NOVGO.NET Chapter 406: Ration Distribution
Chapter 406: Ration Distribution
“Father.”
While Kael was learning a new Magic Spell from Lavinia, Imperia suddenly called out, attracting their attention.
“You need to see this.”
The Ant spoke in a solemn tone.
It was late at night, after the day’s work, most of the Velmourns had returned to their homes and were resting. Kael and Lavinia too had pretty much completed their daily training, ate dinner, and were about to sleep.
Today was a big day for the Velmourns. The Winter had started. In the evening, monthly rations had been distributed as well. Of course, since people worked in shifts and couldn’t all arrive at the same time to get the rations, this was a long process, something that, according to Aelindra, would continue till early in the morning.
Not that it mattered to Kael and Lavinia. Since they were two of the most ‘work free’ people in the place, they were the first to get their share of rations without having to wait in the lines for too long.
Not to mention, the moment Kael and Lavinia appeared, the few Velmourns present there instantly gave their spots to them, not letting them wait for even a few minutes.
Because of all this, the two of them managed to return home, train, eat, and sit together without having to face too many difficulties.
But…
Not everyone had the same conveniences as them—
“What happened?”
Kael asked with a frown. Lavinia too furrowed her brows in confusion.
“You should go watch it yourself.”
Imperia answered.
Kael stared at Lavinia. The Mage nodded, and the two stood up.
“Where are we going?”
Kael questioned.
“Follow the directions, I will take you there.”
Imperia instructed, and Kael nodded again.
…
“Three short tonight,”
A woman with braided silver hair and a rough face muttered as she scooped flour into cloth pouches.
“Had to cut the goat curd for the Southern Fifth. Kids got nothing last storm.”
The man standing behind the table with hunched shoulders and gloved fingers blackened by grain dust and goat jerky grease nodded.
He watched the queue inch forward with the same stillness he’d been long used to—one with no smiles, no rush, no waste.
The snow had started again, light flakes drifting down from the dark sky like silent ash, clinging to the shoulders of the waiting line. Cold winds made the lanterns sway on iron hooks, casting tired yellow halos across the stone platform outside the ration hall.
“Mhm. I remember when kids didn’t need curd,”
The woman answered, squinting toward the line.
“They had mothers.”
The man said nothing.
He glanced at the small heap of slips beside him—ration tags, worn and folded a dozen times. Some still smelled faintly of smoke. The last girl had handed hers in with trembling fingers and eyes too dry for her age.
“You think it’ll snow through dawn?”
The woman asked.
The man nodded.
“Stormpath says heavy fall for two days. Sentries spotted hoarfangs moving down-slope.”
She cursed quietly.
Still, the line moved.
The man at the front stepped forward. He was in his mid-fifties, missing an eye, his beard already covered with frost.
The Assistant Provisioner distributing the ration, Theryn, didn’t ask his name. He just took the tag, measured a scoop of grain, a strip of cured meat, and passed the cloth pouch across with silent precision.
“Next,”
The woman called.
Everything happened so quickly and efficiently that it seemed almost… frightening.
One could see how many times these people had practiced the same act.
It was almost rhythmic.
Step forward.
Present tag.
Receive.
Step away.
Everyone followed the same steps without uttering even the lowest voices. Barely anyone talked. More than a hundred people were standing here, yet the place was… silent, almost as if someone had died.
It was completely different compared to how these people looked just a night before, celebrating their victory over Drakthar and the Stonefangs, dancing and laughing together. Heck, one wouldn’t even be able to say these were the same people despite them having the same appearance. The difference in atmosphere was that big.
Why was it like this?
Well, the white ash falling from above was the answer.
The snow…
It obviously wasn’t welcomed by the people of Ashen Heights.
Even though the Elders’ hall had started distributing the rations to motivate them, this wasn’t the first Winter these people had seen.
They knew… what was going to come.
Theryn kept his gaze ahead, not paying attention to the people he was distributing the rations to any more than necessary.
No, he wasn’t being cold or feeling superior to these people. That thought didn’t even come to his head, he was simply being efficient and quick.
There was no room for warmth in the job.
Warmth meant lingering, and lingering meant delay.
The last thing he—and even the people standing in the queue—wanted was delay. It was already late at night, the snow didn’t seem like it was stopping anytime soon, and staying out like this might make them sick.
And falling sick at the very start of Winter…
That was a one-way ticket to death.
A ticket no Velmourn wanted.
Theryn had to be quick in order to avoid all that.
The next in line was a boy—maybe nine—wrapped in a patched cloak two sizes too big for him.
Theryn’s hands stilled for a moment.
“…Back from the terrace?”
He asked. He knew and pitied the boy, so he couldn’t help but break his own rule of not talking while distributing.
The boy nodded mutely.
“Hands?”
The boy held them out, his cracked, dry, and red skin from cold now visible. It was something any normal person would see with concerned eyes. A child’s hands shouldn’t look like that but—
Theryn simply gave a nod.
In the eyes of Velmourns, those were good hands.
After all, to these people, the cracked skin and whatnot did not matter. Whatever the condition, the boy still had both his hands with all his fingers intact, so those were good hands.
Theryn reached under the table and took out an extra strip of dried fruit—the last one he had, something that was supposed to last him for the next few hours in the night.
The woman glanced at him and said nothing.
The boy took it with wide eyes.
There was no smile on his face, he just nodded at Theryn with a grateful look on his face. Theryn nodded back and the boy shuffled back into the falling snow.
Theryn exhaled through his nose, his breath fogging.
“Think he will make it through this winter?”
The woman asked quietly.
It wasn’t a rude question, it was just… reality.
The boy had no one to support him, his parents had passed, and although his tag did provide him extra rations, in the end, ration alone isn’t everything. Children have weaker bodies, winters are especially harsh on them.
For the children, especially those with no one to look after them, surviving Winters was… difficult.
Theryn didn’t answer the woman’s question either.
He just continued the distribution.
“Next,”
The woman beside him called out, not expecting an answer anyway.
Actually, the boy’s situation was still considered to be… more hopeful compared to the others.
Take the twins for example, Vera and Tolen, the twins with burn scars from the terrace fire last year, still limping because of their injuries.
Kien, who had lost three fingers to frost when trying to fix the northern pipe; now he worked the goat pens with his other hand.
And little Mael, the six-year-old boy who never cried, even when they told him his sister had passed in her sleep due to excessive cold.
All of them were here.
All of them stood in silence.
None complained of the wait.
Theryn too didn’t think too much about this, he didn’t have the time to. He only continued to distribute the food as quickly as he could in order to free these people until suddenly—
He froze as his eyes fell on the next ration tag handed across the table. The paper was brittle, near crumbling at the edges. It had been folded, unfolded, stained with smoke, and carefully pressed flat again.
He knew this tag.
His eyes rose slowly to meet hers.
Old Maela.
Eighty winters, if not more.
That was how long this woman had survived.
She stood straight—barely—and her fingers trembled as she placed the tag on the table.
She said nothing.
She never did.
She had no one left to speak to.
Theryn stared at the tag for a moment—
Then he moved mechanically—flour, grain, dried vegetable curls, a sliver of goat meat. He started preparing it all and in a quiet moment, he palmed three scoops of grain and one curl of meat and tucked it inside the false bottom of the wooden crate behind him, where he had opened his Sanctuary.
An action done so cleanly that despite there being almost a hundred people and about five standing quite close to him, none saw it.
Clearly, this wasn’t the first time Theryn had done it.
The Provisioner didn’t look at anyone, neither did he speak.
He handed Maela the reduced bundle with a slight nod. The old woman bowed her trembling head, her body feeling heavier as she sensed the weight of the bag that was given to her.
Too light…
How was she going to survive a month with just… this?
However, Old Maela knew that the situation wasn’t the best. Everyone had low supplies, none of them complained, she obviously couldn’t be an exception either.
This wasn’t going to be her first time starving for a week or two anyways…
In the end, with a trembling body, she shuffled off into the night without causing any commotion.
Theryn watched her leave and just as he was about to sigh in relief—
“You.
What are you doing?”
A sharp voice was heard.
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