He wasn't even seen as a child—the Shefos cut his knees and thighs mercilessly. Glocin's screams tore through the chaos, a raw and desperate sound: "Faaaaaaaatherrrrrrrr! Fatheeeeeeeerrrr! Helppppppp meeee!" His voice cracked with terror and pain, pleading for salvation.
Frocin, trembling with fear yet fierce in desperation, summoned what little shadow power he possessed to defend his brother. But it was weak—a mere flicker against the tide. One Shefo, unmoved by Frocin's feeble strike, extended two fingers and flicked him aside like a broken toy. Frocin crashed hard into the cold river, water swallowing his shocked gasp.
Back on the battlefield, Glocin's tormentors turned their attention fully to him. They tore at his hands, ripping them cruelly, intent on silencing the boy forever. Blood pooled beneath him as he struggled, voice raising in unwavering defiance despite the agony.
Suddenly, from the fray, a shock of steel. A blade burst violently through a Shefo's chest, stopping him mid-swing.
It was Forios.
Grief and wrath blazed like wildfire behind his eyes. Wounded yet relentless, he swept through the enemy ranks—fierce, raw, unstoppable. One Shefo's hand was severed; another's body cleaved clean in two.
But the beast charged hard, crashing forward with brutal force. Forios was thrown into the river, water raging around him. Gasping for breath, he clawed his way back, slicing and hacking at the creature's legs and hands with furious determination.
He reached Glocin's side, kneeling desperately beside him. Tears streaked through grime and blood as Forios whispered, voice breaking, "I'm so sorry, son. I should have been there. I've already lost your mother, Menita… I can't lose my lovely children too." His chest heaved with sobs—remorse carved deep into his soul.
From the river's dark embrace, Frocin rose once more—weak but undeterred. Gathering his fading strength, he unleashed what shadow magic he could, targeting the nearest Shefo's hand. His shadow flickered, dark and venomous, poison creeping through flesh and bone. The Shefo screamed as ice spread like fire, freezing and crippling his grasp. His sword dropped with a clatter to the blood-drenched earth.
With slow, burning sadness, Forios turned his blade to the trembling foe's face. "What did you do to my wife?" His voice was low but filled with heartbreak.
The Shefo's grin twisted cruel. "I heard the beast say she was tasty and bloody," he taunted.
Rage surged through Forios like scorching fire. "Tell me where my son is!" he demanded.
The Shefo laughed bitterly. "Kill me now if you want. You'll find nothing here."
Forios let his sword fly—cleaving limbs, tearing open chests. The Shefo gasped, pain lacing his laughter, "This isn't anything! Hahaha!"
Then silence fell as Forios's blade severed his head cleanly. His shadow drifted into dark oblivion.
Forios stood broken, mourning. Images of Menita's agony haunted his every breath. He thought of Gravon, the vanished newborn—why had Menita risked everything to save him? The prophecy, dark and unknown, lingered like a shadow over their fate.
Suddenly, a scream ripped through the night. "Father! This monster is eati—" The cry was cut sharply by a monstrous growl.
He spun just in time to see Thocin swallowed whole by the beast he'd thrown ashore. Blood, thick and majestic, spilled over the earth—the beast's wounds healing, growing stronger with every drop.
Sorrow and fury warred inside Forios. His wife was tortured to death before his eyes. His beloved son was devoured. Another lay broken, and the last had vanished.
In that moment, pure rage ignited—the beast within him awakened.
Reven—power born of anguish and fury—rose like a storm. In an instant, Forios unleashed it. "Seven-piece Reven." The name was a curse and a promise. Time seemed to shatter as his blade struck, cleaving the beast into seven bloody pieces before it could even collapse.
The shattered body dissolved into the air.
But with beast and tamer bound by shadow fate, the death of one meant the other's end. The tamer's shadow shrank in the void as his beast vanished. Forios was left with Glocin—wounded, but alive—and Frocin, eyes wide, witnessing death and destruction no child should endure.
Tears carved clean lines on their faces.
Suddenly, a dark, black gas slithered around them strangely, suffocating. The world dimmed, and unconsciousness claimed them all.
Not minutes. Not hours.
But days.
When Forios finally stirred, he found himself in a dark hut floating in middle of nowhere , suspended in emptiness. Shadows clung to every corner, silence thick like fog. A woman stood before a table, long black hair framing her face, cloaked in the dark garb of secrets.
She heard his breath shift and turned gently. "Are you awake, my love?"