The village was enveloped in a deadly silence, broken only by the soft sound of the horse's footsteps and the rustling of the cold mist that still hung over the ground. Dinis observed the desolate scene around him, his heart racing and his mind tumultuous. Pools of blood covered the ground in chaotic trails. Broken swords, twisted blades, and shattered spears were the only signs that a battle had taken place there. There were animal corpses—horses, dogs—but no human bodies were seen.
Dinis felt a mixture of anguish and urgency, impatience gnawing at him. He wanted to believe his parents had survived, but each bloody sight along his path seemed to contradict that hope.
Upon seeing his house, he didn't wait a second. He leaped off the horse, ignoring the warning shout of the mysterious warrior, and ran toward the entrance, moving with a speed that only desperation could provide. His house, like the rest of the village, was destroyed. The windows were shattered, the walls covered with claw marks and blood. But there were no signs of life.
Dinis searched every room, frantically looking for any indication of his parents. Upon reaching the main room, he stopped abruptly. The floor was stained with blood, and in the center was something small and familiar. He knelt down, his fingers trembling, and picked up the object: the ring his mother always wore. He looked at the ring, his mind blank, his heart tight.
The hooded warrior had followed Dinis but remained at the door, observing the boy in silence, with an almost solemn respect.
"They're no longer here," Dinis murmured to himself, his voice low, full of a bitterness that only mourning could bring.
He held the ring for a long moment, his eyes fixed on the cold metal, before threading a chain through it and hanging it around his neck. The warrior, still silent, watched a single tear roll down Dinis's face. But instead of surrendering to sadness, the boy quickly pressed his lips together and assumed a cold and determined expression. His eyes, which previously shone with a child's despair, were now taken over by something darker—a look of fierce, almost cruel determination.
The warrior approached slowly, his steps careful as he maintained a grave tone.
"This was just the beginning, boy." His voice was like a distant echo, laden with silent understanding. "This world is made of shadows and blood, and you've chosen to walk among them."
Dinis raised his gaze to him, his face hardened, now marked by a somber maturity.
"Then teach me," he said, his voice firm, without trembling. "Teach me to fight, teach me to survive... so I can honor what they sacrificed."
The man nodded slowly, with a look that mixed respect and perhaps a shadow of regret. He knew what it meant to accept this path. Dinis had just lost his childhood, embracing a destiny that would demand everything from him.
"If that is your wish, I will train you," the warrior responded, his voice sounding like a vow. "But know, Dinis, that by following this path, you too will become part of the shadows."
Dinis did not hesitate. He knew what he wanted, and the fear he had felt was replaced by raw determination. The man's words resonated as a sign that his destiny was finally revealing itself.
"I don't care," Dinis replied, his voice now marked by the coldness of someone who understood what was to come. "I just want to be strong enough to never lose anyone I love again."
The hooded warrior gave one last look at the ring hanging around Dinis's neck and saw in the boy a latent strength waiting to be unleashed.
"Very well, then. Let's begin," he said, turning to leave the destroyed village behind.
Dinis followed him, eyes fixed ahead, without looking back. As they crossed the village's boundary, he left behind not only his home but also the child he once was. The path ahead was one of darkness and blood, and he was ready to face it.
(Time Skip: The End of Innocence and the Beginning of a Warrior)