Beyond the edge of town, the ground turned to dirt as you reached the farmlands. It was quieter there. The busy streets were gone, replaced by open space and small houses spread far apart.

  Each home had a little garden or field, some surrounded by old wooden fences.

  Vael came to a halt, looking out at the farms like he was searching for something. His eyes moved from field to field until they stopped on one just ahead—greener than the others.

  You glanced sideways. “You think that’s the one?”

  Vael nodded. “Look at it,” he said. “Nothing trimmed. Vines running wild. But still healthy. Still growing strong.”

  He stepped forward, eyes on the farmhouse.

  The shouting started before you even reached the gate.

  Not the playful kind, either. Two voices came from somewhere behind the rows of crops, sharp and full of bite.

  “You keep your damned goats off my land, Efram!” one of them shouted.

  “They wouldn’t wander if you knew how to build a proper fence, you lazy sack!”

  “Oh, I swear to the gods, I’ll come over there with a shovel—”

  Vael raised an eyebrow as you slowed beside him. “Charming folk,” he muttered.

  The fence ahead was bent and covered in vines. Past it, the fields stretched wide, with plants so tall they blocked most of the view.

  Then, rustling through the growth, a figure appeared.

  He looked about your age—maybe younger—with a sun-worn face and a mess of dark hair tied back. His boots were covered in mud, and a shovel still hung from one hand.

  The moment he saw you both, he jumped back.

  “Oh—hells, you scared me,” he said, eyes wide. “I was prepared, you know. Just… just so we’re clear, I was gonna declare it all this week. Got the paperwork half-filled and everything.”

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  You gave him a look. “What are you on about?”

  “I thought you were the Tax Guild,” Joric muttered, letting out a breath. “They’ve got a smell to ‘em. You’ve got that look.”

  Vael gave a small grin. “We’re not. We’re from the town hall. Just here to ask a few questions about some complaints from the area.”

  Joric squinted. “Complaints? What kind of—? Ah, damn it, it’s probably one of the neighbors again, isn’t it? Nosy bastards. If it’s that old fool in the straw hat, I swear—”

  You stepped forward, trying to lighten the mood. “Actually, Joric, it seems you’ve won yourself a bit of luck.”

  He stared at you. “Luck? This?” He waved a hand at the thick wall of crops behind him. “It’s a curse, is what it is. I haven’t slept in days. I keep thinking someone’s gonna sneak in and steal from me. Or worse—set it all on fire. The townsfolk won’t stop whispering. Some think I’m using dark magic. Couple of ‘em even said I was cursed.”

  He lowered his voice.

  “But how could something this good be evil, huh? It came from the Lord’s earth. It’s a blessing. I know it is. All thanks to the beans.”

  Vael looked at you, then back at him. “What beans?”

  Joric grinned. “Magic beans. Bought ‘em from a seller at the market. Strange guy, but he had this… look in his eye. Gave ‘em to me for next to nothing. Said I’d know their worth soon.”

  Vael walked off toward the field, crouching to study the plants more closely. He ran a hand along one of the thick stalks, muttering something to himself.

  Then he turned back toward Joric. “There’s a regulation, you know. Any unusual crop, seed, or growth has to be tested before it goes into the soil. Town rule. It’s to stop diseases, infestations, or worse. Do you have a license for these beans?”

  Joric blinked. “A… license? No, sir. I didn’t know.”

  Vael kept his eyes on him, quiet for a moment, then said, “Not knowing doesn’t make it okay. But it’s not the end of the world either. Just bring a sample. If it checks out, we’ll give you a permit. Small fee. Standard procedure.”

  Joric’s face brightened. “No problem at all! I’ve got plenty stored inside. Whole sack of it. I’ll go grab some now.”

  He turned and hurried back to the house, nearly tripping over a watering can on the way.

  Vael stayed quiet, stepping through the rows until he stopped near a bare patch of earth. Something caught his eye. He crouched and picked up a small, smooth bean lying in the dirt—green, with faint golden lines over its skin. He held it to the light, turning it in his hand.

  “Huh,” he said quietly. “That’s not from around here.”

  He looked once more at the plants, then placed the bean into his coat pocket just as Joric came back, panting slightly, holding a glass jar full of identical beans.

  “Here,” he said, holding it out. “Take it. I was gonna sell to the highest bidder, but… consider this a gift. A token of good faith. From me to the town hall.”

  Vael took the jar, giving it a light shake, listening to the rattle inside.

  “We’ll make sure it gets the attention it deserves,” he said.

  Joric nodded, looking relieved. “It’ll pass, right? I mean… nothing wrong with it. Should be enough to shut those loudmouths up for good.”

  You didn’t say anything. The wind passed through the plants again, bending the stalks with a rustle.