The Last Banner

Hadrian adjusted the loose cloak draped over his shoulders, shielding himself from the brisk ocean breeze as he stepped out of the manor. The marble columns and tiled roof of the Greek-styled building loomed behind him, a symbol of modest nobility that had weathered time and hardship. The estate wasn't grand, but it was practical—decorated with mosaics and carvings that reflected the family's long-standing ties to the land.

His older brother, Alexander, waited near the edge of the courtyard, leaning casually against the wall with his arms crossed. His golden hair caught the light, cropped neatly above a sharp, angular face. His broad shoulders and easy grin gave him the appearance of someone who rarely met a challenge he couldn't overcome.

"You're actually coming out?" Alexander asked, his tone light but teasing. "Didn't think I'd see the day."

Hadrian rolled his eyes, stepping up beside him. "I figured it was time to see what I've missed. Or were you planning to babysit me the whole way?"

Alexander chuckled, clapping Hadrian on the shoulder with enough force to make him stumble slightly. "You're not making it easy to say no. Let's go, little brother."

As they walked down the cobbled path leading into Aegis, Hadrian took in the sprawling city before them. Built along the coast, the town's lifeblood was trade. Ships dotted the harbor, their masts swaying like restless sentinels, while workers scurried along the docks, loading and unloading goods. The streets closer to the manor were lined with small shops and modest homes, but as they ventured further, the cracks began to show.

Many of the buildings were in disrepair, their walls weathered and cracked from salt air. The people wore patched and faded clothing, their faces lined with exhaustion. Hadrian's memories of this place were vague but familiar enough to remind him that this wasn't new. Aegis had been in slow decline for years, stretched thin by constant raids and the demands of the Church of the Flame.

Alexander broke the silence, his voice tinged with something softer. "It's not much, is it?"

"It's... functional," Hadrian replied carefully, his gaze lingering on a blacksmith's forge ahead. "But it could be more."

"Father's doing what he can," Alexander said, his tone turning defensive. "It's not like we have an endless stream of gold to fix every wall and feed every mouth."

Hadrian glanced at his brother, noting the faint tension in his jaw. He hesitated before replying, carefully weighing his words. "I wasn't criticizing him. I'm just saying there's room for improvement. And maybe... we could do something about it."

Alexander raised an eyebrow, his smirk returning. "Since when did you start caring about the town? Last I checked, you barely cared about leaving your room."

Hadrian shrugged, his gaze shifting to a group of farmers hauling sacks of grain toward a run-down mill. "People change, Alexander."

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air between them felt lighter, though Hadrian's thoughts weighed heavily on him. He could see the concern in Alexander's expression—the protective instinct of an older brother. It was strange. Comforting, even. But it wasn't real. He's not truly my brother. Not really.

Hadrian shook the thought away, focusing on the forge ahead. The rhythmic clang of metal against metal echoed through the air, drawing his attention. Inside, a burly blacksmith hammered at a crude blade on a small anvil, his workspace cluttered with half-finished tools and scraps of metal. The forge itself was small and poorly ventilated, its chimney blackened with soot.

Hadrian stepped closer, his sharp eyes taking in every detail. "This looks... inefficient," he muttered, more to himself than to Alexander.

The blacksmith glanced up, his brows furrowing. "Something catch your eye, lad?"

Hadrian straightened, offering a polite nod. "Just admiring the work. It seems like you've got your hands full."

The blacksmith snorted, wiping sweat from his brow with a soot-covered hand. "Always. The Duke keeps us busy enough with repairs and weapons for the guard."

Hadrian's gaze lingered on the tools, already forming ideas for improving the workflow. Beside him, Alexander leaned against the doorframe, his arms crossed. "Don't let him fool you," Alexander said with a grin. "He's already scheming about how to 'fix' your forge."

The blacksmith chuckled, shaking his head. "If you've got ideas, lad, you're welcome to try. This forge isn't much, but it's what we've got."

Hadrian gave a faint smile, filing the information away for later. He stepped back, gesturing for Alexander to follow him. As they continued down the street, the older brother nudged him lightly.

"You've got that look again," Alexander said. "Like you're planning to take over the world."

"Not the world," Hadrian replied, his voice steady. "Just this town. For now."

Alexander laughed, the sound carrying over the bustling streets. "Well, just don't blow it up in the process."

Hadrian allowed himself a small smile, his mind already racing with plans.

As Hadrian and Alexander continued down the main street, the sound of cart wheels creaking over uneven cobblestones caught Hadrian's attention. A group of farmers was unloading sacks of grain near a run-down mill, their faces lined with sweat and weariness. The carts, weathered and patched, creaked under the weight of their cargo.

One of the farmers, a stocky man with broad shoulders and sun-darkened skin, set down his sack and wiped his brow with a frayed cloth. His clothes were simple, patched in several places, and his boots were caked in mud. He noticed Hadrian and Alexander watching and offered a nod.

"Lord Hadrian," the farmer greeted, his tone polite but cautious. "Didn't expect to see you out and about."

Hadrian stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over the carts and the mill behind them. The building was in disrepair, its wooden frame sagging under years of neglect. "I wanted to get a better look at the town," he said. "It's been a while."

The farmer chuckled, his expression softening. "It's seen better days, that's for sure."

"What about the fields?" Hadrian asked, gesturing to the grain sacks. "How's the harvest been?"

The farmer exchanged a glance with one of his companions before answering. "Could be worse, but the soil's not what it used to be. Every year, it gets harder to pull a decent crop."

Hadrian frowned, the pieces falling into place. He remembered fragments of knowledge from his past life—crop rotation, the importance of letting soil recover. This world seemed to lack even the most basic agricultural techniques.

"Have you ever tried rotating your crops?" he asked, his tone careful. "Leaving one field fallow while planting something different in the others?"

The farmer tilted his head, his expression puzzled. "Fallow? You mean leaving a field empty? Can't afford to do that, my lord. We're stretched thin as it is."

Hadrian nodded slowly, already calculating the benefits of introducing a three-field rotation system. It would take convincing, but the potential to increase yields and free up labor was too valuable to ignore. "It might be worth considering," he said. "I'll look into it."

Beside him, Alexander raised an eyebrow. "Rotating crops? You've been studying farming now?"

"Just an idea," Hadrian replied, shrugging. "If it works, it works."

The farmer gave him a skeptical look but didn't press further. "Well, if you've got ideas to make things better, we'd all be grateful. This town could use some good news."

Hadrian offered a small nod before stepping back, gesturing for Alexander to follow him. As they walked away, Alexander shot him a curious glance. "You've been full of surprises today."

Hadrian smirked faintly, his thoughts already racing ahead. "I've got a lot on my mind."

Alexander chuckled, shaking his head. "Just don't start planting fields yourself. I'm not helping you with that."

"Noted," Hadrian replied, though his focus remained on the possibilities ahead.