In Wallachia, the year 1455, five years after the Great Pact, in a forgotten valley, two newborn cries echoed through the darkness — cries pleading for help.
A man passing nearby heard the crying. With a powerful leap, in an instant, he reached the source of the sound. He landed softly like a feather, keeping his presence hidden.
He saw two newborns abandoned and forgotten in the darkness of the valley. On the babies' faces, two faint rays of light managed to pierce the deep and deceptive valley.
The man wore a large black hat and was draped in a cloak of the same color, helping him stay unseen in the night. On his back was strapped a sword in a gothic-engraved scabbard, crafted by a skilled blacksmith, and on the hilt hung a few vampire fangs kept as trophies.
Beneath the cloak, the faint clink of a silver chainmail could be heard. Around his neck hung a cross, made and blessed by his own hand just a few days earlier. Almost every part of his clothing hid some secret accessory – the man was a hunter ready for anything.
The valley was shrouded in mist, and the twisted, dried trees, which creaked sharply in the wind, looked like petrified wraiths. The night was so eerie that even the birds of the night sang a song of death.
Very slowly, the hunter approached the newborns and whispered:
"What secret do you carry, little ones…"
He noticed that each had a mark on their body, symbolizing a number.
He picked up the first baby, who was more restless and eager to cling to the thread of fate to live. Swaddled in a glossy green cloth – a fabric rarely seen, used only in rituals – it revealed his rosy skin, with a scent of burnt incense. On his frail chest was a burn mark, a birthmark in the shape of the number 9.
Then he lifted the second baby, who was wrapped in torn black rags covering his frail shoulders and skin white as milk. On his right shoulder was another mark, this time the number 0.
Shocked, the hunter couldn't stop thinking:
"What is the meaning of these numbers? Why were these twins abandoned?"
From deep within the forest, a strange presence scattered the hunter's thoughts. Two bloodthirsty eyes – pupils glowing like rubies – watched the babies from the darkness. A hunger so fierce that it made the babies' cries grow louder.
In the next moment, the hunter took out an old bone whistle. He blew softly. The sound was special, heard only by werewolves. The strange presence vanished for now into the depths of the forest.
The hunter tried another tactic: he took out a knife and made a small cut on his finger; a drop of blood fell onto the cold earth, leaving a dark stain. That drop was bait for vampires. And it seemed that this time, the trap worked!
Immediately, from the depths of the forest, a deep and terrifying voice echoed:
"What kind of hunter dares to steal prey meant for a vampire? I received clear orders to get rid of those babies."
The hunter, with a slight smile, replied:
"Go ahead and try... let's see if you can harm the little ones."
After these words, the vampire radiated such a powerful bloodlust that the hunter's sword began to tremble in its sheath. The blade vibrated softly, as if sensing death approaching – an almost nostalgic feeling for the hunter.
Out of the forest stepped a creature nearly twice the size of a man: a vampire with broad shoulders, pale skin, fangs protruding from his mouth, and claws as long as sickles. On his lips spread a wide, mad grin – eager to once again taste the warm blood of a newborn.
The vampire leaped onto a rock and looked down at the hunter with disdain:
"So, you're the great vampire slayer whispered about in inns and taverns?"
The hunter lifted his chin without blinking and replied coldly:
"Yes. I am the monk hunter, Ioh."
Their gazes clashed, sparking for a heartbeat. The air felt heavy, pressing down, and the branches around them seemed to tremble.
In a split second, the vampire lunged forward, his arm stretching toward the crying babies. At the same instant, Ioh turned, his cloak slicing through the air, and drew the sword with vampire fangs on the hilt.
The blades met: the vampire's claws scraped against the sword's edge with a sharp screech, and sparks flew into the night. The vampire snarled furiously, trying to rip Ioh's throat, but Ioh dodged, let the sword slide along the vampire's arm, and then stabbed it into the creature's shoulder.
The vampire roared, falling to one knee, but his eyes still glowed with hunger:
"Don't be so proud, monk... your flesh will still be warm beneath my fangs!"
With a savage motion, the vampire struck again, scattering leaves and branches. Ioh leaned back, drew an oak stake with his left hand, twisted it quickly, and, seizing the vampire's opening, thrust it straight into his chest, near the heart.
The vampire froze, his eyes gleaming with hatred and fear.
In a low, almost contemptuous voice, Ioh said:
"You don't even deserve to be beheaded… worthless vampire. Stay here, and feel the burning pain – for all the blood you wanted to spill."
With his last breath, the vampire clenched his jaw, and his voice became a venomous whisper:
"These children… break the oath of the Four Chains… If I failed, others will come... the twins cannot escape…"
His body fell heavily onto the wet grass, and the forest became silent, as if it had never seen their blood and fury. Only the pale moon remained, shining above them.
The hunter Ioh took the two newborns and wrapped them carefully. For the second child, he replaced the torn rags with finer cloth, thus placing him on equal footing with his brother.
Yet even now, after everything that happened, questions swirled in the man's mind: Who was that vampire? What family do the twins belong to? What do those marks mean? Where did they come from? Where are their parents?
With these questions heavy on his mind, the hunter and the twins continued their path.
Above the valley, a small shadow kept watch: a weary, weakened sparrow, almost drained of strength, began to fly, silently following Ioh...
After a few hours, the long-awaited sunrise came. Along with it, the twins' hungry cries echoed around them. Ioh realized that after the small journey, it was natural for their needs to show, so he sighed softly.
He laid the little ones under the branch of a tree to protect them from the sharp morning rays. Then Ioh left to look for food to feed them.
The sparrow, increasingly exhausted, knew her duty clearly. With feathers torn by the wind, she felt her heart beating weaker and weaker. Her wings moved heavily, every beat a pain. She knew time was slipping through her claws… and, in desperation, she grabbed a piece of bark. Her claws trembled, but she began to scratch hastily, carving as chips flew.
The air in her chest grew heavier, as if the whole world was dragging her down. "Faster… just a little more… they must know… must know…" She scratched, erased, and scratched again, desperately scarring the bark. The bark was almost full.
The sparrow had one last convulsion – a short, brutal move – and pushed the piece of carved wood next to the babies with her beak. At that same moment, she felt her vision darken. Her wings stiffened… she fell to the ground, lifeless.
After fruitless attempts to find food, Ioh returned to the little ones empty-handed. But he noticed the bark beside them… and the lifeless sparrow. He picked up the bark and began to read the message:
"I write these words with the last trembling of my claws… and lay them down as an oath burning in my weakening heart.
I was supposed to be their shield, their guardian, but fate left me only half of the promised road.
Tonight, I felt everything was lost, until you appeared… Great Hunter. As thanks for saving them, I can give you only two answers, which, I know well, your soul already seeks:
Who are these infants? They are blood of the Grimm family. Their father was killed before he could ever speak a word to them, and their mother, in her final moments, begged me with tears to protect them at all costs.
You've already seen the marks burned into their flesh: the elder brother, with the number 9 burned on his chest, is Grimm Nicolai – the frail, rosy boy who clings stubbornly to life. The younger one, with the number 0 on his right shoulder, is Grimm Luc – pale as chalk, who seems to have no will to live.
Why are they hunted? I do not know the whole truth… but I know they are linked to the Great Pact, and their birth breaks the oath that holds back the darkness.
If you're curious about their past, seek Ronan in the village of Crucea Veche – blind in eyes, but not in mind – a man who has seen enough to know.
And now, at the end, I leave you this small gift: under my wing, you'll find two pellets. Put them in a jug of water, and you'll have milk to feed them.
May your steps be stronger than death, Great Hunter. I will tell their parents, wherever they may be: 'Their children have finally found a worthy guardian.'"
Ioh read to the end, frozen, then smiled briefly, feeling a spark of desire to uncover the mystery. He promised the sparrow he would protect the twins with his life.
After feeding them with the milk made from the pellets, he smiled and whispered to the little ones:
"See, little ones… this magic is called alchemy."
Then Ioh and the twins set out toward Crucea Veche.
After half a day, just before dusk, they reached the edge of the village. The villagers were agitated and watched the three travelers with suspicion.
Thoughtfully, Ioh told the twins:
"Don't be afraid… their eyes hide only fear…"
Not long after, the village chief saw the hunter and warned him:
"Quick! Quick, get the infants inside if you want them to live! The beasts hunt after nightfall!"
Ioh obeyed the advice, found an abandoned barn, and hid Luc and Nicolai there.
He planted in the ground a small, round, blue seed, a gift from Magnus Martin, a skilled alchemist and old friend of Ioh.
The twins began to cry, sensing their guardian moving quietly away. Calmly, Ioh reassured them:
"Don't worry… I will return."
After making sure Luc and Nicolai had calmed and were protected, he stepped outside to find the source of the noises.
The thatched roofs shook, and the whole village trembled with a strange roar, like a howl, while from the forest came wild growls of a hungry pack eager to taste fresh human flesh. Heavy footsteps echoed like the pounding heartbeats of the night, signaling the hunt.
Ioh took out the old bone whistle, raised it to his lips, and began to play. The sound was faint, barely perceptible to human ears, but for werewolves, it was like a knife in the eardrum – a signal they hated with their very marrow.
The forest answered immediately: hoarse wails, pounding steps shaking the ground, and quick rustling in the bushes.
With icy calm, Ioh spoke:
"Come into the light, you pack of frightened dogs!"
The insult fell like a spark onto a barrel of gunpowder. From the shadow of the trees emerged a huge werewolf: its gray fur shone in the moonlight, claws long and curved, and eyes burning with a hatred almost human.
A mocking grin revealed its yellow fangs:
"I know who you are… You're Monk Ioh… Tell me, why have you come to our village?"
Ioh lifted his chin slightly, his cloak swaying in the wind:
"Why should I tell you? You're going to die anyway."
The werewolf let out a deep growl that turned into a thick, coarse laugh:
"Sharp tongue you have, monk… I'll cut your head off and toss it in the mud! I know you took the Grimm brothers…"
Ioh stayed silent, his gaze turning cold as iron.
The werewolf licked his fangs, and the pack behind him arched their backs, ready to attack:
"I am Silver Fang of the Valley Werewolf Pack! If you tell me where the infants are, maybe I'll grant you an easy death."
In a low, almost contemptuous voice, Ioh replied:
"Why do you so desperately want to kill a pair of infants? What does the Order of the Blood Moon want?"
Silver Fang laughed roughly, like a cracked bell:
"Don't you know? They are born of the violation of the Great Pact. If they live… our world will burn!"
A cold chill swept through the air, and in the next moment, the pack lunged at Ioh.
His silver sword flashed in the night, drawing deadly circles of light. Claws and fangs snapped at the air, just inches from his skin, but Ioh struck, sliced, and dealt death with every step.
"Come on, come on… one by one, like at confession… so I don't lose count! One… two… five… ten… twenty…"
Ioh shouted amid the sounds of flesh being torn.
When the last of the werewolves fell, Ioh stood unmoved. He turned toward Silver Fang, who, blinded by rage, charged with a wild roar.
Ioh dodged, grabbed him by the throat with surprising strength, and with his other hand raised a small crossbow loaded with silver bolts.
"Last words, beast?" asked Ioh.
Silver Fang snarled, blood dripping from his snout:
"If you kill me, you'll never know the truth… Only I know…" "Then take it with you to Hell!" answered Ioh.
Two bolts pierced the werewolf's forehead. His eyes lost their light, his body swayed, and fell to the ground.
The restless night grew calm, bearing witness to the slaughter of a werewolf pack. On the street, the scent of blood still lingered, and among the moonlit shadows lay fallen beastly corpses.
Villagers came out cautiously from their homes, eyes wide, faces lit by torchlight. Some shouted with trembling voices, more from relief than courage:
"Praise the Lord! We've been saved from the werewolves! Their game is over!"
Without responding to their cheers, Ioh hurried back to the abandoned barn. He opened the creaking door, and in the faint torchlight saw the twins unharmed, sheltered beside the blue seed that pulsed like a living heart.
The hunter breathed a sigh of relief, just for a moment.
Villagers gathered around him, eyes mixed with fear and respect. The village chief, with deep gratitude, spoke:
"Sir… you risked your life for us. You drove away the beast and her cursed pack… Thank you."
Another added, in a low voice:
"Tell us, how can we repay you?"
Looking over their simple homes, Ioh whispered:
"I'm looking for someone… a blind man named Ronan. Do you know where I can find him?"
The villagers exchanged glances until an old man with a white beard answered:
"Ronan lives at the edge of the village… in an old house near the forest. He keeps to himself… hasn't spoken to anyone in years. But if anyone can tell you something, it's him."
Then, with a flicker of courage, he added:
"Go, stranger… Maybe he'll listen."
Ioh, encouraged by the villagers, pulled his cloak tighter around the twins and headed toward the edge of the village, where the forest shadows seemed to whisper ancient secrets.
He reached the front of a dilapidated hut at the forest's edge. The windows were boarded up with cracked planks, and smoke rose from a crooked chimney. On the doorstep, the dim moonlight revealed old, nearly faded symbols.
As he raised his hand to knock, a cold shiver ran through the air. The Ancient Aura of Ronan, heavy and oppressive, spilled out beyond the door. The twins shivered in Ioh's arms and began to cry, while the air around them felt denser, harder to breathe — as if they were standing atop a mountain, at dizzying heights.
Without blinking, Ioh released his own Ancient Aura — a sharp wave, like a blade of silver slicing through the night's silence.
From behind the door, a hoarse voice, weighed down by years and secrets, spoke:
"Who seeks me at this hour of night… carrying the power of old curses on their shoulders?"
Ioh, with a calm yet resolute voice:
"I am Monk Ioh! Are you Ronan, the blind one? I found these twins… each bears a strange mark, a number burned into their flesh. I want to understand what it means."
A silence followed, so deep that only the twins' breathing could be heard.
Ronan slowly opened the door. His face, scarred and covered with a thick cloth, seemed carved from stone:
"It's been a very long time since I've heard of children with numbers burned into their skin…" he said, his tone a mix of wonder and fear.
"When I could still see, it was said that such infants carry the Mark of the Titans… children even the darkness itself fears. But their secret is old… and too dangerous to speak aloud."
Ronan tilted his head, as if listening to the echoes of his own memories.
"No one truly knows where they come from. But the Great Pact… was made so that such children would never be born. Legends say they could overturn the balance of the world."
Then, with a sigh as heavy as lead, he added:
"Listen to me, monk… retreat into the deep woods, raise them, and prepare them for what is to come. Otherwise… they don't stand even the slightest chance to survive."
For the moment content with the answers he had received, Ioh listened to Ronan's advice and decided to withdraw deep into the forest to protect the little ones. In his mind, a plan had already begun to take root: when the twins were older, they would have to uncover the mysteries of their past.
Without hesitation, he thanked Ronan for his help, then bid farewell to the villagers who watched him with respect mixed with fear.
He leaned over Luc and Nicolai, and with a voice warmer than he had ever shown before, he said:
"Raise your little hands… say goodbye to this world, at least for a while."
And thus, as the shadows of night spread over the village of Crucea Veche, Ioh stepped slowly into the darkness of the forest with a thought in his mind:
"If these children truly bear the Mark of the Titans, then the path we are about to walk will be full of obstacles."
His silhouette disappeared among the trees, and the moon remained the sole witness to a journey that had just begun — a journey that would change the fate of them all.