Liam the guard was a meerkat-kin. He knew it was a bit on the nose, but he liked his job of being a guard. Liked was perhaps too weak a word. Being a guard was the spine of his life, the single straight line that everything else aligned around. His father had been a guard, and his father’s father before him. Stories of watches held through storms, raids deterred by vigilance alone, and quiet nights where *nothing* happened had been his lullabies as a child. It was in their blood, and Liam had never once resented that fact.

  They had worked as guards for as long as the Grindle mage family had been using this village to grow food. Generations of Liam’s family had stood watch while generations of Grindles poured their excess mana into the land. Over time, that steady overflow had been captured, guided, and refined into a mana well that breathed just enough life into the surrounding fields to make farming possible. Outside that bubble of influence, the land reverted to what it had always been—dry, gray, and stubbornly dead.

  That was why Liam knew something was wrong the moment he saw green on the horizon.

  Other than the carefully tended orchards and fields directly maintained by the Grindle family, there was no life in this area. None. The boundary between living land and barren soil was normally sharp enough that Liam could have traced it blindfolded. Seeing color where there should have been none set his fur on edge.

  He did not hesitate or second-guess himself. It only took Liam a moment to decide to inform the Grindle family. They had enchanted slips of paper that would fly directly to their estate when tossed, a simple but reliable spell. Liam took pride in knowing exactly where those papers were kept, exactly how much detail was required, and exactly how to phrase a report so it would be taken seriously.

  He wrote quickly and neatly, describing only what he could confirm with his own eyes, then tossed the paper out the window. The magic took hold immediately, the paper snapping taut before streaking off toward the estate.

  Duty done, Liam returned to his watch.

  It took only an hour for a member of the Grindle family to arrive at his guardhouse, which sat astride the only entrance to the town.

  “There is indeed green on the horizon,” Miriam Grindle, the eldest daughter of the family, mused as she looked out from the window. She was a hippo-kin—like all the Grindles—and carried herself with the unhurried certainty of someone accustomed to the world bending under sufficient preparation.

  “Shall we venture out and see what is going on?” Liam asked. He did not *want* danger, but he was not afraid of it either. Guarding meant meeting problems before they reached the gate.

  “No,” Miriam said flatly. “For all we know, dragons died just out of view. The residual mana alone could be lethal. The dungeons are at war, after all.”

  Liam inclined his head. “I had not considered that. Very logical. I will keep watch and notify your family if the phenomenon spreads.”

  “Thank you, Liam,” she sighed. “We will need to investigate eventually. There may be ambient mana worth collecting before it dissipates, but it is too early. If it continues to spread, we will go tomorrow at the earliest. If it stabilizes, we will wait three days.”

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “As you say,” Liam replied, bowing shallowly.

  “Your family has always been dependable,” Miriam added, offering him a soft smile.

  With that, she departed, summoning a smooth slab of stone and riding it back down the road toward the estate as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

  Liam’s shift lasted another two hours. The green remained distant and indistinct, too far away to make out any meaningful changes. Satisfied that nothing immediate threatened the town, he locked up and turned in for the night, mind at ease.

  The next morning proved just how foolish that peace had been.

  Liam should have realized something was wrong the moment he woke. The air was cooler, fresher, and carried a faint, clean scent he could not place. It reminded him of early mornings in the orchards—except he was nowhere near them. The sensation was pleasant enough that, for a few precious moments, he ignored the warning bells in his head.

  The night guard had been Keith.

  Keith was, in many ways, Liam’s opposite. He was competent enough when pressed, but he believed—deeply and sincerely—that nothing ever truly changed. The land had always been dead beyond the fields. The gates had never been breached. Tomorrow would look like today, and today looked like yesterday. Keith liked that. He liked long meals, longer naps, and a life where effort was expended only when absolutely necessary. He was not lazy out of malice—he simply saw no reason to strain when the world seemed content to remain the same.

  Liam found Keith asleep at his post.

  He drew breath to reprimand him, already rehearsing the familiar lecture, but the words died in his throat as he glanced past the gate.

  The world beyond had changed.

  Liam stared for a heartbeat, then another. He grabbed a slip of enchanted paper, scrawled a single word—*GREEN*—and hurled it out the window. The paper vanished in a flash of magic.

  Then Liam ran to the gate and threw it open.

  Beyond the threshold lay rolling grass, vibrant and alive, stretching to the horizon. No cracks. No dust. No dead soil. Just green.

  “I got your message and came—” Miriam began as she surged down the road some time later. Her voice cut off as she took in the sight before her.

  “What is all this?” Liam asked quietly.

  “Impossible,” Miriam whispered. “Unless a new dungeon has emerged… or they are fighting directly beneath us now. Keith!”

  “Huh?” Keith replied as he jolted awake, blinking in confusion.

  “Get a squad of guards ready,” Miriam snapped. “Now.”

  To his credit, Keith moved quickly once the urgency became undeniable.

  Within twenty minutes, twenty guards stood assembled, spears in hand and leather armor secured. Miriam took the center of their formation as they advanced. Liam led from the front, senses sharp, every instinct screaming that familiar ground had become unknown territory.

  The grass brushed his thighs as they moved forward. Even that alone felt wrong.

  The ground beneath his feet was soft, springy, rich with moisture—loamy, like soil after a gentle rain. Dew clung to clover and grass alike, sparkling in the morning light.

  Thirty paces out, Liam’s foot struck something solid. He bent down and tugged, surprised by the resistance, before hauling free a carrot nearly as long as his thigh.

  “What did you find?” Miriam asked.

  “A carrot,” Liam said, disbelief creeping into his voice.

  Miriam closed her eyes. A pulse of mana rolled outward, brushing over the guards like a passing wave.

  “There are many root vegetables,” she said slowly. “Cabbage. Turnips. Potatoes.”

  Keith, on the indicated side, laughed as he pulled free a massive cabbage. “Found one.”

  His shout startled movement in the grass. Deer rose from concealment and fled, white tails flashing as they vanished into the distance.

  “Deer?” Liam asked.

  “There is far too much vitality here,” Miriam murmured, unease clear in her voice.

  She stepped forward and seized what appeared to be an ordinary tuft of grass. The moment the root cleared the soil, it began to scream. Guards flinched. Miriam merely scowled as she tore it free.

  “A mandrake,” she said grimly. “And it has a cultivation core. Weak—but present. We are leaving.”

  Keith opened his mouth to protest, then closed it at her expression.

  “Where there are deer,” Miriam continued, “there are predators.”

  No one argued.

  They turned back toward the town, the green field watching silently behind them.