Prologue: The Burning Forest
The forest was burning. The wind drove clouds of ash across the charred trunks, and the sky was shrouded in thick black smoke. Two figures—a man and a woman—were running along a narrow path, torn between fear and hope. In the man's arms, a baby was softly whimpering, pressed against his chest.
"We won't make it…" the woman whispered through clenched teeth. Her eyes darted in search of salvation, but shadows were already gliding behind them. They writhed, clawing at the trees with long, ragged limbs, their bodies not reflecting the light. They moved smoothly, almost silently, but when a shadow drew too close, the air filled with an almost imperceptible, icy whisper—as if thousands of voices had murmured something at once, but no one could decipher the words.
"We'll give him a chance," the man replied firmly.
They reached a tall ancient fir. The man quickly spread several strange metallic plates at its roots, each covered in shimmering runes. As soon as he laid the baby on the dry foliage, the space around him distorted—the boy vanished from sight, hidden by an ancient artifact.
The woman tore the emblem of their family from her neck—a silver symbol engraved in the shape of three intertwined claws. She carefully placed it next to the baby, barely holding back her tears.
"Live… Finster," she whispered, touching his cheek for the last time.
The shadows closed in on the clearing, and the cries quickly fell silent.
A few hours later, a group of hunters from the nearest village arrived in the area. They had gone out to hunt but found instead a strange infant lying in a nest of ash and fallen needles.
"What the hell…?" one of them muttered, lifting the child.
The lead hunter furrowed his brow when he saw the silver emblem next to the boy. He recognized the symbol but remained silent.
"We'll take him. Now he's ours."
Thus, Finster was brought to the village and raised in the local orphanage.