In the dark of the North where the cold winds blow,
A debt was planted where nothing should grow.
A father's high gamble, a throw of the dice,
And Ren was the soul who would pay the full price.
With hands worn and calloused from labor and grit,
He kept the lamps burning, the small fires lit.
But the shadows grew long as the creditors came,
To claim a new prize in a desperate game.
No gold could suffice for the hole that was made,
So the life of a son was the price of the trade.
The Lion was waiting, a titan in black,
With a cage for the jewel that could never go back.
From the sweat of the fields to the silk of the hall,
The First Debt was signed for the pride of a fall.
A master, a captive, a contract of bone—
The story began with a heart turned to stone.
"You're Mine Ren, Mine, Mine, Only Mine!"