Scene: Renn's Home – Late Afternoon
The wind pressed softly against the wooden cottage, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant rain. Inside, Renn sat alone by a cracked wooden table, staring at a blade he never remembered acquiring.
It never rusted. Never dulled. And sometimes, when the room was too quiet, it seemed to hum.
A knock broke the silence.
Three slow taps.
Renn stood. "...Grandmother?"
The door opened before he could reach it.
Standing there was Grandmother Elira Arden, his foster grandmother—the only family he had ever known, though she never spoke of where he came from or why she took him in. She looked older than she should have, yet carried herself with a quiet certainty that never aged.
Her eyes met his.
"You're still pretending the dreams are nothing," she said gently.
Renn frowned. "They are nothing. Just noise."
Elira stepped inside without waiting, as if the house itself had long allowed her permission.
"The same dream," she said. "The same falling sky. The same voice calling a name you refuse to answer."
Renn's grip tightened slightly. "It doesn't mean anything."
Elira didn't respond immediately. Instead, she reached into her old cloak.
The Forgotten Scarf
From within, she slowly pulled out a worn scarf—ancient fabric, frayed at the edges, yet carefully preserved as if it mattered more than anything else in the world.
Renn's breath paused.
Something about it felt familiar in a way that hurt. Elira laid it across the table.
On the fabric was a faded crest, incomplete and weathered beyond recognition. It looked like a broken star intertwined with something like wings—or branches—or neither at all.
No one in Aetherion would recognize it. No one remembered what it meant. But stitched beside the symbol were words.
One name stood out clearly:
RENN
Renn froze. "That… that's my name."
Elira nodded slowly.
"And it was written long before I found you."
Renn stepped back slightly. "That's impossible. I was abandoned as a child. I have no past."
Elira's voice softened.
"You have a past. The world simply refused to keep it."
Silence filled the room again, heavier this time. Renn looked at the scarf, then at her.
"What is this supposed to mean?"
Elira exhaled.
"The Valehart name is gone from memory," she said. "Not lost. Erased."
Renn shook his head. "Valehart doesn't exist. No one knows it. No one even remembers hearing it."
"That is the point," Elira replied calmly.
Then her gaze sharpened slightly.
"But something remembers you."
A pause.
"The dreams are not dreams, Renn. They are a call."