The morning sun barely pierced through the village's crumbling thatched roofs, casting a pale light over the muddy paths and broken fences.
Ray sat near the edge of the village, sharpening a thick branch against a jagged rock. His hands were raw, splinters already embedded in his fingers, but he didn't stop.
He had bound the stone with strips of bark and sinew, fixing it tight to one end of the branch.
It wasn't pretty.
But it was a spear.
The first weapon he'd ever made.
He tested the weight in his hand, then stood up, twirling it with cautious movements. He wasn't trained, but survival had no patience for perfection.
With the spear in hand, he marched toward the group of kids he had shared his meal with the night before.
They were huddled near a collapsed wall, chewing on scraps of dry roots and whispering with tired eyes. Dirt clung to their cheeks, and their clothes were barely more than rags.
Ray stopped in front of them.
"I'm going hunting again," he said, voice firm. "This time I'm going after rabbits. Maybe a boar if I'm lucky."
The kids blinked at him in disbelief.
A small boy, no older than seven, asked, "W-With that stick?"
"It's a spear," Ray replied. "Handmade. Not great, but it'll do."
A skinny girl stepped back. "You'll get killed! The forest's dangerous!"
Ray grinned. "Yeah? Then stay here and starve. You think rotting in this village is safer?"
They flinched. One boy tried to speak, but Ray raised the spear.
"You want meat?" he asked. "Real food. Warm food?"
The kids hesitated, then nodded slowly.
"Then come with me."
They stared at him like he was mad.
"Y-You want us to fight monsters?" one cried.
"I don't even know how to use a weapon!" another said.
Ray stomped forward, fire in his eyes. "Then learn!"
His voice cracked like thunder.
"You've all been living here, barely breathing. Just surviving. Is that really what you want? Waiting until sickness or hunger kills you because no one in that damn noble's palace gives a damn about us?"
They looked down, silent.
Ray's voice rose, louder now, rough with fury and something deeper — grief.
"You want to keep dying one day at a time? Or do you want to live? Hunt, fight, grow strong, and take back your life?"
Silence.
Then, the girl with the cracked voice muttered, "But… we're just kids."
Ray pointed the spear at her — not threatening, but sharp like truth.
"So am I."
Another long pause.
Finally, one boy stepped forward. He had sharp eyes and a chipped wooden bracelet on his wrist. "What do we have to do?"
Ray gave a crooked smile. "First, we start small. Rabbits. Then, maybe a boar. One step at a time."
---
They moved toward the forest cautiously, with Ray in the lead. Only two kids followed: the bracelet boy, whose name was Jorn, and the girl, Mira.
"I'll keep watch," Ray said. "We'll look for signs — droppings, disturbed grass, pawprints."
"What's a pawprint?" Mira asked, blinking.
Ray sighed. "Okay. I've got more to teach than I thought."
He showed them how to look for subtle trails, how to stay quiet, and how to move against the wind so animals wouldn't smell them.
Eventually, they found signs of a rabbit trail.
Ray set up another snare with vines, then motioned them to sit in the shade and wait.
"You ever thought about leaving this village?" he asked them.
Jorn shrugged. "Where would we go?"
Mira whispered, "The city's far… and the roads are full of slavers."
Ray nodded slowly. That much he'd heard already. Slavers took orphans and desperate villagers, selling them to mines or noble courts. Another reason to grow stronger.
"We'll change that," he said.
"How?" Mira asked.
Ray looked down at his hands — calloused, trembling slightly, holding a hand-carved spear.
"One fight at a time."
---
The trap finally snapped after an hour. Ray dashed to it and pulled up a squirming rabbit.
Cheers erupted.
It wasn't much, but it was meat — fresh, real meat.
By the time the trio returned to the village, carrying their catch like it was a dragon's treasure, a small crowd had gathered.
Ray cleaned and cooked it again, this time letting Jorn and Mira help. They cut, salted, and roasted the meat over a modest fire. It fed six kids, barely, but the warmth in their eyes was worth more than gold.
After they ate, Jorn whispered, "Can we… go again tomorrow?"
Ray smirked. "Hell yeah we can."
---
That night, Ray stood alone at the edge of the village, looking at the moon.
This world was harsh. Twisted. Broken.
But it was also his now.
He wouldn't live like a background extra in someone else's story. Not anymore.
He was Ray — hunter, survivor, and maybe something more.
And this dying village?
It had just taken its first breath of life in years.