The councilors spoke only of famine and fear. What they were truly lacking was faith, faith that this was not the end but the beginning.
The crops had begun to grow again, slowly, stubbornly. And the people, the ones who were frozen in time, had begun to wake. It was miraculous and terrifying. Because we already lacked enough stores to feed the few who never slept.
"The crops grow, but we can't keep up," said Gylrin, a man with light brown hair and a voice frayed by too many repeated days.
"How many have awoken?" I asked, steadying my voice.
"One hundred, my highness. How are we to feed them?" He sounded torn between begging and demanding an answer.
"How many fresh crops?" I pressed, though my heart already knew the truth.
"Enough for those who never froze," Gylrin said, lowering his gaze. "No more."
I rose from the throne I still felt unworthy of and walked to the tall window. The gardens outside bloomed again, hesitant colors breaking through the stillness. Beyond them, the Wilds waited, quiet and untamed.
"What if we search the Wilds?" I said. "See what grows beyond our reach?"
Gylrin slammed a fist against the table. "People can't live off berries and hope!" The council erupted, voices clashing, anger thick as smoke.
I pinched the bridge of my nose. What would Kathera do? She would show them her strength. She would show them her care. She would not let them starve. But she was not here to lead them. I was.
"How can I make peace," I murmured, "when they only crave the comfort of conflict?"
Then I straightened, turning to face them. "My people will live off more than berries and hope," I said. My voice sounded stronger than I felt. "I will show them that life itself endures because of hope."
The last word lingered, heavy, sacred.
"I will leave the palace. I'll return by sundown. I am not to be followed."
Their protests echoed behind me, but I was already gone.
In my chambers, I opened the trunk at the foot of my bed. My bow and quiver gleamed faintly in the dim light. My fingers tightened around the wood, familiar and steady.
If they cannot find hope, then I will.
Outside the palace, I heard whispers.
"Do you think he'll come back?" "No."
The Wilds were silent when I entered, too silent. Only the hum of the world's halted breath surrounded me.
I found a small grove and climbed into a tree, waiting. Watching. Listening. Hours passed. The sun barely shifted, frozen, like everything else.
Then, movement.
A shape at the edge of the clearing. A single hoof pressed into the soil, and then the rest of the buck followed, massive, golden-brown, sunlight glinting off its hide.
I drew my bow, inhaled slowly, and loosed the arrow. It flew true, striking the creature cleanly. The buck collapsed with a thud that echoed through the still grove.
I descended and knelt beside it, my chest tight. "I'm sorry, my friend," I whispered. "But we must all survive."
Dragging the body back to the palace took all my strength. When I finally reached the gates, the crowd parted. The councilors stepped forward, faces pale and astonished.
"Hope will feed everyone," I told them, dropping the stag's head before their feet. "If only we remember to look for it."
Then I turned and walked past them, leaving the silence behind.