Ren was only five years old when the world as he knew it shattered.
It was a cold, gray evening in the Storm Fang village, nestled deep within the Thunder Plains. The air crackled with the familiar hum of lightning, the skies dark and roiling as they always were. The people of the Storm Fang Clan had long been accustomed to the constant storms that their ancestors once controlled with ease. Ren had heard tales from the elders, stories of how the clan's warriors could summon lightning from the sky and wield the wind like a blade. But those were stories of the past—glories of an era that seemed so far away now.
For Ren, the Storm Fang was home. He could still hear the laughter of the other children as they ran through the village, their small forms darting through the rain. He stood alone at the edge of the village, watching the storm roll overhead. Lightning streaked across the sky, but it did not scare him. For a boy of his age, Ren had always felt a strange connection to the storms, like they were speaking to him, even though he had never shown the magical gift that many in his clan possessed.
His magic coils were weak—so weak, in fact, that the village elders pitied him. He couldn't summon even a spark of lightning or feel the wind respond to his will. It was the first thing they noticed when he was born. His parents had never said it aloud, but Ren knew they were disappointed. His older brothers, strong and gifted, were already training to become warriors. Ren was left to wander, unwanted and unimportant.
But that night, everything would change.
As the first faint sound of screams echoed through the village, Ren's heart skipped. It was distant, carried on the wind, barely noticeable over the constant rumble of thunder. At first, he thought it was just the storm, perhaps a stray burst of wind. But then came the crash of something heavier—something that didn't belong to the natural world. The air seemed to grow colder, unnaturally cold, as if the very storm itself was being drained of its heat.
Ren turned toward the center of the village, his small legs trembling. Figures emerged from the mist, dark silhouettes moving through the rain with unnatural speed. Water coalesced around them, freezing into sharp, deadly shapes. The Silver Tide Clan had arrived.
The Silver Tide was a rival clan, known for their mastery over water and ice magic. While the Storm Fang could summon storms and command the wind, the Silver Tide controlled the oceans and the cold. Their power was swift and relentless, like a freezing tide that drowned everything in its path.
Ren's breath hitched as he watched the invaders pour into the village. They moved in perfect formation, their hands glowing with cold, shimmering light. Icicles formed in the air, spears of ice that flew through the air and impaled anyone in their path. The Storm Fang warriors fought back, but they were caught off guard, unprepared for such a precise and merciless attack.
Ren saw his father, a towering figure in the clan, rush forward to meet the enemy. His mother stood beside him, her hands crackling with the faintest hint of lightning. But even as they fought valiantly, the power of the Silver Tide was overwhelming. Water surged through the streets, freezing over as it touched the ground, trapping the feet of the Storm Fang warriors. Ren watched, frozen in fear, as his father was struck down by an icicle spear, his body falling lifeless to the ground. His mother's scream was the last sound she made before she, too, fell beneath the icy onslaught.
Tears blurred Ren's vision, but he couldn't move. He could only watch as his entire world crumbled around him. The Silver Tide warriors moved through the village like a relentless wave, leaving nothing but ice and death in their wake. The once vibrant village was now a frozen wasteland, the air so cold it hurt to breathe.
And then, one of them saw him.
A Silver Tide warrior, his face hidden beneath a mask of frost, walked toward Ren, his steps slow and deliberate. The man's hand was raised, shimmering with ice magic, ready to strike the small boy down. But as he drew closer, he hesitated. He lowered his hand, tilting his head as he looked down at Ren with cold, calculating eyes.
"This one's magic coils are weak," the warrior said to his companions. His voice was as cold as the ice he wielded. "Not worth killing."
Ren's breath was shallow, his heart pounding in his chest. He didn't understand what was happening. Why wasn't he being killed like the others? His mind was racing, a whirlwind of fear and confusion.
The Silver Tide warrior gave Ren one last glance, then turned away, his icy aura fading as he rejoined his comrades. They didn't bother locking him up or even restraining him. To them, Ren was nothing—a child with no magic, no future, no threat.
The battle was over as quickly as it had begun. The village lay in ruins, the bodies of the Storm Fang clan scattered across the icy ground. The air was thick with silence, broken only by the faint sound of the wind howling through the empty streets. The Silver Tide had achieved their goal—they had all but wiped out the Storm Fang clan.
Ren stood there for hours, alone in the frozen remnants of his home. The cold numbed his body, but the pain in his chest was unbearable. His family was gone, his clan destroyed, and he was powerless to stop it.
But as he stared at the sky, tears freezing on his cheeks, something stirred deep within him. A burning sensation—a spark—ignited in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't much, just a flicker of warmth against the cold. But it was there.
Ren didn't know it yet, but that night, something had changed inside him. His coils, weak and dormant for so long, had begun to stir. It was faint, barely noticeable, but it was there—his first step on a path that would lead him to power, to revenge, and to a destiny far greater than anyone could have imagined.
For now, though, he was just a boy, standing alone in the ashes of the Storm Fang Clan.