Pa once told me that an honest job was better than selling your soul to pay the bills. Pa’s dead. The family farm was 1,000 gold in debt to the guild. And the crops wouldn’t grow.

  So, standing there praying to Flora that my common hoe wouldn’t break as I planted carrot seeds, one thought kept hammering at me.

  I didn’t wanna be a [Farm Girl].

  But what choice did I have? Ma tried to save up for my education, saying, “Ashley Hart, don’t you settle for [Commoner]. A girl oughta use her hands, her head, her experience—make herself into a woman she wants to be. You put your hand in an [Expert] trade, not dirt.”

  She died of Dragonpox, because Pa couldn’t afford any antidote—5 gold—and the clerics didn’t feel the need to show Amaril’s mercy to a [Housewife].

  So my books and learning meant little to the academy since I wasn’t a fortunate daughter, no child of a hero. Pa was a simple man who praised Flora and her devotees even though they didn’t once pray for the rains to be coming our way. When they asked for tithe, he was more than happy to pay—took Ma’s savings from underneath my floorboards.

  He said Flora would watch over the farm. Flora would give us rain.

  I hadn’t seen rain fall in the region for a while now, so it would be no problem if any Adventurer came by and would just give me a little bit of [Rain], or even a small douse of [Water]. I petitioned the Mage Guild, but with money being tight as it was, I couldn’t even afford the 10-gold cast.

  Just for some water. I’ve got a few points in [Craftswoman], but, well, [Well-Making] is a Level 5 trick.

  I was just a Level 1 [Farm Girl]. A common hoe and carrot seed. That was all I could really use.

  Carrots sell for 30 silver, and one seed makes nine. The bag is only 50 silver… so, to make a return on my investment, I only needed two.

  I wished Flora would make one grow.

  The wooden shaft of the common hoe splintered against my fingers. It wasn’t meant to be used too long, after all. Most boys would be using one while their pa handled the farm, guided along. But Pa had no sons, just one “worthless daughter that couldn’t even find no man.” Ma chided him for that. She said, “Ashley Hart is no [Farmer]—she’s gonna be our pride an’ joy. She’s gonna be gettin’ a real education, and maybe might even be a seamstress one day!”

  Thanks, Ma.

  I pushed the wooden hoe down again into the clay-like dirt. The topsoil was ruined. Pa never even bothered to turn the crops, a simple trick I learned on page one of Fenwick’s Almanac for Soil-Tenders. Said Flora didn’t need it.

  Potatoes sell for 2 gold each, after all. A bag holds 1 seed, and each seed makes 9 of a crop. A bag is only 2 gold!

  It worked out. If you factored in the costs of soil reparation for 5 gold. Rain then became 10 gold, but you got that for three seasons—nothing grew in the winter—and you could have three potato harvests a season.

  ’Cept good ol’ Pa didn’t want to listen to his daughter’s advice. Only ever listened to Flora. “Soil reparation” was just a once-a-year thing—not every harvest. We could save the money! Give it back for tithe.

  I was glad he was dead.

  I swung my common hoe against the dirt, shifting the poor-quality soil aside. I raised it to the sky again.

  Crack!

  The metal head of the common hoe snapped off, arcing backward and smashing against the cottage wall. The wooden splinters remained on the shaft, mocking me. This was a 5 silver repair bill, and an hour’s walk. Sure, Nathaniel could repair it in a moment with his skills in [Blacksmith], but...

  ...I felt my soul break. Nothing on this field would grow; I didn’t train for this. Even if I was a [Master Farmer] like Pa, this would require a lot of energy. I had already been at 0% energy for the last few days, and if I went to sleep without eating again, I’d begin to [Starve].

  My body shivered. I knew what it felt like. My eyes would find it hard to focus. My muscles would spasm. My health bar, as low as it was, would cut in half. I’d feel that hunger growing constantly. I wouldn’t be able to sleep, to rest, to do anything until I was fed. Even roots would be pleasant at that point, but I’d have to have at least a partially filled belly.

  I dropped the splintered wooden pole on the dirt and dragged my feet toward home. The wooden door creaked open—needing repair at some point, but… another expense I couldn’t afford.

  I looked around, looking at the hearth near the table near the sink and pantry. It was cramped on this floor, and the only space was a small ladder that led to the second room. I had moved my small bed out to make space and took over Pa and Ma’s mattress for my own. It was bigger, softer, but it had slumped to half-quality.

  The pantry only had a few spices, and a spare onion. My eyes stared at emptiness and my chest burned. I still felt mostly fine, but my stomach growled. I hadn’t eaten in many days, surviving off just my determination. Even this raw onion felt like a fine meal.

  Creak!

  My worn slippers pressed against the floorboard and I glanced down. The loose floorboard. I couldn’t take it anymore!

  Tears finally burst from my eyes. I collapsed to the ground, my hands coming to my face as I just cried.

  Two carrots.

  Just two carrots.

  That’s all I needed to turn a profit, and I couldn’t even plant my first. Nothing in the house worked right. Pa’s hoe broke right away. The soil was too poor to even promise me a guaranteed crop—and that’s even if I didn’t waste away to starvation before it grew.

  I didn’t want any of this. If Pa had just kept my money where it was, I’d still be able to go to school and do something—anything else. My fingers gripped the floorboard and peeled it up. It was stuck, held in place with years of neglect and dirt.

  This should have been an easy task, but I couldn’t call upon my energy. My muscles were strung up, needing some sort of nutrients to keep obeying. But obey, they must.

  I looked at the hollow. I’d wasted my energy, and there was no satchel, no food, no anything but a stupid book!

  Wait, what?

  My hand reached down into the dark cubby and pulled out a simple green journal. It was unlabeled, but as I flipped through the pages and smelled the damp and musky paper, I noticed one important thing.

  It was my mother’s cursive handwriting.

  “pH levels of soil 5.4—recommending change to more acidic crops”

  “Potato harvest reaching average quality. Will have to add more compost.”

  “He’s listening to the Florans again—they need a lot of corn. Won’t pay to repair the soil. It’s all dying.”

  “...I’m setting some money aside for Ash. I’ll ask the neighbor boy to watch over her. Maybe he can look after her?”

  “Dead rabbit warren underneath the mounds. Consumed carrot crop. Matthew says it’s fine, corn is what Flora wills.”

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  I stopped reading. Ma was… “fine” when I had left for school, but I didn’t know she kept her own journal and notes. I looked at the house she had kept, and then back down to the notes.

  Ma didn’t make any daughter who quit. I swallowed, forcing a deep breath, and making sure my tears stopped. I was a farm girl, but I was a smart one, damn it.

  I lifted myself up and let the onion stay on the dirt. I took Ma’s journal and brought it to the workshop table—it was as good a spot as any to start a makeshift study. Something here could have helped me.

  I had returned from the academy, and still had my grimoires and books. Ma’s journal was green, and so I took out a green grimoire I had been saving for Agronomics. Ma’s journal was worn, covered in rot and mildew. Mine was still clean, wrapped in fabric and gold-colored twine. I placed them both side by side on the workshop table, by the window.

  I looked out the window to the fields. Nothing was growing. The small hole I made for the carrots looked like a clay pit. Birds didn’t peck the dirt for worms or slugs. Hell, I bet worms avoided this area like a dying field.

  The Dying Fields. A part of my brain that still smelled like the academy library whispered the fancy name for it:

  Mortis Agrariae.

  I smiled at myself and dipped my quill into the ink. Mortis Agrariae. It felt good to put a proper, fancy name on this mess. Make it sound like a problem you could solve, not just a place you die. I smoothed the page and got to work, forcing my brain back into the neat, tidy rows of the academy. First, the facts. Only the truth.

  FACTS:

  The soil is dying.

  Restoration magic is 5 gold.

  → Restoration magic is Divine.

  Carrots sell for 30 silver; 1 seed makes nine. The bag is 50 silver—so I only need two to profit.

  Carrot seeds cost 50 silver per bag (1 seed/bag).

  [Inspect] reveals the field is at 50% quality.

  Carrot growth chance is 50%.

  I spun the quill against my fingers. Laying it all out like that didn’t make it any less bleak. It felt like listing all the ways a calf is gonna die right before you put it down. Ma would tell me to stop gawking and think. Pa would say double down. I took a breath and continued.

  All right, what else is true? I knew some simple Arcane. Professors always said the difference was like night and day. Arcane is like tilling a field—just moving the dirt that’s already there. Divine is like the sun and rain—it makes something new grow. Sounded nice, but a bit flowery for a proper journal. I sharpened the thought down to its bones before setting the quill to paper.

  FACTS:

  I know simple Arcane.

  → Arcane manipulates, Divine creates.

  The soil is low pH.

  I have no resources but me.

  I blinked. A dark realization was forming.

  Pa said every [Farmer] gives his land. Some in sweat. Some in tears. And others in blood.

  Blood is 7.35 pH.

  I made a line here.

  INFERENCES:

  Can I mix my blood with the field?

  → Yes.

  It’ll raise the pH.

  → Not drastically.

  —→ Unless...

  I stared at what I was implying, and looked outside. Blood was not lime to make the field fertile again. What I was asking was to go against Flora’s teachings. Arcane bordering on the Divine. My eyes glazed over.

  I could address this later. Right now, I had something immediately worse.

  I looked over my facts column.

  FACTS:

  My tool is broken.

  My tool is—magic is a tool.

  [Mage Hand]

  That realization was the same as a new morning. I smiled to myself, got up, and moved outside. The broken metal head lay on the ground. No insects had crawled over it, and the wooden wall seemed to take more damage than the head did. Figured.

  [Mage Hand] was a Level 0 spell, and costs only a little bit of mana. Best of all? All it needed was focus.

  I focused on the head and let my hand hold against it. It was touching a thread and feeling the patterns of the Symphony. It sounded like different things to people—a violin to a maestro, singing to a cleric. To me? It sounded like the cicadas chirpin’ on a summer night, while I was staring at the stars. And right now, they were too far away...

  Come on, Ash, this is a beginner’s spell…!

  The metal head flew up and broke the window!

  Flora damn it.

  I sighed and moved the hoe’s head over to the hole. I swallowed. It cost 10% energy to dig a hole, and with my grumbling belly, this was going to get worse.

  But it had to be done. My stomach growled in protest as the metal head slammed into the dirt beside my first hole.

  I didn’t feel energy fade away, but those cicadas I heard chirping became more distant. It was getting farther away, and I felt less… like me.

  This was PROGRESS!

  I smiled to myself. I had mana and my thoughts, but a [Farm Girl] didn’t really use it. They could improve crop quality, but that was someone else better than me.

  I dug seven more holes, and I kept hearing the cicadas go farther and farther away. My head felt more hollow, tired, and vacant—but it was a trade I was willing to make. I just had to rest my eyes, not feed my body. And sleeping was free. Maybe tonight I could sleep with a partially filled belly.

  Wouldn’t that be nice?

  I smiled to myself, and planted the carrot seeds.

  Now came the hard part. I was already frail, and I wasn’t training my [Constitution]. I was a [Farm Girl], not even a [Farmer]. Last time I got nicked, my brain panicked and I swear I could hear Ma callin’ my name.

  I looked at the metal head and stared at the edge. My hand shook as I came to the bit. My breathing picked up.

  I could hunt a rabbit.

  Where are you going to find one, Ash?

  My fingers touched the cold steel. It was covered in clay-like dirt. I should have washed it first.

  If it cuts too deep, you’ll fall unconscious on your own fields. No one is going to find you.

  I’m as good as dead anyway.

  Enough!

  I slammed my palm into the edge.

  It hurt! Blood spurted out.

  Shit. I felt tears come to my eyes, but just a little. Blood spilled from my hands and poured onto the dirt. My breathing was hazy. I felt weak, like I was gonna have a head hurt. Darn it, brain, keep up. You had an educamashion—no slippin’ now.

  My body was shiftin’ forward, shamblin’. I had to do somethin’ and just cast my spell.

  I inhaled and sucked the air greedily. Oxy-oxy— Air returned to my brain—Ma didn’t raise someone who’d fall to a simple cut.

  My hand waved over the blood on the soil.

  I no longer heard the cicadas, and my thoughts were slow. It felt like I was existin’ here an’ there, obs—lookin’ myself obser... lookin’ at nothin’. I smiled, and I swear, I felt drool come from me lips.

  I used [Inspect] on the crops. The carrots were now at 80% growth chance instead of 50%. I smiled. I turned around and got ready to go home and just sit down and have a little breather.

  Blood dripped to the ground.

  Gosh darn it. My body stopped moving, and I collapsed on the floor. I felt my consciousness drift out...