The Crimson Tide

Chapter 3: The Crimson Tide

The subtle successes of Lord Regent Elmsworth’s early “enhancements” acted not as a balm of satisfaction, but as fuel to a burgeoning fire. The taste of ‘more’ was addictive, and soon, his carefully crafted image of a prudent leader began to crack, revealing the insatiable hunger beneath. The concept of the "Harvest of Sufficiency" was openly mocked in his inner circle, replaced by the "Harvest of Supremacy." Elmsworth, now emboldened, decreed that the ruby orchards were to become the engine of an unparalleled economic empire.

He ordered the clearing of ancient woodlands bordering the traditional orchards, land that elders warned was sacred and essential for the valley's ecological balance, to make way for thousands of new ruby saplings. When these young trees struggled in the unseasoned soil, Elmsworth, impatient, turned his attention to extracting ever more from the established groves. Round-the-clock harvesting became the norm, the soft glow of lanterns and torches flickering through the branches even in the dead of night, giving the orchards a restless, feverish appearance. His overseers, driven by promises of reward and fear of his displeasure, pushed the picking crews relentlessly.

Lady Maeve and the few remaining traditionalists made one last, desperate appeal. They brought withered branches, their leaves brittle and yellowed, and presented ruby fruits that, while large, were disturbingly light, their skins strangely tough. "My Lord Regent," Maeve pleaded, her voice trembling, "the trees are crying out! The fruits have the form of life, but not its spirit. This is the Hollow Fruit of the legends!"

Elmsworth, standing before the gleaming new wing he was adding to the Royal Palace – a monument to his reign, funded by the recent boom in ruby exports – barely glanced at their evidence. "Your sentimentality is admirable, Lady Maeve," he said, his tone cold, "but it blinds you to the prosperity we are building. The Red Kingdom is now the envy of the continent. We will not be swayed by old wives' tales." He had them escorted out, their warnings dismissed as the ramblings of those who could not comprehend his grand vision. He even sanctioned the use of a new, potent "growth stimulant" – a shimmering, volatile concoction developed by a desperate alchemist seeking favor – promising it would double the fruit yield.

And for a season, it seemed his audacious gamble paid off. The Red Kingdom was awash in ruby fruit. Crates overflowed, export ships sailed laden to the brim, and gold poured into Elmsworth’s coffers. He commissioned statues of himself, grand avenues, and ever more opulent extensions to his palace. The kingdom, or at least its capital, buzzed with an artificial, frenetic energy. Many citizens, caught up in the sudden influx of wealth, celebrated their Lord Regent's brilliance.

But the ruby trees, the silent heart of the kingdom, were dying. The experimental stimulant, while forcing a massive, unnatural bloom, was poison to their ancient systems. The leaves, once a vibrant green, turned a sickly ochre. Branches, heavy with pale, watery fruits that lacked the signature sweetness and healing touch, began to snap under their own weight. The soil around their roots grew cracked and barren, refusing even weeds. The vibrant red that had defined the kingdom started to look like a bleeding wound.

The climax arrived not with a thunderclap, but with a whisper that grew into a chilling wail. A creeping blight, starting in the most intensively farmed orchards where the stimulant had been most liberally applied, spread with terrifying speed. It wasn't a dramatic storm that felled the trees; it was an insidious decay from within. The ruby fruits, once symbols of life, blackened on the branches, oozing a foul-smelling ichor. The "Crimson Tide" Elmsworth had so proudly engineered had become a horrifying tide of rot and desolation. Within weeks, the vast, once-glorious orchards were a skeletal wasteland, the air thick with the stench of decay and the silent accusation of a thousand murdered trees. The laughter in the grand new avenues of the capital froze, replaced by a dawning, sickening dread. The Red Kingdom’s bounty had turned to bitter ash.