Renn woke to the smell of herbs and smoke. Not the violent, choking smoke of fire—but the bitter, medicinal kind that clung to walls and cloth.
His vision blurred, then slowly cleared. Wooden ceiling. Worn beams. A dim lantern flickering beside him.
"…You're awake."
An old man sat nearby, carefully grinding leaves into a paste. His voice was steady, but tired.
Renn blinked. "Doctor… Rowend?"
The man gave a small nod. Doctor Rowend, the village healer—quiet, observant, and never one for unnecessary words.
"You've been unconscious for three days," Rowend said. "Your body nearly gave out."
Renn's breath caught.
"Three days…?"
Pain shot through him as he tried to sit up. His chest tightened, breath uneven.
"The fire—" he rasped. "My home—my grandmother—!"
The doctor's hands paused.For a moment, he said nothing.Then quietly— "There were no survivors found in that area." The words landed heavier than any wound.
Renn forced himself to stand despite the pain.
"No," he said under his breath. "She's not… she can't be…"
The doctor didn't stop him. Perhaps he knew there was no point.
The village was quieter now. Too quiet. Charred remains stood where homes once were. Blackened wood. Collapsed roofs. The faint scent of ash still lingered in the air.
Renn walked through it all like a ghost. His steps slowed as he reached what used to be his home. Or what was left of it. Nothing but scorched ground and broken fragments.
"…Grandmother?"
No answer. Only wind. He stepped forward, searching—desperately, blindly—through debris, ash staining his hands.
"No… no, there has to be something…"
His foot struck something solid. Half-buried beneath charred wood was a small old box. Unlike everything else around it… It wasn't burned. Renn hesitated before picking it up.
"…What is this?"
The surface was marked with the same unknown crest he had seen on the scarf. Worn. Faded. But unmistakable.
His chest tightened. With shaking hands, he opened it. Inside were fragments of a past no one remembered: A piece of cloth bearing the same crest, a small, aged emblem—metal, cold, untouched by time, and a folded strip of parchment, too worn to read fully
Valehart.
The name echoed in his mind.Not from memory—but from something deeper.
Renn closed the box slowly. His hands no longer trembled.
"They came for me…" he said quietly. "And she knew."
The scarf. The dreams. The Trial.
His grandmother's words burned clearer now than the fire that took everything else.
"If you want answers… survive tonight."
Renn stood.
"…Then I'll find them."
At the far end of the village stood the stone hall—one of the few buildings that remained intact. Inside, a man was already waiting. Eldrich Thorne, the village chief. Calm. Grounded. The kind of man who carried responsibility without ever speaking of it.
"You're on your feet," Eldrich said. "Good."
Renn didn't waste time. "I need to leave."
Eldrich studied him for a moment.
"…For the Trial."
Renn didn't answer. He didn't need to. Eldrich exhaled slowly, then turned toward the open doorway.
"I was hoping you wouldn't choose that path. But after what happened… I suppose you were never meant to stay here."
Outside, a carriage stood ready. Strong, reinforced—prepared for long travel. Renn's eyes narrowed slightly. "You knew I would go."
Eldrich nodded once.
"Your grandmother came to me before the incident."
Renn's chest tightened. "…What did she say?"
Eldrich's voice softened, just slightly.
"She said if anything were to happen… I must make sure you reach the Trial."
Silence. Renn tightened his grip on the box.
"It's a two-day journey to the Kingdom," Eldrich continued. "The roads aren't safe, but this will get you there."
Renn looked at the carriage. Two days to leave behind everything. Two days to step into the unknown that had been calling him his entire life.
"…Thank you," Renn said quietly.
Eldrich gave a small nod. "Find your answers, Renn."
"And come back alive, if that is still possible."
Renn climbed into the carriage. As it began to move, he looked back one last time. At the ashes. At the silence. At the place where she should have been.
"…I'll find you," he whispered.
The wheels turned. The distance grew. And Renn Valehart, a name the world had long forgotten, began his journey toward the Trial of Selection.