Coming to, Ren regained his bearings as he pushed off the sandy edge of the watering hole with his wrinkled fingers—a sign that he had lingered for far longer than he should have—his eyes red and swollen, with bags beneath them seemingly pulled down by the weight of his grief. Thin streaks traced his face from the edges of his eyelids, the trails of his tears curling downward like rivers, twisting and curling as they streamed toward his mouth. The salt was still detectable, like he had been swimming in the ocean for the past few minutes, constantly submerging himself.

But that was enough. Grief was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Not here. Not now.

‘Enough. I can’t afford to wallow in grief. I’ve got to survive. That's all I have left.’

Rising to his feet, Ren donned his torn clothing, his left shoulder aching as he struggled to fit into his tight clothes—an old gift from his late parents. Strapping the hilt of the falchion back onto his waist, he interlocked his fingers before pushing them outward, a loud crack echoing from them. He stretched his back as far as he could, his right hand resting on his waist, twisting his back further, more cracks coming from his lean body.

‘That hits the spot. Now, what next? I need to find another group soon, or I may just become Monster food.’

Taking out a chunk of meat from his hiking bag—usually dragged along to avoid obstructing combat—he took a large bite out of it, not unlike the one that Hound made the night before. The meat of the fell Beast was hard but juicy. Its rich and beefy flavours melted on his tongue with the texture of rubber. Ren did not know what to think of it, whether he liked it or not. Alas, he would have to ration it so that he would not starve.

There was nothing out here but death, and that thought gnawed at him like a hungry Ren. If he stayed too long in the open, he would just be another meal. The only way to survive was to keep moving, to find people, to find a group.

He couldn’t afford to isolate himself again.

Loneliness meant death.

And that did not align with his mother’s wishes.

Taking one last drink of water, fully quenching his parched throat, Ren walked across his previous trail, his steps soft and movements deliberate—like a tiger stalking its prey—moving with utmost stealth. Well, however stealthy he could be in broad daylight—sun hanging directly above him, leaving not even shadows in its blinding radiance—with dead plants lining his path.

His mind drifted again while he aimlessly walked across the land. Although he never fully let down his guard, the presence of the welcoming embrace of sunlight inciting Ren’s confidence in his enhanced sense of sight and hearing to at least be able to spot and escape danger without fail.

The truth was, he did not inherit that unshaking resolve of his father, nor the optimism and warmth of his mother. All he had was the dying wish of his mother and the incomplete words of wisdom passed down by his father, both of whom he could not even recall the names of anymore.

His mother’s words echoed faintly, but even they were fading, like embers dimming with time. Survival was a thin knot to cling to, and it was untangling fast.

He was running out of fuel.

Not in the literal sense of food or water.

But his actual motivation.

What motivation was there to continue living? The words of his parents would turn hollow soon enough, unable to sustain the embers of survival, once a great inferno, reduced to mere sparks.

Ren had walked for what seemed like hours, the sunlight starting to grow dim. His mind was more focused on the rumbling in his stomach than the imminent danger, and yet he knew that he had to keep moving. Resting was a luxury he couldn’t afford.

As he trudged forward, a faint sound broke the monotony of chirps and buzzing—the barely audible hum of voices in the distance. His senses immediately heightened, the stealthy movements from earlier now a natural reflex. Ren crouched down instinctively, eyes scanning the horizon.

The voices got louder, and his heart raced. A group? A trap?

His hand instinctively tightened around the falchion hilt, attempting to eavesdrop on their conversation.

He took another cautious step forward, his approach slow and deliberate as he followed the voices. Each one felt like a lifeline, a thread he could grasp, but doubt grounded him. What if they weren’t friendly? What if this was another group of Hunters, preying on the weak?

But then, as he drew closer, something in the air shifted. The voices were warm, familiar, devoid of malice. His body relaxed, just a fraction.

Ren took one more step closer.

Out of the trees, a small group emerged. Two men, one woman—a group of travellers, possibly refugees like him. His eyes narrowed, scanning them for any weapons or signs of hostility. A shield and bow. But they seemed to be only concerned with one thing—survival, just like him.

“We should camp now, prepare for the night.” The bulky man said, debating with the built archer, whose back was disproportionately bigger compared to the rest of his lanky body.

“No, we should camp at night after finding a safer, closed space. That way even if Beasts attack, they would have to funnel through a small area and I can pick them off one by one.” The archer shot back, his gaze sharper than Ren’s falchion could ever be.

Without a word, Ren stepped forward, making his presence known. His voice was low and steady, trying his best not to sound intimidating.

“I agree with the big guy.” Ren said as he introduced himself, a wide grin plastered across his face, his short hair swept to the side by a strong gust of wind with both arms up in the air to signal his non-aggression.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

The two men instinctively hopped back, wary of the newcomer. The bulky man lifted his wooden shield, plated with metal around its edges for added protection against claws and slashes. The archer took aim, drawing his compound bow back, muscles taut with tension under the weight of the string, its arrow aimed for Ren’s head.

As for the younger girl, she did not move, whether a sign of trust or inexperience Ren did not know.

Processing their reactions, Ren kept his hands raised, trying to not provoke the deadly shot of the archer.

“No offence, but if I was a Hunter one of you would be dead by now.” Ren said matter of factly, gesturing to his falchion—still sheathed in its scabbard.

Glancing at one another as if they were having telepathic communication, the bulky man nodded his head and withdrew his shield while the archer remained on guard, hand still on the drawn string.

‘Take the girl hostage maybe? No, if they were Hunters they would shoot straight through her. Go for the tall one, I could dodge an arrow or two.’ Ren considered if they turned hostile.

Extending a warm hand outwards, the shield of the party greeted Ren. “Sup’? I’m Daniel, that tall guy’s Archie and she’s Lest. We’re refugees of a Hunter group.”

“Any funny business and I’ll shoot an arrow through your skull.” Archie chimed from behind voice cold and aloof, pulling Lest closer to him with a yelp.

‘Well that’s… scary… and really ominous. Why’s he so cautious? I literally have both hands up, plus my blade and sheathed… Sheathed! The audacity! He just wants to shoot me!’

“And I’m Ren, a newly made orphan thanks to those Hunters, nice to meet you.” Ren replied, slowly moving his hands down to shake Daniel’s rough, firm hands. Exchanging greetings, he felt the callous and strong grip of Daniel, the supposed leader of the group.

‘At least someone’s reliable’ Ren assumed, Daniel’s calm demeanour and confident presence—along with his steady tone—radiating a sense of experience. Like he was a hardened veteran, tempered by the methods of the Hunters and refined by the unforgiving jungle.

Like he was a stoic glimmer of hope in this bleak world.

Like dad.

Just as his father once had, Daniel’s quiet strength hinted at resilience that no hardship could break, and for the first time in a long while, Ren felt a flicker of trust.

‘Dad…I may not have you anymore, but maybe…just maybe I could believe in him, like I once did with you.’

Shaking his head Ren snapped back to the present.

‘No, what matters most is me. Any sign of danger and I’m running, it doesn't matter how much he’s like dad. Only I matter. Only survival matters.’

“Let’s get moving.” Daniel’s voice spoke, full of certainty, and Ren’s gaze snapped back to the group. They were already in motion, comfortable in each other’s presence despite the immediate threat of the world around them.

“We have two votes for camping now, right? We should quickly find a nice spot and set up a base.” He spoke, trying to lighten the mood.

“Oh, and call me Dan.” He said, with a wide grin plastered across his bearded face.

Archie, still with a sharp eye on the surroundings, nodded reluctantly and continued with a slight grunt, his long limbs carrying him swiftly despite his careful approach.

“Oh, so a raaaandom newcomer has the same voting power as me! How wonderful!” Archie proclaimed, arms tossed into the air in mock frustration. The atmosphere around him—who had just tried to impale Ren with an arrow—changing from serious to joking in a blink.

Lest was more hesitant, trailing behind the two men. She hadn’t said much since their first exchange, but Ren caught glimpses of her glancing at him, eyes filled with curiosity, like she had never seen someone so…Ren-like before.

Dan led the enclave, his pace steady as he scanned the surroundings. “This is a good spot.” he said suddenly, his voice firm. “There's water here, and enough cover to escape in an ambush.”

Ren agreed with the decision. “I have food if anyone’s hungry, although it’s supposed to be for me…” he grumbled, opening his hiking pack, its bottom dirty and slightly torn from being dragged around like a dead body.

“Who’s gonna take first watch?.” Archie said from somewhere behind Ren, scaring him for a second time today.

Lest, still quiet, nodded slowly. “I’ll gather some kindling.” Her voice was soft, but there was no fear in it—only practicality. It was clear she had grown accustomed to this life of constant vigilance, but lacking the experience of Daniel and the seriousness of Archie.

“I’ll come with, Lest, you can’t fight.” Dan interrupted.

“Fine,” Ren muttered, tossing his bag to Archie. “I’ll take first watch then.” He moved off to the side, his senses on high alert despite the setting sun still emitting its light. Even in broad daylight, one had to be alert.

The group quickly went to work, setting up a fire pit in the centre of the small clearing surrounded by dense trees with the kindling gathered by Lest and Dan. It would be their only source of warmth and light once the sun dipped below the horizon, after all—making sure it would not die on you was key.

The fire was not yet lit, its components were sitting still in the middle of the group, surrounded by rocks. Ren allowed himself to relax—just a little. It felt strange, letting his guard down even for a moment, but in this new group, he couldn’t help but feel something so familiar yet so foreign: a flicker of hope.

Ren had observed something whilst on lookout duty. Signs of real camaraderie. Not the willy-nilly kind between strangers who had band together for survival's sake. But real trust. Glimpses of it showed, even in the short time-frame he was with them. While collecting wood, he saw Dan teaching Lest, pointing out signs of useful firewood. Sometime later, Archie had joined them, cracking up some unfunny jokes with them, lightheartedly relieving their stress.

“Rest while you can,” Dan said, his voice gruff.

“Tomorrow, we celebrate a new friend!” he continued, voice suddenly tinged with excitement, fist pumped into the air like there was a Hound above him.

Sadly, no one entertained the middle-aged man, his shoulders slumping down as he realised their neglect.

Archie was silently sharpening his arrows, Lest was already curled up with her back to a tree, and Ren was watching the surroundings with vigilance. It was strange to be among people like this—people who, despite the world’s madness, still had the capacity to look out for each other and even crack jokes.

For the first time in a long while, Ren allowed himself to breathe.

He hadn’t felt like this in so long, something worth fighting for other than survival. Dan’s calm strength was familiar, too familiar. It reminded him of his father. But that didn’t matter. No, trust was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Yet, as they gathered around, something like a spark of hope flickered inside him. Just a spark. Not much. But maybe, just maybe, these people—these strangers—could give him a reason to fight for more than just himself.

But even as the fire crackled and the night settled in around them, Ren’s resolve—however shaky it was—never fully wavered. Survival was still his only goal, and it would always come first.

Still… he couldn’t shake the feeling that, just maybe, these people might give him a reason to fight for something more.

A motivation to survive, not just for his mom.

But for himself.

To truly live.