In Oakhollow, sixteen-year-old Finn works the harvest fields alongside his family, cherishing their warmth and the village’s simple joys. His younger brother Liam brims with mischief and wonder, hanging on every tale Finn spins of knights, dragons, and distant adventures. Though Finn longs for a life beyond farming, he finds comfort in the love of his parents—his mother’s quiet strength and his father’s steady humor—and the rhythms of their humble home. The days pass in golden hues of chores, laughter, and festivals, painting Oakhollow as a haven of peace. Yet beneath the harmony, faint omens stir: rot creeping into the wheat, strange fog rolling in from the hills, and mushrooms clinging to roots like leeches. Pa dismisses it as common blight, but unease lingers in Finn’s heart. Standing on the ridge at dusk, he feels the first tremor of change—a hollow note in the song of his village, as if Oakhollow’s fragile peace is poised to break.

After Ma’s death, grief consumes the family. Pa collapses into despair, neglecting the farm as the village itself withers into silence. Neighbors vanish, shops close, and Oakhollow decays into a hollow graveyard. Finn struggles to hold things together, but when Liam weakens and dies in his sleep, the last of his childhood shatters. Pa’s grief curdles into fury at the Empire, the gods, and himself, until rage gives way to silence. Finn finds him hanging in the barn and buries him beside the others, numb and wordless. Oakhollow is empty now—its chapel door creaking, tavern shattered, and homes abandoned. With nothing left, Finn gathers a few belongings and walks away at dawn, leaving behind graves and memories. The forest looms vast and uncaring, each step pulling him further from the boy he once was. Starving, alone, and unmoored, Finn drifts into the wilderness with no map, no plan, and no past to cling to—only the haunting ache of names he can no longer speak.

Winter tightens its grip on Oakhollow, turning golden fields into frozen wastelands and silencing the once-lively village. Hunger gnaws daily, and rations dwindle as spring brings only false hope. Amid the bleakness, Finn watches his mother fade—her warmth dimmed by sickness born of scarcity. She hides her weakness, pushing food to her children, sewing despite trembling hands, but her cough worsens until she cannot rise from bed. Finn clings to hope for healers beyond the village, but no miracle comes. At last, Ma calls her family close, whispering love and urging her sons to be strong before her light slips away. Pa’s grief breaks like thunder, Liam wails in innocence, but Finn stands numb, crushed beneath a new weight. The villagers bury her with quiet prayers, yet the world feels emptied. Childhood ends in that moment; Finn knows the line between before and after has been crossed, and the void left in Ma’s absence can never be filled.

The blight spreads across Oakhollow’s fields, turning once-golden wheat into black-veined husks. Though Pa reassures the family they can survive a lean season, unease grows as the crops wither, children go hungry, and laughter fades from the square. A strange storm scorches the valley, worsening the rot. Still, the villagers cling to routine until the Empire arrives— armored riders under a silver dragon banner, led by Commander Rothgar. He demands double tribute within a week, an impossible sum. Fear grips Oakhollow as families ration what little remains. At night, whispers fill the chapel: what happens if they can’t pay? Rothgar and his men linger, consuming the village’s best while treating the people like chattel. Granby scrapes together half the tithe, which Rothgar accepts with cold indifference before departing. But their presence leaves a scar. Oakhollow is no longer the peaceful haven Finn knew. Even his stories for Liam ring hollow, hope slipping away with every passing day.