Ren ran.
Not because he was afraid.
At least, that was what he told himself.
The truth was considerably less flattering.
He was terrified.
The ronin stood several paces away with his sword drawn, the fading light of sunset catching along its edge.
Three men had appeared on the road behind him.
The villagers had scattered.
The old shopkeeper was shouting something, but Ren could barely hear him over the pounding of his own heart.
Everything had gone wrong.
The strange flashes he had mistaken for certainty were gone now.
All that remained was the unpleasant pressure behind his eyes.
Danger.
Ren didn’t need a mystical revelation to understand that much.
He was in danger.
And so was everyone else around him.
His eyes moved across the village — the old shop, the narrow road, the houses packed close together, the villagers peeking through doors and windows.
Children.
Old people.
People who had absolutely nothing to do with him.
If the ronin drew his sword here, someone was going to get hurt.
Maybe him.
Maybe the old shopkeeper.
Maybe someone who had simply been unlucky enough to be standing nearby.
Ren’s stomach tightened.
No.
He couldn’t fight here.
He couldn’t even fight — that was the first thing he needed to admit.
He wasn’t some supernatural warrior who had suddenly become capable of defeating armed men because he had swallowed a potion.
His current body was nineteen years old.
Maybe twenty.
He wasn’t even entirely certain.
He had spent too much of his time in this world hungry.
His clothes hung loosely from his body.
His arms had gained some strength from carrying sacks and doing whatever work the villagers would give him, but he was still thin.
Too thin.
His meals were better than starving, but they were rarely enough.
Rice porridge.
Vegetables when there were vegetables to spare.
The occasional piece of dried meat if someone was feeling generous.
He had no armor.
No sword.
No martial training.
No experience fighting people who actually wanted to kill him.
The ronin had all of those advantages.
Well — perhaps not the last one.
Ren glanced at the man’s reddened eyes.
The ronin was drunk.
Not completely.
But enough.
And there were three of them.
Ren’s mind raced.
If he stayed, he died.
If he fought here, someone else might die.
If he ran—
The ronin’s gaze shifted toward him.
Ren felt that strange sensation again.
Danger.
Not a thought.
Not fear.
Something deeper.
His body knew before his mind did.
The ronin was about to move.
Ren moved first.
He turned and ran.
“Ren!” The old shopkeeper’s voice followed him.
Ren didn’t stop.
He sprinted down the road.
Behind him came shouting, then footsteps.
Ren’s heart nearly stopped.
They were following him.
Good.
That was good.
It had worked.
At least, he hoped it had.
He didn’t dare look back.
His lungs burned almost immediately.
His body wasn’t built for this.
The road stretched ahead, uneven and dusty beneath his feet.
His sandals slapped against the ground as he ran, his breath coming faster and faster.
Behind him — footsteps.
Three sets.
Ren gritted his teeth.
They were catching up.
Of course they were.
He wasn’t faster.
He wasn’t stronger.
He wasn’t even particularly healthy.
He had spent the last week eating enough to survive, not enough to prepare himself for a chase.
The forest was ahead.
Ren pushed harder.
His legs began to ache.
His lungs felt like they were being scraped raw.
He stumbled once, recovered, and kept running.
A stone struck the ground beside him.
Ren flinched — one of them had thrown something.
He didn’t turn around.
The forest was getting closer.
Twenty steps.
Fifteen.
Ten.
Ren crossed beneath the trees, and the world changed.
The road disappeared behind him.
Branches blocked the fading sunlight.
Roots twisted through the soil.
Shrubs and undergrowth filled the spaces between the trees.
Ren slowed.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he had to.
He looked around.
This was better.
Much better.
The forest was complicated — trees, rocks, roots, uneven ground, blind corners, narrow passages.
Places where a person could hide.
Places where a person could be forced to slow down.
Ren finally looked back.
The three men entered the forest.
The ronin was in front, sword still in hand.
The other two followed — one carried a short blade, the other had a wooden club.
Ren swallowed.
Three against one, and he was the one without a weapon.
His mind began working.
He couldn’t beat them.
But perhaps he didn’t have to.
The ronin was the strongest, that much was obvious.
His companions weren’t as disciplined — their movements were less controlled.
One kept looking around instead of watching where he stepped.
The other favored his left leg.
Ren’s eyes narrowed.
That one was injured.
Or tired.
Or both.
He had a chance.
Not a good one.
A terrible one.
But a chance.
The ronin shouted.
“Stop running!”
Ren almost laughed.
Why would he?
He turned and disappeared between two trees.
The footsteps followed.
Ren pressed himself against the trunk of a large tree.
His breathing was too loud, too fast.
He covered his mouth and forced himself to slow down.
The first man passed.
Ren waited.
The second passed.
Ren waited.
The third—
A hand suddenly grabbed his shoulder.
Ren twisted.
The man with the club had found him.
“Got you—”
Ren drove his elbow backward.
The blow wasn’t particularly strong.
It didn’t need to be.
The man staggered.
Ren kicked the back of his knee.
The man fell.
Ren grabbed a fallen branch from the ground and swung it.
The branch struck the man’s shoulder.
He cried out.
Ren swung again — the man raised an arm, and the branch hit his forearm.
He stumbled backward.
Ren didn’t wait.
He turned and ran.
Behind him came a curse.
Ren kept moving.
He hadn’t defeated him.
He had only bought himself time, but that was enough.
He needed to separate them.
That was the only way.
The forest swallowed him.
Ren ducked beneath a low branch and moved deeper between the trees.
He didn’t run in a straight line — he changed direction whenever he could, using the terrain to slow them down.
The footsteps behind him became confused.
“Where’d he go?”
“Spread out and stay vigilant!”
Ren smiled faintly.
Exactly what he wanted.
He crouched behind a fallen tree.
One man passed within several steps of him.
Ren waited.
His heartbeat slowed.
Something stirred inside his mind — a faint pressure.
Danger.
Left.
Ren moved.
A blade struck the tree where his head had been.
Ren’s heart jumped.
He stumbled backward.
The man with the short blade stared at him.
For one moment, neither moved.
Then Ren threw a handful of dirt into his face.
The man recoiled.
Ren grabbed the nearest rock and struck his wrist.
The knife fell.
The man cursed and lunged.
Ren stepped aside.
The man’s foot caught on a root.
He fell heavily.
Ren hesitated.
He could run — that was what he should do.
But the man was getting back up.
If he let him recover, the advantage would disappear.
Ren grabbed the fallen knife.
His hands trembled.
He had never wanted to use a weapon like this.
He had certainly never imagined using one against another person.
The man reached for him.
Ren struck.
Once.
The man fell.
Ren backed away immediately.
He didn’t look at the wound.
He didn’t want to.
He stood there breathing heavily, staring at the knife in his hand.
His fingers were shaking.
He had done it.
The thought didn’t feel satisfying.
It didn’t feel heroic.
It didn’t feel like anything.
It felt terrible.
Ren forced himself to move.
There were still two.
He dropped the knife and ran.
The second man found him less than a minute later.
Ren heard him coming — not because his hearing had improved, but because the footsteps were simply loud.
The man crashed through the undergrowth.
Ren moved behind a tree.
The man swung his club, but a club simply wasn’t a good weapon in the thick forest.
It had struck the trunk.
Ren stepped out from the other side.
The man turned.
Ren kicked his knee and he staggered.
Ren tried to grab the club, but he was obviously not just going to let it go.
They struggled, and for a moment, Ren thought he had it.
Then the man’s strength overwhelmed him.
Ren’s fingers slipped.
The club struck his ribs.
It wasn’t a full swing — a good thing since it meant his ribs wouldn’t break.
However, it didn’t stop pain from exploding through his side.
Ren grimaced, but adrenaline kept his body moving.
The man swung again.
Ren ducked.
The club struck a tree once more.
Kicking the man’s ankle, the man fell.
Ren grabbed the club and raised it.
The man looked up.
Ren froze.
He couldn’t.
Not like this.
The man’s eyes widened.
Ren remembered the ronin.
He remembered the sword.
He remembered the villagers.
He remembered the old shopkeeper telling him to run.
Ren gritted his teeth.
“I’m sorry.”
He swung.
The fight ended.
Ren dropped the club.
His ribs hurt.
His shoulder hurt.
His breathing hurt.
Everything hurt.
But he was still standing.
Two down.
One left.
The ronin.
Ren looked into the darkness between the trees.
Somewhere out there, the ronin was searching for him.
And unlike his companions — the ronin knew exactly what he was doing.
Ren’s stomach tightened.
He had been lucky.
Very lucky.
The first two had been stronger than him, but not by enough to overcome surprise and terrain.
The ronin was different.
Ren knew it.
The potion didn’t make him strong.
It didn’t make him fast.
It didn’t make him durable.
It had only given him something he barely understood — danger intuition.
And even that wasn’t reliable enough to win a fight.
It only told him when something bad was about to happen.
It didn’t tell him how to stop it.
Ren picked up the fallen club.
It was heavy.
Too heavy.
He needed another weapon.
His eyes moved around the forest — a fallen branch, a stone, a length of rope.
Nothing ideal.
He heard footsteps.
Ren’s body stiffened.
The ronin.
He was coming.
Ren looked toward the bodies of the other two men.
He had hoped to leave them alive.
But if he did, the ronin would find them.
And then—
Ren heard the ronin’s voice.
“Where are they?”
Silence.
The ronin walked past the trees.
He stopped.
Ren couldn’t see his face clearly.
Then the ronin saw one of his companions.
He went still.
For several seconds, nothing happened.
Then the ronin’s shoulders began to shake.
Not with fear, but with anger.
“YOU!”
The shout echoed through the forest.
Ren flinched.
The ronin’s head snapped toward the trees.
He had figured it out.
Ren ran.
The ronin followed.
Ren had never been in a fight like this.
The first two had been manageable because they were separated.
The ronin was not.
He was faster, stronger, more experienced.
And now he was furious.
Ren heard the ronin behind him.
The sound of breaking branches grew closer.
Ren turned sharply.
The ronin’s sword cut through the space where his body had been.
Ren stumbled backward.
The blade struck a tree.
Ren swung the club.
The ronin blocked it with his arm.
Ren’s eyes widened — the man didn’t even flinch.
The ronin kicked him.
Ren flew backward, hit the ground, pain shooting through his back.
He rolled.
The sword struck the soil beside his head.
Ren scrambled away.
The ronin followed.
Ren swung the club again.
The ronin stepped inside the strike.
His fist struck Ren’s chest.
Ren lost his breath.
Another blow caught his shoulder.
Ren staggered.
The club fell from his hand.
He tried to run.
The ronin grabbed him.
Ren felt himself being thrown against a tree.
His vision blurred.
The world tilted.
The ronin raised his sword.
Ren moved.
The blade struck the tree.
Ren dropped beneath it and rolled through the leaves.
He didn’t think.
He simply moved.
His danger intuition screamed.
Left!
Ren went right.
The ronin’s foot came down where he had been.
Ren crawled backward.
The ronin swung again.
Ren ducked.
The sword passed above him.
Ren kicked — the ronin barely moved.
Then his fist struck Ren’s face.
Ren fell.
For several seconds, he couldn’t understand what had happened.
The ground was cold.
His mouth tasted metallic.
His ears rang.
The ronin approached.
Ren tried to stand.
His legs nearly failed.
He had been fighting for too long.
He was tired.
Too tired.
His ribs hurt.
His shoulder was screaming.
His head throbbed.
His body had nothing left to give.
The ronin grabbed him by the front of his clothes.
“Where are they?”
Ren stared at him.
He didn’t answer.
The ronin shook him.
“Where are they?”
Ren looked toward the forest, then back at the ronin.
“They’re dead.”
The ronin’s expression changed.
Not surprise.
Something worse.
Ren’s danger intuition exploded.
He barely moved in time.
The ronin struck.
Ren twisted aside — the blow caught his shoulder instead of his head.
Pain shot through his arm.
Ren screamed.
The ronin struck again.
Ren fell backward.
Another blow.
Ren raised his arms.
The impact sent him sprawling.
The ronin stood over him.
“You killed them.”
Ren tried to crawl away.
“I didn’t want—”
The ronin kicked him.
Ren rolled across the ground.
He couldn’t breathe.
The world narrowed.
He could hear his own heartbeat.
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
The ronin approached.
Ren tried to stand.
His legs shook.
He couldn’t.
The ronin raised his sword.
Danger.
Ren’s intuition screamed.
But this time it wasn’t enough.
There was nowhere to go.
Every direction felt wrong.
The sword began to descend.
Ren closed his eyes.
And something changed.
Ren opened his eyes.
His vision blurred as colors suddenly saturated and blended like an impressionist painting.
His mind feels light yet clear, akin to floating like a castaway at sea, then the forest disappeared.
Not literally — Ren could still see the trees, the ground, the ronin, the sword.
But beneath all of it, there was something else.
A faint glow.
The world had become strange.
The ronin’s body was no longer simply a body.
Something surrounded him.
An aura.
Ren didn’t know the word, didn’t know the concept.
He only knew that it was there.
Colors, layers, shapes, clinging to the ronin like mist beneath his skin.
Ren stared.
The sword stopped halfway through its descent — the ronin was still moving, but Ren wasn’t looking at the sword anymore.
He was looking at the strange thing inside him.
Most of it was faint.
Dull.
Hard to distinguish.
But near the man’s abdomen, Ren saw something.
Black.
Not the darkness of shadow, not the absence of light.
Something denser.
Something wrong.
It gathered around one particular place.
Ren didn’t know what organ was there.
He didn’t know what it meant.
He didn’t know why he could see it.
But instinctively, he knew it mattered.
The pressure behind his eyes intensified.
The black area seemed to pulse.
Ren stared.
His mind made the connection before he consciously understood it.
Weakness.
Or illness.
Maybe both.
The thought arrived with absolute clarity.
Not certainty.
Not prophecy.
An opening.
The ronin’s sword came down.
Ren moved.
The blade struck the ground.
Ren rolled away.
The ronin cursed.
Ren scrambled backward, his eyes remaining fixed on the strange aura.
The world was still covered in those colors — he could see something around the trees, something around himself, something around the ronin.
But the black patch — that was the clearest.
Ren didn’t know what it was.
He only knew that it looked wrong.
And suddenly he remembered something.
The merchant.
The farmer.
The woman.
He had spent the entire week trying to answer questions that weren’t really about the future.
He had learned to look beneath words, beneath expressions, beneath actions.
Maybe this was the same.
Maybe the answer wasn’t in what he could see with ordinary eyes.
Maybe he had been looking at the wrong layer of things.
The ronin charged.
Ren’s danger intuition screamed.
Ren stepped aside.
The sword cut through the air.
Ren grabbed a branch and swung.
The ronin blocked it.
Ren’s eyes remained on the black aura.
There.
The area near the spleen — he didn’t know that was what it was.
He only knew the location.
He needed a plan.
He couldn’t overpower the ronin.
He couldn’t trade blows.
He couldn’t fight him directly.
So — he wouldn’t.
Ren ran and the ronin immediately gave chase.
The forest had grown darker.
Clouds had gathered overhead.
Ren looked up.
A drop of water struck his face.
Then another.
Rain.
Ren stopped.
For some reason, his mind flashed back to the previous day — sitting beneath the shrine, throwing stones, watching the clouds.
A strange pattern in the way they had gathered.
He had dismissed it.
Just another useless attempt at divination.
Now the sky opened.
Rain poured through the trees.
The forest became slick.
Mud formed beneath their feet.
The ronin’s footing became slightly less stable.
Ren smiled faintly.
Maybe he had been wrong about divination.
Maybe he had been wrong about everything.
The ronin charged.
Ren waited.
Danger.
Left.
Ren moved right.
The ronin’s sword struck a tree.
Ren circled.
He didn’t attack.
Not yet.
The ronin pulled his sword free.
“Stop running!”
Ren kept moving.
The ronin followed.
Ren watched the aura.
The black patch remained.
The rain intensified.
The ronin’s footing slipped slightly.
Ren saw it.
There.
He could do this.
Not because he was stronger.
Not because he was faster.
Because the forest was on his side.
Because the rain was on his side.
Because the ronin was angry and drunk.
And because, for the first time, Ren could see something that the ronin didn’t know he was showing.
The ronin attacked.
Ren dodged.
The sword struck a tree.
Ren moved behind another.
The ronin followed.
Ren ran deeper into the forest.
He wanted the man tired.
Wanted him angry.
Wanted him careless.
Most importantly — he wanted him to follow.
Ren’s body screamed at him to stop.
His ribs hurt.
His shoulder barely moved.
His legs trembled.
He was exhausted.
But he kept going.
The ronin was becoming slower.
Not much.
Just enough.
Ren waited for another opening.
Danger.
The ronin lunged.
Ren stepped aside.
The ronin slipped.
Only for an instant.
But it was enough.
Ren saw the black aura again.
He moved.
His hand found the fallen knife from earlier — he had dropped it, and the rain had carried it several feet downhill.
Ren grabbed it.
The ronin recovered.
Ren turned.
The man swung.
Ren ducked beneath the blade and stepped inside the ronin’s guard.
For one terrible moment, they were face to face.
Ren saw the man’s eyes.
Saw the anger.
Saw the exhaustion.
Saw the aura.
And saw that black patch.
Ren struck.
The knife found its mark.
The ronin froze.
His sword slipped from his fingers.
For a moment, neither moved.
Then the ronin staggered backward.
Ren stumbled away.
He didn’t know exactly what he had done.
He only knew that it had worked.
The ronin fell to one knee.
Ren backed away.
The man’s aura flickered.
The blackness seemed to spread.
Ren’s stomach turned.
He didn’t look away.
The ronin tried to stand.
He couldn’t.
It seemed as though there was a previous injury in the process of recovering, but the stab did not give him the chance to.
As he fell into the mud, Ren remained where he was.
The rain poured down around them.
For several seconds, there was only the sound of water.
Then the strange vision disappeared.
The world returned to normal.
Trees.
Mud.
Rain.
Bloodless, silent darkness beneath the branches.
Ren blinked.
The ronin was lying motionless.
Ren stared at his own hands.
They were shaking.
He had survived.
That was all.
He had not won.
He had survived.
Ren slowly sat down against a tree.
The moment he stopped moving, exhaustion hit him.
His body felt like it had been beaten apart.
His ribs hurt whenever he breathed.
His shoulder was swollen.
His head throbbed.
One side of his face ached.
His legs were trembling uncontrollably.
He looked toward the forest.
The two other men’s bodies were somewhere behind him.
The ronin was beside him.
Three men had chased him into the forest.
None would be returning to the village.
Ren closed his eyes.
He didn’t feel victorious.
He felt tired.
Very tired.
And confused.
He opened his eyes again.
For just a moment, he thought he could still see something beneath the surface of the world — a faint shimmer around the trees, something around himself, something lingering in the distance.
Then it vanished.
Ren frowned.
“What…” He looked at the ronin.
Nothing.
Just a body lying in the rain.
Ren swallowed.
He didn’t understand what he had seen.
He didn’t understand why he had suddenly been able to see it.
He didn’t understand why one part of the man’s aura had looked so wrong.
He didn’t even know what an aura was.
Yet.
Ren slowly looked toward the sky.
Rain continued falling through the leaves.
Yesterday, he had stared at clouds and wondered whether a Seer could predict the weather.
He had decided it was probably nonsense.
Now he wasn’t so sure.
Maybe the problem wasn’t that divination didn’t work.
Maybe he simply didn’t know how to use it.
Ren laughed weakly.
The sound was almost lost beneath the rain.
“So I’m still an idiot.”
He leaned his head against the tree.
For the first time since drinking the potion, he felt something other than confusion — a tiny piece of understanding.
Not enough to explain what had happened.
Not enough to call himself a true Seer.
But enough to know that there was something inside him he hadn’t learned to use.
He had spent the last week believing that a Seer was someone who watched people, understood them, and helped them make better decisions.
That wasn’t entirely wrong.
But it wasn’t complete.
There were things ordinary eyes could not see.
Things hidden beneath flesh.
Things hidden beneath appearances.
Things that could not be understood simply by listening.
And Ren had just caught a glimpse of one of them.
He didn’t know its name.
He didn’t know its rules.
He didn’t know whether he could make it happen again.
But somewhere inside him, something had opened.
Not the gray fog.
Not the terrifying presence he had been trying not to think about.
Something smaller.
Something that belonged to him.
Something he could perhaps learn.
Ren looked once more at the fallen ronin.
Then he looked down at his trembling hands.
He had no idea what he had awakened.
But he knew one thing.
Tomorrow, he was going to find out.
And for the first time since becoming a Seer, Ren wasn’t going to start with a prediction.
He was going to start by looking.