The road stretched like a scar across the land.
Ren walked it barefoot, his toes blackened, the bone-shard tucked into his belt.
Around him, the world revealed itself not in grand temples or shining cities, but in wreckage.
Burned farmhouses littered the hills. Fields once golden now lay fallow, choked with weeds.
The corpses of oxen and men alike lay half-buried in the mud, scavenged by dogs.
War had passed here. Not once, but many times.
Ren did not ask why. The reason didn't matter. War was the language of the world.
By dusk, he reached a village if it could still be called one. The gates were nothing but splintered logs.
The air reeked of smoke and shit. People huddled inside, their eyes dull, their skin stretched thin over bone.
He walked through the gate without challenge. No guards, no weapons. The people here had no strength left to defend anything.
A woman drew water from a cracked well. She eyed him warily. "Another stray? We have nothing left. Not food, not coin. Best keep walking."
Ren's voice was hoarse. "If you had nothing, you'd be dead. You still breathe. That means something remains."
Her jaw tightened. "Only misery. Take it if you want." She turned away, shoulders slumped.
Ren moved deeper into the village. The houses leaned like drunks ready to collapse.
Children with hollow cheeks stared at him with suspicion, their small hands gripping sticks as if they were swords. No laughter here. Only hunger, sharpened into vigilance.
At the center of the square, a fire burned weakly. Men sat around it, gaunt but not broken.
They glanced at Ren as he approached, their eyes narrowing like wolves sizing prey.
One of them, tall and broad despite his lean frame, spoke first. "Another rat crawls out of the pit. What hole did you survive?"
Ren met his gaze. "A village that burned. Bandits fed on it. The rest rotted."
The man gave a dry chuckle. "Then you're already like us." He gestured to the fire. "Sit. Warm yourself. Fire costs nothing."
Ren sat, though he knew nothing in this world was free.
The man studied him. "Name?"
"Ren."
The man nodded. "I am Tao. Once a farmer. Now nothing." His lips curved in a humorless smile. "That's how it is. The world takes your field, your ox, your wife, your child… and leaves you with a name. Until even that's forgotten."
Ren said nothing.
Tao leaned closer. "But names can grow again, if you plant them in blood."
The others chuckled grimly.
Ren looked into the fire. Its light reflected in his eyes. "Blood I have. What I need is strength."
A smaller man across the flames spoke, his voice sharp like a knife scraping bone. "Strength isn't free. You want it, you pay. Sometimes in coin, sometimes in flesh, sometimes in pieces of your soul."
Another added, "Sometimes in patience. A blade doesn't cut when it's first forged. It waits until it's sharpened."
Ren listened. Their words carried truth, bitter and raw.
These were not fools. They were men who had lived long enough to bury their illusions.
As night fell, bowls of thin gruel were passed around. Mostly water, with a few floating grains. Ren accepted his without thanks, drinking slowly. It filled nothing, but warmth spread through his chest.
A boy younger than him, perhaps eight or nine, sat nearby. He slurped noisily, then whispered, "It tastes like piss."
His mother smacked his shoulder lightly. "Shut up and eat. Better piss than nothing."
The boy pouted but kept eating. His eyes darted to Ren. "Where'd you come from?"
Ren met his gaze calmly. "From fire."
The boy tilted his head. "Did it hurt?"
Ren's lips curved, though it wasn't quite a smile. "Not as much as hunger."
The boy blinked, then nodded solemnly, as if he understood.
Later, when most had dozed by the fire, Ren remained awake. Tao stayed too, poking the embers with a stick.
"You've got the eyes," Tao said quietly.
Ren glanced at him. "Eyes?"
"The kind that don't look away. The kind that measure men like weights on a scale." Tao smirked. "I've seen those eyes before. They belong to men who either die early or live long enough to kill kings."
Ren's voice was steady. "And which do you think I'll be?"
Tao shrugged. "Doesn't matter what I think. Matters how far you're willing to crawl through shit before you stand." He tossed the stick into the fire. "Most people don't want to admit it, but that's the truth of this world. You don't rise by stepping on ladders. You rise by stepping on corpses."
Ren repeated the words softly, as if etching them into memory. "To rise is to step on corpses."
Tao chuckled. "Remember that. It'll either save you or damn you. Maybe both."
Morning came. The village stirred slowly, as if life itself was reluctant to return. Ren prepared to leave.
Tao stopped him at the gate. "Where will you go?"
Ren answered simply. "Where there's more to carve."
Tao studied him for a long moment.
Then he pulled something from his ragged coat a small dagger, its edge chipped but still sharp.
"Take it. A rat with teeth lives longer than one without."
Ren accepted it, sliding it into his belt beside the bone-shard. "Why give it to me?"
Tao's smile was thin. "Because I want to see if those eyes of yours ever climb high enough for me to regret it."
Ren inclined his head. "Then live long enough to see."
And he walked on.
The road led him to forests where the trees twisted like gnarled fingers. Bandits lurked there, their whistles echoing through the branches. Ren heard them before he saw them.
Three stepped out, blades drawn. Their clothes were mismatched, their faces scarred, but their movements were confident. Predators.
The tallest grinned. "Another stray pup. Hand over what you've got, or we'll gut you."
Ren's hand brushed the dagger at his belt. He measured them silently. Three against one. He could kill one, maybe two, but not all.
Instead, he spoke calmly. "If I had anything worth taking, I wouldn't be walking alone."
The men laughed. One sneered. "Then we'll take your life. Maybe your corpse will scare the next fool into dropping something better."
Ren's voice sharpened. "And what will your corpses teach the next fool, when he sees three men gutted by a child?"
The laughter faltered. For a moment, silence hung between them.
The tallest leaned closer, eyes narrowing. Then he barked a laugh. "Hah! Bold. I like it. You've got a tongue sharper than your blade."
Ren didn't flinch. "A sharp tongue cuts only once. A sharp blade cuts forever."
The bandits exchanged glances. Finally, the tall one smirked. "We'll let you go, pup. Not because we fear you but because one day, maybe, you'll grow into a wolf worth hunting."
Ren walked past them, never turning his back fully, his grip on the dagger tight.
When he was beyond their reach, he whispered.
"If I grow into a wolf, I won't let hunters live to boast."
The forest opened to hills. In the distance, smoke rose from another settlement larger, sturdier, ringed with wooden palisades.
Ren's lips curved faintly.
Each village, each town, each corpse a step higher.