[...]

Ren carried large logs near the northern road, dragged a larger stone several meters, and reinforced broken parts of the fence. At times, Sawe had to step out of the way because Ren would turn the logs without realizing their actual size.

Even while doing all that, Ren talked about ordinary things.

“Do you think the food in Gor’sha is good?”

Sawe, who was writing down the amount of supplies on his clipboard, looked at him.

“You’re pulling a stone the size of a table, and you want to talk about food?”

“Long trips make you hungry.”

“That’s not wrong, but maybe it wouldn’t be the first thing someone would think about right now.”

Ren kept pulling the stone with one hand. It tore through the ground, leaving a furrow behind.

“So, is it good or not?”

“Depends on what you call good. Orcs eat a lot of meat. Roasted, dried, smoked, boiled. They also use strong roots and heavy spices. Some things are good. Others taste like they were prepared by someone who got angry at the pot.”

Ren thought about that.

“Meat is meat.”

“You say that now. I want to see you say it when they put something in front of you that smells like smoke, fat, and bitter root.”

“I’ll eat it.”

“You’d eat anything.”

“Not anything.”

Sawe raised an eyebrow.

“Ren, you once ate burnt bread because you said scraping off the black part was too much work.”

“And it was.”

“That is exactly the problem.”

Near the hunting trail, there was a tree loaded with fruit. Some were ripe, but too high to reach by hand. Ren stopped in front of it and looked up.

Sawe noticed.

“No.”

Ren looked at him.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“Your face did.”

“My face doesn’t talk.”

“Yes, it does. And right now, it’s saying, ‘I’m going to solve this in the worst possible way.’”

Ren looked at the tree again.

“I’m just going to knock down a few fruits.”

“With your hand?”

“With a kick.”

“Ren.”

“Lightly.”

“When you say ‘lightly,’ part of the village is in danger.”

Ren took a few steps back.

Sawe stepped away as a precaution.

Ren took a short run-up and kicked the trunk.

The impact made the entire tree shake. Fruits fell in sequence, hitting the ground like heavy rain. A few smaller branches snapped, and one of them fell near Sawe, who looked at the branch, then at Ren.

Ren began picking up the fruit.

“It worked.”

“Yes. It worked. And the tree may need advice from Myrddin after that.”

“Trees don’t need advice.”

“This one might be the first.”

Ren put the fruit into a sack.

Sawe kept staring at the mark left by the kick on the trunk.

“I remembered something.”

“What?”

“That little boar.”

Ren frowned.

“Which one?”

“The one you carried on your back up the slope. You were a child. I said it would be good exercise, and you just did it.”

Ren thought for a few seconds.

“Ah. That one.”

“You were eight.”

“Seven.”

“Eight.”

“I’m almost sure I was seven.”

Sawe shook his head.

“That doesn’t matter. The point is that the boarlet was almost your size, and you climbed half the slope with it struggling on your back.”

“It bit a lot.”

“Ren, again, that’s not the point.”

The memory became clearer. A small Ren, covered in mud, climbing a steep slope while a young boar struggled against his back. Sawe stood a few meters above him, holding a bottle of water and shouting at him not to let go before reaching the top.

Back then, Ren thought that was normal.

He thought all children trained like that. He saw woodcutters using axes and thought they were wasting time. If wood needed to be broken, all you had to do was hit it until it broke.

Sawe seemed to remember the same thing, because he laughed to himself.

“Thinking back now, I was an idiot too. If you managed to lift one stone, I would point to a bigger one and say, ‘What about that one?’ As if I were some kind of trainer.”

“You did that all the time.”

“And you obeyed.”

“You looked like you knew what you were doing.”

Sawe gave a small smile.

“I had no idea. I just thought that if you believed you could do it, then maybe you really could. And most of the time, you could. Afterward, I never knew whether I had helped you or just encouraged you to do absurd things.”

Ren stayed silent for a moment.

Then he threw the sack of fruit over his shoulder.

“It worked.”

“It worked too well.”

On the way back, small green slimes appeared near a shallow puddle beside the trail. They were gelatinous creatures, almost transparent, and while they did not pose much danger to adults, they ruined small crops and could attack distracted animals.

Sawe raised his hand.

“I’ll take care of this. It’ll be quick.”

Ren crouched before he could finish.

He picked up a few small stones from the ground and threw the first one.

The slime burst like a green bubble.

The second stone hit another.

The third passed through two at once.

Sawe remained with his hand raised, the magic not even having time to form.

Ren threw the last pebble and hit the slime that was trying to escape along the side.

Then he wiped his hand on his pants.

“Done.”

Sawe slowly lowered his hand.

“I said it would be quick.”

“It was quick.”

“I meant with magic.”

“Stone works too.”

“A lot of things work for you.”

When they returned to the village, the sky was already beginning to brighten above the mountains. The mist was still low, but thinner. Even so, the streets remained empty. Some curtains moved behind the windows. One door closed too slowly to seem casual.

Ren noticed.

So did Sawe.

“Did you notice?” Sawe asked.

“Everyone’s inside.”

“And you think that’s normal?”

Ren looked at the closed windows.

“No. But I don’t know if I want to ask.”

Sawe adjusted the backpack on his shoulder.

“Maybe it’s because of the departure. They know you’re leaving today.”

Ren kept looking at one of the houses. A small shadow, probably a child, disappeared behind the curtain when he turned his face.

“They’re acting strange.”

“Maybe they’re trying not to act strange and failing.”

Ren did not answer.

The thought bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

They went on to Ren’s cabin. Inside, the backpack was almost ready. Simple clothes. A canteen. Strips of dried meat. Hard bread. A knife. Bandages. A thick cloak folded on top.

Ren placed the sack of fruit beside the door and began fastening everything with a strap.

When he tightened the buckle, it broke.

He stared at the piece of metal in his hand.

Sawe, standing near the entrance, saw it and closed his eyes for a moment.

“Another one?”

“This one was old.”

“Ren.”

“It was.”

“You broke a new buckle yesterday.”

“That one was weak too.”

Sawe opened his own backpack, took out a spare strap, and handed it to him.

“Use this. And try not to fight it.”

Ren took the strap.

“I didn’t fight the other one.”

“You tightened it like you were trying to keep a wall from collapsing.”

“I just tightened it.”

“Then tighten it less.”

Ren let out an irritated sigh, but obeyed. This time, he fastened the strap more carefully. Even so, the leather complained a little.

Sawe pointed at his hand.

“Slower.”

“I’m going slowly.”

“Not by your standards. By the standards of things that break.”

Ren reduced his strength.

The strap held.

For now.

When they finished, the silence returned.

It was not the same cold silence from before dawn. There was something different in it. Something restrained, as if the entire village were waiting for the right moment to breathe.

Ren put the backpack on his back and looked around the cabin.

The simple bed. The old table. The dark wooden walls. The low ceiling. The small window where the morning light was beginning to enter.

That place had been his world for seventeen years.

He should have felt something greater.

Fear.

Sadness.

Maybe joy.

But what he felt was stranger than all of that. It was as if only now he realized the size of the door in front of him.

Sawe stood beside the entrance.

“Ready?”

Ren took a deep breath.

“Ready.”

“Then let’s go.”

Ren opened the door.

The cold morning air entered the cabin.

And for the first time that day, the village answered.

Bells rang in the distance.

Ren stopped immediately.

Sawe smiled faintly.

“I thought they would do something.”

Ren looked at the street.

The doors of the houses began to open, one by one. People stepped out in silence and formed small lines along the central road.

Mara was near the well, holding her daughter’s hand. Garret stood in front of the forge, his arms crossed and his apron still stained with charcoal. Uncle Norn carried a bundle of folded furs. Children peeked from behind the adults. Hunters, farmers, artisans, and elders were all there.

Ren stood still.

For a moment, he did not know what to do with his hands.

Sawe glanced at him from the corner of his eye.

“Looks like it wasn’t just need.”

Ren did not answer.

This time, he could not.

The mist moved slowly between the houses, lit by the first traces of morning. At the end of the central street, near the northern entrance, Myrddin waited, leaning on his staff.

His face was calm.

But his eyes were attentive.

Ren tightened his grip on the straps of his backpack.

The beginning of the journey was right in front of him.

But before leaving, he still had to cross the village.

And for the first time, all of Adrossa was awake to see him go.

©JAE-HOON