The rain felt heavier when you were alone.
Not the kind of loneliness that came from silence, but the kind that pressed against the chest, that reminded you—every second—that if you screamed, no one would come. Ren Kage stood beneath the broken shrine roof, rainwater dripping steadily onto his shoulders, soaking through cloth that had already lost its warmth hours ago.
His hands were shaking.
Not from the cold.
From the system's words.
[quest active: survive until dawn]
Survive.
Such a small word. Such a cruel demand.
Ren laughed under his breath, the sound cracking halfway through. "That's it?" he whispered. "That's all I get?"
The shrine didn't answer. The system didn't answer. The world never did.
Ren pressed his back against a cracked stone pillar and slid down until he was sitting on the wet floor. His breath fogged in front of him, uneven, shallow. Every time he tried to steady it, his thoughts dragged him elsewhere—back to memories he hated.
Cold nights in Black Ash Village.
People stepping around him like he was already dead.
The way the elders looked through him, not at him.
If I die here, he thought, no one will even know my name.
That realization hurt more than the rain.
A sharp ache twisted in his ankle as he shifted his weight. He hissed quietly, teeth clenching.
Pain.
Normally, pain was just another reminder of weakness. Something to endure until it faded, or until you did.
But this time—
[pain detected]
[conversion efficiency: minimal — passive]
Ren stiffened.
A faint warmth bloomed in his chest. It was weak, uncertain, like an ember struggling to stay alive, but it was unmistakable.
He frowned. "What… was that?"
The pain didn't disappear. It still throbbed, deep and annoying. But the edge of it dulled, as if something had been taken—not healed, not erased, but used.
Ren swallowed hard.
Pain is being consumed.
The thought unsettled him more than comforted him. Pain was supposed to be bad. Pain meant stop. Pain meant you'd gone too far.
Now pain was… currency.
A sound snapped through the rain.
Ren froze.
Wood cracking.
Somewhere beyond the shrine, deeper in the forest.
His body reacted before his mind did. He pushed himself upright, heart hammering, every muscle screaming to run. But there was nowhere to go. The trees were darker than the shrine, thicker, full of things that didn't need light to hunt.
"Don't panic," Ren whispered, though his voice trembled. "If you panic, you die."
He'd learned that lesson early.
Another sound—closer this time.
Something was moving with purpose.
Ren's fingers brushed against a rusted iron rod half-buried in rubble. He grabbed it without thinking. The metal bit into his palm, reopening old scars.
Pain flared.
[pain detected]
[conversion efficiency: low — manual focus available]
Manual focus?
Ren hesitated, then nodded weakly. "Yes."
The warmth returned, sharper now, flowing down his arm. It wasn't strength like the heroes in village stories had. It didn't make him feel invincible.
It made him feel present.
Like his body was finally listening.
The creature stepped into view.
A wolf—thin, soaked, ribs visible beneath matted fur. Its eyes reflected lightning in dull yellow flashes. It wasn't majestic. It wasn't terrifying.
It was starving.
And that scared Ren more than anything.
Starving things didn't hesitate.
The wolf didn't charge. It circled, slow and patient, measuring him. Ren felt something ugly twist in his chest.
It sees me as food.
Not a threat. Not a fighter.
Food.
His grip tightened on the rod until his fingers ached. He wanted to scream. To cry. To beg something—anything—to make this unfairness stop.
But the system remained silent.
The wolf lunged.
Ren reacted too slowly. The impact slammed him into the shrine wall, pain exploding across his shoulders and spine. He gasped, vision blurring.
[pain detected]
[conversion efficiency: moderate]
The warmth surged violently, and with it came a horrifying clarity.
This is how I die, he thought. Cold. Forgotten. Torn apart where no one will ever look.
The wolf snapped at his leg. Teeth scraped skin.
Ren screamed—not from pain, but from terror.
"No!" he shouted, voice breaking. "I'm not dying like this!"
He swung the rod wildly. It struck the wolf's skull with a dull crack. The creature yelped, recoiling, but it didn't fall.
It came back harder.
Teeth sank into Ren's calf.
Pain detonated.
White-hot. Overwhelming.
Ren's scream ripped out of him, raw and ugly.
[pain detected]
[conversion efficiency: high — threshold exceeded]
Something inside him broke.
Not his bones.
His fear.
The warmth flooded him, burning through his veins like liquid fire. His vision sharpened, rain slowing, the world narrowing to the wolf in front of him and the simple truth:
If I hesitate, I disappear.
The wolf lunged again.
Ren didn't retreat.
He stepped forward and let it bite his arm.
Agony consumed him. He tasted blood. His own.
[warning: injury critical]
Ren roared—not bravely, not heroically, but desperately—and brought the iron rod down with everything he had.
Bone shattered.
The wolf collapsed, twitching once before going still.
Silence followed.
Ren staggered backward and fell hard onto the stone floor. Blood pooled beneath him, warm against the cold ground. His chest heaved violently as the warmth faded, leaving exhaustion and pain behind.
He stared at the wolf's corpse.
"I… killed you," he whispered.
There was no triumph.
Only nausea.
Only the sick realization that something had died because he refused to.
The system chimed.
[quest complete: survive until dawn]
[performance evaluation: minimal margin]
Ren laughed weakly, tears mixing with rain. "Minimal," he echoed. "Story of my life."
His vision blurred. Darkness tugged at the edges.
Don't sleep.
If pain was fuel, unconsciousness was waste.
Ren focused inward, clinging to every ache, every throb, every burning nerve.
[manual conversion engaged — unstable]
The warmth flickered back, weak but stubborn—like him.
When dawn finally broke, pale light creeping over the ruined shrine, Ren lay broken, bleeding, and shaking.
But alive.
For now.