Darkness.

  Then, pain.

  A deep, burning ache crawled through Ren's entire body, weighing him down like iron chains. His limbs were numb, yet somehow still throbbed with exhaustion. His mind felt sluggish, trapped in a void of fatigue.

  A distant voice called out.

  "Hey, you alive?"

  Ren's eyes fluttered open, only to be met with a blinding light. He gritted his teeth, groaning as his vision adjusted. A stone ceiling loomed above him, its rough surface illuminated by the flickering glow of oil lanterns.

  The smell of antiseptic and sweat lingered in the air.

  He tried to sit up. A sharp pain stabbed through his ribs, forcing him to wince. His hands instinctively clutched his sides, feeling the bandages wrapped tightly around his torso. His fingers grazed over bruises—fresh, sore, and a brutal reminder of the last few hours.

  Memories of his humiliating beatdown, his painful laps, and his body collapsing in front of everyone came rushing back.

  "Tch."

  Ren clenched his jaw, his frustration simmering beneath the surface.

  Weak.

  That word echoed in his mind like a curse. No matter how much he fought, how much he pushed himself, his body had failed him. He had fallen.

  And now, here he was, lying in a damn infirmary bed.

  A voice cut through his self-loathing.

  "Looks like you're finally awake, demon boy."

  Ren turned his head, his glare sharp despite his exhaustion.

  Astra leaned against the wall beside his bed, arms crossed, her red eyes flickering with amusement. "Passed out like a sack of rocks. Impressive stamina, considering you looked like you were about to keel over five minutes into your laps."

  Ren scoffed. "If you're here to talk shit, save it."

  Astra smirked. "Relax. Just making sure you weren't actually dead." She tilted her head. "You really don't know when to quit, do you?"

  Ren exhaled sharply, closing his eyes for a moment. "If I quit, I lose."

  "Yeah? And what exactly are you trying to win?"

  Ren's eyes snapped open. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stared at the ceiling, his mind drifting back to everything he had lost, everything he had endured. The jeers, the disgusted stares, his mother's weary smile as she struggled against the weight of a world that had already decided their place in it.

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  He clenched his fists.

  "I'm not going to stay at the bottom," he said, voice firm. "Not forever."

  Astra studied him for a moment before chuckling. "You've got a real death wish, huh?"

  Ren turned his head to glare at her, but she just smirked. "Don't look at me like that. I kinda get it." She pushed off the wall, stretching her arms. "You'll be stuck here for a bit, though. Wolfe said you're not allowed to do anything stupid until you're at least able to stand without falling over."

  Ren's tail flicked sharply in irritation. "I don't need rest. I need to get stronger."

  Astra snorted. "Uh-huh. Right. Go ahead and try standing then."

  Ren gritted his teeth and pushed himself up.

  The moment he got halfway, pain exploded through his core, his ribs screaming in protest. His arms shook violently, and before he could stabilize himself—

  His vision tilted.

  Astra's hand caught his shoulder before he could collapse. "Told you," she said flatly.

  Ren hated the smug look on her face.

  More than that, he hated how right she was.

  "Just rest," Astra said, stepping away. "You'll have plenty of time to kill yourself trying to be stronger tomorrow."

  Ren clenched his fists but said nothing.

  ***

  Ren stayed in the infirmary for the rest of the night, despite his burning desire to leave. Every time he tried to sit up, the pain forced him back down. His body was a wreck—he knew that.

  But that didn't make it easier to accept.

  The door creaked open.

  Ren glanced up, expecting Astra again, but instead—

  Wolfe stepped in.

  The older man eyed Ren's condition, his usual smirk replaced with a more neutral expression. "Still breathing?"

  Ren didn't answer.

  Wolfe pulled up a chair and sat down beside the bed, resting his elbows on his knees. "You really don't know how to hold back, do you?"

  Ren shot him a sharp look. "I'm not interested in being weak."

  Wolfe raised an eyebrow. "And how'd that work out for you?"

  Ren's teeth clenched.

  Wolfe sighed. "Look, kid. I get it. You've got something to prove. But let me make something real clear—you don't win just by throwing yourself at the enemy until they break first."

  Ren's tail twitched. "Then tell me. How do I win?"

  Wolfe leaned forward, his gaze dead serious. "By surviving."

  Ren narrowed his eyes.

  "You can't get stronger if you're dead, Ren," Wolfe said, voice even. "You think just throwing punches and pushing through pain is gonna make you stronger? No. That'll get you killed. And if you're dead, then what? What happens to that whole 'not staying at the bottom' thing?"

  Ren's breath hitched slightly.

  Because he knew Wolfe was right.

  Ren hadn't fought smart in that sparring match. He had fought desperate. Reckless. He had let his frustration drive him instead of his instincts. And because of that—he lost.

  Wolfe leaned back. "You want to be strong? Then learn how to fight without needing to get your ass kicked first."

  Ren looked away, frustration burning in his chest. But deep down, he understood.

  This wasn't just about strength.

  It was about control.

  And right now? He had none.

  Wolfe stood up. "You've got potential, kid. More than a lot of the others. But if you don't figure out how to use your head, you're not gonna last long."

  He walked toward the door but paused just before stepping out. "Get some sleep. Training starts at dawn."

  Ren barely heard him leave.

  His mind was too busy replaying the fight in his head, dissecting every mistake, every failure.

  And then, for the first time since arriving here—he felt fear.

  Not fear of dying.

  Not fear of pain.

  But fear that Wolfe was right.

  That if he didn't change something, if he didn't find a way to survive—

  Then he'd never be strong enough.

  Not strong enough to win.

  Not strong enough to stand above anyone.

  Not strong enough to change anything.

  And that was unacceptable.