The rest of that night was a blur of pain and tears. Ren's small body shook with sobs as he sat in the frozen remains of what was once his home, the icy winds whipping through the village. His mind replayed the horror over and over again- his father struck down by an icicle spear, his mother's scream echoing in his ears, the Silver Tide warriors moving through the village with deadly precision. He could see their cold eyes, feel the sting of their ice magic in the air, and hear the silence that followed their departure, leaving him in a world of death and snow.
Ren clenched his tiny fists, his knuckles white as he wiped his tears on his sleeve. The fire that had stirred within him earlier still burned, faint but steady, keeping him from freezing in both body and spirit. He had no strength, no power, but even at five years old, a single thought took root in his mind, growing stronger with every passing moment.
"I'll kill them," Ren whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. "Every last one of them... I swear it."
That vow echoed through the empty village, carried away by the wind, as the night dragged on. Ren curled up beside the frozen remains of his home, clutching his knees to his chest, his tears freezing on his cheeks. He cried until he couldn't cry anymore, and when the tears finally stopped, there was only cold, hard determination left in his heart.
By the time dawn arrived, the village was bathed in a pale, icy light. Ren hadn't slept-he couldn't. His body was numb from the cold and exhaustion, but his mind was focused on survival. He wandered through the ruins, scavenging whatever food he could find. His small hands wrapped around a half-frozen apple, and he sat down near what used to be his family's home, biting into it.
As he chewed, lost in his thoughts, he heard the sound of footsteps behind him. Startled, he spun around, his eyes wide and fearful. There, standing in the pale light of morning, was an old man. He was tall and rugged, with a long beard streaked with gray and eyes that seemed to carry the weight of many years. His clothes were worn and patched, and he leaned on a wooden staff as he studied the boy before him.
The old man raised an eyebrow, his gaze sweeping over the ruins of the village. "A survivor," he muttered, almost to himself. "Didn't think anyone would be left after the Silver Tide swept through."
Ren said nothing, his heart pounding in his chest. He wasn't sure if this stranger was a friend or foe, but something about the old man's presence calmed him slightly. There was no malice in his gaze, just an old, weary kindness.
"You've got a fire in you," the old man said, his voice gruff but not unkind. "I can see it in your eyes. What's your name, boy?"
"Ren," he replied, his voice barely a whisper.
The old man nodded, his expression softening. "Ren... Well, Ren, looks like you've got nowhere to go. The Silver Tide didn't leave much behind, did they?"
Ren's jaw tightened, his fists clenching again at the mention of the Silver Tide. The old man watched him for a moment, then sighed. "You're angry. Good. You'll need that anger if you want to survive."
The old man extended his hand. "Come with me, boy. I can teach you how to fight, how to survive. You want revenge, don't you?"
Ren looked up at the old man, his heart thudding in his chest. He didn't hesitate. He took the old man's hand, and from that moment on, his path was set.
For the next several years, Ren lived with the old man in a small cabin hidden deep within the Thunder Plains, far from the eyes of the Silver Tide and other clans. The old man, who introduced himself as Kaito, became Ren's mentor and guardian. Though gruff and stern, Kaito treated Ren like a son, guiding him with a steady hand and a sharp mind.
By the time Ren turned ten, his training in martial arts had begun in earnest. Kaito was a master of both the Iron Fist technique and the Sword Art, and he drilled these forms into Ren every day. Iron Fist was a brutal, close-combat style that focused on raw strength and precision, while the Sword Art was fluid and graceful, a balance of offense and defense. Ren's small frame was no obstacle; Kaito made sure that by the time he could throw a punch or swing a blade, he did so with deadly precision.
Day by day, Ren's body grew stronger, his movements sharper. He could feel the power growing within him, a force tied to his very soul. Kaito often spoke of magic coils, the unique energy that flowed within every warrior in their world. Ren's had been weak at first, but with each strike of his fist, with each hour spent in meditation, his coils strengthened. He began to feel it-the faint hum of energy within him, the flicker of lightning, the whisper of wind.
By the time Ren was twelve, his training had reached new heights. Kaito began teaching him how to harness his magic, focusing on lightning and wind-the elements of the Storm Fang Clan. He learned how to channel his magic into devastating techniques, such as the Lightning Fist, a move that sent crackling energy through his fists, and the Lightning Aura, which surrounded his body in an electrical field, protecting him from harm. He mastered Wind Push, a technique that allowed him to create powerful gusts of wind, knocking enemies off balance or sending objects flying through the air.
Ren's power grew, and with it, so did his thirst for revenge.
But just as Ren began to reach the peak of his training, tragedy struck again.
It was late one evening when the Silver Tide returned.
Ren and Kaito had just finished a training session when the air around them grew cold-unnaturally cold. Kaito's eyes narrowed, and Ren could feel the tension in the air. He knew that chill. It was the same icy cold that had swept through his village all those years ago.
"They've found us," Kaito muttered, his hand tightening around his staff. "Ren, get inside. Now."
But Ren didn't move. He wasn't the same helpless child he had been when the Silver Tide first attacked. His fists crackled with lightning, his body tense and ready for battle.
The Silver Tide warriors appeared, their icy auras shimmering in the fading light. There were only a few of them this time, but Ren knew better than to underestimate their power. Kaito stepped forward, his eyes sharp and focused.
"Kaito..." Ren's voice was low, a warning, but the old man shook his head.
"Stay back, Ren," he said. "You're not ready for this."
Ren wanted to argue, but before he could, the battle had already begun. Kaito moved like a blur, his staff crackling with energy as he met the Silver Tide warriors head-on. For an old man, he fought with a ferocity that Ren had never seen before. But the Silver Tide warriors were relentless. Water and ice surged through the air, clashing with Kaito's strikes, and for the first time, Ren saw fear in his mentor's eyes. As one of the guys stomp on the ground a line of sharpend spear rush towards him as Kaito jumped a chained made of ice wrap around his body tearing him in half
It was over in an instant. Kaito's body crumpled to the ground. Ren's world shattered once more.
As the Silver Tide warriors turned toward him, Ren's rage exploded. The lightning within him surged, crackling and sparking as it consumed him. He charged forward, fists glowing with energy, vowing to kill every last one of them.
But the Silver Tide warriors retreated, their icy forms melting into the night. They had accomplished what they came for.
Kaito was dead.
Ren fell to his knees beside his fallen mentor, his hands trembling. Tears blurred his vision, but his resolve had never been stronger.
"I'll kill them," he whispered, his voice shaking with fury. "I'll kill them all."
But this time his vow was no longer a dream but a goal