Chapter 10 - The Fire and the Field
The autumn air had given way to the crisp, clear frost of early November.
Back in Millbrook, the north pasture looked peaceful under a blanket of white morning dew. The old farmhouse had received a new coat of white paint, funded by the first wave of community agricultural grants, and the front porch had been repaired.
Walter Mercer sat on the wooden bench with a fresh cup of coffee, watching Ethan pull his battered pickup truck into the gravel driveway.
Ethan stepped out, wearing his old patched brown jacket over his button-down shirt. The city suit was packed away in the closet back in Manhattan, saved for board meetings and federal check-ins, but here, in the dirt and the quiet of the valley, he felt entirely at home.
“Long week in the city?” Walter asked, taking a sip of his coffee.
“Long enough,” Ethan said, sitting down on the bench beside his father and looking out toward the horizon where the sun was just beginning to crest over the tree line.
“You know, the papers are still calling you the Crown Prince of Wall Street,” Walter noted with a faint smirk.
“Let them,” Ethan laughed softly, pulling a small, smooth river stone from his jacket pocket—the same stone he had picked up near the Crown Fire weeks ago. It no longer glowed with supernatural fire, but it felt warm against his palm. “Titles change. Farms stay.”
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Down in the valley, the world kept turning, but the shadow that had hung over their family for generations had finally burned away into ash and light.
Ethan looked up at the clear blue sky, feeling the quiet strength of the earth beneath his boots, ready for whatever tomorrow brought.
