inquired, eyeing the peculiar mark.

"N-nothing. I... it's just dirt!" Yue-liang stammered, attempting to break free from the older man's grip.

Chief Shu scrutinized the boy for a moment, then wordlessly handed him the copper coins. An uneasy feeling lingered in the air as Yue-Liang hurriedly departed, rushing home with an occasional look over his shoulder. Along the way, as he put enough distance, he smeared dirt over the exposed mark in a futile attempt to conceal it.

Yura, observant as ever, caught sight of the encounter as she made her way back from the same area. Catching up to him, she playfully pushed his shoulder. "I saw. It won't help."

"I know," the boy conceded. "I'll think of something else."

"You don't have to. Here," she offered a piece of fabric from her pocket, shoving it into his hand. "Wrap it around your hand and say that you cut yourself. People won't ask anyway."

"T-thank you," he mumbled gratefully.

"Thank you? You owe me for that," Yura teased before dashing ahead, leading the way.

Yue-Liang followed her, veering toward Yura's home instead of his own. Her mother took care of his mother while he toiled in the fields or the village, and he would need to visit her to pay her for the trouble anyway.

Then he went home. After checking on his slumbering mother, and closing the shutters, he returned to his own dwelling, fatigued from the day's labor. There he settled down to rest. Yet, the mystery of the silver mark weighed heavily on his mind, refusing to let him slip into an undisturbed slumber.

A mysterious figure, wrapped in a weathered, thick cloak, ventured along a rugged dirt road bathed in the bright light of an early spring’s sun. He stood out like a sore thumb among the lovely nature surrounding the artificial path made by a human hand. The deep hood concealed most of his visage, but a salt-and-pepper beard defiantly protruded, revealing a glimpse of the rugged man beneath. His eyes fixated on the ever-changing sky, scanning the heavens with an air of vigilance. Abruptly, he halted in his tracks, drawn to a sudden burst of light that streaked across the firmament. With cautious steps, he continued forward, keenly observing the celestial phenomenon.

"Fuck," he muttered, realizing that the luminous trail would culminate in a crash landing far off in the distant landscape. The impact site appeared to be at least a few days' journey away, and traversing off-road would undoubtedly prolong the arduous trek.

Frustration tinged with urgency gripped him, prompting an instinctive movement of his hand under the cloak, resting on the hilt of an axe discreetly fastened behind his belt. The weapon's presence offered a sense of security and readiness, reassuring him as he steeled himself for the unpredictable journey ahead.

Resuming his walk, the cloaked wanderer quickened his pace, determined to chart a new path dictated by the not-so-mysterious celestial event. His hastened steps showed the urgency he felt to chase after the phenomenon, while his mind was occupied with thoughts about the bald mage.

‘I’m screwed… Fuck this! There is no way I can get there in time. Somebody is going to see that damn light and go check what it was! And that bastard won’t care for any excuses… Why in hell did I ever agree to take this stupid task?’

The thoughts made him grip the handle of his weapon even tighter, to the point of his knuckles going completely white.