The wind howled across the endless grasslands, carrying with it the sharp scent of rain and the distant cries of wild Pokémon.

  In the center of the storm, a boy stirred.

  He didn't know who he was.

  He didn't know where he was.

  Cold seeped into his bones as he sat up shakily, drenched and shivering, his mind a blank slate.

  The only thing he knew — deep in his gut — was that he didn’t belong here.

  Not yet.

  Not without purpose.

  Not without strength.

  The sky rumbled overhead, a flash of lightning illuminating the world in harsh white.

  Through the rain, a figure approached.

  An old man, gray-haired and steady, accompanied by a towering Alakazam whose eyes glowed faintly even in the storm.

  The boy stared, dazed, as the man knelt beside him.

  A hand, warm despite the rain, settled gently on his shoulder.

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  "Easy now, lad," the man said. His voice was rough but kind. "You’re safe."

  Safe.

  The boy wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it.

  He wasn’t safe.

  Not really.

  Not anywhere.

  But he let the man help him to his feet.

  Because somewhere — deep inside — he recognized that voice.

  Not the man himself.

  But the feeling he radiated.

  Trust.

  Later, wrapped in a warm blanket and sipping something hot, the boy learned the man's name.

  Professor Samuel Oak.

  The most renowned Pokémon Professor in Kanto.

  The boy blinked at him through the steam of his drink, mind whirling.

  He knew that name.

  Knew it in a way that made his skin crawl and his heart pound.

  Memories — fragmented, broken — whispered at the edge of his consciousness.

  Pokémon.

  Battles.

  Dreams.

  A world both familiar and alien.

  He tightened his grip on the mug.

  "You’re safe now," Oak said again, sitting across from him. His Alakazam floated nearby, calmly levitating a set of medical supplies with psychic energy."You’ve been through something, lad. I won’t press you. But can you tell me anything? Your name, at least?"

  The boy hesitated.

  His mouth moved on its own.

  A name slipped free — instinctual.

  "Ren."

  Oak nodded slowly.

  "Ren... Oak, then. If you’ll accept it."

  Ren blinked.

  Confused.

  Grateful.

  Numb.

  He simply nodded.

  And thus, without ceremony, without fanfare —Ren Oak was born.