Lucian arrived in Duskwatch expecting a barren wasteland.

  Instead, he found… well, a barren wasteland. But unlike the peaceful kind where one could take long, uninterrupted naps, this one glared at him with the accusing eyes of starving peasants and desperate merchants.

  The moment he stepped through the gates of the crumbling town, the air itself seemed to sigh in collective disappointment. Buildings leaned at unnatural angles, roads were more pothole than path, and the town hall—his new seat of power—looked like it had lost a fight with time and gravity.

  Before he could fully process just how bad things were, a man in ill-fitting robes sprinted toward him and nearly collapsed at his feet.

  "My lord!" the man gasped, clutching a stack of ink-stained ledgers as if they contained the last remnants of his sanity. "The treasury is empty, the granaries are bare, and the tax collectors have been fleeing for months! What shall we do?"

  Lucian, still exhausted from the journey, eyed the man warily. "And you are…?"

  The man straightened, trying and failing to smooth out the wrinkles in his robes. "Dorian Lockewood, your treasurer, my lord."

  Lucian frowned. "If there’s no money left, what exactly are you treasuring?"

  Dorian opened his mouth, paused, then shut it. He looked dangerously close to having an existential crisis.

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  Lucian sighed. "Alright, let’s start small. What’s the biggest problem we have right now?"

  Dorian gestured wildly at their surroundings. "All of it, my lord. The people are starving, trade has collapsed, and we have no way to enforce taxes because the collectors keep running away—or worse, getting robbed before they can collect anything!"

  Lucian rubbed his temples. He had barely been in charge for five minutes, and he was already regretting his life choices.

  "Fine," he said, waving a lazy hand. "Forget the taxes."

  Silence.

  Dorian blinked. "Pardon?"

  "Forget the taxes. Stop collecting them."

  A beat passed. Then two. Then three.

  Dorian’s expression transformed from sheer horror to pure awe. "My lord… that is… revolutionary!"

  Lucian yawned. "Great. Problem solved. Someone get me a bed."

  But instead of obeying, Dorian turned to the small crowd that had gathered and threw his arms into the air. "Our new lord has spoken! Henceforth, Duskwatch shall be tax-free!"

  A stunned hush fell over the town.

  Then, like a breaking dam, the silence gave way to an eruption of cheers. Merchants clapped each other on the back. Farmers who had been ready to pack up and leave exchanged hopeful glances. Even a group of suspicious-looking men near the alleyway—who were most definitely former bandits—looked pleasantly surprised.

  Lucian frowned. "Wait. Why are people cheering?"

  Dorian beamed. "Because, my lord, this will change everything! Traders will return! Business will thrive! Without the burden of taxation, we might actually survive the winter!"

  Lucian squinted at him. "You mean… people actually want to live here now?"

  "Yes! And it’s all thanks to your leadership, my lord!"

  Lucian groaned. He had meant to make things easier for himself, not set off an economic revolution.

  Little did he realize, his offhand remark would spark the single greatest revival Duskwatch had ever seen.