CHAPTER 39: REN’S MEMORIES [2]

Several days passed in little Ren’s life, quiet and simple. A life filled with warmth—his mother’s soft humming while cooking, his father’s strong arms lifting him into the air, and his sister’s constant chatter about weapons and dreams. For Leon, watching these memories, it was a kind of perfection. A world so far from his own broken body, it felt almost sacred.

But that sacredness shattered one night.

Little Ren’s peaceful sleep was torn apart by screams—sharp, panicked screams—and the crackling roar of flames. His small eyes shot open, only to find the world around him engulfed in fire. The ceiling groaned. Smoke filled his lungs.

"Mother! Father! Sister!" he cried out, his voice thin, trembling.

He climbed out of bed on his shaky legs, stumbling toward the door, but—

THUD!

A burning wooden beam fell in front of him, the heat licking at his skin. He screamed and backed away in horror, heart pounding like a drum in his chest. He looked around desperately, but there was no way out, no window low enough, no hole to crawl through. The smoke grew thicker.

Then—

SLAM!

His door burst open.

There stood his sister, her face smeared with soot, her clothes singed, eyes burning with terror and determination. In her hands, an axe. She didn’t waste a second—she swung it, knocking the burning plank aside with a powerful crack. Then she rushed in and wrapped her arms around little Ren, checking him over with frantic eyes.

"Did it hurt? Are you injured?!"

Ren, still shaking, managed to shake his head. "No... I’m not... Where are Mother and Father?"

She paused for a moment, scanning the smoke-filled room with frantic eyes.

"They should be outside," she finally said, voice shaking. "We have to get out of here!"

She grabbed his tiny hand, warm and firm despite the fear, and they ran—through the burning hallways, past the falling ash and splintering wood. Together, they burst through the door, escaping just as part of the house collapsed behind them in a thunderous crash.

The world outside was no safer.

As they reached outside, smoke rising behind them, the flames swallowing the only home they’d ever known, they saw her.

Eighth Princess of the Lysandra Family—Celestine Lysandra.

She stood like a painting, untouched by the heat, smiling with her hands folded. Behind her, her guards stood silent in silver armor, like death waiting for command.

Ren’s sister stepped forward, the axe in her grip trembling—not from fear, but from fury.

"Why are you here, Princess?" her voice cracked like a whip.

Celestine didn’t answer. She just smiled.

Then, without warning, a guard stepped out from behind. One sharp blow to the back of her neck, and she crumpled to the ground like a puppet with its strings cut.

"Sister!" Ren screamed, his small feet stumbling forward. His chest tightened—panic rising, heart beating too fast for his little body.

Celestine turned to him, her eyes too calm, too cruel.

"Ren," she said softly, "come with me."

He shook his head. "But... my sister—"

"She’ll be safe... if you listen."

That was all it took. He didn’t understand what was happening. His sister on the ground. Their house burning. The night choking him with smoke. But he followed.

He followed the princess into the forge. Into the place that used to echo with his sister’s laughter, filled with the smell of burning metal and dreams.

Now it was silent.

Now it smelled like something else—something he didn’t have a name for, but it made his chest hurt.

"What’s in—" he started, but then he saw.

And his whole world shattered.

His mother.

His father.

Hanging on the stone wall, their hands bound above their heads. Blood soaked their clothes. Their heads hung low, faces hidden in shadow.

"No..." Ren whispered. "No..."

He tried to run to them, but a guard held him back, forcing him to the ground.

Tears poured down his cheeks.

"Mother! Father!!"

"What happened to the—?!"

Ren’s voice cracked as he tried to scream, but before the words could finish, a guard stepped forward and kicked him.

Once.

Twice.

Again—his tiny body crumpled to the ground. The blows landed on his stomach, his ribs, lower—where pain turned to numbness.

"You fucker," the guard spat, "how dare you raise your voice to the Princess?"

Celestine just stood there, watching it all unfold with a smile on her face.

"Guard, stop," she said gently, almost like a friend trying to calm a storm. "Can’t you see? He’s only seven... just like me."

The guard froze. Immediate obedience.

Celestine stepped closer, her eyes lowering to meet his broken body.

"Don’t worry, Ren," she said with a widening smirk, "your parents are still alive."

Then her smile grew darker.

"But not for long."

She nodded once, and one of the guards stepped forward—holding a hot iron rod. The glow of it lit up the forge like a piece of hell itself.

"No! Stop!" Ren screamed, coughing up pain and blood. "What did my parents do?! They’re innocent!!"

Celestine didn’t blink. "They would’ve been... if they hadn’t insulted me."

Ren’s mind raced. His mother? His father? The kindest people in the village?

"Why?! Why would they insult you?"

Celestine leaned in. Her words were cold as snow.

"Because I ordered them to sell you to me. As a slave."

Then she spat toward their bound bodies.

Ren’s eyes widened. His breath caught. Something inside him snapped.

"YOU!!"

He surged to his feet—like a child possessed by rage far too big for his size.

Before the guards could react, he lunged at her, grabbed the hem of her purple gown, yanked her to the ground.

And bit her.

Hard.

His tiny teeth dug into her arm—ripping skin, drawing blood. Her shriek echoed, but Ren didn’t stop.

I will kill you! I’ll kill you! KILL YOU!

Tear you apart for spitting on them! For hurting them! For this pain!

Tears blurred his vision, his grip was shaking, blood and hate in his mouth.

The guards tore him off her—ripping him away like a wild animal—and threw him hard against the cobblestone floor.

Celestine clutched her bleeding arm, eyes wide, tears at the corner of her eyes—not from pain, but from humiliation.

"Beat him," she whispered. "Beat him until he learns."

The guards didn’t hesitate.

The iron rods came down.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The forge filled with the sound of metal against flesh—until the boy no longer screamed.

Little Ren, bloodied head to toe, his tiny frame trembling from the merciless beating, couldn’t even cry anymore. His breath came in shallow gasps, body jerking every few seconds like it was still remembering the pain.

His eyes—barely open—moved to his parents. They were still hanging, still breathing, their eyes locked with his. Desperate. Helpless.

The guard with the hot iron rod stepped closer to them. But his hands trembled. The iron glowed bright orange, but his grip on it faltered. He looked at the family—at the boy on the ground, at the two parents hanging—and froze. He couldn’t do it.

Celestine, sitting on a wooden stool nearby, calmly watched while a maid dressed her bleeding arm. Her expression was emotionless, tired of waiting. She raised a hand.

Another guard stepped forward. One clean swing.

A sound—quick, final.

The hesitant guard’s head rolled... and dropped right in front of Ren.

Face still wearing fear. Eyes still open. Blood trailing behind like paint on stone.

Little Ren’s eyes widened as far as they could go. His body jolted. He opened his mouth to scream—

But no sound came.

Only silence.

Terror too heavy to speak through.

Then everything went black.

He fainted.ff

As he opened his eyes, cold air hit his skin. The walls were stone, damp and cracked. Chains clinked above—his arms strung up. His sister was beside him, barely conscious, her head hanging low. Blood crusted on her temple.

Everything around him was blurry, his vision hazed with tears and pain. Then came the sound—clicks of boots echoing through the dungeon.

Celestine stepped into view, dressed in royal silks, flanked by guards in armor. She smiled sweetly at the sight of him.

"Loving your new home, dog?" she tilted her head, amused.

"You... killer... murderer..." Ren’s voice croaked, but then it grew louder, shakier—

"And that guy called me a... fucker!"

Celestine flinched—not from the insult itself, but from the fact a 7-year-old dared spit it at her. Her smile twitched, the annoyance flashing for a second.

Then she smirked again, that cold fake charm returning.

"I’m not here to fight with a child," she said lightly, her tone like a mother teasing. "Actually... I thought you and your sister might be hungry."

Ren blinked. Hungry?

A tray was brought forward. Celestine walked up with an almost bashful look. "I brought food," she said.

He looked.

His eyes went wide.

The bowl... was filled with shattered glass. Tiny sharp shards glinting in the torchlight.

Celestine giggled, covering her mouth with a hand. "The thing is... I broke my royal glass, and... I can’t tell my parents. So..." she tilted her head with mock sweetness. "Would you two be dears and finish it for me?"

Ren stared. Not at the bowl. But at his sister.

She hadn’t moved.

She couldn’t even look up.

His hands trembled. His voice shook. "Can you..."

Celestine raised a brow. "Can I?"

"Can you leave my sister alone?" he whispered. "I’ll eat her part."

There was a pause.

Then she laughed softly, delighting in his desperation. "How thoughtful of you."

She turned away, humming to herself, while the guards pushed the tray closer to the bleeding boy.

He stares at his sister,

I couldn’t let my sister get hurt by her.

No matter what happens to me... I have to endure.

Endure the pain.

Endure the humiliation.

If I want her to live—

Then I have to bear it all.

Endure until Celestine gets tired of me.

Until I become stronger than her.

Until I rise above her cruelty.

Until...

I die..