Ren walked through the streets, his boots sinking into the thick, soupy mud with each step. The air was damp, filled with the scent of rain-soaked wood, rotting straw, and the distant tang of roasting meat from a vendor’s cart. His cloak, frayed at the edges, barely shielded him from the drizzle that dripped from the rooftops, but he hardly noticed. The city had always been like this—unkind, unrelenting.
The distant clatter of hooves against stone made him glance up. A carriage was approaching, its wheels cutting deep tracks into the filth. The carriage itself was elegant, dark wood carved with intricate patterns, the crest of some noble house gleaming on its side.
Ren might have ignored it, just another reminder of the world that would always remain beyond his reach, but then—he saw her.
A face framed by golden waves of hair appeared at the window. Her skin was pale, luminous even in the gloom of the street, her lips soft and delicate. She wore a gown of the finest fabric, embroidered with pearls and tiny flowers that shimmered as she moved. A delicate tiara crowned her head, glittering as the carriage rattled along the uneven road. But it was her eyes—soft, warm, filled with something unspoken—that struck him like a blade to the gut.
For a moment, the city around him faded. He was a boy again, curled up in the dark, freezing, waiting to die. And then warmth. A blanket draped over him. Bread pressed into his hands. A girl beside him, her body trembling from the cold, but refusing to leave his side.
It was her.
The woman in the carriage stared at him, her blue eyes widening in shock. Her lips parted slightly, as though whispering a name she had long forgotten.
Then, suddenly—"Stop the carriage!"
The driver barely had time to react before the woman threw open the door, one foot ready to step onto the filthy street. "My lady, no!" A hand caught her wrist, another reached for her arm. Her servants rushed to stop her, their expressions horrified. "The mud—your dress—"

She hesitated.