Nox surfaced slowly from the dark, a dull ache throbbing behind his eyes. His body felt heavy, wrapped in warmth and the faint smell of old wood.
Above him, ceiling beams loomed, aged, dark, and strangely familiar. For a dazed moment, he thought he recognized them. The roof looked just like the one from the house he grew up in, the same roof he opened his eyes to every morning.
A shaky breath left his lips.
So it was all a dream, then. The fire. The beasts. The red-haired man.
Maybe it was just a nightmare.
He almost let himself believe it. Almost.
Then a loud clang shattered the illusion.
A bucket hit the wooden floor beside him, water spilling cold against his side. Nox jerked, and the fog in his mind burned away.
The memories came back sharp and merciless, the flames, the claws, his mother's silver hair clenched in that bastard's fist.
His chest tightened until it hurt. He turned his head.
Juro sat on the floor nearby, shirt torn and chest bandaged, his trembling hands reaching for the spilled bucket. His face was pale, streaked with soot and dried blood. His eyes were wide and empty.
For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then Nox rasped, voice raw and cracking,
"It… it wasn't a dream."
Juro's lips trembled. "No."
The weight of it hit them both at once. The fire. The screams. Everyone they loved, gone.
They broke.
Nox curled on his side, clutching his ribs, and Juro leaned back against the wall. Their sobs filled the small wooden room, ragged and unrestrained. No words. Just grief spilling out until it left them shaking and hollow.
A sound cut through the quiet—a low, deliberate throat clearing.
The boys froze, lifting their tear-swollen eyes toward the doorway. A tall shadow stood there, framed in dim lantern light.
The figure stepped forward. His boots creaked on the floorboards, and as the light caught him, Nox saw a man with storm-grey hair and eyes that looked too tired to be awake.
Nox tensed, breath catching. "Who… who are you?"
Before the man could answer, Juro's hand found Nox's arm. His voice was hoarse but steady.
"This is Raizen," he said. "The man who saved us."
Juro wiped at his face and pushed himself up. Every movement made his ribs ache. The stranger stepped farther into the room, and the lantern light fell partly across his face, leaving the other half in shadow.
His hair wasn't long, but it caught the light in silver-grey strands. He didn't look old—maybe forty-five at most—but the color seemed deliberate, as if it belonged there.
Nox looked at him again. "He's really the one who saved us?"
"Yeah," Juro said. His eyes, though swollen, burned fiercely as he turned to Raizen. "He's awake now. So tell us, what really happened? Why did everyone we know have to die?"
Juro recalled when Raizen had told him to focus on taking care of his friend first, when he woke he would tell them what really happened to their village.
Raizen's lips parted, but no words came. He exhaled a long, heavy sigh and leaned back against the wall, sliding down until he sat on the floor.
The boys exchanged a confused glance.
Finally, Raizen spoke, voice low and rough. "Before I reached your village, I was already fighting the one leading those beasts, the horned creature that attacked your home." His jaw tightened. "I'm sorry I couldn't do more. There are only three survivors."
Nox's head snapped up. "Three?"
Raizen nodded. "You. Juro. And your mother. I'm sorry I couldn't save anyone else… I arrived too late."
"Then where is she?" Nox asked frantically.
"The red haired man from that night took her." Juro replied dryly.
Nox sagged against the wall. His fists clenched until his knuckles whitened, his head bowed. Hot tears slipped down his cheeks.
"Why… why didn't you choose her instead of me?" His voice cracked. "You should've saved her. I'm useless. I couldn't even protect my own mother. I just watched that filthy bastard put his hands on her…"
The room went silent except for Nox's shaking breaths.
Then Raizen's voice cut through the quiet. "To kill the horned beasts, you have to kill their leader."
Both boys looked up, startled.
"Their leader?" Juro asked. "What do you mean?"
Raizen's storm-grey eyes met theirs. "They're called Dreknars. Each time one is wiped out, another eventually appears. We don't know where they come from. What we do know is that each new species is stronger than the last."
He leaned forward, tone steady and grim. "Each species has one true member—the multiplier. That one creates the rest. Kill it, and the others die with it. But the leader always hides, guarded by the pack."
He paused, for a brief moment. "At every full moon, their power multiplies. It's also the only time they can heal injuries they've sustained before. The one that destroyed your village is still out there, hiding in the forest nearby. When the next full moon comes, it's very likely it'll reveal itself."
Raizen stood, the lantern light glinting faintly off his grey hair.
"Before then, I can make you strong—strong enough to face it. And both of you possess the power of Iora, just like me."
The words hung in the air.
"So," he said quietly, "at the next full moon… will you join me in hunting the beast?"
Nox's fists trembled. His voice burned with raw fury. "You're saying I have to wait sixteen days to get my hands on them? A chance for revenge? That's not something I'd ever refuse."
Juro exhaled. "It's actually ten days."
Nox blinked. "I've been sleeping for ten days? What the hell?"
Juro sighed. "No. It's been five."
Nox scratched his head, still confused.
Juro rolled his eyes and rubbed his temple, exasperated.
For a moment, it almost felt normal—their first half-casual exchange since Nox had woken.
Raizen shook his head with a faint sigh and pushed himself upright.
"Well then," he said, "since you've made up your minds… training starts tomorrow."