The last son of the forgotten

Chapter 1: Ash and silence

Renan pulled his tattered cloak tighter around his shoulders as the wind howled through the village, carrying the scent of damp earth and dying embers. The night was cold, but the stares of the townspeople were colder. He felt them like needles on his skin—judging, unrelenting, as if his very existence was an offense.

He had always been an outsider.

Born into the Ashen, a clan spoken of in whispers and scorn, Renan had known nothing but disdain. They were not warriors, nor scholars, nor merchants—just shadows of a forgotten past. Their name was a cruel joke: Ashen, because they had nothing but dust.

But Renan refused to accept that fate. His people had once stood proud, before history erased them. He didn't know how, or when, but one day, he would restore their honor.

As he trudged through the muddy streets, he kept his head low, careful to avoid the richer folk who passed without a second glance. His stomach twisted in hunger, a familiar ache that had long since become a part of him. When he reached the marketplace, the scent of roasted chestnuts filled the air, making his hunger nearly unbearable.

His fingers brushed against the single copper coin in his pocket. It was all he had. If he spent it now, there would be nothing left. But if he didn't, the hunger would gnaw at him all night.

Before he could decide, a sharp voice shattered the market's hum.

"Thief!"

Renan's gaze snapped toward the commotion. A boy—dressed in fine clothes, the son of a wealthy merchant—stood over a small girl, no older than ten. She had dirty blonde hair, bare feet, and clutched a bruised apple in her hands. Her eyes were wide with fear.

The merchant's son sneered, raising a hand to strike.

Renan moved before he thought.

Grabbing the boy's wrist, he twisted sharply, forcing him to stumble back. The crowd gasped. Renan knew what he had done. Defying someone above his station was as good as signing his own punishment.

The boy's face twisted in fury. "You dare touch me, Ashen scum?"

Renan exhaled slowly. Doing the right thing never felt easy.

"I dare."

The silence was suffocating. He knew the consequences were coming. But when he looked down at the girl, still clutching her apple as if it were the most precious thing in the world, he made his choice. He could endure whatever came next.

A heavy hand clamped onto his shoulder.

A merchant—older, his fine robes embroidered with gold thread—stepped forward. His gaze was sharp, assessing. Renan recognized him immediately. Denir, one of the wealthiest men in the city.

"Here," Renan muttered, holding out the last of his money. "It's not much, but let the girl have the apple."

Denir glanced at the coin, then let out a short, amused chuckle. "Five copper? Pocket change." He pushed Renan's hand away. "Keep it. It means nothing to me."

Renan tensed. He had expected mockery, but not this.

"You want to repay me?" Denir continued, a glint in his eye. "Then do something worth my time."

Renan swallowed hard. "How?"

The merchant's smile was slow, calculating. "Work for me. Be my slave." His voice dropped lower, dangerous. "Forever."

Renan's breath caught. He had spent his whole life fighting against the weight of his bloodline, dreaming of restoring the honor of his people. And now, before he even had a chance to change his fate, he was being stripped of what little freedom he had left.

Denir's grip tightened. "You belong to me now."

The marketplace faded into the background as Renan was dragged away—away from the streets he had known, away from his last sliver of control.

For the first time, his dream of reclaiming his people's honor felt impossibly distant.

And yet, deep in his chest, a fire still burned.

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