Chapter 3: Whispers of the Past
The sun rose slowly over the village, casting soft golden rays through the cracks of Ren's small, wooden house. It was another quiet morning. Birds chirped outside, and the soft hum of the village waking up filled the air. The sounds of the mundane seemed so far away to Ren—almost like they belonged to someone else.
He sat at the edge of his bed, the cool morning air brushing against his skin. Sweat still clung to his brow from the nightmare that had plagued him all night. His hands trembled slightly, and he clutched them together to steady himself. The dreams were becoming more vivid. Every night, he relived the same scenes, the same blood-soaked battlefields, the same haunting images of a throne room he had never seen in his waking life.
Ren rubbed his eyes, trying to shake off the aftereffects of the dream. His heart still pounded in his chest as though the emotions from the dream had followed him into the waking world.
"What is happening to me?" Ren whispered to himself. He had no answers. No way to explain what was going on. The dreams had started the day he turned sixteen. But these weren't just ordinary nightmares—there was something about them. Something familiar, something that felt… like it was meant for him.
Ren swung his legs off the bed and placed his feet on the cold floor. His gaze wandered to the wooden floorboards beneath him, a faint crack running down the center. His hands clenched into fists, and for a moment, he could feel a strange surge of energy rushing through his veins. It wasn't like a physical power—it was deeper, more primal, as if his body itself was waking up to something buried deep within him.
He shook his head, trying to ignore the sensations. "It's nothing. It's just a dream."
But it didn't feel like just a dream. Ren had never felt this way before. He wasn't sure what it was, but the weight of the emotions from his dreams—the rage, the sadness, the power—had followed him into the real world.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his mother calling out from the kitchen. "Ren, are you awake yet? The harvest isn't going to wait for you, you know."
Ren stood up and walked toward the door, forcing himself to push aside the strange thoughts clouding his mind. He wasn't going to get answers by sitting here all day. He needed to focus on the simple things—on what was in front of him. It was the only thing that had ever felt normal.
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Ren stepped outside into the cool morning air. The village was waking up. Villagers moved about, working on their daily chores. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted from nearby homes. It was all so peaceful, so simple. He liked it that way. Or at least, he had.
As Ren walked toward the fields, the sounds of life around him felt distant. He could feel the familiar warmth of the sun on his skin, but there was an odd, unfamiliar sensation gnawing at him. The world felt different, as if it were too small for him. The energy inside him buzzed like a tuning fork, causing his senses to sharpen in ways that made his heart race. It felt like his body was on the verge of something—something dangerous.
Ren stopped in his tracks, his breath catching in his chest. For a moment, he could have sworn the world had shifted. The air felt heavier. The ground beneath him seemed more solid. It was as though something—someone—was calling him from far away.
"Ren?" his mother's voice snapped him back to reality. She stood a few paces behind him, carrying a basket of supplies.
He turned to face her, his heart still racing, but he forced a smile. "I'm fine, Mom. Just a bit tired."
His mother gave him a worried look, her brow furrowing. "You've been acting strange lately. Are you sure you're okay? You haven't been yourself since… since your birthday."
Ren hesitated. He couldn't explain it to her. Not yet. How could he tell her that he felt something far beyond the village, something ancient and powerful, stirring deep within him? He didn't even understand it himself. But that didn't stop the growing unease in his heart.
"I'm just tired. It's nothing."
His mother nodded, though she didn't seem convinced. "Well, take it easy today. The harvest can wait."
Ren gave her a brief nod before walking toward the fields. As he passed the others in the village, his steps slowed. Every movement, every breath felt too loud. He could hear the whispers of the wind as it rustled through the trees, the distant murmur of the river. But there was something else. Faint, like a whisper at the edge of his hearing.
"Ren…"
He froze, his heart lurching. The voice wasn't coming from anyone in the village. It was inside his head.
"Who…?" Ren whispered, his voice barely audible.
The voice seemed to fade, leaving only the sound of his own breath. But something had shifted. Ren knew—deep down—that he hadn't imagined it. Something was calling to him. Something that wanted him to remember.
His chest tightened. The power within him was awakening, and he didn't know how to control it. He looked around, half-expecting someone to approach him, someone who could explain what was happening. But the villagers continued their work, oblivious to the storm raging inside him.
For the rest of the day, Ren couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. The voice, the strange surge of power—everything felt like it was leading up to something, but what?
As night fell and the stars began to twinkle in the sky, Ren lay in bed once more. The familiar weight of sleep threatened to pull him under, but the nightmares… he didn't want to face them. Not again.
But as he closed his eyes, the memories returned, pieces of them, like shards of glass that sliced through his mind.
A throne room. A woman. Betrayal.
A flash of light. Blood.
He gasped, sitting up suddenly. His heart pounded, and his chest felt tight. He didn't know what it all meant, but there was one thing he was certain of: the truth was out there, waiting for him to find it.
He wasn't just a simple village boy. He wasn't just Ren.
He was something far older. Far more dangerous.
And the past was catching up to him.