Ren woke before the sun had finished lifting its edge over the horizon.
Cold air pressed against his skin, and for a moment he lay still, waiting for the stiffness of his body to fade. Then something unfamiliar tugged at his awareness—sharp, precise, like a presence behind his eyes telling him where things were before he consciously looked.
He sat up slowly.
The world around him—trees, grass, rocks—had lines he had never noticed before. Not glowing, not magical in any visible way… just clear. Every distance felt measurable. Every angle felt exact. A crow hopped along a distant branch, and Ren knew without effort exactly how far away it was. The information didn't arrive as numbers or thoughts—it was simply already there.
He rubbed his face once, startled at how awake he felt.
A sleeping ability.
This one different from anything he'd had before.
He looked down at his hands. "Archery," he murmured under his breath. The word fit the feeling perfectly. Not bow-making, not strength—accuracy. A certainty in his muscles he'd never earned. A quiet instinct that told him, If you aim, you won't miss.
He breathed out slowly, letting the ability settle into him.
Then the shouting started.
Not nearby—far. But loud enough to slice through the morning.
Ren shot to his feet.
Voices. Confused. Alarmed. Coming from the village.
He grabbed the crude bow he'd carved the day before and the bundle of makeshift arrows he'd prepared. The world narrowed instantly into the path between trees, the curve of the slope, the quickest line down toward the village gates. His body responded before he had time to think, and he started running.
Grass slapped against his legs. His breath thinned but steadied, moving in the same rhythm as his steps. He had fought once already in this world—and that time, he'd barely survived. But today he wasn't running empty-handed. Today something inside him aligned every motion toward purpose.
The shouting grew louder as he neared the outer houses.
Ren slowed, then stepped through the last line of trees.
People were gathered around the livestock pen again.
Mara was in front.
Her voice cut through the confusion with iron steadiness. "Everyone stay back. We move only when we know what's out there."
Ren approached her side. "What happened?"
Mara didn't look surprised to see him. "Something broke the north fence. Again. Before dawn."
Ren scanned the pen. Several boards had been ripped out entirely. Deep gouges lined the ground. Something heavy had moved through here—fast.
A villager pointed toward the trees. "Tracks go toward the marsh."
Another added, "One of ours isn't back. He went searching when he heard noise."
Ren felt tension grip his chest.
This wasn't just a wandering creature. Something—someone—was pulling things apart at the edge of their territory.
Mara faced the crowd. "Form two groups. One to repair the fence. One to track what left here."
She turned to Ren. "You're with me."
He nodded.
There was no hesitation in her voice. She had seen enough yesterday to know he wasn't useless. But she was watching him, too—carefully, as if trying to measure a potential problem or a potential ally. Ren wasn't sure which one he was yet.
Arin joined them without being asked. Her arms were bandaged from the last creature fight, but she moved with sharp alertness.
The three of them—along with two villagers carrying spears—followed the trail north.
The tracks were easy to find. Muddy depressions marked where something large had pressed the earth down. Broken reeds hung in angled lines. Ren saw patterns others missed—the length of a step, the shift of weight, the point where the creature had turned sharply, dragging something behind it.
He could see the motion frozen in the ground.
The accuracy in his mind wasn't just for arrows. It was for movement—anything involving direction and force. He understood where things had been thrown, kicked, or dragged.
The ability made tracking almost effortless.
"Here," Ren said quietly. "It turned left. Hard."
Mara's eyes flicked toward him, then to the ground. "Good. Keep reading it."
Arin watched him with something between curiosity and wariness.
They followed the trail deeper into the marshlands. The trees grew thinner, the ground wetter. A faint metallic smell drifted through the air. Ren slowed as they neared a clearing.
Something lay half-buried in the mud.
Ren approached cautiously.
A man—unconscious, breathing shallow, clothes torn. One of the villagers whispered his name with relief.
And beside the man—
The missing calf, struggling weakly to get up.
But no creature.
Not yet.
Arin crouched beside the injured villager, checking his pulse. Mara scanned the tree line, her posture tense.
"We need to move quickly," she murmured. "Whatever did this could still be close."
Ren's new ability thrummed quietly behind his eyes. Something was wrong. The angles of the broken reeds, the pattern of footprints—they weren't random. They felt deliberate, as if the creature had moved erratically only at the end of its path.
Then Ren noticed the rope.
Frayed. Mud-covered. Wrapped around the calf's neck and trailing into the water.
He followed the line of the rope.
Something tugged beneath the surface.
"Stop," Ren said sharply. "Something's under—"
The water exploded upward.
A shape burst from the marsh—humanoid but twisted, soaked in mud, moving with frantic desperation. A woman. Not a creature. A terrified woman pulling herself from the water with wounded arms.
She dragged the rope with her.
Arin and the two villagers recoiled in shock.
Mara took one step forward. "Ma'am—you're not safe out here. Stop moving. Let us help you."
The woman's eyes jerked upward, wild and unfocused. "It's coming," she gasped. "Coming back—didn't leave—didn't leave—"
Ren's skin went cold.
The angles behind him changed—branches shifting the wrong way, as if something massive was forcing through them.
He spun.
A shape thundered out of the marsh brush.
The creature—bigger than the last one—charged on four limbs, muscles bulging under soaked fur, eyes locked on the group. Its movements were disjointed, almost panicked, as if pain drove it rather than hunger.
Mara shouted, "FORM UP!"
Arin moved to shield the injured man.
The villagers lowered their spears but fear rattled their grips.
Ren stepped forward without thinking, bow already in hand.
The ability inside him locked onto the creature instantly.
Everything slowed.
Not in time—but in intention.
The creature's path became a perfect line. The exact place its head would be in one second shone in Ren's mind like a mark burned into air.
He nocked an arrow.
Drew.
Released.
The shot landed precisely where the creature's shoulder met its neck—an angle that would cripple its forward motion without killing it instantly.
The creature staggered, momentum breaking.
Ren had already drawn a second arrow.
Aim.
Breathe.
Release.
This one struck the creature's foreleg, driving its weight off-balance.
It collapsed into the mud, howling.
Mara and Arin rushed forward, weapons raised, finishing the fight with decisive, practiced strikes—but the battle had already been won by placement, not strength.
Silence fell over the clearing.
Arin stared at Ren.
Mara stared longer.
One villager whispered, "He didn't miss."
Another murmured, "Not even a fraction."
Ren lowered the bow slowly, breath shaking. The accuracy inside him softened, slipping into quiet again.
Mara approached him, not fearful—thoughtful.
"That…" she began, then stopped, choosing her words carefully. "That was not ordinary skill."
Ren's stomach twisted. "It's something new."
She studied him in a way that made it clear she understood the seriousness of this more than he did. "You have an ability people will notice. That can be good. It can also be dangerous."
Arin walked up beside them. "You saved us," she said softly.
Ren swallowed. "I just—used what I had."
"That is enough," Mara said. She turned to the others. "Get the wounded back to the village. All of them."
Then she faced Ren again.
"Tonight, we meet with the elders," she said. "This ability of yours—accuracy like that—it changes how we handle what comes next."
Ren nodded, unsure whether to feel pride or fear.
As they carried the wounded woman and villager back through the marsh, Ren caught Mara watching him more than once. Not with suspicion.
With calculation.
Something in the west was coming.
Something tied to the woman's broken words.
And now Ren had a skill valuable enough to draw attention—wanted or not.
As he walked beside Arin, carrying her spare quiver, one truth settled into him:
He had stepped into this world quietly.
But the world was beginning to look back.