The sky over Ezzera burned red that evening—not like a sunset, but like an open wound left unstitched.
Some villagers took it as a sign of incoming rain.Reno saw it differently. To him, it was the perfect hour to plant poison in soil that had long been left to rot.
Because if truth couldn't enter through the door,he would carve a crack in the wall—and let the rot whisper its way in.
That morning, Reno's hands moved deftly beside Mira's, helping her grind herbs for wound salves in the small clinic.
But poultices weren't the only things he was brewing.
Tucked beneath the drawer cleaned by the night shift guards,he slid in a scrap of paper—crumpled, stained, intentional.
"From Tomas: Someone knows about the girl that night. Be careful. –M"
Simple.Lethal.
The signature was forged. The message, a lie.But Tomas' name carried enough weight among the guards to stir unease.
That same evening, Reno just happened to pass by the communal kitchen.In the corner, two guards—Harkin and Poll—whispered with unease.
Harkin kept throwing glances toward Tomas.Poll gripped his dagger handle too long, like paranoia itched beneath his skin.
"Biological reactions are hard to fake. Fear is real."—Reno's Journal, Night 13
Two nights later.
Moonless. Still.
Reno crept into the guard's supply shed, knowing the rotations by heart—who stayed alert, who slept like corpses.
With precise care, he moved a sack of dry rations to the smaller grain barn near Tomas' home.
And he left the ground messy.Obvious.A trail waiting to be sniffed.
The next morning...
"WHEN DID YOU START USING MILITARY RATIONS?!"
Captain Korr's roar cracked across the square like a whip.
Tomas stood frozen, clearly confused.But Reno had already written the next line of the script.
Mira appeared from the kitchen trail, carrying a basket of bread. Her voice carried just enough:
"Tomas doesn't even know where the supply shed is, Captain. You forgot he once got lost in a wheat field?"
Several villagers heard.Two mothers chuckled.A baker laughed under his breath.
And for the first time, Korr's face tensed—not with rage, but embarrassment.
Reno noted it down carefully, the way an architect notes the first hairline crack in an old wall.
Mira was a spark.But sparks could fizzle out... or become flame.
Reno made her no promises.Only maps.
The social anatomy of Ezzera, scrawled on parchment—full of red lines, small names, quiet pressure points.A monster's body laid bare.
In the backroom of the clinic, he pointed to three names.
Lana – a weaver. Her younger sister vanished last year. No funeral. No explanation.Bor – young farmer. His father "fell" from the watchtower. They said he was drunk. Bor knew better—his father never drank.Eri – kitchen girl. Kept seeing guards sneak out through the back gate late at night.
"Don't push them. Just listen.If they start talking… we'll know who's ready—and who just needs the right bait," Reno whispered.
Mira looked into his eyes.
"Why me? Why should I be the one to talk to them?"
"Because they still trust you," Reno replied."They don't trust me."
A few days after Mira spoke to Lana, Reno noticed a small shift.
Lana began weaving in front of his home.Her excuse? "The air is better here."
But every time she left her loom a little too long,Reno knew it wasn't coincidence.
Tucked between threads, he found a folded slip of paper.
"I know about Eri. She was taken one night.Her family was paid to stay quiet."
That was all he needed.
Silence born from fear was one thing.Silence bought with coin... that meant system.
And systems could be broken.
Night 15.
Reno placed another forged note—this time on the guard's drink table.
"The Village Head is getting suspicious.Keep the evening shift sober. –K"
The phrasing mimicked Korr's tone, clipped and direct.
By morning, the guards were fighting.Harkin nearly punched Poll.Poll threatened to report him to Berond.
Reno walked past, carrying an empty water bucket, face blank.But his ears absorbed everything.
"If your enemies begin to suspect each other...you never need to draw a blade.They'll unsheathe theirs for you."—Reno's Journal, Day 15
Later that week.
Behind the clinic, beneath flickering lantern light, Mira stared at the small fire, its reflection dancing in her eyes.
"How do you know all this, Reno?"
He paused before replying, voice low.
"Because I once lived in a place even filthier than this."
Mira studied him.
"Were you... a victim too?"
Reno smiled faintly—not peace, but an old scar twitching.
"I wasn't strong enough to be a victim.But I was smart enough... not to repeat their mistakes."
Silence stretched.
Then Mira asked, barely above a whisper:
"Is this... revenge?"
Reno shook his head, slow and steady.
"It's a world I want—One where rot doesn't get to hide behind rank."
On Night 16, Reno sat alone.
Before him lay a rough map:
Red dots marked supply routes.
Gray lines traced guard patrols.
Names were crossed out, arrows drawn between them.
And at the center: a red symbol marked"The Small Room" — a locked chamber behind the village office.
Beneath it, Reno had written:
"To bring down Berond, I need to know who protects him outside the village.""To destroy Korr, I must prove he isn't just a brute—but a cog in the machine.""To save Mira, I need to be certain... she's not just another silent survivor."
Above Ezzera, the night sky looked peaceful.
But behind its quiet walls...
monsters were beginning to stir.