Y/n moved through the crowd, her eyes scanning each shop front and stall for any sign of a help wanted notice. Her stomach growled softly, a sharp reminder of the two days since her last real meal.

Then, caught between a butcher's display of hanging game and a seamstress's window of silks, a piece of parchment fluttered. It was old, the edges curled and yellowed, its corners barely held to the wooden board by rusted nails.

She reached for it, her fingers brushing the coarse paper.

Y/n looked up toward the distant hill where the castle rose against the bright blue sky, its gray stone towers casting long shadows over the village below.

Her breath caught. She had nothing left. No family. No coin. No home.

But she had her hands. And her will.

She folded the poster carefully, tucking it into the pocket of her worn dress, and began the long walk up the winding road toward the castle gates.