The Map Only I Can Read

"Send him to the Wasteland," the king said flatly.

Ren's fingers curled at his side.

That's it? No defense, no voice, just exile because I wasn't what they hoped?

But he stayed silent. The king's aura, that quiet, crushing weight of authority—pressed on the room like a storm cloud. Speak out here, and the king could order his death as easily as his exile.

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. What was there to gain? The guards had swords, the king had the power of law and magician, if the whispers were true. No one knows what's coming next.

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. Ren stumbled, caught himself.

Cowards. They didn't even look me in the eye.

The gate clanged shut behind him, heavy as judgment.

Ren turned, as if to take one last look at what he'd been cast out from.

Fight back? Against a king who could erase me with a word? No. Not yet.

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 began 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."

They wanted him forgotten. But he wouldn't be—not yet.

Not metaphor. Not insult. A fact.

They stopped near a crumbling stone tower—slightly leaning, like a drunk man who tries to stand up. "This was a watchpoint," the soldier said as he dropped Ren's sack. "No one watches anymore."

And no one would mourn if he disappeared out here.

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 came quietly — no cars, no machines, no phone alarms. Just silence.

Just yesterday, Ren had been enjoying a quiet moment with his warm tea.

But now, at a time he hadn't asked for—he was forced.

Forced to be summoned to a land that existed nowhere in anything he knew.

And with every step he took, the dream of the peace he'd longed for in his previous world seemed to slip further away.

From seeking peace… to the harsh truth of barely surviving.

He stepped out of the tower. There was nothing left to do inside.

With no direction, Ren kept walking — through emptiness, through silence, through a place that felt forgotten.

Ren just trying to see surrounding, he… just walks. No destination—just movement.

***

The sun just almost above his head. Ren exploring by his foot—along the south, turn right to the east of the tower, then north. Nothing to be found.

He continue to the east of the tower. And Ren 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.

"Yeah, I can see that." Ren said.

Then he walked to the nearest hut and sat down beside it, back to the wall, pulling his sack open.

His eyes lingered on the child—thin, sunburned, too quiet. He'd seen this before. Villages swallowed by flood, by drought, by war. Faces that stopped hoping because hope had let them down.

Ren's chest tightened. This was no different. No better. Maybe even worse.

He thought of the villages he'd left behind in the old world — places he couldn't save, no matter how hard he tried.

Is this all I'm good for? Watching hope die?

He took out his bread, tore it in half, and offered it to the nearest child.

His hand shook, just a little — not from fear, but from the weight of it all.

She didn't move.

"It's dry," Ren said, his voice softer than he meant, "but it'll fill your stomach."

Eventually, she stepped forward. Took it. Ate without a word.

And Ren watched, his heart heavier than his pack.