Raizen didn't know how long he had been wandering. His feet were raw, and his body ached, but he could no longer feel the pain. His mind was numb, consumed by the visions of his destroyed home, the blood of his parents staining the earth beneath him. He had no destination, no purpose but to escape the remnants of the nightmare that had once been his life.
The once familiar village of Duskwood, now a charred ruin, felt like a distant memory. Every step he took further into the dark forest felt like a step away from who he had been. He was no longer the boy who had played by the creek or laughed with his friends. He was something else now—something forged in the flames of destruction, tempered by loss.
The forest was eerily silent, the usual sounds of wildlife replaced by an unsettling stillness. The trees seemed to loom over him, their twisted branches forming dark silhouettes against the ashen sky. Raizen's stomach growled, but he had no appetite. He had no desire to eat, no desire to do anything but keep moving forward. His eyes burned with tears, but he refused to let them fall. He couldn't afford weakness. Not now.
He had to survive. He had to be strong.
His legs gave out suddenly, and he collapsed onto the cold, damp earth. He closed his eyes, his chest tight with grief and anger. For a moment, he let himself rest, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his mind replaying the images of his parents' lifeless bodies over and over again. His heart burned with a desire for revenge—a fire that had only grown stronger since that fateful night.
They will pay, he thought bitterly, every last one of them. No one gets away with this.
He forced himself to sit up. The forest was not a place for weakness, and Raizen was no longer the boy who had been protected. He would be his own protector now. He would train, learn, grow stronger. Only then could he return and exact the vengeance he craved.
As he struggled to stand, his vision blurred for a moment. When his eyes cleared, he saw a figure standing before him.
The figure was old, hunched, and cloaked in tattered robes, his face partially hidden by a thick, white beard. His body was frail, as though years of hardship had worn it down to a shadow of its former self. Yet there was something about the man's presence that commanded attention, a quiet strength that seemed to radiate from within him.
Raizen stared up at the old man, too weary to be startled. The man's eyes, sharp and knowing, met his gaze, and for a moment, Raizen felt as though the world around him had frozen. It was as if the man had seen all of Raizen's pain, all of his fury, and understood it completely.
"You're lost, child," the old man said, his voice raspy but strong.
Raizen didn't answer. He couldn't. His throat was tight, the weight of his grief choking him. But the old man seemed to understand.
"Vengeance burns hot in your heart," the man continued, his gaze never leaving Raizen's. "But rage alone will not guide you. It will only consume you, until there is nothing left but ashes."
Raizen gritted his teeth, his hands shaking. "I'll make them pay. I'll kill them all."
The old man nodded slowly, as if he had expected that answer. "A path of vengeance is a dangerous one. It can be a quick road to power, but it is also a quick road to destruction. It will make you strong—but it will also make you weak. Be careful, child. For when you seek to destroy monsters, you risk becoming one yourself."
Raizen didn't respond. The man's words didn't matter. All that mattered was killing the demons, avenging his family. Everything else could wait.
"I can teach you," the old man said after a long pause, his voice quiet but firm. "I can help you become strong. But I will not teach you to kill out of anger. I will teach you to cultivate strength—not just of the body, but of the mind and spirit. You will need both to survive this world."
Raizen looked at the old man, his eyes narrowed. "Why would you help me?"
The old man's gaze softened. "Because I see the fire inside you, child. The same fire that once burned inside me. But without guidance, it will consume you. I will teach you to control it. But only if you are willing to listen."
Raizen hesitated. He was tired, broken, and unsure of anything, but one thing was clear—he could not do this alone. The path ahead would be long and dangerous, and he would need every advantage he could get. The old man's offer was the only one he had.
"I'm willing," Raizen said, his voice cold, but resolute.
The old man gave a small, approving nod. "Then come. Your training begins now."
With that, he turned and began walking away, his old, worn body moving with surprising speed. Raizen, though unsure of what was to come, followed. His heart still burned with vengeance, but now there was something else—a spark of hope. Perhaps this was the beginning of the path he needed to walk.
He had no idea how long the journey would take, or what he would face along the way, but one thing was certain—he would be stronger. And when the time came, he would make the demons regret the day they destroyed Duskwood.
The path of vengeance had just begun, and Raizen would see it through to the end.