The Boy Who Wont Forget

[author warning, only read this chapter if you are over 16 and really want to know what Ren whent through] 

Morning broke over the camp in a dismal, gray glow that seeped through rows of crumbling barracks and rusted fences. The air was damp that morning, heavy with the smell of mud and sweat. Ren Castor came out of the wooden shack that had been his home for three years, his ribs aching with every breath.

Three years. Three years of labor, hunger, and bruises that never fully healed. His once scrawny body had gained muscle from the constant toil, but it was lean and wiry, the kind that came from survival, not strength. His skin, pale to begin with, now clung to his bones. The golden glow in his eyes, once a peculiar trait he'd noticed after waking in this world, had dulled to something lifeless.

It was the Overseer's words that always hung in his head: There's something inside you.

He'd done everything. First, he thought he only needed to wait for his powers to turn on. Then he thought maybe he needed to trigger it with adrenaline or focus. Neither worked. It had been three whole years, and he knew no more about what the god had meant.

His chains rattled as he lurched forward, toward the line of slaves detailed to carry buckets of water. The cold metal bit deep into his wrists, reopening those raw patches of skin that were never quite healed. He hardly winced; his body had grown accustomed to the pain.

As he reached for a bucket, someone grabbed him by the collar and yanked him backward. His knees buckled, and he fell into the dirt.

The guard loomed over him, lips curled into a sneer. "Too slow, Castor."

Ren said nothing. He knew better than to argue. The guard booted him hard in the side, the force of the kick driving the air from his lungs. He gasped, clutching his ribs as he struggled to breathe.

The second kick caught his shoulder and sent him face-first into the mud.

"You don't even fight back no more," the guard muttered shaking his head. "Pathetic."

Ren lay still, his cheek pressed against the cold earth. His heart was racing, but not from fear-in that quiet realization he no longer cared, the anger that had been carried in him was chipped away bit by bit, to be replaced with something hollow.

He wanted to scream at the world, scream at the god who had dropped him here without a second thought. But screaming wouldn't change anything. All he could do was endure.

The guard spat near his head. "Get up before I really give you something to cry about."

Ren struggled to his feet, wincing as his shoulder pulsed. His fingers shook as he picked up the bucket and stumbled toward the well. The other slaves didn't look at him, but he could sense their silent pity.

He hated that more than the beatings.

As he trudged along the path, the rising sun cast long shadows over the dirt beneath him. Somewhere beyond the camp's fences, the woods stretched endlessly, concealing whatever creatures lurked within.

Ren stared at the treeline, wondering if the monsters would be kinder than the guards.

For one brief moment, he thought about letting them take him.

The toolshed was dimly lit, the lantern casting long, flickering shadows over the walls. Ren knelt on the cold wooden floor, his eleven year old fingers aching as he scrubbed at the dirt ground into the planks. His muscles burned from the day's labor, but he forced himself to keep moving.

He could hear the faint hum of insects outside, the far-off murmurs of the other slaves settling into their barracks. For a moment, the quiet soothed him.

Then the door creaked open.

Ren froze, his breath catching in his throat. Heavy boots thudded against the floor, each step deliberate. The door shut behind the figure, followed by the click of the lock sliding into place.

Ren tightened his grip on the rag and didn't dare look up.

"Well, aren't you dedicated," the guard said smoothly, mockingly. "Still cleaning after all this time."

Ren remained silent, his head hung low, his fingers moving faster. Maybe, if he just ignored the man, he would leave him be.

The guard crouched down a few feet from him, his presence suffocating. "You've grown a bit, haven't you?" His eyes traced Ren's small but lean form. "Not much, but enough."

Ren's fingers stopped. His body tensed as the guard's words hung in the air like a threat.

"Turn around," the guard said softly.

Ren clenched his jaw. "I need to finish cleaning."

The guard laughed. "You don't need to do anything but listen to what I say."

Ren's breathing quickened. He knew where this was going, and he needed a way out. His eyes went to the tools on the wall-hammers, shovels, anything he could grasp-but the guard was too close.

"Don't make this hard," the guard said, firming up. "Turn around.

Slowly, Ren followed the instructions, pressing his back against the wall. The guard moved closer, his eyes narrowing as he leaned down.

"There. Was that so hard?" The guard's hand crossed over Ren's shoulder; he shivered.

Ren swatted at his hand. "Don't touch me."

The guard simply wouldn't stop smiling. "You're a feisty one tonight. I like that." He leaned in closer, his hot breath dancing around Ren's neck. "But you're just wasting your breath. Nobody is coming to save you."

Ren twisted his body, trying to push the man off. "I don't care. Get off me.

The guard laughed, grabbing Ren's wrists and pinning them to the wall. "You've been here long enough to know how things work. Stop fighting, and this'll be easier for both of us."

Ren kicked at him, his legs thrashing, but the guard easily overpowered him. His strength, built from years of manual labor, was nothing compared to the man's size and weight.

"Let go!" Ren yelled, his voice breaking.

His grasp tightened as he leaned in, his lips forcing onto Ren's. Ren had turned his head, the man's slimy lips pressing to his cheek, and his whole body recoiling as the man's tongue rolled down his neck; he turned his head, trying to break free.

He gasped, his chest rising and falling with ragged breaths as the guard's tongue licked around his lips. "You're wasting your breath," the man muttered, drawing his hand down Ren's arm.

"GET AWAY YOU FUCK!" he yelled

Ren's heart raced, his panic welling in his veins. Still, he refused to succumb. His gaze flew around the room frantically, desperately, searching for something-anything-that could get him out.

A spasm ran through Ren's body as the guard yanked his wrists above his head and pressed them against the wall. The wooden wall bit into Ren's back, but that was a negligible ache. Ren was a tempest in his head; he struggled with his arms, trying to tear himself free as panic overwashed his senses.

The guard leaned in again, his breath hot against Ren's neck. "Stop struggling," he muttered, his voice losing the playful tone it had earlier. "You're only making it worse."

Ren thrashed his legs, kicking the guard's shin as hard as he could. The man grunted in pain but didn't let go. Instead, he shoved Ren harder against the wall, using his weight to hold him still.

Ren hunched over the bar and went for a right turn, bracing his core to hoist his shoulder forward. "Off me!" Ren yelled hoarse.

The same grin creased the guard's face again-a bit more piquant as Ren's reflex showed that struggling only played better in the foreplay. "Feisty little thing," the man said and started working downward to grope Ren's waist. "Can't keep doing this all day, you can't."

A dam broke inside of Ren, but he refused to let the tears fall. His jaw clenched as he pictured his family-his mother's soothing voice, his sister's giggles. He wouldn't let this be it. Not now. Not ever.

His arms ached as he tugged against the guard's grasp. His feet, bare and bruised, scraped at the floor for traction, but the man's body was a dead weight against his own.

Desperation clawed at him. He let his eyes flicker to the implements of his trade that hung on the wall-switchblade and guns-so close, yet so far away. He leaned his head forward and bit down hard on the man's shoulder.

The guard roared in pain, jerking back for a split second. It was enough. Ren ripped one arm free and swung wildly, his fist connecting with the side of the guard's face. The man staggered, but his grip returned quickly, stronger and angrier.

"You little—" the guard hissed, grabbing a fistful of Ren's torn shirt and pulling him forward. He threw Ren to the ground, pinning him beneath his weight.

Ren let out a strangled gasp, his back to the cold floor. He kicked, the legs thrashing about; the guard caught at his knees and forced them down. The man hitched a breath, tussling with the fabric of Ren's tattered pants and yanking them to his thighs.

"No!" Ren shrieked, his voice breaking as he scrabbled against the floor. His hand came into contact with something solid—a hammer abandoned in the corner. His fingers wrapped around the handle, knuckles white as he clenched it.

The guard leaned into him now, his body pressed against Ren's, and Ren felt the weight of the man shift forward onto rens backside

Not No, not like this.

With all his remaining strength, Ren heaved the hammer upward. The iron came down on the side of the guard's head with a rather sickly crack. His eyes went wide with surprise, and in one moment, he froze; then he slumped to the side, falling onto the floor with a dull thud.

Ren scrambled to his feet, breathing in ragged gasps as he stumbled backward, nearly tripping over his feet. His hands shook violently, and the hammer slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor.

The guard lay unmoving, a pool of blood spreading beneath his head. Ren stared at the body, his mind blank except for the echo of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

He wiped at the tears streaming down his face, but they wouldn't stop. His chest heaved as he gasped for breath, the enormity of what had just happened crashing down on him like a tidal wave.

'I knocked him out'.

But there was no time to process that, because anybody who discovered him would kill him too. He made his trembling hands move, tugging his clothes back into place and then stumbling toward the door of the toolshed.

Cold night air slapped him in the face as he stepped out into it, his bare feet sinking into the dirt. The camp lay silent; the guards were most probably patrolling the other side.

I need to get out. Now.

He rubbed his face harder this time, scrubbing the memory of the man's touch from his skin. His body convulsed, and he ran, joining the shadows at the edge of the camp, the rusty hammer forgotten where it had lain.

His bare feet slapped through the cool dirt as Ren fled the toolshed, breathing raggedly-hyperventilating-almost sobbing. His shirt clung to his skin in tatters and sweated. His legs would hardly move-they were so heavy-but he didn't stop. Couldn't.

Hiding behind a stack of firewood, his chest heaved in struggles to work his way up to calmness. His fingers shook and finally came across the keys he had taken from a guard's belt-the only reason he could see a chance to get out tonight.

He had not stopped crying since he left the shed. His tears blurred his vision and mixed with dirt each time he wiped his face. His whole body was shaking violently; the adrenaline made it hard to think.

I killed him.

And wouldn't leave him, this thought. That image of the hammer coming down played before his mind's eye over and over. But there wasn't time to think about it. If the other guards found the body, they'd be coming for him. He had minutes.

Ren pressed a hand to his mouth, stifling his sobs, and peeked out from behind the woodpile. The fence surrounding the camp loomed, the jagged wooden stakes sending shadows across the ground in the faint light of the moon. There was no one patrolling this section, but he knew the rotations well enough to know they could pass by at any moment.

The keys in his hand tinkled softly, and he clutched his fist over them in a flash. First things first: to get through the fence. He couldn't climb; the spikes at the top would tear him apart. But near the edge of the camp, there was a small gate the guards used to reach the nearby woods. He had seen it before during work shifts and knew which key opened it.

Ren crawled on the ground, his body low to the ground as he made his way toward the gate. His knees scraped across rocks and roots, but he hardly felt the pain through the haze of panic and exhaustion. His sobs were quiet now, reduced to shaky breaths while he tried to focus on one task at a time.

Fumbling through the gate door, keys clashed in a shaking hand he just could not steadily grip. "Damn." He hissed low at his shaking hands and clenched, drawing a steady grip. First-one didn't fit, second-the same thing, and my heart was like drumming wild against my rib cage with each my failure.

Finally, the third key fit into the lock. He gave a soft click of a turn, and groaning, the gate opened. 

Ren paused, listening for guards. His breath caught as he heard footsteps, but it disappeared just as quickly. He squeezed through the entrance, clicked the gate shut after himself, and ran into the woods.

The trees enveloped him, their branches like skeletal hands reaching down to snare him. His bare feet slapped against the forest floor, the sharp sting of twigs and rocks cutting through his skin. He didn't stop. The cold night air burned his lungs, but it wasn't enough to drown out the sobs that escaped his throat.

He didn't know to where, nor did he care. Just as long as it was far away from the camp, from the guards, from the toolshed, he'd keep running.

Eventually, his legs gave out. He collapsed against a tree, his fingers digging into the bark as he gasped for breath. His whole body shook uncontrollably, and he buried his face in his arms, sobbing harder than he ever had before.

I'm free.

The thought hit him like a wave, and the tears kept flowing. But with the relief came something heavier: guilt, fear, and cold reality-he had no idea what to do next.

For now, though, all he could do was cry.