Inside the depths of his consciousness, Ren floated amidst a void—an endless, cold expanse of silence. There was no direction, no sound. Only one thing remained constant in this strange dream: a single star, shining so brightly it nearly blinded him, hung above like the unblinking eye of a god. The light wasn't just bright—it felt alive… as if calling his name from far away. And, as always, just as that light engulfed him, awareness began to stir once more.
Ren blinked slowly, heavily. An unfamiliar ceiling greeted his gaze—crafted from pale golden wood, carved with patterns of leaves and wind tendrils, dancing in elegant, elven artistry. The air was laced with the soft scent of dried flowers and gentle herbs. This wasn't a military infirmary… it was far too refined, too quiet. This place… felt like the private quarters of a noble.
"Where… am I…?" he murmured, voice raspy and cracked like someone waking from a deep, forgotten slumber.
