The transition from the lush, rain-swept heart of the Levicious Empire to the Western Province of Valerius was not a gradual fading of color; it was an execution.
As the Imperial Carriage crossed the Iron Bridge, the emerald moss on the stones withered into grey ash within miles. The sky, which had been a comforting, heavy grey, stripped itself bare, revealing a sun that didn't just shine—it glared. It was a brassy, hateful eye that had spent three years drinking the lifeblood of the land.
Levi sat by the window, his hand pressed against the glass. The heat was radiating through the reinforced wood and crystal, a physical weight that made his newly awakened Wood core thrum with a low, mournful vibration. To his left, George was a mountain of cold stone, his eyes fixed on a tactical map of the province's irrigation veins—or what was left of them.
"It's worse than the reports," Levi murmured.
Outside, the earth was a mosaic of jagged cracks. The skeletons of ancient oaks stood like bleached ribs against the horizon, their branches stripped of bark and life.
"The reports are written by men who want to keep their heads," George said, his voice flat. "They sugarcoat the rot until the smell becomes too strong to ignore. Valerius was the breadbasket of the Empire. Now, it's a graveyard. If we don't fix this by the next moon, the famine will reach the capital's gates."
The carriage slowed as they entered the town of Valerius. Once a bustling trade hub, it now looked like a ghost town that had forgotten to die.
Huddled figures in ragged, dust-caked tunics sat in the narrow strips of shade provided by the sandstone buildings. Their eyes were hollow, their scents—those who were Alphas or Omegas—were faint, eclipsed by the smell of dry earth and despair.
When the Imperial Carriage, emblazoned with the silver lightning bolt, rolled into the central square, no one cheered. There was only a heavy, resentful silence.
The carriage came to a halt. The door was opened by a guard, and the heat hit Levi like a physical blow. It was dry, thirsty heat that sucked the moisture from his throat instantly.
George stepped out first, his presence commanding immediate, albeit fearful, attention. He didn't offer Levi his hand—not out of cruelty, but because their "contract" demanded a display of independent strength.
Levi stepped down, his emerald robes a jarring, almost offensive splash of color against the sepia landscape. He felt the weight of a thousand stares. They weren't looking at him with hope; they were looking at him with the weary cynicism of people who had seen too many "saviors" fail.
"Prince George."
A man stepped forward from the steps of the local Prefecture. He was a broad-shouldered Alpha, his skin tanned to the color of old leather. He wore the uniform of a Provincial Governor, but it was frayed at the cuffs and stained with sweat. This was Governor Harlen, an Earth-type who had spent the last three years watching his province crumble.
"Governor," George acknowledged with a stiff nod. "I trust the preparations for the ritual have been made."
Harlen's gaze drifted past George to Levi. His eyes narrowed, lingering on Levi's delicate features and the expensive jade jewelry at his throat.
The Governor's scent—thick with the smell of dry stone and bitterness—flared.
"Preparations have been made, Your Highness," Harlen said, his voice dripping with a sarcasm he barely bothered to hide. "The town square has been cleared. The remaining water in the local well has been brought for the... Consort to use. Though, if I may be so bold, the people were expecting a legion of Earth-shapers or a fleet of water-mules. Not a... well, not a Wood-type who hasn't left his bedroom in two years."
A few of the townspeople nearby muttered in agreement.
"I heard he faints if the sun is too bright," one woman whispered, her voice carrying in the dry air.
"Prophecy or not," another grumbled, "you can't eat flowers. We need rain, not a gardener."
Levi felt the familiar sting of being underestimated. In his past life as Gary, he'd walked into boardrooms where billionaires thought he was just a pretty face to be bought and discarded. He knew exactly how to handle men like Harlen.
He stepped forward, placing himself slightly ahead of George. He didn't look at the Prince; he looked directly into Harlen's eyes.
"Governor Harlen," Levi said, his voice projecting with a clarity that cut through the heat. "You smell like frustration and salt. It's an exhausting scent. I imagine trying to hold up a collapsing province with nothing but grit is taking its toll."
Harlen stiffened.
"My scent is none of your concern, Consort. My concern is the ten thousand people in this district who haven't had a full meal in a month."
"Then we are in agreement," Levi replied, a sharp, cold smile touching his lips. "But let's be clear about one thing. I didn't come here to 'garden.' I came here to restart the heart of your province. You've been trying to force the earth to yield with Lightning and Earth-shaping. You're fighting the land, Governor. And the land is winning because it's more stubborn than you are."
Harlen let out a harsh laugh.
"And what are you going to do? Ask the dirt nicely to grow some wheat? Look around you, boy. The topsoil is dead. The microorganisms are gone. There is nothing left for a Wood-type to work with."
Levi walked toward the center of the square, where a small, pathetic bowl of water sat on a stone pedestal. It was the "offering" for his ritual. He looked at the water—grey, stagnant, and precious.
He turned back to the crowd. He could feel George watching him, the Prince's Lightning core humming with a suppressed energy.
"You think I'm a joke," Levi said, his voice rising. "You think the Crown sent a decorative Omega to pat you on the head while you starve. You're right to be angry. The Levi Gray you heard about was a joke. He was a coward who hid from his duty."
The crowd shifted, surprised by the sudden admission.
"But I'm not him," Levi continued, his eyes glowing with a faint, internal green light. "I'm the bridge. And today, I'm going to show you why the Ancestors wrote that prophecy in the first place."
Levi reached into his robes and pulled out a small leather pouch. Inside were the seeds of the Iron-Root Grass—a resilient, fast-growing plant he'd requisitioned from the Imperial Vaults before they left.
He didn't use the bowl of water. Instead, he knelt on the cracked, burning earth in the middle of the square. He ignored the heat searing through his silk trousers. He pressed his palms directly against the dirt.
Focus, Gary. Not on the gold. Not on the client. Focus on life.
He closed his eyes.
Deep beneath the surface, he felt it. The earth wasn't dead; it was in a coma. It had pulled all its energy deep, deep down, hiding from the sun. It was terrified.
Levi opened his Wood Core.
It wasn't a gentle trickle this time. He remembered the feeling of the Silver-Leaf Willow in the War Room—the raw, unadulterated power of growth. He tapped into it, but instead of forcing it upward, he pushed it down.
"Governor," Levi whispered, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead. "If you want to help, stop sneering and give me a tremor. Break the surface tension of the clay. Now!"
Harlen hesitated, looking at George. George merely nodded, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
Harlen grunted and slammed his foot against the ground. A localized shockwave rippled through the square, widening the cracks in the earth around Levi.
"Now!" Levi roared.
The emerald light didn't just glow; it erupted from his hands. It flowed into the cracks like glowing lava.
Levi felt his energy being siphoned away at a terrifying rate. His heart hammered. His vision went white. But he didn't stop. He searched for the deep aquifers—the hidden veins of water that the Earth-shapers couldn't reach because they were too deep, too locked in stone.
Come to me, Levi commanded. I am the root. I am the thirst. Come up!
A low rumble started deep beneath the town. It wasn't the sharp crack of an earthquake; it was a heavy, wet thud.
Suddenly, the ground beneath Levi's hands softened. The dry, orange dust began to darken.
Pop.
Pop.
Pop.
The Iron-Root seeds he had scattered didn't just sprout; they rocketed out of the ground. Thick, vibrant green blades of grass—tougher than leather and filled with moisture—tore through the cracks. They spread with a supernatural speed, a carpet of green devouring the sepia square.
But Levi wasn't finished. He reached for George's energy.
"George!" he gasped, his voice straining. "The sky! Give me a spark! The moisture is in the air, you just have to catch it!"
George didn't hesitate. He stepped into the emerald light, his hand gripping Levi's shoulder. The contact was explosive. The Lightning and the Wood elements, usually at odds, found a violent, perfect synergy.
George raised his other hand to the sky. A bolt of blue lightning shot upward, not to strike, but to ionize the air.
The humidity that had been hanging uselessly in the upper atmosphere suddenly condensed. A localized mist began to swirl around the square, turning into a heavy, cooling drizzle.
The green grass drank. The people gasped.
Levi felt the world tilting. The drain was too much. As the first real patch of green in three years took hold in Valerius, his strength gave out.
He slumped forward, but he didn't hit the dirt.
George caught him, pulling him back against his chest. The Prince was breathing hard, his eyes wide as he looked at the square. In a circle fifty feet wide, the earth was no longer cracked. It was covered in a thick, lush lawn of Iron-Root, and the air was ten degrees cooler.
The silence that followed wasn't resentful. It was a silence of holy shock.
Governor Harlen stepped forward, his boots sinking into the soft, wet grass. He knelt, running a trembling hand over the blades. He looked up at Levi, the bitterness in his eyes replaced by something that looked dangerously like hope.
"It... it has a pulse," Harlen whispered. "The soil... it's breathing again."
Levi looked up at George, his face pale but his eyes triumphant.
"That's... part one... of the contract, George. I believe... I've earned my dinner."
George looked at his Consort, his grip on Levi's waist tightening almost possessively. The "Silver Bolt" had found its "Jade Branch," and the Empire would never be the same.
"You've earned more than that, Levi," George said, his voice thick with an emotion he couldn't name.
He turned to the stunned crowd and the Governor.
"The Prince Consort has spoken," George declared. "Valerius will not starve. Prepare the feast. And Governor—bring me the ledgers. We have work to do."
As Levi was carried toward the Prefecture, he saw the townspeople reaching out, not to touch the Prince, but to touch the hem of his emerald robes.
Client satisfaction, Levi thought as he drifted into a much-needed unconsciousness. One hundred percent.