A Place to Begin

Ren woke to the muffled creak of boards and the low murmur of voices downstairs. The attic space he'd earned was cramped, but it had kept him warm through the night. Dust floated through beams of light from the one narrow window as he sat up, rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and stretched.

His body ached in places he hadn't expected, but it wasn't the pain of hunger or cold—it was the aftershock of honest labor. The kind that reminded him he'd actually earned something.

He opened the window slightly, letting in a sharp gust of cool morning air. Below, villagers moved about the muddy lane: a man hauling sacks of grain, two young women tending to tethered goats, and a boy chasing a stray chicken. The scent of baked bread reached him moments later.

He was somewhere now. Not just alive—but placed. Situated.

Ren took a breath, steeled himself, and climbed down the attic ladder. The tavern's main room was mostly empty now, though a few men nursed mugs of weak ale. The innkeeper stood behind the counter, polishing a wooden bowl with a rag that looked like it had never been clean.

"You get the old lady's wood done?" the man asked without looking up.

"Stacked and tied," Ren said.

The innkeeper grunted in approval. "She didn't complain, so I'll assume you didn't mess it up. Want breakfast?"

"I don't have coin."

"No," the man said, "but you've got arms and legs. Sweep the porch. Help with dishes. It'll earn you a bowl."

Ren didn't hesitate. "Deal."

By midmorning, he'd cleared tables, wiped benches, and scoured soot-blackened pans until his fingertips wrinkled. It wasn't glorious work, but it was something. Every task offered a quiet sense of grounding.

When the innkeeper handed him a wooden bowl filled with thick porridge and a boiled egg, it tasted better than anything he'd eaten since arriving in the world.

"You planning to stick around?" the innkeeper asked while Ren ate on a bench just outside the front door.

Ren looked up. "Don't know yet. I came out of the forest yesterday. I've been surviving alone for a while."

"You're lucky. Lot of folks disappear out there."

"I was almost one of them," Ren admitted.

The man studied him. "You know what we do with strangers around here?"

"Turn them away?"

"Usually, yeah. But you work. You're quiet. You didn't steal nothing, didn't talk big."

Ren nodded. "I'm not looking for charity."

"You might want to think about the Adventurer's Guild."

That caught Ren's attention.

"I heard there's one?" he asked.

"Other side of the square, near the well. Old timber building with a faded blue flag hanging above the door. They'll take anyone willing to sign the roster, though passing their probation's another story."

"What's the catch?"

"Work's dangerous. Pay's inconsistent. But it's one way to stop being a drifter."

Ren considered that. "I'll check it out."

The innkeeper wiped his hands on his apron and turned back inside. "If they take you in, maybe I'll let you scrub pans for half price next time."

Ren smirked.

A few minutes later, he stood at the edge of the village square, staring at a worn building marked by the tattered blue banner. A wooden sign with a cracked insignia hung beside the door. A sword crossed behind a shield. Nothing fancy.

He stepped inside.

The interior was dark but not unwelcoming. Long benches lined the walls. A few people sat chatting quietly over mugs and maps. At the far end, behind a scarred wooden counter, stood a sharp-eyed woman in a sleeveless tunic, arms crossed.

"New face," she said, voice low and even. "Looking to register?"

"Thinking about it," Ren said honestly.

"You're either in or out. We don't take 'maybe.'"

"I'm in."

She gestured to a thick leather-bound ledger on the counter. "Name and thumbprint. Then we talk tests."

Ren picked up the quill.

He didn't know what the test would be yet. Or what kind of jobs he'd be offered. Or if he'd survive long enough to make this place home.

But for the first time, he was taking a step not just to survive—but to belong.

He pressed the quill to the page and wrote:

Ren Hoshikage

Ren hadn't signed his real name in so long that seeing it written in the guild ledger gave him pause. The ink bled slightly into the page, but the letters were clean. Real. It felt like claiming something—something more permanent than a hastily built shelter or a fading fire.

The woman behind the counter studied the name, then looked up at him again.

"Ren Hoshikage," she repeated. "Can't place the name. You from the coast?"

"No," he replied simply. "From far inland."

She accepted the answer without further probing and turned the book around. "All right, Ren. Before you get a badge, you'll need to pass the intake trial. It's basic—just a skills check. Mostly to make sure you won't die the moment you step outside the walls."

"Fair enough. What does it involve?"

"Depends on the examiner," she said. "Today, that's Caren."

She called over her shoulder. "Caren! New one."

A broad-shouldered man in his forties emerged from the side hall. He wore half-plate armor over travel-stained cloth and had a crooked nose that looked like it had been broken more than once. Despite his size, his steps were quiet.

He looked Ren over.

"Green?" he asked the woman.

"Green," she confirmed.

"Follow me," Caren said without another word.

Ren followed him out a side door into a fenced-off courtyard. Training dummies lined the far wall. A pile of blunt wooden weapons sat in a crate nearby. A target range stretched along one side, and there were gouges in the dirt from past sparring matches.

Caren pointed to the crate. "Pick one."

Ren walked over, searching through the worn handles. Swords, spears, staves, daggers.

None of it felt natural in his hands. Back on Earth, he'd only held kitchen knives and workshop tools. But there was one thing he did understand—leverage. He picked up a short spear, balanced it, and gave it a test twirl.

Caren raised an eyebrow.

"Try hitting the dummy," he said.

Ren stepped forward, took a breath, and lunged. The spearhead smacked into the straw chest with a dull thwack. He adjusted his grip and struck again, this time aiming lower. Then a third strike—faster, more controlled.

"Not trained," Caren said. "But not stupid either."

Ren lowered the weapon. "I learn fast."

"Hope so. Now dodging."

Caren stepped into the circle, raising a padded baton. "Don't get hit."

Ren blinked, but the man didn't wait. He swung, low and wide.

Ren barely moved in time, stumbling backward. Another strike came, this time from above. He sidestepped, nearly losing his footing on the packed dirt.

"Don't backpedal," Caren warned. "You'll trip. Stay centered."

The next few blows came in faster. Ren began reacting better—not with precision, but with instinct. He ducked one swing, deflected another with his forearm. His breath quickened. His legs burned. His awareness sharpened.

Then Caren stopped.

"Enough. You'll live."

Ren straightened, panting.

The older man gave a single nod. "You're approved for probation. One-star rank. You'll get weak jobs—gathering herbs, escorting old men, chasing off small beasts."

"That's fine."

"Prove you're reliable, and you move up."

Caren walked back to the door. Ren followed, sweat cooling on his neck. Inside, the woman at the counter already had a leather badge waiting. It was worn and small, stamped with a single star and a crude symbol that looked like a sprig of wheat crossed by a sword.

She handed it to him.

"Welcome to the Guild," she said.

Ren ran his fingers over the smooth leather. It felt more real than the system windows that popped up at night. More grounded than any blueprint or skill. This was a symbol others could see. A way to be recognized.

"Come back tomorrow," the woman added. "We'll have a job board posted by sunrise. First pick goes to early birds."

"I'll be here."

Ren stepped out of the guildhouse and into the sunlight.

For the first time since arriving in this world, he didn't feel like a ghost walking through someone else's dream. He had a place to return to, a reason to get up tomorrow, and a path forward.

It was still a long road.

But now, he was on it.

Ren spent the rest of the day walking through the southern district, learning the edges of his new reality. The city was larger than he'd thought. Its perimeter wall was stone—thick, weathered, and studded with archer's towers—but inside, the buildings grew haphazardly. Clay brick homes stood next to timber workshops, and crooked alleys gave way to open markets packed with food stalls and shouting merchants.

It wasn't chaos. Not exactly. But it wasn't orderly either. The city pulsed, like something alive.

He kept his eyes open and his mouth shut. Observation would do more good than questions for now. He noticed which streets the guards lingered in. Which ones they avoided. Where the beggars gathered, and where the people seemed too well-fed to be struggling.

He bought a meat skewer from a street vendor—some kind of spiced fowl. Greasy, but good. It filled the hollow feeling that had followed him since the ruins. He didn't know whether it was hunger or something more primal—loneliness, maybe.

When he passed another adventurer—taller, armored, loud—he kept moving. No one paid him much attention. Just a boy in a tunic and boots, not worth the trouble. That was fine with him.

He found a place to sleep not far from the main square. An inn, simple and worn, but clean. The owner was a heavyset woman with sharp eyes and a sharper voice. She offered him a cot in the attic for three copper a night, breakfast included. He paid for two nights in advance with the coins he'd been given after registering at the guild.

The attic was cramped, the ceiling low, and the walls thin. But it had a window that looked over the city roofs, and the bed was dry.

He slept with his pack under his head, one hand resting near the knife he'd bought from a blacksmith's stall earlier that evening. The blade was short but balanced, and the handle had been wrapped in clean leather. He'd picked it over a dozen others after testing the weight, the grip, the angle of the edge. The smith hadn't said much, but he'd nodded once when Ren made his choice. That was enough.

Sleep came slow.

The mattress was too soft compared to packed dirt. The sounds were all wrong—creaking wood, distant footsteps, a dog barking somewhere down below. No wind through the trees. No fire crackling. No rustle of leaves.

Eventually, though, his body gave in.

---

[Skill Gained: "Situational Awareness"]

[Description: Enhanced perception in unfamiliar environments. Passive bonus to detection of threats and observation of patterns.]

[Effect: +12% cognitive clarity during alert state. Automatically activates under stress.]

---

He woke just before dawn.

The sky outside the window was still dark, but tinged with pale gray. The city was quiet—just the faint clatter of carts being loaded in distant alleys.

Ren dressed quickly and moved through the silent hall. Downstairs, the innkeeper handed him a bowl of warm porridge and a chunk of bread.

"Guild postin's go up at first bell," she said, not looking at him. "You want anything worth takin', best move fast."

"I'm going now," Ren said.

She grunted.

He arrived at the guildhouse just as the main hall lights flickered to life. A few other adventurers were already waiting—a pair of twins with matching axes, a thin man with a longbow, and a girl with a burned sleeve and two knives at her belt.

The job board clattered as it was lowered into place.

Ren stepped forward.

He didn't go for the flashiest task or the one with the most coin. He went for one listed in small script:

"Needed: Stream-clearing near Westfield plots. Minor beasts present. Tools provided. Pay: 5 copper + resource rights."

He took the slip and brought it to the desk.

The clerk glanced at it, stamped it, and nodded. "Claim it before noon or it gets reassigned."

He was out the door within minutes.

A path had opened. A small one—but his own.

Tomorrow would be another step.

And if he kept walking, one step at a time, eventually he'd go far beyond this city.

Eventually, he'd build something real.