Ryne peered out the side of the cargo truck, eyes narrowing at the desolate highway stretching ahead.
"Four years… and it still looks like a battlefield."
Cracked asphalt overgrown with weeds, rusted warning signs swaying in the wind, and shadows shifting between broken overpasses and dense trees. Creatures moved in the distance — a constant reminder that danger never truly disappeared.
He sat in the back with the other Awakeners. Most ignored him, but a few shot glances his way, their expressions making it clear they saw him as dead weight.
Then a hand extended toward him, holding a piece of bread. Thran, the leader who had invited him along, offered it with a warm smile.
"Here. Eat this and replenish your energy."
Ryne hesitated, searching the man's eyes for any trace of mockery. Finding none, he accepted the bread.
"Thank you… sir?"
Thran's smile didn't waver. "Just call me Thran."
Before Ryne could respond, the vice-leader — a sharp-featured man with a permanent scowl — glared at him.
"Sir Thran, why are we dragging a useless Awakener along? His reputation precedes him."
Thran raised an eyebrow, tone calm but serious. "Useless? What exactly do you mean by that?"
The vice-leader pointed straight at Ryne.
"That weakling right there! Everyone knows he's the First Era failure who can't even hold a weapon."
Ryne kept eating in silence, long used to this kind of treatment.
Thran's gaze flicked to Ryne briefly, then returned to his subordinate.
"Do you think the doctor who saved your life last year was useless? Or your parents? Or the ordinary workers who keep this city running — people with no powers at all?"
The vice-leader faltered. The other Awakeners exchanged uneasy glances.
Thran continued, his voice firm yet compassionate.
"We only have our power because of a miracle. But what would happen if that power suddenly vanished tomorrow? Would we suddenly become worthless?"
The truck fell into heavy silence. A quiet warmth spread through Ryne's chest. For once, someone was defending him without pity.
"As a leader," Thran added softly, "I won't let any of you stay ignorant by choice."
By evening, the cargo truck stopped for the night. The Awakeners set up a temporary camp — pitching tents, building a fire, and securing supplies. Ryne helped where he could, stacking crates, tightening ropes, and checking the perimeter.
Later, he sat alone by the crackling campfire, the warmth a small comfort against the growing chill. Most of the others had already retreated to their tents.
A faint rustling made him tense.
"Who's there?" Ryne called, eyes scanning the darkness.
Thran emerged from the shadows and lowered himself onto a folding chair beside him.
"Why haven't you gone to sleep yet?" Thran asked quietly.
"I… I can't sleep tonight. Too much happened today," Ryne admitted, staring into the flames.
Thran nodded slowly. He already understood the real reason. On roads like these, letting your guard down could be fatal.
"Don't lower your guard while we're in this terrain," Thran said, clasping his hands. "You already know that."
"Y-yes…"
Another faint rustling came from the tall grass nearby. Both of them tensed. Thran's hand moved to his weapon. Ryne shifted into a ready stance, muscles coiled.
"Stay alert," Thran whispered.
They stared into the darkness, tension thick in the air.
Then a small figure stepped into the firelight — just a deer.
Thran exhaled and let out a deep laugh.
"Hahaha! Looks like my hearing's getting worse with age!"
Morning came quietly. The camp stirred as everyone packed up their tents and loaded the last supplies.
Ryne tightened the straps on his bag, body heavy from the sleepless night, and waited until the others had boarded before climbing in last.
This time, no one whispered. No one glared.
Only the vice-leader sat with clenched fists, tension still radiating from him.
"Ryne, you didn't sleep at all last night, did you?"
Thran's familiar voice came from the front seat. He turned and gave Ryne a knowing, encouraging smile. "Take some rest while we're moving."
Ryne nodded. "Y-yes… thank you, Sir Thran."
He sat on the edge of a crate, weariness tugging at him. A few Awakeners exchanged uneasy glances, murmurs of lingering resentment still hanging in the air.
Thran's voice cut through the quiet, steady and clear.
"Every night we sleep soundly, thinking there are no worries. But every time we close our eyes, we risk becoming powerless."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"Ryne is proof that true strength doesn't come from awakening alone — it comes from discipline and vigilance."
Heat rose to Ryne's face. He hadn't expected praise, especially not in front of everyone. Some of the Awakeners shifted uncomfortably.
"Last night," Thran added firmly, "while you all slept, Ryne stayed awake and guarded the campsite."
The weight of his words settled over the group. Guilt finally broke through the tension. One of the Awakeners spoke up, his voice sincere.
"Thank you, Ryne… for watching over us while we slept."
Slowly, every head turned toward him. For the first time, Ryne felt something close to genuine acknowledgment — not pity, not mockery, but quiet respect.
He gave a small, awkward nod, his throat tight. After years of being called weak, useless, and pathetic… this small moment of recognition felt heavier than he expected.