As the days passed,
Ren continued to live in the village with Ken's family. His wounds began to heal—slowly at first, then more steadily with each quiet day. But it wasn't just his body mending; something deeper within him was healing too.
The ache of fear.
The weight of helplessness.
The silence inside his chest.
Days turned to weeks. And finally, Ren's body was strong enough to move.
The village doctor carefully unwrapped the last of his bandages, nodding with quiet satisfaction. Ken stood on one side, his wife on the other, each offering a hand. And with trembling legs and clenched teeth, Ren rose.
He took his first steps.
They were shaky—but they were his.
For the first time in weeks, he moved under his own strength.
Later that morning, Ren washed away the weeks of grime and pain in a wooden tub behind the cottage. The water was cold, but it refreshed him, reminded him he was alive. He dried off, then dressed in simple, clean clothes Ken had set aside—loose, a little too big, but warm.
Standing before a cracked mirror, Ren stared at his reflection.
"I've grown too weak," he muttered. His frame was thinner, his face paler. But there was a light in his eyes now. Resolve.
"I need to train... but first, I'm ready to explore the village."
He pushed open the cottage door and stepped out into the sunlight, his bare feet brushing the dirt road as he walked. The village was alive around him—simple, slow, and filled with the kind of noise that brings peace.
He passed small houses lined with flower pots and wooden fences. From one of them, a delicious aroma drifted through the air—freshly baked bread, maybe stew simmering in iron pots. It made his stomach grumble.
Farther down, he saw village women carrying bundles of laundry toward the river, their laughter rising softly in the breeze.
Then—smoke.
A single column of black-gray smoke curled into the sky from behind a wooden shed. Ren's eyes lit up.
"This has to be the blacksmith."
Curious, he made his way toward it. But before he could reach the forge, he noticed an elderly woman struggling with a bundle of firewood, her arms shaking beneath the weight.
Without thinking, Ren stepped up beside her.
"Grandma," he said gently, "let me carry that for you."
She looked up, surprised, but gave a small nod. Together, they walked slowly down the path. The wood was heavier than Ren expected, and before long, his arms began to ache. His breath grew short. His legs trembled.
He hadn't realized how weak he'd become.
But he didn't stop
As they continued walking, Ren and the elderly woman finally reached the blacksmith's shop.
She stopped at the entrance and smiled. "This is the place. Thanks, kid."
Ren gave a tired nod, then dropped the bundle of wood with a heavy thud. Exhaustion overtook him, and before he could steady himself, he collapsed onto the ground with a groan, breathing hard.
As he tilted his head up toward the sky, he caught sight of someone approaching—Ken's daughter.
She walked toward him with a teasing grin, her steps light and confident. "First time you're fully healed in weeks," she laughed, "and you're already back on the ground?"
Ren flushed and quickly scrambled to his feet, brushing dirt from his clothes with an awkward smile.
Then his eyes drifted to the small knife she held in her hand."What's the knife for?" he asked, still catching his breath.
She looked down, almost as if she'd forgotten about it. "Ah—this? Mother gave it to me. Said I should get it sharpened."
Ren nodded. "Alright."
The old woman, now standing at her doorstep, turned back and handed Ren a small piece of candy."Take this," she said kindly. "You earned it."Then she disappeared into the house across from the blacksmith's.
Ren and the girl stepped into the forge. The air was thick with heat and metal. A stocky dwarf stood behind the anvil, his face half-hidden behind a thick, tangled beard. Sparks flew with each hammer strike as he beat a glowing bar of iron into shape.
Without hesitation, the girl stepped forward and held out the knife.
"I'd like this sharpened, please."
The dwarf gave a grunt and took the blade without a word.
With that done, the two of them stepped out of the shop, the warm light of the golden hour washing over the dirt road. They walked side by side, the quiet hum of the forge fading behind them.
"I didn't tell you my name yet," she said, hopping lightly as she walked. "I'm Sofia."
Ren glanced at her, and gave a small nod. "Nice to meet you."
She continued, her eyes sparkling. "Mother told me you fought a demon."
He lowered his gaze slightly, unsure how to respond. Then nodded.
"So you ran away, right?" she teased.
"I defeated it," Ren said, his voice soft but firm.
Sofia stopped walking and turned toward him, eyes wide with amusement. She leaned in a little, grinning."Then I'll have to see that for myself one day. Maybe you'll become a real hero… the kind adventurers dream of becoming."
Ren didn't know how to respond to that. So he just kept walking.
And she walked beside him.
As more days passed with Ken's family, Ren began to settle into the rhythms of village life. He woke early, trained daily, and began rebuilding his strength. He helped with chores, spent time in the fields, and tried his best to live as if the pain of the past was truly behind him.
But something was changing.
The village, once filled with warmth and laughter, began to feel… quieter. Faces grew more solemn. Conversations whispered. Even the children's games seemed to fade.
One evening, as the sun set behind the hills, Ren sat at the dinner table with Ken and his wife. The food was set, but no one was eating.
Ren looked around, puzzled. "Where's Sofia?"
Ken didn't answer. His eyes stayed on his plate. His wife stared at the empty chair across the table, her hands clenched tightly in her lap.
The silence said more than words.
Something was wrong.
Terribly wrong.
Suddenly, the sharp clang of an emergency bell shattered the silence.
Its deep, thunderous toll echoed across the village, louder and more frantic with each ring.
Ren froze, the spoon slipping from his hand and clattering onto the table.
Then—BANG. BANG. BANG.
The front door rattled violently beneath someone's fists.
Ken was already on his feet, rushing across the room. He threw open the door—
A man stood outside, panting, his cloak dusted with ash and sweat. His eyes were wild.
"We're under attack!" he shouted. "Evacuate the women—get them to the church, now!"
Thunder rolled in the distance, or maybe it was something else—something worse.
Ken's wife rose, pale-faced and trembling. "The church...?"
"Now!" the man barked, already turning to run to the next house.
Ren stood up slowly, his fists clenched at his sides.