Eldermire woke the same way it always did—slow, warm, and unbothered by the rest of the world.
Roosters called from distant roofs. Smoke curled from chimneys. Dirt paths carried the weight of familiar footsteps. Nothing in the village ever felt rushed, as if time itself had agreed to take its time here.
At the edge of it all, Renn Valehart was already working.
A heavy bundle of firewood rested on his shoulder as he walked through the village path like it weighed nothing at all.
"Morning again, Renn," an old man by the well called out. "You ever sleep late like normal people?"
Renn adjusted the wood slightly. "I tried once. Didn't like it."
The old man chuckled. "That explains a lot."
From a nearby house, a woman leaned out the window. "Don't forget the grain sacks this time!"
"I won't," Renn replied.
"You said that last time!"
"I still didn't forget," he said calmly. "I just gave them away."
"THAT'S WORSE!" she shouted, though she was laughing.
A group of children ran past him, kicking up dust.
"Renn! Race you to the river!" one of them shouted.
"You'll lose," Renn said immediately.
"That's what you said yesterday!"
"And yesterday was correct."
The kids screamed in protest and bolted forward.
Renn sighed lightly… and then moved.
Not running.
Not accelerating.
Just gone.
A blur of motion crossed the dirt path, wind snapping in his wake. The children hadn't even reached the bend when he was already standing at the riverbank, crouched beside a snare he had set earlier.
The forest rustled.
A deer froze nearby.
Then bolted—too late.
Renn was already there again.
A soft crack echoed as he caught it cleanly by the antlers, stopping its full sprint mid-motion without a struggle. The ground beneath his feet barely shifted.
He blinked once.
"…You're faster today," he muttered to the animal.
From behind him, the hunter who had been sharpening his blade at the river earlier arrived—only just reaching the clearing.
He stopped.
"…You ran again, didn't you?" the hunter asked slowly.
Renn straightened. "They challenged me."
"That wasn't a challenge. That was children running for fun."
Renn tilted his head. "Same thing."
The hunter stared at the deer, then at Renn, then back at the deer.
"That thing should've been gone before I even heard it move," the hunter said.
"It tried," Renn replied simply. "I was faster."
The hunter exhaled. "You talk like that's normal."
Renn shrugged. "Isn't it?"
A long silence followed.
Then the hunter shook his head. "You're going to break something one day."
"I try not to break things," Renn said.
"That's not what I meant."
Renn didn't respond.
He just walked the deer back toward the village like it was no heavier than firewood.
By midday, Eldermire had already accepted his return as usual.
"Did you catch it again?" one farmer asked.
"Yes."
"With your hands?"
"It was faster that way."
The farmer laughed nervously. "That's not how hunting works…"
"It worked," Renn said.
No one argued after that.
They never really did.
Because things like that—things that shouldn't be possible—became easier to accept when they happened often enough.
Later, while carrying grain sacks across the square, Renn balanced three heavy loads on one shoulder without slowing down. A man nearby tried to help him adjust the weight, only to realize the sacks barely shifted in Renn's grip.
"Are those… heavier than last season?" the man asked.
Renn glanced at them. "No."
"…Then why do they feel like stone to me?"
"I don't know," Renn said honestly. "Maybe you're just weaker today."
The man laughed, half offended, half impressed.
By evening, the village had settled again into its quiet rhythm.
Renn sat at the edge of the fields as the sun lowered, a younger boy dropping down beside him.
"Renn," the boy asked, "why are you so strong?"
Renn thought for a moment.
"I don't really feel strong," he said.
The boy frowned. "That's not fair."
Renn smiled faintly. "Nothing here is supposed to be fair."
The boy laughed and pushed his arm lightly. "You're weird."
"I know."
And as the sky turned gold over Eldermire, life continued exactly as it always had