CHAPTER 38: REN’S MEMORIES [1]

"Ren, wake up! Wake up, honey!"

A soft voice rang in his ears—gentle, warm, filled with care.

Ren?

But... I’m Leon.

He wanted to speak, to question, to move, but nothing responded. His limbs didn’t stir. His mouth wouldn’t open. His body wasn’t listening.

Wait... I can’t control anything. Is this even my body?

His eyes opened slowly—yet not by his will.

What he saw was unfamiliar.

A woman stood before him, gently shaking his shoulder. Her face radiated kindness, with soft eyes and a voice that could melt even the hardest of mornings. She looked to be in her late thirties, maybe early forties—carrying the warmth of someone who had loved deeply and long. There was no mistaking it—she was a mother.

Her smile grew as she noticed his eyes open.

"There you are. Come on, Ren, breakfast is getting cold," she said with a laugh.

What... is all this?

He tried to speak, but again—nothing. His consciousness was adrift inside a body that moved without him.

Are these... Ren’s memories?

Am I inside his past?

"Son, are you doing well in your school?" Ren’s father asked with a warm smile.

He looked to be in his early thirties—well-kept, composed, the kind of man who carried his presence with calm strength. The dining room they sat in was modest but cozy. Wooden walls, soft lighting, and a neatly set table with four chairs—one for each family member.

Ren, still small in size and voice, blinked up at him. "Where is sister?"

His voice was high-pitched, light and innocent—clearly that of a child. He must be around seven

, Leon thought from within, quietly observing this memory play out.

"She’s at the forge again—making another weapon, can you believe it?" Mother answered from across the table, gently patting Ren’s head as she placed a bowl of rice in front of him.

"What?" the father blinked. "I saw her working on a weapon just yesterday. Another one already?"

"She’s taken quite the interest in forging," the mother chuckled, placing a hand to her mouth in amusement. "I think she might become a blacksmith."

"We’ve got a strong daughter, don’t we?" the father said, laughing heartily.

"I’m strong too!" Ren declared, puffing out his cheeks and crossing his little arms.

Leon could feel it—the childish pout, the indignation, the determination.

"Yes, yes, of course you are," his mother said, smiling brightly as she leaned over and pinched his cheek.

Warmth. Safety. Happiness.

This world—Ren’s world—was full of light.

But why am I seeing this?

And... what happened to this peaceful family?

After finishing his breakfast, little Ren made his way to the door. His small hands reached up, struggling with the latch until—click—it finally gave in. With a victorious little push, the door opened, and Ren stepped outside.

The world beyond felt enormous.

Everything towered over him—the trees, the houses, even the hills in the distance. The village stretched peacefully around him, the gentle sound of sheep bleating in the fields mixing with the rustle of grass in the morning breeze. Shepherds moved slowly in the distance, guiding their flocks with sticks in hand. The grass beneath Ren’s bare feet was cool and soft, shimmering a bright, healthy green under the sunlight.

To his left stood a small shed, worn and dark with age, made of cobblestone. From inside, came a rhythmic clang—metal against metal, the telltale sound of forging. Curious, Ren waddled toward it, each step with tiny effort, his little legs working hard.

Peeking through the open doorway, he saw her.

A girl around twelve, sleeves rolled up, hammering away at a glowing strip of metal. Her hair stuck to her forehead from sweat, and her clothes were damp from the heat inside. Despite the heavy work, her eyes shone with focus and pride. The inside of the shed was filled with tools, partially formed weapons, and the warm glow of the forge fire. Smoke drifted upward into a chimney carved into the ceiling.

This girl... I know that face, Leon thought, watching from within. But older. I’ve seen it before... I just can’t remember where.

The girl looked up and smiled.

"Hey, Ren. Come here."

Excited, little Ren ran toward her with hurried, eager steps. As he reached her side, she casually grabbed the hem of his shirt and wiped the sweat from her face with it, laughing softly. Ren giggled—until—

Her grip slipped.

The glowing hot iron she’d just been holding with her tongs fell.

Hiss—!

It landed squarely on Ren’s small hand.

A sharp, burning scream echoed through the shed as Ren jerked back, tears bursting from his eyes. He clutched his hand, face contorted in pain, wailing louder and louder.

The girl’s eyes widened in shock and horror.

"I—I’m so sorry!" she gasped, rushing to him.

She dropped to her knees and pulled him into a tight embrace, rubbing his burned hand in panic, trying desperately to soothe him.

"It’s okay! It’s okay, Ren! I didn’t mean to—!"

Her voice was shaking. Her arms were trembling. She held him close, rocking slightly, as if willing the pain to go away just by being there.

---

Leon’s body tensed on the hospital bed. Though unconscious, his fingers curled into the blanket, gripping it tightly. His breath hitched, and a subtle grimace spread across his face—as if he were in pain.

Alexia noticed it immediately.

Her eyes shifted to his hand, then to his face. The slight twitch in his brow. The barely audible sound of teeth grinding. He was feeling something. Something intense.

Is he dreaming... or reliving it? she wondered. Then clenched her fists. Because of me, my junior has to suffer even in his sleep...

Her expression remained calm.

She reached out.

With a gentle touch, her hand rested on Leon’s forehead. A faint glow shimmered from her palm as she cast a simple healing spell—basic, but enough to dull the pain in his nerves and let him rest more easily.

---

In the memory, little Ren had quieted down. His sobs were now soft hiccups, his tear-streaked cheeks pressed gently against his sister’s shoulder. She held him tightly, arms wrapped around his tiny frame like a protective shell, unwilling to let him go—afraid the pain might return the moment she did.

"I... am... ok... now," Ren sniffled, his voice trembling as he wiped his face with the back of his sleeve.

She slowly pulled away, her eyes filled with guilt and worry. "Just wait here, okay? Don’t move."

Lifting him carefully, she carried him out of the shed and gently placed him down on the grass. She locked the shed door behind her—just to make sure he wouldn’t wander in again—and hurried off to fetch the first aid kit.

Not long after, she returned, a box clutched in her arms, kneeling beside her little brother. With delicate hands, she cleaned and wrapped his burn. She didn’t speak much—only watched his face, flinching at every twitch of pain he showed.

That night, their parents scolded her. Not angrily, but firmly. She stood there, head lowered, accepting their words. She knew she deserved it.

Later, after the house had gone quiet and the lights were dim, she tiptoed into Ren’s room. His tiny form was curled beneath a soft blanket.

She slipped out of her dirty clothes, changed into something clean, and climbed into bed beside him. Wrapping her arms around him from behind, she hugged him tightly, burying her face in his back.

"Sorry... little brother," she whispered.

And though he was half asleep, Ren’s small fingers reached out, clutching her hand gently in return.

After some days passed in little Ren’s life, there was nothing special for anyone to see—but for Leon, it was perfect. A life with loving parents and a caring sister.

Then, one day, in the peaceful village, something unexpected happened.

The Lysandra Family’s eighth daughter—Princess Celestine Lysandra—arrived. Her palanquin, surrounded by guards, stopped in the middle of the village. All the villagers were gathered to witness her presence. Most of them were old folks... except for little Ren and his sister, the only young ones standing among the crowd.

The palanquin curtains drew open. A young girl around Ren’s age, in a rich purple dress stepped out gracefully. Her hair flowed like silk, and her presence felt unreal.

Celestine slowly walked toward Ren and his sister, her eyes calm and royal. She stopped in front of them and bent a little.

"Nice to meet you. What’s your name?" she asked gently.

Ren looked up at her—completely stunned. At first glance, his little heart skipped a beat. His cheeks turned red.

"R-Ren..." he mumbled, barely able to speak.

Celestine smiled. That soft smile, not too wide but warm enough to make his heart flutter.

"Ren? That’s a lovely name," she said, her voice light and kind. "You’re quite cute. How old are you?"

Ren proudly lifted his fingers. "Seven!"

His sister side-eyed him, lips twitching but didn’t say anything.

Celestine let out a small chuckle and patted his head softly. "Take care of your sister, alright?"

And just like that, she turned around and walked back to her palanquin. The guards followed behind, and the crowd slowly dispersed.

But for Ren—for Leon, who was trapped in those memories—something had changed.

Leon’s emotions shifted.

From warmth... to fury.

That motherfucking bitch Celestine, his voice echoed in his head, low and sharp, acting so kind.

His fists clenched—both in memory and in reality. The bed beneath him creaked slightly under his grip, even though one hand was missing. His breathing grew heavier.

Kind? She was never kind.

She wore the face of kindness. Draped herself in royal grace. But underneath that... she was nothing but a snake in velvet.

All those smiles, those sweet words—they were fake. A puppet show played for the people.

For a young boy like Ren, it was enough to be charmed. But Leon wasn’t going to get charmed because he knows, it was all a lie.

Lie that cost Ren, his everything.