Chapter 6: The Rainstorm

It began with a low rumble in the distance.

By nightfall, the skies over Crofton split open. Sheets of rain poured endlessly, pounding rooftops and fields alike. The wind howled through the streets, snapping shutters and scattering debris. Thunder boomed so loud it rattled the very walls.

The village was in turmoil.

“The south road’s washing out!” someone yelled.

“Buckets! Get the buckets!” another shouted.

Water streamed down the poorly sloped roads, pooling near the lower homes. Mud splattered everywhere as villagers scrambled to divert the flow with shovels and planks, their torches sputtering in the wind.

Lord Kestrel rode through the storm on horseback, cloak plastered to his back. His voice cut through the rain.

“Dig trenches! Move wagons uphill! Keep the animals inside!”

Despite his commands, the crude tools and frantic hands could barely keep pace with the rising water.

Taren was there too, soaked to the bone, clutching a shovel. He swung it again and again into the mud, his hands raw and shaking.

If only GS516M were here…

He looked toward the hills where the grader was hidden, its presence gnawing at his thoughts. It could have cut deep drainage ditches in minutes. It could have cleared the roads before the water rose this high.

But no. Not yet.

He bit his lip, rain stinging his eyes. He couldn’t risk exposing it. Not here, not now.

The night dragged on endlessly.

Villagers hauled buckets, stacked sandbags, and dug frantically, but the rain only worsened. The south road nearly vanished beneath muddy torrents. A few homes at the edge of town began to take on water, and terrified families rushed to higher ground.

“Help!” a woman cried as her cellar filled.

“This ditch isn’t holding!” another shouted.

Taren’s muscles screamed from exhaustion, but he kept digging, his mind a blur of frustration.

At last, near dawn, the storm eased to a heavy drizzle. The worst had passed, but Crofton was battered. Roads were gouged and flooded. Ditches overflowed. Entire sections of the south road were now impassable.

Lord Kestrel stood in the muddy street, soaked but unshaken.

“We’ll repair what we can,” he said grimly. “But if another storm hits soon…”

He left the sentence unfinished.

Taren stared down the ruined south road, his fists clenched. His heart burned with determination.

Next time… I won’t hold back.