The woman's armor shimmered faintly beneath the dust of the road — gold-trimmed steel, weathered by time and travel. Though her shoulders carried the weight of long years, she stood tall and unwavering, like a statue carved by duty itself.
Her gaze locked onto Ren. Eyes wide. Lips parted.
"…Lyselle?" she breathed, as if speaking a name long buried in silence.
Ren froze.
The air between them was heavy, like the moment before a storm breaks. For a moment, he thought she might be talking to someone else. But her eyes didn't waver. They were fixed on him.
"Why… did you call me that?" Ren asked carefully.
She took a step forward. "You don't remember me, do you?"
Ren shook his head. "I've never seen you before. My name is Ren. I live at the temple."
Her expression softened — not with disbelief, but something deeper. A kind of pain. Grief wrapped in understanding.
"I see…" she said quietly. "Then it's true. The rebirth was imperfect."
She stepped back and knelt down in a formal gesture, placing a hand across her chest.
"I am Ser Calia Virelle, Knight-Commander of the Argent Oath. I once fought by your side, Saint Lyselle. I swore my blade and my life to your service."
Ren blinked. "You've… got the wrong person. I'm just a kid from a village. I can't even use magic."
She looked up at him, amber eyes burning with conviction. "You may not remember me now. But I have crossed deserts, mountains, and decades to find you again. I would know your soul anywhere."
Ren felt the ground shift beneath him. It wasn't just what she said — it was how she said it. Like the truth had already been carved into her bones.
"…I had a dream," he whispered. "I stood on a battlefield. I held a silver sword. There was fire. And… they called me Lyselle."
Calia's breath caught. Her hand trembled.
"Then it's begun. The memories are returning."
She stood slowly, as if the weight of her armor had doubled. Her voice, when she spoke again, was gentler.
"There are things in motion again, Ren. Forces that once feared you will rise again. Whether you believe me or not, they will come for you."
Ren stepped back. "I don't understand any of this."
"You don't have to yet," she said. "But when the time comes, you'll need allies. If you want answers, find me in Solmira — the capital. Ask for the Argent Oath. We never forgot you, even when the world did."
She hesitated, then added with a faint smile, "You always hated the cold. Take care until then, Lyselle."
She turned and walked to the waiting carriage. The driver cracked the reins, and it rumbled down the misted path, fading into the trees.
Ren remained standing long after she'd gone. His heart felt like a drum in his chest. The rain had stopped, but the wind still carried the chill of something old waking again.
That night, under a sky blanketed in stars, Ren returned to the forgotten shrine.
He knelt before the ruined statue, just as he had the day before. This time, he wasn't afraid.
"If I really am this Saint Lyselle…" he whispered, "then I need to know who I was… and why I came back."
A breeze stirred the grass. The statue's base pulsed with faint light, and for a heartbeat, he swore he saw his reflection — not as he was, but as someone older, cloaked in white, sword in hand, eyes glowing like starlight.
He blinked, and the image was gone.
But the wind carried a whisper.
"Soon."