A Reason To Leave

A thick, unnatural heat clung to the village, the air dry and oppressive. It hadn't rained in weeks. The once lush fields now lay cracked and barren, crops shriveled into brittle husks. Rivers that once flowed strong and steady had receded into pitiful trickles, barely enough to quench thirst, let alone water the fields.

Lyrasia watched the villagers struggle, desperation clouding their faces. The elders whispered among themselves, exchanging worried glances. Even the children, usually carefree, no longer played. Hunger and fear had settled over the village like a plague.

"This isn't normal," Old Meros muttered, scratching at his grizzled beard as he surveyed the dying fields. "Droughts come and go, but this? This is unnatural."