Three days. That was the time they had before leaving, and Ren spent the first morning just recovering his breath. His body ached as if his bones had been broken. Every muscle felt squeezed and twisted like an old rag, and it did not let him forget Myrddin’s training. The bandages wrapped around his torso and arms were not just cloth; there were healing runes woven into the threads, glowing faintly whenever he moved abruptly. Myrddin’s magic accelerated regeneration, closing cuts and consolidating fractures in hours, but the memory of the pain remained.

Ren left the cabin at noon, when the sun was high enough to burn away the lowest mist. The air was cold, typical of the Adrossa mountains, but the sky was clear. The village breathed in a slow, constant rhythm. Four hundred and seventeen people. That was the approximate number Myrddin kept in mind, although no one had ever taken an official census. There was no need. In a place as isolated as that, everyone knew each other. Ren walked down the central dirt road, where houses of dark wood and rough stone lined the steep slopes. Smoke rose from the chimneys, carrying the smell of roasted meat, dried herbs, and charcoal.

A woman saw him pass near the communal well. It was Mara, the same one who had come looking for medicine for her feverish daughter days ago. She was hanging wet clothes on a rope line, her hands red from the effort.

“Ren! I heard you’re going to travel!” she shouted, stopping what she was doing to wave.

Ren stopped and waved back, a brief gesture with his head. “You heard right.”

“She’s excited,” said a voice beside him. Sawe walked at his side, holding a wooden clipboard with a supply list scratched in charcoal. The feline ears on top of the young man’s head were erect, catching distant sounds. “Everyone knows. News traveled faster than a startled goblin.”

“After all, we live in a very small village. It’s impossible for no one to know each other here.”

Ren did not answer. In any other place in the world, a human without mana would be executed at birth or enslaved to death within a few months. The law of most nations was clear about anomalies: they should not exist. But Adrossa was different. Adrossa was a refuge, a blind spot on the map where the laws of men did not reach. Here, a person’s value was measured by the work they did, not by the magic emanating from their hands.

Ren stopped near the forge at the eastern edge of the village. The heat was intense even from a distance. Garret, the blacksmith, was hammering a plow blade on an anvil. He was a broad man, with burn scars on his forearms and little mana to reinforce his own body against the heat. His hands trembled slightly when he lifted a heavy toolbox.

Ren did not ask for permission. He simply walked over to him, picked up the iron box, and carried it to the workbench.

“Thanks, kid,” said Garret, wiping the sweat from his forehead with a grease-stained cloth. “My back isn’t what it used to be when I was twenty.”

“You should use magic to reinforce your bones,” Ren suggested, leaning against the bench.

“My reserve is too low to waste on that,” Garret laughed, coughing a little. “I’d rather save it to heat the forge. Besides, you’re always around to help me, kid. You’ll be missed when you leave.”

“I won’t be long,” Ren lied. They both knew it was a lie.

“Sure you won’t,” Garret replied, returning to his hammering. “Just don’t die out there. We have little good iron here. I don’t want to have to build your tombstone.”

Ren left the forge. Sawe was waiting outside, writing something on the clipboard.

“They like you,” said the feline, watching Ren carefully.

“They just need me,” Ren corrected, starting to walk again.

“It’s not just that.” Sawe nodded toward the people watching Ren pass. There was no pity in their eyes, nor morbid curiosity. There was respect. “You grew up here. They saw you learn to walk. To speak. To get up after falling. To them, you are not a defect. You are just Ren.”

Ren shrugged, but did not argue. They continued walking to the central square, where an old stone structure stood in the middle. No one knew what it was for. Perhaps it was an altar or something like that. It was simply there. Like the village. Like the mountains. Adrossa. The name came from the mountains that surrounded them, the Adrossa Cordillera. No one knew who founded the village. No one knew how old it was. Myrddin’s oldest records went back only fifty years, and he said he had already been here before that. Myrddin’s age was a mystery, just like the origin of Adrossa.

Ren stopped at the edge of the village, where the terrain began to slope sharply. Stone markers delimited the territory. They were large and covered in moss, with runes worn away by time that no one knew how to read anymore. Beyond the markers, the mist began. Thick. White. Almost solid.

“They say the mist hides Adrossa,” Sawe said, stopping beside Ren.

“They say many things,” Ren replied, looking at the brume.

“But it’s true. Visibility drops to zero beyond the markers. When we go down to hunt… it’s like going in with our eyes closed.”

Ren knew that path. He had hunted at the base of the mountains, in the so-called Initial Forest. Always with limited visibility. Always guided by instinct or by the rope markers the hunters left behind. Never beyond that. Until now.

“And the stream?” Ren asked, changing the subject.

Sawe smiled and walked to the edge of the trail, where a small course of water cut through the stone. It was crystalline, cold, and made a soft sound as it struck the rocks. Ren crouched and observed the flow. The water did not go down. It went up. It ran toward the top of the mountain, defying gravity, climbing the mossy stones as if pulled by an invisible thread.

“This will never make sense,” Ren said, touching the water. It was freezing.

“Perhaps residual magic,” Sawe theorized, crouching beside him. “Or something like you. Myrddin says the water evaporates when it reaches the highest point, near the snowy peaks. It never goes down the mountain.”

“No one knows where it comes from,” Ren completed.

“No one knows,” Sawe agreed. “Just like they don’t know about Myrddin.”

Ren stood up and looked at the old man’s house in the center of the village. There was a line of people at the door. Sick. Injured. Asking for advice.

Myrddin was not just a healer.

He was the leader by necessity. He made the hard decisions. Said when it was safe to hunt. Said when it was safe to plant. Said who could enter. And who had to leave. Myrddin governed a place where mana was not the supreme law.

“He’s busy,” Sawe said.

“He always is,” Ren replied. “Did you prepare the bags?”

“Almost. We still need water. Uncle Norn said he can give us some mountain bear furs to withstand the cold of the lowlands.”

“Myrddin said not to take too much weight. We’ll need to be fast.”

“But we’re the ones who’ll have to carry the bags,” Sawe joked.

Ren let out something close to a laugh. They walked to the old man’s house. The line had grown shorter when they arrived. Myrddin was at the door, watching the horizon beyond the markers, beyond the mist. He was holding a different staff today, one made of light wood with metal tips. He saw Ren and waved.

“Come in,” Myrddin said before they could knock.

The inside of the cabin smelled of herbs and old paper. Myrddin was sitting at the table, organizing vials.

“You are restless,” the old man observed, without looking up.

“We have three days,” Ren said. “I want to know about the pass.”

Myrddin took the small dark metal card from the table and slid it toward Ren. Ancient inscriptions glowed faintly on the surface. “This is a Pass from the Southern Merchants’ Guild. It guarantees you won’t be stopped at human borders. It works as a safe-conduct.”

“How do you have this?” Ren asked, picking up the object. It was cold. Heavy.

Myrddin did not answer. “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that Kragg, the merchant in Gor’sha, will recognize the symbol. He owes me a favor.”

“Orcs don’t like humans,” Sawe reminded him.

“Orcs respect individual strength,” Myrddin corrected. “They are not truculent, Sawe. They are brutish. Rough. But they are not aggressive without reason. If Ren shows the pass and stays behind you, they won’t question it. They know humans without escorts in their lands are prey or spies. With the pass, you are a potential merchant.”

“And if they ask why a human is with a feline man?”

“Say you are brothers. After all, you were raised together.” Myrddin stood and went to the window. “Adrossa is safe while the mist is here. But I cannot leave the village unprotected to go with you. Someone needs to care for the residents while you are away.”

“You could close the village for a few months,” Ren suggested.

“And leave the sick without medicine? The crops without supervision?” Myrddin turned. “No. This is my place.”

Ren put the pass in his pocket. He felt the weight of the metal against his thigh.

“Leave at dawn on the third day,” Myrddin ordered. “Do not wait for the sun to rise completely. The mist is thinner at that hour.”

“Understood,” Sawe said.

“And Ren,” the old man called when they reached the door.

Ren stopped.

“Do not cause trouble in Gor’sha. Restrain yourself, please.”

“Why would I cause trouble?” Ren said.

“Well, your temper isn’t the best.”

Ren and Sawe went out into the street. The sun was beginning to set, painting the sky purple and orange. The wind blew, bringing the smell of the forest. Pine. Earth. And something else. Something metallic. Like old blood.

Ren frowned.

“Did you feel that?” he asked.

Sawe sniffed the air. His ears turned. “Feel what?”

“Nothing,” Ren said. But he knew. The world out there was waiting. The mist protected Adrossa, but it also hid what was coming toward it.

Ren looked at his hands. Calloused. Without mana. Without light. But strong. He thought of the girl on the porch, Mara’s daughter, the blacksmith Garret. All of them lived here, protected by the world’s ignorance of their existence. The village of Adrossa does not exist on maps, and to everyone outside, it is nothing more than a legend.

“Three days,” Ren said, breaking the silence.

“Three days,” Sawe confirmed. “I’ll finish the supplies. Meet me at the north entrance at dawn.”

Sawe walked away, disappearing among the houses. Ren was left alone in the central street. The shadows of the mountains grew, covering the village, covering the markers, and swallowing the mist. Adrossa would sleep safely that night. But Ren knew the dream would return. The shadows had no markers. No limits. And they knew where he was.

He entered his cabin and closed the door. The silence returned, heavy and expectant. Three days remained. And the world was about to change. Ren sat on the bed and looked at the pass in his hand. It was his only guarantee of life in orc lands. It was the key to leave the golden cage that had protected him for seventeen years. He closed his fist around the metal. There was no fear. Only the certainty that if he did not go looking for the answers, no one else would. And if the shadows came after him, let them come. He would be waiting.

©JAE-HOON