The sun cast a mellow hue over Merriton, gentle warmth filtering through the veil of morning mist. Jack stood silently on the veranda of the manor, eyes locked on the far horizon where the potato fields met the sky. The shoots were strong and green, their rows neat and full. The land was changing—he had changed it.
In his hand was the king's letter, crisp and heavy with significance. He had read it twice. Once with disbelief, again with resignation. A summons. Not just any summons, but one carrying the weight of expectation—and perhaps judgment.
Jack's jaw tensed as he folded the parchment and slipped it into his coat.
Three months. That's how long it had been since he awakened in this strange, broken life. One month lost to shock, silence, and suspicion. The next two—scraping back purpose grain by grain, sweat by sweat.
He had fought uphill. Alone.
Until Damon.
Damon stood behind him now, a quiet constant. Arms folded, eyes observing more than he said. "You're really going?"
Jack didn't answer at first. His gaze drifted down to a group of children chasing each other across the village square. Their laughter filled the air like birdsong.
"I'm summoned. I don't exactly have a choice."
"That's not what I asked."
Jack exhaled. "The potatoes are still weeks from harvest. If I leave now, I'll miss the proof. The real result. The court won't see it. They'll just hear it from others."
Damon leaned forward slightly. "Then don't go."
"I can't risk that. If I stay, I defy the king. If I go, I risk losing control over what I started here. It's a lose-lose."
"You sound tired."
Jack chuckled, bitterly. "I am. Every night I go to bed wondering if what I'm doing even matters. Whether these changes will hold. Or if they'll fall apart the moment I turn my back."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"Maybe that's why I should go. If this place is only stable because I'm here, then I've failed. It needs to stand without me. That's the real test."
Damon looked at him for a long time. "You're acting like someone already forgotten."
Jack glanced at him, surprised.
"Forgotten?"
"You built something out of nothing, Jack. The people here might not say it aloud, but they know. They follow you. You matter."
The words hit harder than expected. Jack looked away, swallowing.
"Even if that's true," Jack murmured, "no one from the capital believes it. Not the ministers. Not the nobles. I was sent here to fail. I was supposed to break, or disappear."
"But you didn't."
"No. But I might, yet."
---
Later, he walked through Merriton alone. Faces lit up when they saw him. A vendor offered him bread. A child waved from atop a cart. A woman gave him a thankful nod.
The world had shifted.
Jack smiled faintly, but the weight of the letter in his coat dragged his spirits down again.
He made his way to the fields. The plants were thriving. Even the skeptical older farmers were starting to admit it: something new was working.
And I won't even be here to see it through.
He crouched near the rows and ran his fingers across the dark soil. He whispered, "Grow strong. Prove me right."
---
That night, he stood in his study, a satchel open on the table. He moved slowly, placing what little he needed: writing tools, a few spare clothes, dried rations.
Damon entered quietly. "I told Kael."
Jack didn't turn. "And?"
"He says he'll handle it. But you already knew that."
Jack nodded, then looked at him. "Will they forget me, Damon?"
The knight tilted his head. "Some might. The important ones won't."
There was a long silence. Then Jack said, "If I come back and this town's worse... if the harvest fails, or the bandits return—"
"Then we'll handle it. Kael and I. Together."
Jack's throat tightened. "I don't want it to end here. This is the first place I've... mattered."
"And that's why you'll return."
Seeing town one more time.
Jack hesitated.
Then he turned forward and rode.
Merriton faded behind him, the wind cool against his face. And though no one said goodbye, he carried them with him—their trust, their hope.
It was enough.
For now.