Morning sunlight broke through the village windows long before Ren expected it. When he opened his eyes, the ceiling beams glowed gold, dust drifting slowly through the air. For a moment he forgot where he was—then the memories came back in a rush. The village. The people. The warmth he felt inside. The faint spark.
He sat up, stretched, and heard children shouting outside.
"MIRO, THAT'S MY STICK!"
"No it's not! I found it first!"
"You ALWAYS say that!"
Ren rubbed his forehead. "Morning chaos," he muttered.
A knock came at the door.
"REN!" Tali's voice. "Ren! Are you awake? The elder says you have chores today! Chores, Ren! That means WORK!"
Miro's voice followed, "Stop yelling in his doorway, Tali! Let him get dressed!"
"I'm HELPING!"
"You're annoying!"
"No, YOU'RE annoying!"
Ren slipped on the simple shirt and pants left for him last night, opened the door, and nearly collided with both children.
Tali beamed. "You survived the night!"
"I wasn't expecting to die," Ren said.
"You never know," Miro said with a sagely nod. "Last month we had a fox sneak into the chicken coop and—"
"MIRO," Tali warned, "not everyone wants to hear about exploding feathers this early."
"It wasn't my fault they exploded!"
Ren blinked. "Exploding…?"
Both children immediately talked over each other trying to explain it, their voices overlapping into incoherent chaos.
Ren sighed. "Could we… maybe start with breakfast?"
"Oh!" Tali gasped. "Right! Right! Nima said to bring you!"
Miro grabbed Ren's sleeve. "Come on, slowpoke!"
"I'm moving," Ren said, allowing himself to be dragged across the yard.
---
The communal kitchen had a massive pot bubbling in the center, steam rising like a soft cloud. Several villagers bustled around—chopping roots, stirring bowls, carrying baskets. Haru sat on a stool peeling fruit very slowly, as if hoping nobody noticed that he wasn't actually assigned to anything strenuous.
Nima stood near the pot. "Good morning, Ren."
"Morning," he said.
"Sleep well?"
"Mostly."
"Good. Today we begin small tasks so you can understand the rhythm of this village."
Haru waved a half-peeled fruit at Ren. "And AFTER chores, fishing lesson! Oh, I bet you're excited."
Tali leaned toward Ren, whispering loudly, "Don't tell him, but fishing is boring."
"I can HEAR YOU," Haru groaned.
Nima chuckled. "Ren, start by helping Kiro outside. He'll show you what to do."
A tall man with messy brown hair nodded from the doorway. "Ren, right? Come on. Time to work."
Miro nudged Ren. "Kiro seems scary, but he's not."
Kiro turned. "I heard that."
Miro coughed. "I mean he's SCARY, Ren. Stay alert."
Kiro's eyebrow twitched. "Children."
Ren followed Kiro outside.
---
Rows of crops lined the fields. Kiro handed Ren a small metal hoe. "Here," he said. "Loosen the soil around those seedlings. Not too deep. Not too shallow."
Ren knelt in front of the first row. "Like this?" he asked, gently scraping the soil.
Kiro examined his work. "Acceptable," he declared.
"That sounded almost like praise."
"It was," Kiro said sternly. "A tiny bit."
Ren smirked.
As they worked, Kiro said, "Haru told me you can sense a little energy."
Ren paused. "Barely. Like a matchstick."
"That's how everyone starts," Kiro replied. "Don't rush."
"I'm not planning to," Ren said. "I just… want to understand it."
Kiro nodded. "Then I'll give you simple advice: pay attention to your breath. Pay attention to the way the ground feels under you. Pay attention to what your body tells you."
"That's it?" Ren asked.
"For today."
Ren continued scraping the soil. Birds chirped overhead, their rhythm strangely calming.
A woman carrying baskets approached them. Her name, Ren learned quickly, was Rina—a farmer with perpetual sunburn and a smile that looked permanently amused.
"Ren!" she called. "You're doing great. Good form."
Kiro scoffed softly. "It's his first day."
"Yes," Rina said, "and he's doing better than YOU did your first day."
Kiro grumbled something unintelligible.
Rina set the baskets down. "Ren, do you plan to train eventually?"
Ren hesitated. "Maybe. I don't know enough yet."
Rina nodded. "Good. Learn your body first. Learn your limits. Most people try to skip steps. They regret it."
Kiro pointed at Rina. "Listen to her. She once broke her own foot kicking a tree too early."
"KIRO!" Rina shrieked. "Why would you tell him that?"
"You said people need examples."
"NOT THAT ONE!"
Ren laughed. "I'll… remember that."
They continued working until Nima's voice called out from across the field, "Ren! Enough for now. Haru is waiting."
Kiro placed a hand on Ren's shoulder. "Good work."
Rina added, "Very good. Come back later. We'll teach you more."
Ren nodded gratefully.
---
Haru stood by the river with a fishing rod over his shoulder, looking intensely proud of himself.
"Ren!" he said dramatically. "Are you ready for wisdom?"
"What kind of wisdom?" Ren asked.
"The wisdom of PATIENCE," Haru declared. "And also the wisdom of sitting."
Tali and Miro had arrived too, carrying sticks with string tied to the ends.
Miro whispered, "We're here to laugh when Haru falls in."
"I HEAR EVERYTHING," Haru barked.
Tali giggled.
Haru handed Ren a simple rod. "Fishing rule number one: don't drop the rod. Fishing rule number two: don't fall in. Fishing rule number three: if something pulls too hard, LET GO."
Ren blinked. "That sounds dangerous."
"It IS," Haru said proudly.
Tali raised her hand. "Haru, are we SUPPOSED to catch fish or just make Ren scared?"
"Both," Haru said.
Miro pointed at the water. "I once caught a fish THIS big!"
Tali snorted. "No, you didn't. That was a boot."
"It was STILL big!"
Ren smiled faintly. The river reflected the blue sky perfectly, shimmering gently. Haru tapped the water with his rod.
"Sit," Haru instructed.
Ren sat.
"Now," Haru said wisely, "you wait."
Ren waited.
After a long silence, Tali whispered, "Ren… you bored yet?"
Ren shrugged. "Not really."
Haru gasped dramatically. "A natural!"
Miro sighed. "No, Haru, he's just patient."
"THAT'S WHAT I MEANT," Haru snapped.
Ren watched the water quietly. It felt peaceful in a way he couldn't explain. He felt himself breathing slower. He felt the faint flicker within him again—subtle, quiet, like a warm pebble in his chest.
Then—tug.
His rod jerked lightly.
"Haru?" Ren whispered.
"Oh! OH! He's got something!" Haru hollered.
"REN! PULL!" Miro shouted.
"BUT NOT TOO HARD!" Tali screamed.
Ren pulled too hard, and the line snapped. Something splashed in the distance.
Haru sighed dramatically. "Lesson one: moderation."
Ren groaned.
Miro patted his back sympathetically. "You ALMOST caught something."
Tali added, "Or something almost caught YOU."
Haru nodded gravely. "Hard to say."
Despite the failure, Ren felt strangely satisfied. He tried again. And again. Until the sun rose higher. And eventually—
He caught a small silver fish.
Miro gasped. "REN DID IT!"
Tali clapped. "HE'S NOT USELESS!"
Haru shouted triumphantly, "MY STUDENT!"
Ren held the small fish in disbelief. "This… is kind of amazing."
"You earned it," Haru said.
Ren smiled softly.
---
Afternoon arrived with heat that shimmered off the ground. Nima gathered several villagers in the training clearing—a flat, open area behind the crops.
Ren approached hesitantly.
Miro waved energetically. "REN! TRAINING TIME!"
Tali elbowed him. "Don't scare him!"
"I'm not!"
"You ARE!"
"I AM NOT!"
Their bickering blended with the chatter of adults stretching, loosening joints, preparing for basic exercises.
Nima stood at the center. "Today," she said, "Ren will join the beginner's circle."
Ren blinked. "Beginner's…?"
A group of five villagers stood in a ring. They all looked normal—no fighters, no warriors, just humans with lean builds and calm faces.
A woman with short black hair stepped forward. "I'm Suri. I'll guide your breathing today."
A muscular but gentle-eyed man bowed slightly. "I'm Dano. I'll help with stance."
A soft-spoken older woman smiled. "Call me Emi. I'm in charge of balance."
A lanky teen waved. "I'm Taro! I'm in charge of enthusiasm!"
Suri sighed. "Taro, nobody put you in charge of that."
"I PUT ME in charge!"
Ren chuckled.
Another man, sandy-haired with a sleepy expression, added, "Name's Jinto. I'm in charge of not doing too much."
Nima sighed. "Jinto, you're in charge of not sleeping."
"Same thing," Jinto mumbled.
Ren didn't even try to hide his laugh this time.
Suri motioned. "Ren, stand here."
He stepped into the circle.
Suri said, "First, breath. In through the nose… slow… deeper… slower."
Ren obeyed.
Emi said, "Feel your feet. Feel where your weight rests."
Ren shifted slightly, adjusting.
Dano said, "Straighten your spine. But don't strain."
Ren did. It felt… better.
Jinto yawned. "Good enough."
Taro shouted, "REN YOU'RE DOING GREAT!"
"Taro," Suri scolded, "quiet."
Taro saluted.
For the next hour, Ren followed their instructions—breathing, balancing, shifting his center of gravity, focusing inward. The process felt simple, even trivial at first. But gradually he sensed something deeper—a quiet stabilization inside him. A grounding.
Suri asked gently, "Do you feel anything?"
Ren closed his eyes. "A little warmth. Very small."
Emi nodded. "Good. That warmth is where you begin."
Taro shouted, "REN HAS A SPARK!"
Suri grabbed Taro's collar. "Stop yelling."
"But it's EXCITING!"
"No yelling."
"But—!"
"NO yelling."
Taro deflated slightly. "Okay…"
Ren kept breathing. The warmth flickered gently.
Nima approached him. "Ren. That spark will grow if you tend to it every day. No rushing. No shortcuts. Only consistent effort."
Ren nodded quietly.
Dano said, "You have potential. Everyone does. What matters is attention."
Jinto added, "What also matters is not overdoing it."
Taro cried, "What matters most is BELIEF!"
Suri groaned. "Taro…"
But Ren smiled at every single one of them. Their voices, their guidance—each felt like a piece of something larger coming together inside him.
The training continued until late afternoon. Ren never produced a flash of energy. No light. No glow. Nothing spectacular.
But when he finished, his breathing felt easier. His balance steadier. His awareness slightly sharper.
It was enough.
---
Evening brought a cool breeze. Ren sat outside Nima's house, legs sore, mind tired in a good way.
Footsteps approached.
It was Haru, carrying a small wooden box. "Ren," he said softly, "I brought you something."
Ren blinked. "For me?"
"Yes," Haru said. "Open it."
Ren lifted the lid. Inside lay a smooth stone tied to a simple string. The stone shimmered faintly—not with power, but with polish and care.
"It's a charm," Haru said. "A tradition here. We give it to those starting a new path."
Ren swallowed. "I… don't know what to say."
Haru scratched his cheek. "You don't need to say anything. Just wear it."
Ren tied the charm around his wrist. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," Haru said. "Thank the village."
Miro appeared out of nowhere. "REN! Did Haru give you the lucky rock?!"
Tali gasped. "THE LUCKY ROCK?!"
Ren blinked. "It's… lucky?"
"YES," Miro declared.
"NO," Tali corrected. "It's SYMBOLIC."
"Lucky!"
"Symbolic!"
"LUCKY!"
"SYMBOLIC!"
Nima stepped outside, sighing. "Children, please."
Both froze.
Ren smiled faintly. "Whichever it is… I like it."
Nima approached him. "Ren. You did well today."
"I didn't do much," he said.
"You showed up," Nima replied. "Most people underestimate how important that is."
Ren looked at his feet. "Do you… really think I can improve?"
Nima placed a hand on his shoulder. "I believe anyone can, Ren. But belief is not enough. You must also act."
Ren nodded slowly.
Haru added, "And if you get tired, you can always fish."
"That sounds like resting disguised as work," Ren said.
"Exactly," Haru grinned.
Miro pointed at Ren. "Tomorrow we race!"
Tali shook her head. "NO! Tomorrow Ren has to help me gather herbs!"
"RACE!"
"HERBS!"
"RACE!"
"HERBS!"
Nima cleared her throat loudly.
Both children immediately froze again.
Ren chuckled. "I can do both. One in the morning, one in the afternoon."
Both children immediately cheered.
Ren stood, gazing toward the distant hills. Something stirred inside him—not dramatic, not loud, but steady. A sense of direction. A sense that each day was a building block. A sense that this world, strange and immense, was opening itself to him slowly.
Nima watched him quietly. "Ren."
He turned. "Yes?"
"Rest tonight. Tomorrow, you grow again."
Ren took a deep breath. "I will."
The wind carried laughter, footsteps, distant training shouts, and the soft bubbling of stew cooking inside the house.
Ren felt all of it.
He felt grounded.
He felt ready.
Not for greatness.
Not for glory.
Not for anything grand.
Just for the next step.
And that was enough.