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.
Beside him, Renrou remained silent. He had sat down on the grass a few feet away, watching Nicolas with a quiet understanding. Renrou knew about Nicolas' past, knew about the pain that still lingered in his heart. He had never asked questions, never pushed Nicolas to talk about it, and for that, Nicolas was grateful. Renrou was the only one who understood—because he, too, had lost something that night.
Still, Renrou had grown up with his father's protection, with the knowledge that Garen was there to shield him from the worst. Nicolas, on the other hand, had no such comfort. He had nothing but his own determination to drive him forward.
The sun dipped lower, casting long shadows across the hill. Nicolas clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening as he stared into the distance. I'll never be that helpless again, he thought. He had made a promise to himself that night, as he saw the smoldering ruins of his home after waking up. He would grow stronger, far stronger than he had been back then. If he couldn't rely on that mysterious power inside him, he would build his body, his skills, his resolve.
Garen had taught him how to fight, had shown him how to wield a spear and move with the precision of a hunter. But that wasn't enough. Nicolas knew that in order to face the Wesen again—and he would face them again—he needed more. He needed to find that power within himself, to awaken it fully, and control it. Because next time, he wouldn't just survive.
Next time, he would protect.
But surprisingly no other wesen attack the village untill now. Even the villagers were little disturbe about it but they were happy none the less.
"You're quiet today," Renrou said softly, breaking the silence but not intruding on his friend's thoughts. His voice was calm, and there was no need for further words.
Nicolas gave a slight nod, acknowledging Renrou's presence without turning his head. "Just thinking," he muttered.
Renrou didn't push. He simply leaned back on his hands, gazing up at the sky. "We'll get stronger," he said after a moment, more to himself than to Nicolas. "Both of us."
Nicolas looked down at the earth beneath his feet, feeling its solidness, its strength. He tightened his grip on the grass. "Yeah," he whispered, almost to himself. "We will."
As the last of the sunlight disappeared behind the horizon, Nicolas stood, brushing the dirt from his trousers. The wind picked up, rustling the grass around them, and in the fading light, he felt a new sense of resolve settle over him. Whatever it took, whatever path he had to walk—he would find the strength to unlock the power within him.
For his parents. For the village. For himself.
Renrou followed suit, standing beside him. The two boys, still young but carrying the weight of warriors, turned their eyes toward the distant woods, where shadows lingered. They had a long journey ahead, but they would face it together.
The next day dawned cold and still. A heavy fog had settled over the village, muting the sounds of morning life. Nicolas and Renrou moved quietly through the narrow streets, their footsteps barely audible on the damp earth. Their village, Vennet, slept peacefully behind them, unaware of the two figures slipping into the shadows of the early hour.
They had planned this for weeks—a way to gain real experience, to test themselves beyond the safety of their training grounds. No one in the village had seen a Wesen in months, and while that should have been a comfort, it left both boys restless. Nicolas, in particular, felt the urgency deep in his bones. He needed to face that darkness again, to prove that he wasn't the same boy who had survived by chance. He needed to feel fear and conquer it.
Their packs were light, but filled with essential supplies: dried meats, a few pieces of bread wrapped tightly in cloth, a flask of water each, and some herbs Renrou had pilfered from his father's stash. They carried their weapons—Nicolas with the spear Garen had given him, and Renrou with a short sword, its blade well-worn but reliable. A bundle of extra clothes and a few makeshift bandages were tied to the outside of their packs, swaying with every step. They didn't plan to be gone long—two days, maybe three—but it was enough time to test themselves in the unforgiving terrain of the dark woods.
The woods lay just beyond the village, a looming stretch of trees so dense they swallowed light. The villagers called it The Gloamwood, a fitting name for a place that seemed to forever live in twilight. No birds sang here, no creatures stirred in the underbrush. Only the wind whispered through the towering trees, their branches twisting into unsettling shapes high above. The air grew cooler as they approached the edge of the forest, carrying with it the scent of wet earth and rotting leaves. A faint mist hung low to the ground, curling around their legs like tendrils.
Nicolas felt the shift immediately, the way the atmosphere pressed down on them as they entered the woods. It was darker here, even though the sun had just risen. The trees blocked out much of the light, casting long shadows that danced eerily around them. The trunks were thick and gnarled, their bark mottled with moss and lichen. Roots jutted out of the ground, twisted and knotted, making every step treacherous. The deeper they went, the more the forest seemed to close in around them, the path narrowing as the trees grew tighter together.
The silence was unnerving. There were no sounds of insects, no rustling of animals in the underbrush. Only the soft crunch of leaves under their boots and the occasional snap of a twig as they navigated through the tangled forest. It was as if the woods themselves were watching, waiting.