The sun had barely begun to rise. The sky was still painted with hues of pink and orange, casting a warm glow over the small village nestled on the edge of the mountains. It was a quiet morning. Birds sang their usual chorus, and the sound of wind rustling through the trees carried with it a sense of calm—one that, in an instant, would be shattered.

Ren, a young boy of fifteen, stood by the window of his modest home, staring out into the fields where the wheat had started to grow thick. His father, a former warrior turned farmer, was out in the fields, tending to their crops. His mother, ever busy with housework, hummed a lullaby as she swept the floor.

Today should have been like any other.

But as Ren's gaze lingered on the horizon, a dark shadow stretched across the valley. The air shifted.

He couldn't quite place it. Something was wrong.

It wasn't long before the first scream shattered the quiet morning.

Ren's heart raced as the shrill sound of panic filled the air. The tranquility of the village was instantly replaced with chaos. His mother's face turned pale as she rushed toward him, pulling him away from the window.

"Ren! Get to the cellar! Now!" she shouted.

He tried to protest, but his mother's grip was firm and unyielding. "Stay hidden. Do not leave until I tell you," she demanded, pushing him toward the trapdoor that led to the cellar beneath the house.

He wanted to stay. He wanted to help, but the fear in her eyes silenced any words of defiance. In the distance, Ren could hear the heavy thuds of footsteps, the sound of metal clanging, and men shouting—strangers, enemies.

Ren's hands clenched into fists. He didn't know what was happening, but he could feel the weight of the moment. Something was happening to his world. Something terrible.

As he descended into the cellar, he heard the sounds of swords clashing and the screams of people fighting for their lives. It was too much. His heart pounded in his chest, but he had no choice. He couldn't run. Not yet. His family was here.

"Mom… Dad…"

Minutes stretched into what felt like hours. Ren crouched in the darkness, clutching his breath. Through the thin wooden slats of the cellar, he could see the faintest glimmer of light from the upper floor. The sounds of the attack above grew louder. The door to the cellar creaked open.

Footsteps. Heavy. Familiar.

Ren's eyes widened, his pulse quickening as he saw his father's silhouette in the doorway. But there was no joy, no relief. His father stood there, his clothes soaked with blood, a look of grim determination on his face. His hand gripped a sword—the same sword Ren had seen him wield during his days as a warrior. But now, it was stained with crimson.

"Ren…" His father's voice was low and strained. "Stay down here. Don't make a sound."

Before Ren could respond, his father turned and vanished into the shadows.

Ren didn't know why, but he obeyed. He waited, trembling with anxiety, until the door was slammed shut once more.

It wasn't long after that when Ren heard his father's final scream—a cry that tore through the very core of his being.

"FATHER!"

The door burst open, and Ren could see the silhouette of a figure—a large man—standing in the doorway. His breath came in shallow gasps. Ren's eyes, blurry with tears, locked onto the figure as it stepped into the light.

The man's armor was dark and adorned with grotesque symbols. His mask—hideous and contorted—seemed to mock everything that Ren's family had once stood for. He was tall, towering over Ren's weakened form, and there was an air of dark power emanating from him.

"Run, boy," the man sneered. "There's nothing left here for you. Go, before I change my mind."

Ren's body trembled. His instincts screamed for him to run, to flee as fast as he could, but his legs betrayed him. He could barely move. His heart was gripped by fear—fear so deep it cut into his bones.

But then, just as he was about to be swept into despair, there was a faint flicker of movement—a glint of steel in the corner of his vision.

His mother.

With a soft gasp, Ren saw his mother, bloodied but still standing. She rushed forward, wielding a small dagger, her eyes burning with a ferocity he had never seen before.

"Ren, RUN!" she cried, her voice shaking with emotion. "Get out of here!"

Ren's body moved before he could process what was happening. The cellar door flew open, and he sprinted into the night. His mother's voice followed him, calling him back, but he couldn't stop. The world was collapsing around him, and all he could do was run.

He didn't know how far he ran, or for how long. All he knew was that his world was gone.

By the time Ren reached the edge of the village, the sun had long since set. His body was covered in dirt and blood. He could still hear the distant sounds of destruction, but there was nothing he could do. His family. His home. Everything he knew—gone.

"What now?"

He could still hear his father's final words echoing in his mind: "Don't make a sound."

But how could he not? How could he ignore the pain that coursed through him like a flood of fire? He was alone now. In this vast, chaotic world.

"I have to survive…"