As usual, Ren woke early, his body accustomed to the demands of survival. The streets were eerily silent, the morning mist curling through the alleys like ghostly fingers. The scent of damp stone and distant smoke lingered in the air as he moved through the ruins of a city long forgotten by prosperity.
His pace was steady, his mind already on the day's work, until a faint presence tickled the edge of his awareness. His steps slowed.
He glanced over his shoulder. "You've been following me for a while. If you need something, just say it."
The man from the night before stepped forward, a small smirk tugging at his lips. "Impressive. Most wouldn't have noticed me at all, let alone called me out so easily." His tone held genuine admiration.
Ren turned fully, facing him. The man's stance was relaxed, but his eyes held intent—sharp and studying.
"You've got good instincts, kid," the man continued. "Not just anyone has that kind of awareness. It's a rare thing, especially around here."
Ren said nothing.
The man exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Listen. I've seen that look in your eyes before—the kind that refuses to break, no matter how much the world tries to crush it. People like you don't just scrape by, they rise. And I could use someone like that."
Ren frowned slightly. "Use?"
"Join us," the man said. "You're wasting yourself working for scraps. I can offer you more—a real chance to survive, to thrive. The streets don't have to own you, Ren. You could own them."
Ren let out a quiet breath, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small shake of his head, he turned away. "Not interested."
The man's smirk faltered. "You don't even know what I'm offering."
Ren took a few steps forward but then stopped. Without turning, he spoke.
"I know exactly who you are." His voice was calm, deliberate. "Lukas, the Silver Jackal—thief, smuggler, and the kind of man who takes what he wants because he knows no one will stop him."
Lukas arched a brow, surprised. "You've done your homework."
Ren turned his head slightly, just enough for his expression to be seen—cold, yet not unkind. "I don't judge you. This world doesn't give people like us much choice. Some steal, some beg, some rot in the streets." He exhaled, his gaze steady. "But I'm not a thief, Lukas. Not because I think I'm better… but because I know exactly what it means to have something taken from you."
For the first time, Lukas was silent.
Ren faced forward again and continued walking. "Find someone else."
Lukas watched him disappear into the mist, a slow grin forming on his lips.
"Interesting."
The sun hung high, a merciless overseer to those beneath it. Ren's body ached, his muscles burning with each heavy lift. His hands, rough from years of labor, gripped the thick ropes as he hoisted another sack onto the cart. Dust clung to his sweat-drenched skin, and every breath tasted of earth and exhaustion.
Around him, other workers groaned and wiped their brows, muttering curses about the heat. Some paused to stretch their aching backs, while others simply collapsed onto nearby crates, waiting for the midday bell to signal their lunch break.
But Ren?
He didn't stop.
As the others settled down to eat, he walked past them, heading toward a secluded part of the estate—the open courtyard behind the nobles' house, where the grass grew wild and no one bothered to tread.
There, he picked up a fallen branch, heavier than most, its weight solid in his grip.
He exhaled, adjusting his stance.
With a sharp pivot, he swung.
The branch cut through the air, the force behind it rippling outward. The grass beneath his feet trembled, dust lifting from the ground as if startled by the movement. He spun, striking again—each swing more controlled, more precise.
Wind curled around him with every motion, following the arc of his strikes, as if the air itself acknowledged his power. His grip tightened, muscles coiling, movements fluid yet forceful.
Then, for just a moment, he hesitated.
Ma…
The thought crept in before he could push it away. His fingers clenched around the branch. The weight of her absence settled in his chest, pressing down, suffocating.
Frustration surged through him. He turned sharply, swinging the branch once more—
A voice.
"Well, that was almost impressive."
Ren froze.
The branch had stopped inches from a young woman's face.
She didn't flinch. Not even a blink. The only reaction was the soft sway of her dark hair, brushed aside by the wind his strike had created.
She smiled. "If I had a sword, I'd say this was a dramatic duel entrance."
Ren lowered the branch, eyes narrowing slightly. "Lyra."
Lyra—the noble family's maid, though she never acted like one. Her uniform was neat, her apron pristine, but her posture was far from that of a demure servant. She carried herself like a warrior—head high, steps light, like she could dodge an attack at any moment.
She gestured to the tray she had placed on the ground. "I brought you food, by the way. You know, like a proper maid should. Very obedient. Very professional." She placed a hand on her hip. "But if I'm being honest, I think I'd rather spar with you than serve you lunch."
Ren gave her a dry look. "You know, normal maids don't say things like that."
She grinned. "Normal maids also don't practice footwork while serving tea, but here we are." She stretched slightly, cracking her knuckles. "Honestly, watching you swing that thing? I got a little jealous."
Ren sighed, shaking his head. "You call that jealousy? I call it a problem."
Lyra smirked. "Says the guy training in secret with a stick instead of eating like a sane person." She crossed her arms, tapping her foot. "So, what's the deal? You planning on fighting off an invading army with tree branches, or is this just a tragic hobby?"
Ren sat down near the tray, grabbing the cup of water first. "Tragic hobby," he muttered.
Lyra flopped onto the grass beside him, resting her chin in her hand. "Pity. You swing like you actually mean it."
Ren took a bite of the bread, chewing slowly before glancing at her. "And you talk like you should've been born with a sword in your hand."
Lyra sighed dramatically. "Oh, don't remind me. But alas, fate had different plans." She gestured vaguely at her maid uniform. "Instead, I am but a humble servant, doomed to polish silverware and serve arrogant nobles." Then she grinned. "And occasionally sneak food to stubborn workaholics."
Ren huffed a laugh. "I'll take it. Better than dealing with those nobles myself."
She leaned back, looking up at the sky. "You know… one day, when I finally snap and decide to abandon this charming career path, I might just become a mercenary."
Ren raised a brow. "Yeah? And what, duel every person who looks at you funny?"
She grinned. "You say that like it's a bad thing."
He shook his head, taking another bite of food. "You're insane."
Lyra stretched her arms with a content sigh. "And yet, you still eat the food I bring. Who's the real fool here, Ren?"
Ren just rolled his eyes.
For a moment, there was silence between them. Comfortable. The weight in Ren's chest didn't feel as suffocating anymore.
Maybe, just for a little while, he could let himself breathe.
Lyra nudged the tray closer to Ren with her foot. "Eat faster. We're going out after work."
Ren paused mid-bite, eyes narrowing. "No, we're not."
She gasped, clutching her chest like he had just mortally wounded her. "You haven't even heard where we're going!"
"Doesn't matter." He took another bite, chewing slowly. "Not interested."
Lyra scoffed. "You say that, but you don't even have plans."
"I do, actually," Ren countered. "My plan is to go home, sleep, and not get dragged into whatever ridiculous idea you have this time."
Lyra leaned forward, resting her chin on her hands. "Come on, Ren. You never go anywhere. Work, home, repeat. You're like a sad little clock that only ticks in two directions."
Ren exhaled through his nose. "Sounds efficient to me."
Lyra groaned dramatically. "See, this is why you need me in your life. I'm doing you a service. What if I told you this was important?"
Ren gave her a flat look. "It's not."
She smirked. "But it could be."
"No."
"Yes."
"No."
"Yes."
"Lyra."
"Ren."
They locked eyes.
Silence.
Then Lyra grinned. "You're going."
Ren pinched the bridge of his nose. "Why do I feel like I've already lost this argument?"
"Because you have." She sat back, looking smug. "And before you ask—no, I'm not telling you where we're going. It's a surprise."
Ren sighed. "That doesn't make me feel any better."
"It's not supposed to." She patted his shoulder like he was some poor, unfortunate soul. "Just trust me. You'll love it."
Ren doubted that.
Deeply.
But somehow—some ridiculous way—he still found himself muttering, "Fine."
Lyra beamed. "Excellent choice, my dear tragic workaholic."
Ren just stared at her, already regretting everything.