On the northen continent, only in summer you can see some greenery but coldness could still be felt.
On a small hill behind the village of Vennet, Nicolas and Renrou squared off against each other, short spears gripped firmly in their hands. The sun hung low, casting a warm glow over the grassy slope as the boys prepared for their training. Though only ten years old, they were far stronger than normal children, their intense training making them powerful, even compared to adults.
Nicolas, dressed in a simple linen tunic with a leather belt around his waist, wore dark woolen trousers that had been patched up after several rough practices. His sturdy boots sank slightly into the earth as he shifted his stance. Renrou, slightly smaller but more agile, wore a green tunic that matched the surrounding hills, with a brown cloak draped across his back, fluttering in the wind. His hands, wrapped in worn cloth, tightened around the spear shaft as he faced Nicolas.
The village lay quiet in the distance, but here on the hill, the sounds of clashing wood echoed through the air. Garen, the village chief and Renrou's father, had trained them both since they were old enough to hold a weapon, ensuring that Nicolas, after the death of his parents, received the same care as his own son.
Without warning, Renrou lunged forward, his spear tip thrusting towards Nicolas' midsection. Nicolas, quick on his feet, parried the attack with a swift upward motion of his spear, knocking Renrou's weapon aside. With a sharp pivot, Nicolas spun to the left, aiming a sweeping strike toward Renrou's legs.
Renrou leapt back, avoiding the blow just in time. His eyes narrowed with focus. He dashed forward again, this time lowering his spear and trying to feint a jab. Nicolas didn't fall for it. Instead, he sidestepped, then thrust his spear toward Renrou's shoulder. The younger boy twisted his body, barely avoiding the strike, and quickly countered by slashing horizontally toward Nicolas' torso.
The two boys moved with the grace of seasoned fighters, each blow filled with the strength of someone far beyond their years. Their breathing was steady, their faces intense as they exchanged powerful strikes. Spears clashed again and again, their wooden shafts vibrating from the force.
"You're fast, but I'm not going to let you win today," Nicolas said, his voice strained with effort as he pushed Renrou back with a series of quick jabs.
Renrou grinned through the effort. "I'm not giving up either!"
Taking advantage of a brief opening, Renrou swung his spear in a low arc, aiming for Nicolas' legs once again. This time, it connected, tripping Nicolas and sending him stumbling backward. He hit the ground but quickly rolled away, avoiding Renrou's follow-up strike that drove into the dirt where he had fallen.
In one swift motion, Nicolas sprang to his feet, his eyes locked on Renrou. He darted forward with a flurry of quick strikes, each one aimed to force Renrou on the defensive. Renrou backed up, blocking as best as he could, but Nicolas' strength was overwhelming. Finally, Nicolas delivered a powerful thrust aimed at Renrou's chest.
But Renrou was ready. With a sharp twist of his body, he parried the spear away and drove his own spear toward Nicolas' exposed side. Nicolas reacted just in time, turning his body to absorb the impact with his shoulder, and pushed Renrou's spear aside with a grunt.
The two boys stood facing each other, breathing heavily. The fight had been short but intense, both testing their limits and skill. Though it was just training, the seriousness of their blows showed how much they had learned under Garen's guidance.
Garen, watching from a distance, smiled in approval. Nicolas, though not his blood, had become as much a son to him as Renrou, and he knew both boys were growing into warriors who would protect their village one day.
The two boys exchanged a nod of respect before lowering their spears, their eyes still filled with determination.
***
Nicolas sat on the grassy slope, the warmth of the setting sun brushing against his skin. His gaze wandered over the quiet village below, the rooftops barely visible through the trees. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat began to slow, the rush of adrenaline from the training session fading away. But while his body rested, his mind drifted far into the past, back to the night that had changed everything.
It had been nine long years, yet the memory of that night remained sharp, like a fresh wound that refused to heal. He could still see the dark, twisted forms of the Wesen, creatures of nightmare, storming through the village under the cover of night. He had been just a child then, barely able to understand the chaos that surrounded him. His parents—loving, strong—had been right beside him. He remembered their faces, etched with determination and fear as they tried to shield him from the horrors of the night.
But they couldn't.
He closed his eyes, the image of that final moment burned into his memory. The Wesen had come in numbers, too many for the village to fend off. The screams, the fires, the clash of steel against claws—it all played back in his mind like a terrible nightmare. He remembered the cold feeling of helplessness as he watched his father fall, taken down by the very monsters they had trained to fight.
Garen had been there too, fighting with everything he had. Nicolas had unleashed a power that he didn't fully understand at the time—some ancient force that coursed through him like a storm, tearing through the Wesen with raw, untamed energy. It was that power that had saved the village.
And yet, even with all that strength, it wasn't enough to save everyone. It wasn't enough to save his parents.
Nicolas opened his eyes and exhaled slowly, the ache in his chest tightening. He had been alone after that, an orphan. Garen had taken him in, raised him like his own son, training him alongside Renrou. The village chief hadn't hidden anything from Nicolas about that night. He had been honest about what had happened, about how close they had come to losing everything.
But what haunted Nicolas the most wasn't the Wesen or the chaos of that night—it was the knowledge that his power, that mysterious force, had been something he had been able to tap into. For a brief moment during the attack, something had awoken inside him, a fierce surge of energy that he had no control over. In the heat of the battle, he had felt it—but it had slipped away just as quickly as it had come, leaving him powerless when he needed it most.
Now, years later, that power remained locked inside him, unreachable. No matter how hard he trained, no matter how strong he became physically, he couldn't tap into that force again. It was as if a part of him had been sealed away, hidden behind a door he couldn't open.