Invasion

The house was too quiet.

Ren stood in the doorway, his chest rising and falling in uneven breaths. His blood-slicked hands gripped the wooden frame, his fingers trembling as his mind tried to process what he was seeing.

The small, cramped home—his home—was untouched. No overturned furniture. No shattered dishes. No signs of a fight.

And yet—Hikaru was gone.

His heart pounded. His entire body felt like it was moving through mud, his thoughts sluggish, his exhaustion weighing on him like a physical force.

He forced himself to move, stepping inside on unsteady legs. The floor creaked beneath him, the sound deafening in the unnatural silence.

His eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail. Something had to have happened here.

Then, he saw it.

A small contraption, barely larger than his hand, lay discarded near the entrance. A metallic device of gears and wire, one of Hikaru's many strange little inventions.

Ren knelt beside it, fingers brushing the edges.

The tiny mechanism had been triggered.

Ren's breath hitched. He knew what this was. A trap. One of Hikaru's defense devices.

And it had been used.

That meant… Hikaru had fought back.

"Then why is there no blood?"

Ren swallowed. If his brother had been killed, there would have been a mess. But there wasn't.

So there was only one answer.

"They took him just like the samurai from earlier."

Ren's heartbeat hammered in his ears. His body wanted to collapse, to curl into a ball, to let the weight of exhaustion consume him whole.

But he couldn't.

Hikaru was alive.

And that meant Ren had to move.

He forced himself to his feet, ignoring the throbbing pain in his side. His wound was still fresh. If he didn't stop the bleeding soon, it would slow him down.

Later. Right now, I have to get out of here.

Ren crept toward the window, his back pressed against the wall. Slowly, carefully, he peeked outside.

Iwanai was gone.

What had once been a lively coastal city was now nothing but ash and ruin.

Fires burned unchecked, black smoke coiling into the night sky. The once-crowded market streets were now a graveyard of bodies, some slumped over in the dirt, others sprawled across the broken remains of what used to be their homes.

And the enemy? Everywhere.

Ren counted at least a dozen patrols. The foreign warriors moved through the streets in groups, torches in one hand, swords in the other. They were hunting.

Looking for survivors.

Ren's grip on the windowsill tightened.

"I have to get out of here."

He turned back toward the door. The front entrance was too risky. He couldn't just walk out—he'd be seen instantly.

He needed another way.

His eyes darted to the ceiling.

The roof.

Ren climbed onto the table, reaching up toward the wooden beams. His hands still trembled from his last fight, but he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move.

With a grunt, he hauled himself up.

The house's structure groaned beneath his weight, but it held.

Slowly, he crawled to the edge, peering out over the city.

His entire body tensed.

Two enemy warriors were right outside.

Ren froze, pressing himself against the roof's surface, controlling his breathing.

"They don't know I'm here."

But if he made a mistake—if he made a single sound—they would.

He listened, waiting.

The men exchanged a few words in their foreign tongue—then moved on.

Ren exhaled silently.

Then, carefully, he began to crawl across the rooftops.

The city felt like a nightmare.

Moving from rooftop to rooftop, Ren saw everything.

Samurai corpses scattered across the streets, their weapons still clutched in stiff fingers. Civilians being dragged from hiding places, thrown to the ground, bound.

A child crying as an enemy soldier loomed over him—before being yanked away by his mother.

Ren's stomach churned, but he didn't stop.

He couldn't.

He reached the edge of the rooftops, where the buildings grew farther apart. He had to go back to the streets.

Taking a deep breath, he dropped down.

His landing was soft and controlled. A lifetime of sneaking around made him light on his feet.

Moving through the alleys, he stuck to the shadows, hugging the walls of ruined homes.

He reached a street where several invaders were patrolling.

There was no way around.

I'll have to move fast.

Ren crouched low, waiting for the right moment—

Then, he darted forward.

His feet were silent against the dirt. His body moved with trained precision.

One step. Then another.

One of the enemy warriors turned—

Ren pressed himself into the shadows, barely avoiding detection.

The man looked around, frowning. But after a moment, he shook his head and walked away.

Ren let out a slow breath.

He continued forward.

Then—he saw it.

A massive war camp, rising along the coast.

Tents, siege weapons, soldiers moving in unbreakable formations.

And, at the center—

The captured civilians.

Ren's stomach twisted.

"That's where they took him."

But as he scanned the area, his heart sank.

There were too many.

Too many guards. Too many patrols. The entire camp was a fortress of bodies, weapons, and fire.

He couldn't get in.

Ren's fingers tightened into fists.

"I will find a way."

Ren crouched low behind the charred remains of a collapsed home, his breaths slow and controlled. The war camp stretched before him, a monstrous fortress of fire and steel, its glowing embers flickering against the black sky.

The stench of burning wood, sweat, and blood clung to the air, thick and suffocating. The distant cries of prisoners were barely audible beneath the laughter and shouts of the invaders.

Ren's fingers clenched into the dirt.

This was worse than he imagined.

The camp was massive, much more than just a temporary foothold. These people weren't just pillaging—they were claiming Iwanai as their own.

He scanned the area, committing every detail to memory.

At least a dozen tents, lined in perfect rows, smoke rising from fire pits. Towering wooden watchtowers, hastily constructed but effective, stationed along the outskirts. Heavy siege weapons, wheeled carts carrying barrels—oil? Some kind of black powder? Lines of prisoners, sitting or kneeling in the dirt, hands bound, guarded by armed warriors.

And somewhere in that sea of suffering was Hikaru, his younger brother. He was only 12 years old and couldn't even defend himself.

Ren's stomach twisted.

"How the hell am I supposed to get in there?"

A sudden shout from within the camp caught his attention.

Ren shifted, pressing himself deeper into the shadows as he watched.

Two of the enemy soldiers were dragging a struggling man toward the center of camp. His torn clothing and bruised face made it clear—he was one of the captured townspeople.

The man thrashed against their grip, desperation painted across his dirt-streaked face.

"Please!" he cried. "I have a family! I—"

One of the warriors drove a knee into his gut. The man collapsed with a gasp, choking on his own breath.

Ren tensed.

"They're making an example of him."

One of the invaders unsheathed his blade and began speaking in his harsh, foreign tongue.

The soldiers around him laughed.

The prisoner coughed, spitting blood into the dirt, but he wasn't done. He tried again—to crawl, to beg, to survive.

The warrior raised his sword.

Ren's body screamed at him to do something.

"I can't—I can't just watch—"

The sword fell.

A single, clean stroke.

The man didn't even get to finish his plea.

His body hit the ground with a horrible, lifeless thud.

Ren's hands shook against the wooden beam he was hiding behind. He squeezed his eyes shut, fighting the nausea clawing at his throat.

"This is what I'm up against."

He forced himself to breathe, to think. This wasn't the time for panic. If he lost control now—he'd end up just like that man.

But it didn't matter.

Because one thing was now painfully clear.

If he didn't find a way to save his brother, Hikaru would die here.

Just like the rest.

Ren shoved his emotions down. He needed to focus.

How do I get in?

He scanned the war camp again, this time with precision.

The main entrance? Impossible. Guarded, fortified, too many eyes watching. The side? No gaps in their patrols. The back?

His gaze lingered.

The back of the camp met the shoreline, where smaller boats were docked. The tides crashed against the hulls, masking sound.

A possible entrance.

But then his stomach dropped.

A prisoner tried to run.

Ren spotted the movement instantly—a young woman, no older than him, slipping out of her bindings.

For a split second, she almost made it.

She sprinted toward the back of the camp, feet barely touching the ground. If she could just—

An arrow struck her leg.

She collapsed.

Ren's breath hitched.

She clawed at the dirt, trying to drag herself forward.

One of the soldiers strode over, pulling back another arrow—

Ren turned away before he saw the rest.

His fists clenched. His nails dug into his palms.

He couldn't afford to watch. Then...

A twig snapped behind him.

Ren's entire body froze.

Then—a voice.

A low and dangerous voice worse off it came from right behind him.

Ren spun.

A warrior loomed in the darkness. Not just a soldier—this one was different. Taller. Broader. A hunter.

Ren's pulse spiked.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then—the soldier's hand went for his sword.

Ren bolted.

He didn't think. Didn't hesitate. Just ran.

Shouts exploded behind him, voices raised in alarm.

They knew.

He was seen.

-------

He sprinted into the ruins, weaving through the charred remains of homes, his breath coming in sharp gasps. They had seen him.

Footsteps thundered behind him.

The warrior chasing him was fast, heavier than Ren but moving with terrifying momentum. The gravel crunched under his boots, and with each stride, the gap between them shrank.

"I can't outrun him."

Ren knew it the moment he heard the rhythm of the pursuit. He had escaped countless street chases before, but this was different.

This wasn't a guard or an angry merchant.

This was a hunter.

A foreign soldier trained to hunt and kill.

Ren's heart pounded against his ribs as he darted through an alleyway, barely squeezing between two half-collapsed buildings.

Too tight for his pursuer.

A gamble—but it worked.

The heavy footsteps behind him came to an abrupt halt. A frustrated snarl echoed through the alley. Ren didn't wait to see if the soldier found another way through.

He just kept running.

The ruins of Iwanai stretched before him, unrecognizable in the night. Every street that had once been familiar was now warped by destruction—collapsed walls, scattered debris, burning wreckage.

It made running harder.

But it also made hiding easier.

Ren ducked into a collapsed house, pressing himself flat against the soot-covered floor. He fought to control his breathing, inhaling through his nose, forcing his chest to stay still.

The hunter was close.

He heard the slow, deliberate footsteps crunching over the debris outside. The sound of a blade being unsheathed.

Then—silence.

Had the man seen him?

He was unsure, so he dared not move.

A long pause. Then, the soldier spoke, his deep, foreign voice cutting through the stillness.

"Come out, little rat."

Ren stayed frozen.

"I know you're here." The voice was almost amused, as if this were a game.

A shadow moved just outside the ruins. The soldier was waiting.

Ren had seconds to decide.

Option one: Stay still. Hope he moves on. But if he doesn't, Ren is trapped.Option two: Run. Risk being caught—but also a chance to escape.

Neither option was good.

"Think, damn it."

Then—his eyes caught something nearby.

A broken pile of pottery, shards of clay and glass reflecting the distant firelight.

A distraction.

Slowly, painfully, Ren reached for a small stone near his foot.

He gripped it tight—then threw it.

The stone clattered farther down the alleyway.

Instantly, the soldier turned toward the noise. His blade gleamed as he moved forward.

Ren didn't hesitate.

He slipped out the other way.

Ren didn't stop moving until he was sure the soldier wasn't following.

By the time he reached the outskirts of the city, his lungs burned, and his side throbbed where he had been wounded earlier. He was running out of energy.

But he was alive.

For now.

He collapsed behind a half-burned wooden wall, his body trembling. The war camp loomed in the distance, torches flickering like fireflies.

He could still hear them. The foreign warriors laughing, barking orders, sharpening their weapons.

"I can't keep running forever."

His gaze drifted to the war camp again. To the prisoners, huddled together like cattle.

Somewhere in there was Hikaru.

Ren exhaled slowly.

"I can't storm the camp. I can't fight them head-on. I can't save him like this."

He clenched his fists.

"But I can start taking them out. One by one."

A slow, methodical hunt.

His breathing steadied. His mind sharpened.

Soon, he would begin.