"Send him to the Wasteland," the king said flatly, rising from his seat, signing a walk away. His voice held no anger, just the weight of protocol.
The lady who had spoken to Ren said nothing more. She didn't even look at him.
Before Ren could ask what Wasteland meant—before he could even decide if he wanted to ask—two armored guards took hold of his arms.
He didn't resist.
There was no trial, no farewell, no second look.
The chamber dimmed, the crystal covered, and Ren was escorted down a long, glowing stones in the hallway that ran along a chamber that seemed spiral beneath the palace itself. The air grew colder slightly cracked stones visible along the way.
Eventually, a gate opened with a grinding snarl of rusted gears. Beyond it—darkness. Cracked stone, open sky, a silence that was wrong.
They shoved him forward.
The gate clanged shut behind him.
They gave him no weapons, No escort, No farewell, just small bag of gold, sack of bread, a threadbare cloak, and a scroll with his assignment sealed in cheap red wax.
Curiosity tugged at him. What had they written in that sealed assignment? He broke the wax and read.
"By Royal Decree, the summoned subject known as 'Ren' shall be relocated to Sector Six – West Exile District – until further notice.
Purpose: Non-essential Reassignment.
Survival: optional."
The knight who handed him the scroll didn't even look him in the eyes.
The wagon begin to move, it creaked through the wildlands.
***
Ren sat at the back, arms around his knees, watching the road dissolve behind them. It had been three days of silence. The soldier driving the cart had spoken only once: "Do not return until you receive the king's order to return to the capital of Valencrest."
The land shifted gradually—first from soft grassy plains to brittle, cracked earth, and then into something far less welcoming.
Soil the color of ash. Thorny, twisted bushes clinging to survival. Crumbling stone paths that vanished into dead hills. Scattered remnants of wooden posts, charred or broken by storms long passed..
What might've once been villages now lay buried beneath dust and silence.
But beneath the desolation, something lingered.
A strange warmth in the ground. Gleaming patches of rocks scattered the path, where the sun shone on the broken stone.
Even the sky looked tired.
Ren exhaled softly. "The Wasteland."
Not metaphor. Not insult. A fact.
They stopped near a crumbling stone tower—half leaning, like a drunk man about to passed out. "This was a watchpoint," the soldier said as he dropped Ren's sack. "No one watches anymore."
Without another word, he turns back the wagon, and left.
The wagon vanished down the horizon.
Ren stood there, surrounded by a silence so vast, it seemed to press into his chest. No welcome, No guide, nothing.
Only calming wind that slowly blowing and moving his clothes a little.
He spent the first night in the tower ruins. Just stones and dust, and a bit of rain that found him through the cracks. He didn't complain. He had slept in worse places.
***
The next morning, he walked.
No destination—just movement.
By midday, he found them.
A cluster of huts—barely held together with bark and rope. Smoke curled from a single chimney. A group of thin children watched him from a distance, wide-eyed, their skin sunburned and their clothes tattered.
An old man with one arm stepped forward, holding an almost broken hoe like a weapon.
Ren instinctively stopped. Raised his hands slowly.
"I'm not here to take anything," he said.
The man squinted. "Another exile?"
Ren nodded. "They said this place was the edge of the kingdom."
The old man snorted. "This isn't the edge. This is what they push off the edge."
Ren looked around. Soil, dry and cracked. A well capped with a rotting lid. A single goat—ribs visible—chewing on a pile of weeds.
"I see," Ren said.
Then he walked to the nearest hut and sat down beside it, back to the wall, pulling his sack open. He took out his bread, tore it in half, and offered it to the nearest child.
She didn't move.
"It's dry," Ren said, "but it'll fill your stomach."
Eventually, she stepped forward. Took it. Ate without a word.
That night, Ren stayed outside. Listening. Watching. Mapping.