The rain had been falling since dawn.
Thin droplets pattered against the old temple roof, slipping between the cracks in the wood and leaking into tiny puddles on the floor. Ren sat cross-legged beside one of them, watching the ripples spread like small echoes — one after another, always fading too soon.
He didn't know why he liked the rain. Maybe because it made the world feel quieter, softer. Or maybe because, when it rained, nobody noticed a boy like him wandering alone.
"You're going to catch a cold, you know," said Sister Mirna, her voice gentle as she stepped into the room with a warm cloth. "Come away from the wind, Ren."
Ren didn't argue. He never did.
He moved to the mat she'd laid out by the hearth and let her dry his hair with the rough cloth. It smelled faintly of incense and herbs — the scent of the old temple orphanage that had taken him in five years ago, when he'd been found asleep in the ruins outside the village.
No parents. No past. No name.
They gave him the name Ren, meaning lotus, because he was found blooming from nothing.
"You always look like you're thinking about something," Sister Mirna said, her eyes kind. "What is it today? Dreaming of being a knight?"
Ren shook his head. "No. Just… trying to remember something."
"Remember what?"
Ren hesitated. How could he explain it?
There were no memories, not really — just feelings. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he felt like he'd stood on mountaintops that didn't exist, or walked battlefields long turned to grass. He could sense spells he'd never learned, smell blood in the wind, and hear voices whispering names he didn't know.
It made no sense. He was just a quiet boy in a temple orphanage. A boy who could never use magic. A boy who always dreamed of things too big to be real.
"Nothing," Ren said softly. "It's probably just a dream."
Mirna smiled but didn't press further. She never did. That was one of the things he liked about her.
Later, when the rain had eased to a mist and the sky turned gray-blue, Ren stepped outside.
He walked down the mossy path that led to the old shrine behind the temple — the one no one visited anymore. The statue there had long since crumbled, its features worn down by wind and time. But somehow, Ren always felt drawn to it.
Today, something was different.
As he reached the base of the statue, a sudden ache bloomed in his chest — sharp, familiar, but impossible. His breath caught.
A memory — no, not a memory. A voice, low and calm, like thunder beneath still waters:
"You are not yet whole. But soon, you will remember."
Ren staggered back, heart pounding. The statue's eyes — once blank — glowed faintly with silver light, then dimmed.
He blinked. The glow was gone. The wind had picked up. The shrine was silent.
But something inside him had shifted.
And far away, in a tower beyond the mountains, a woman in golden armor opened her eyes. She turned to the west and whispered:
"He's awake."