Kurose Ren was laying in the grassy field. The earth beneath him was cool, slightly damp from the night’s dew. A faint breeze passed across the valley, stirring the tall blades of grass and carrying with it the scent of soil and wildflowers.

  His eyes remained closed.

  Fragments of memory drifted through his mind like fading embers. The shattered valley. The six warlords closing in. The cold certainty of death—or worse, capture. The moment the Fate Binder Art fractured reality itself.

  The battle that forced him to return.

  Again.

  Even now, the sensation of the backlash lingered. A dull pressure behind his ribs, like a phantom wound that refused to disappear.

  For several moments, he simply listened.

  Wind moving through the valley.Children laughing somewhere nearby.Footsteps running across grass.The sounds were peaceful . Too peaceful.

  Slowly, Ren opened his eyes.

  The sun had barely crested the horizon, painting the valley in muted gold. Thin rays of light stretched across the wide fields, glimmering against morning dew. The sky was pale blue, untouched by the violence that had once torn apart the world he remembered.

  The field stretched ahead, wide and unbroken.

  Children ran in loose circles, their laughter faint against the wind. Some chased each other between wooden posts driven into the ground. Others sat cross-legged, trying to focus as thin strands of energy trembled between their fingers.

  The earliest forms of thread manipulation.

  A few failed attempts resulted in scattered giggles.

  Nearby, several elders watched carefully.

  “Focus,” one elder said calmly. “Threads respond to intent. Not impatience.”

  A boy groaned loudly. “But it won’t move!”

  “That is because your mind is moving too much.”

  The other children laughed.

  Ren lay still, watching.

  For a moment—just a moment—he allowed the calm to settle.

  The memory of the fractured battlefield lingered at the edges of his mind, but here, in this early light, danger felt distant. The valley looked untouched by ambition, untouched by cruelty.

  A peaceful illusion.

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  Only a faint pulse within his core reminded him the world outside these fields would never stay quiet for long.

  The remaining Threads stirred faintly, like silk moving beneath water.

  Weaker than before.

  Damaged.

  But still alive.

  Ren slowly pushed himself up from the grass. Dew clung to his sleeve as he brushed it away. His movements were quiet, deliberate—almost too composed for a boy of his age.

  Not far away, a group of children attempted to form threads between their palms.

  “Look! I did it!” one girl shouted.

  A faint line of energy flickered between her hands before snapping.

  The elder nodded approvingly. “Good. Again.”

  Another boy tried harder, face turning red.

  Nothing happened.

  “Why does hers work?” he complained.

  “Because she listens,” the elder replied calmly.

  The boy crossed his arms.

  Ren watched them for a moment longer.Some were clearly gifted.

  Their threads responded faster, the air around them humming faintly whenever they concentrated.

  Others struggled.

  Their forms were awkward, hesitant, their control inconsistent.Talent differences.

  Even at this age, the hierarchy had already begun forming.Ren noticed everything silently

  The strongest children.

  The overly confident ones.

  The ones who watched others more than they practiced.The quiet ones.Those were always the most dangerous.

  A voice called out.

  Soft.

  Familiar.

  “Ren.”

  He turned his head slightly.

  At the edge of the field stood his mother.

  Her posture was calm, hands folded lightly before her. Morning light rested across her shoulders, turning the edges of her hair gold. She looked the same as she always had in his memories.

  But now, seeing her again—

  Something tightened in his chest.

  “Ren, come here.”

  Her voice carried across the field.

  Ren rose slowly and began walking toward her.Each step felt strangely distant, like moving through a memory rather than reality.His mother watched him approach.

  “You woke up earlier than usual today,” she said gently.

  Ren nodded once.

  “Yes.”

  His voice was quiet.

  A pause passed between them.

  She studied his face briefly, as if searching for something she couldn’t quite identify.

  “You were lying there for a long time,” she said. “Were you watching the training again?”

  Ren glanced back at the children in the field.

  “Yes.”

  “They’re practicing threads for the first time,” she said with a faint smile. “Everyone is excited today.”

  Ren remained silent.

  The excitement was visible.Children competing without realizing it.

  Elders quietly judging potential.Parents observing from a distance.All the small pieces of a future hierarchy slowly forming.

  He had seen it before.

  The patterns were already there.

  A single drop of warmth slid along the corner of his eye.

  Ren blinked.The tear vanished into the wind before it could fall.

  His mother didn’t notice.

  Or perhaps she chose not to.

  “You should join them soon,” she said softly. “Your instructor will be arriving.”

  Ren nodded again.

  “Yes.”

  Nearby, a child shouted loudly.

  “Look! Mine moved!”

  A thin thread of pale light drifted weakly through the air.

  Another elder chuckled quietly.

  “Not bad. But control matters more than strength.”

  One boy glanced toward Ren and whispered to his friend.

  “Ren doesn’t practice much.”

  “Yeah,” the other replied. “Maybe he can’t do it.”

  Ren heard them.He simply ignored it.Words like that had never mattered.

  His mother spoke again.

  “Breakfast will be ready soon,” she said. “After that, you’ll attend the morning lesson.”

  Ren looked toward the horizon briefly.The sun was climbing higher now, light spilling across the valley.

  Peaceful.

  Temporary.

  “Yes,” he said calmly.

  The two of them stood quietly for a moment.Behind them, the children continued practicing.

  “Focus your breathing,” an elder instructed. “Threads follow the rhythm of the mind.”

  A boy groaned again.

  “This is harder than it looks!”

  “Everything worth learning is.”

  Ren observed the elders as well.

  The way one of them occasionally glanced toward the hill overlooking the field.The brief exchange of looks between two instructors.

  Subtle tension.

  Almost invisible.

  But to someone who had lived decades longer than this body suggested—

  It was obvious.

  Something was wrong.Perhaps not today.Perhaps not tomorrow.But the signs existed.

  The world never moved without leaving traces.Ren turned back toward his mother.

  “I’ll join them soon,” he said.

  She smiled faintly.

  “Good.”

  Then she lightly brushed a small piece of grass from his shoulder.

  “Don’t stay in your head too much, Ren.”

  He didn’t answer.Because that was exactly where he needed to be.

  Ren began walking toward the training group.Children still laughed and shouted.Energy flickered weakly between small hands.Threads formed and collapsed again and again.

  A beginning.But Ren already knew where those paths would lead.

  Some would rise.Most would remain ordinary.A few would die chasing power they didn’t understand.

  And somewhere along that path—

  The world would begin changing.

  He stopped for a moment, watching the threads flicker in the morning air.Even in this calm moment, a shadow lingered at the edges of his awareness.

  Something was coming.

  Something that would not wait for preparation.

  Something that would force the world to move.

  Ren’s gaze hardened slightly.This time, he would see it clearly.And when the moment arrived—

  He would be ready.