Morning came with the cawing of distant crows. Ren rose early, rubbing his eyes as he prepared to help in the fields again. Yet his mind lingered on the strange light he had seen the night before.
At breakfast, he finally spoke.
"Father… did you see it?"
His father raised a brow. "See what, boy?"
"That light. Near the forest. It floated, almost like a torch, but—"
"No torch burns in the trees," his father interrupted, his voice firm. "Stay clear of that place. Monsters prowl those woods. What you saw was likely nothing but your imagination."
Ren frowned. "But it was real…"
His mother exchanged a worried glance with her husband, then smiled gently to Ren. "Perhaps your eyes are simply tired. Best not to chase after things you don't understand."
His little sister, ever curious, tugged at Ren's sleeve. "What kind of light, big brother?"
Ren hesitated. "…Beautiful. But… scary."
Her eyes widened, though she quickly forgot the subject when their mother served food. Only Ren's thoughts remained restless.
By midday, his mother handed him a pouch of coins.
"Ren, we're running low. Could you go to town and buy some food?"
He nodded. "Yes, Mother."
The town lay only a short walk away, but the path was always tense. Forest shadows stretched over the dirt road, and every rustle of leaves made him grip the hoe he carried.
When he finally arrived, the sight made his chest sink.
The town was quiet. Too quiet.
Merchants sat slouched at their stalls, their goods few and meager. Children clung to their mothers' skirts, their laughter absent. Everywhere, the faces of the townsfolk were weary, worn down by years of fear.
Ren handed a merchant the coins and received a small sack of grain in return. As he accepted it, he asked, "Why is everyone so… sad?"
The man let out a dry chuckle. "Sad? Boy, we're tired. Monsters attack every week, and the governor doesn't care. Why spend coin defending a poor town like ours? He'd rather protect the rich lands beyond the hills."
Ren clenched his jaw. His village wasn't any better off, yet they were expected to survive with nothing.
As he turned down the street, the hairs on his neck stood on end.
There it was again.
The light.
This time, it wasn't distant. It hovered at the edge of the road, shimmering faintly like a beckoning flame.
Ren froze. His heart pounded.
"…Why here?" he whispered.
It drifted toward the forest.
Ren swallowed hard. The streets behind him were silent, the townsfolk too beaten to care. Ahead of him, the light pulsed as if waiting for him to follow.
His instincts screamed danger. Yet his feet moved anyway.
One step.
Then another.
And another, into the forest's shadow.
The deeper he went, the colder the air grew. Branches twisted overhead, blocking out the sun. Strange cries echoed from unseen throats.
A low growl rumbled close by.
Ren's breath caught. He pressed himself against a tree, clutching his hoe tightly.
*Step. Step.*
Heavy footsteps. Claws scratching bark.
Then he saw it—a goblin, hunched and snarling, its crude club dragging against the ground.
Ren's chest froze. He dared not breathe.
The creature sniffed the air, yellow eyes gleaming.
Ren scrambled upward, climbing the tree in desperation. The bark scraped his palms raw, but he didn't stop until he perched high above.
The goblin prowled below, sniffing, then growled and moved on.
Ren waited. One second. Two. Ten.
He exhaled in shaky relief.
CRACK.
The branch beneath him split.
"Ah—!"
He plummeted.
The world spun into darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, his head throbbed. A cold draft brushed his skin. He was lying on stone—smooth, unnatural, and far too deep underground.
Ren sat up groggily, wincing as he touched the cut on his arm. Blood trickled down. He looked up at the long stairway he had fallen from… and his stomach sank.
The way out was sealed.
A massive stone door now blocked the stairs.
Ren swallowed. His breath echoed in the chamber.
"…Where… am I?"
No answer.
Only silence, and the oppressive weight of darkness pressing in around him.