A soft, blue light streamed through the window, hitting me directly, as if the moon itself was staring at me with an unyielding gaze, making me feel exposed and vulnerable. The stillness of the night was pierced by the ticking of the clock, growing louder with every beat at midnight.
I could feel my throat dry and my fingers trembling slightly. Yet my attention drifted elsewhere; I stared into space, feeling my mind slip away as I sank deeper into my thoughts.
Suddenly, a flash of clarity jolted me back to reality. I spoke aloud instinctively:
– Where am I?
The answer came instantly, as if on reflex:
– I'm home, in the village of Veerda.
– I live with my family: my sister Sonia, and my mother Elira.
Questions began to echo in my head, faster and faster:
– Who am I?
– I am Ren… Ren Peregrin.
– How do I know?
– Simply.
– Why am I asking?
I had barely awoken to reality, yet I already knew everything around me. Everything felt new, yet strangely familiar. I needed to fall asleep again; tomorrow held work.
Though curiosity tempted me to ask more questions, exhaustion took over and I drifted off, thinking that tomorrow I would try to understand why I had asked all these things.
The next morning, I woke up as if nothing had happened the night before, forgetting it all, like a dream fading into vagueness. I hurried to see Roland, the village chief, who oversaw the assignment of tasks. The jobs were distributed on a first-come, first-served basis.
I was only fifteen, but in this village, school ended at fourteen. After that, you had to choose daily tasks to help the village, until the age of eighteen, when you were required to select a permanent role suited to you.
The village's rules were strict, yet manageable. As long as you followed them, anyone could live a modest, trouble-free life.
I was clever enough to handle any task without complaint, but I rushed to be among the first so I wouldn't get a difficult or tedious assignment.
Everyone saw me as a capable young man with great potential, who always followed the rules and minded his own business. I was odd, yet reliable; I spoke little and didn't make many friends.
I loved daydreaming and trying new things. I never stayed in one place and wasn't skilled at maintaining close relationships, so people often saw me alone, like a lone wolf who enjoyed solitude.
– Hey, Roland, what jobs are left?
Roland, a tall man slightly heavier than others, dressed more elegantly, turned around with a wide smile and a deep, resonant voice:
– Ren, my boy! How are you? Glad to see you. All good?
– Of course, Roland.
–Look, the task list has just been posted across the village. And since you're the first one here, you've got your pick, young man.
Without wasting a second, Ren bowed politely to Roland and headed straight for the list, avoiding any unnecessary chatter that might hold him back.
The village of Veerda was small and built almost entirely underground. Without sunlight, survival depended on cultivating special trees that grew upside down from the ceilings of the tunnels. Their massive roots both reinforced the walls and provided wood for the village.
But the work was grueling. Old roots had to be cut away, the ancient trees permanently killed, and new ones carefully tended with fresh fertilizer, or nothing would grow.
It was one of the most important jobs in the village—
and the one Ren despised the most. That, and cleaning the public baths.
Most days, he preferred tending to the mushrooms and plants that thrived in the damp caverns, or managing the reports that came from outside the village. Sometimes Roland even brought him along to settle disputes among villagers or oversee resource shortages. Yet no matter what he did, boredom always crept in.
Inside, Ren felt more and more hollow, as if every bit of joy had to be repaid twice over with bitterness. When he reached the edge of despair, realizing he had no concrete reason to live, he told himself:
"I don't believe in gods. I don't believe in an afterlife. I don't even care what lies beyond. I don't need anyone to guide me. I'll keep living no matter what—
even if it hurts, even if I suffer, even if I'm not happy. Because I want to.
I want to see. To feel. To live, no matter how. Even if I have to crawl forward day after day.
What's my purpose in life?
My purpose is to find a reason to live one more day."
And every time, an arrogant smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
At that moment, a group of Ren's classmates showed up to pick their tasks.
Kael spotted him standing there, staring blankly at the list.
"Hey, Ren. What's with you being so lost this early in the morning? You look even more distracted than usual," Kael said, sneaking up from behind.
Still absent-minded, Ren muttered,
"Mmmm… These aren't the usual tasks. Just odd jobs that barely pay anything."
Kael leaned in to take a look, frowning.
"You're right… Looks like they're preparing for the festival or something. But normally they announce it ahead of time, and the daily tasks don't just vanish like this."
Gin, Hans, and Rose arrived from the back to join them.
"I heard the fighting festival's being held earlier this year," Gin said, raising a brow. "And apparently, it's supposed to be a big deal."
Ren shot back with dry sarcasm:
"Yeah, big enough that they decided not to pay us properly."
Kael smirked and gave Ren a teasing look.
"Maybe this year they just want to make sure you don't put on another performance like last time."
Gin chuckled and added,
"Yeah, you had the whole village watching."
Ren's expression darkened. He clicked his tongue.
"Mm… sure. Whatever you say."
He grabbed his tasks and walked off, leaving their laughter behind, as if it had nothing to do with him.
A few hours later.
A group of children ran through the square where the festival was about to take place, their laughter echoing through the tunnels.
The entire village buzzed with uneasy energy — voices bouncing off the stone walls like the heartbeat of a hidden world beneath the earth.
Beneath the hum of the crowd, two strangers appeared — tall men with broad shoulders, wrapped in grey cloaks.
Their faces were carved with scars, their eyes deep and cold, as if they had stared too long into the abyss.
They moved without hesitation, untouched by the noise or the curious eyes around them.
"We're here to see Roland Eduardo Sirico, the leader of this settlement,"
said one of them, his voice low and steady.
"We come from the Scavenger Division, Zone Eleven."
Moments later, Roland appeared, slightly out of breath, his formal clothes wrinkled from the rush.
"Ah, gentlemen! Right this way, please."
The three walked through damp corridors into a small chamber, away from the noise and light.
The air inside was heavier — colder.
No one in Veerda recognized the visitors. Strangers in this village were almost unheard of.
No one came, and few ever left.
Yet these men carried an unmistakable presence — the silent authority of those who had seen the surface.
A place considered forbidden... and deadly.
Humanity had long vanished from the world above.
The surface was now ruled by monsters — living storms of teeth and bone.
To survive, mankind had fled underground, building scattered enclaves like Veerda.
But even here, no place was truly safe.
In response, the Scavenger Divisions were formed — groups of explorers who braved the unknown, searching for relics, resources, or even the faintest trace of hope.
And now, two of them had arrived — here, in Veerda.
"We came to see if anyone here still has the strength to fight alongside us,"
said the first stranger, his eyes fixed on Roland.
"It seems this festival has become more of a tradition than a real challenge."
His tone was calm — neither arrogant nor accusing.
There was a cold stillness about him, as if nothing could disturb his composure.
Roland lowered his gaze.
"The truth is… we've accepted our fate. We're weak.
We can't fight against that world. Every year, we grow fewer… and softer."
The second stranger replied quietly:
"There's no shame in being weak.
But some people can't live with it.
Some would rather defy the impossible."
Then, simply, almost like a command:
"We didn't come to judge.
We came to do our job — to recruit those who still have the will to fight."
In Veerda's festival, every participant had to face the village guardian — the strongest and most capable fighter among them.
This year, the guardian was Oskar — a 32-year-old man who had trained daily, his body hardened by years of combat.
From the age of fourteen, every youth was required to compete once a year.
If a challenger ever defeated the guardian, they could either take his place or leave the village to fight beyond its walls.
But if they lost… nothing happened.
And so, few ever tried to win.
The event was about to begin.
This year, there were twenty-one contenders — men and boys of all ages.
The last to fight was none other than Ren, still haunted by the bitter taste of last year.
The square erupted with noise as the crowd gathered.
"Who do you think will last the longest?"
"Anyone strong enough to actually win?"
"Impossible!"
"Maybe someone will just land a hit this year!"
"That boy from last time — the bold one! He might surprise us!"
"Yeah, the one who put on quite the show!"
"He's got guts, I'll give him that!"
Roland raised his hand for silence.
"The rules are simple.
To win, you must either knock out the guardian or steal the red band tied to his arm.
Anything is allowed — but you cannot leave the arena until one of you yields or falls unconscious.
First match: Roy Donovan, age fourteen! Let the festival begin!"
The murmurs began immediately.
"Look how small he is!"
"Oskar's three times his size!"
"The band's wrapped around his wrist — no way the kid can grab it!"
"At least last five seconds, kid!"
Oskar — the undefeated guardian of Veerda — ended the fight in two seconds, a single blow.
He was not allowed to hold back, not even against children.
And yet, he looked distracted — distant.
"No one here can challenge me anymore,"
he thought.
"These matches feel meaningless compared to my training…
except for him."
His gaze hardened.
"Ren.
I've become stronger — for you.
So that we never repeat that day."
One fight after another passed in a blur, until the sixth.
A man named Vivo, twenty-seven, stepped into the arena — a knife hidden in his hand.
Driven by envy and rage, he wanted to kill Oskar, to take his place, his fame, his wealth.
From the stands, the two strangers watched — unimpressed.
Oskar ended the fight swiftly, with surgical precision.
"You're not the first to try killing me," he murmured to himself.
"But none of you ever stood a chance."
The battles continued — brutal, brief, and hopeless — until the final match.
At last, it was time.
Ren Peregrin vs. Oskar.
Ren stepped into the arena, calm but burning inside.
"Every time I walk here," he said quietly,
"I remember what happened that day… and the bitterness comes back."
Oskar faced him, eyes sharp with restrained emotion.
"Now I'm serious, Ren," he said.
"Show me everything you've got."
The crowd roared, louder than ever before.
"LET THE FINAL BATTLE BEGIN!"