walker of chaos

The morning light filtered through the worn planks of the roof overhead, casting faint beams across Ren's face. He woke slowly, as if surfacing from the depths of a heavy, dreamless sleep. His whole body felt raw, like every nerve had been pulled taut and frayed. He tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness hit him, and he fell back onto the rough bed of straw he'd put together from the woods.

"Ugh… what happened?" he muttered to himself, rubbing his temples.

Images flickered in his mind—the noble's face, twisted in shock as the flame in his hand sputtered out, the pulsing heat that had flared within Ren's chest, and then… pain. It was all a blur, leaving only a dull ache and a sense of something gone horribly wrong.

Ren shivered, pulling his cloak closer. His shelter, little more than an abandoned hut on the edge of the village, creaked and groaned as the morning wind gusted through. The villagers hadn't bothered to chase him out; to them, he was an outcast, barely worth a glance. But now… something had changed.

He sat up slowly, his eyes scanning the shadows. Every small sound, every flicker of movement seemed sharper, somehow. The world felt heavier, like a veil had been lifted, exposing something raw and unfiltered beneath. He pressed his hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

"Was that… real?" he whispered.

The memory of that strange, wild power made his skin prickle with both fear and excitement. He had defied mana itself, bending a flame out of existence with just a thought. But it didn't feel like mana—at least, not like any magic he'd ever seen.

Suddenly, the sound of voices reached his ears, faint but growing closer. He froze, straining to listen. Outside, two men walked past his shelter, talking in low, hurried voices.

"...you heard about the noble's son?" one of them said.

"Yeah, poor lad. Said he ran into some kind of… cursed spirit in the forest. Was raving about it all night. I heard his family's bringing in a healer to check his mind."

Ren's heart skipped. Cursed spirit…

"Think it's true?" the other man asked, voice skeptical. "Ain't no spirits around here. Just drifters and beggars."

"Maybe, but he was shaking like a leaf. Didn't seem like a lie to me. He was rambling about some strange power, said it felt like the world turned inside out."

Their voices faded as they moved on, but Ren stayed frozen, his pulse racing. He took a shaky breath, barely able to process the reality of it. They think I'm… cursed? A spirit?

But was that so wrong? He hadn't been able to explain what had happened, either. He had felt something powerful and alien within him, something that defied the very laws of mana. And that same power had left him feeling hollow, as if something had been ripped from him in return.

He forced himself to his feet, every muscle aching in protest, and stumbled outside. The morning air was sharp and biting, and the sun was just beginning to rise over the trees, casting long shadows across the dirt path. He breathed it in, steadying himself.

The day had barely started, and yet he felt the weight of everything pressing down on him—his place as an outcast, this strange power, and the fear creeping into the back of his mind that he might truly be… different.

Ren didn't know what it meant to be a "Walker of Chaos." But whatever it was, it had marked him, setting him apart in a world that already had no place for him.

And as he stood there, watching the sun climb higher, he realized one thing with cold certainty:

There was no going back.