The child of wolves (English version)

The chilhood part 1.

It had now been ten years since Astral had been adopted by Virion and his wife Thelaria, a decade during which the young boy had grown into a lively child, gentle and smiling with everyone in the village of Frosthelm. Although his origins remained shrouded in mystery, the inhabitants of this small hamlet, isolated in the vast forest of Nightblade, had eventually accepted him as one of their own. The village, nestled in the heart of this dense and mystical forest, lived in harmony with the seasons and the legends surrounding it. The stone and wood houses, covered with moss and lichen, seemed to blend with the surrounding nature, their chimneys smoking peacefully under a frequently overcast sky.

Frosthelm, despite its isolation, was a warm place where the villagers knew each other well, helping one another to survive the harsh winters and the mysteries of the forest. However, although Astral was well-liked by everyone, he preferred the wild and untamed calm of the Nightblade forest. It was as if the ancient trees and the creatures living there constantly called out to him, their silent song resonating in his soul. The forest, dense and ancient, was a place where daylight struggled to penetrate. The towering trees, covered with ivy and ferns, created a true vegetal labyrinth where wildlife thrived, far from human eyes.

Night had already fallen, and a soft mist began to rise from the ground, enveloping the village in a vaporous embrace. The shadows lengthened, and the first stars pierced through the veil of twilight. Thelaria, after a long day of work, stood by the window of their modest but cozy home, her hands reddened by the cold gripping the wooden sill.

"Astral! Astral! Where is he again?" she exclaimed, her gaze scanning the paths leading to the edge of the forest. Worry edged her voice, marked by years of maternal tenderness. The evening advanced, and the shadow of night already covered the village paths. Astral, as often, had not yet returned.

Virion, busy sealing the last planks of a barn damaged by the recent storm, raised his head at his wife's call. He was a robust man, with graying hair and calloused hands, hands that had worked hard all his life to protect and provide for those he loved. He sighed as he set down his tools, aware that it was time to search for the boy.

"I'll go fetch him," he declared in a deep, reassuring voice, donning a thick brown woolen cloak to shield himself from the biting cold of the night. "He must still be in the forest."

Thelaria frowned, her eyes clouded with mild concern. She knew her adopted son well and was aware of how irresistibly the forest drew him.

"What does he even do out there? That forest is wolf territory, and he knows it well," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest to warm herself.

Virion approached her, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He has always loved that place, Thelaria. We can't stop him from doing what he loves. But don't worry, I'll bring him back safe and sound." A smile spread across his face, intended to soothe the anxiety that had seized his wife.

Meanwhile, deep in the dark forest of Nightblade, Astral ran with impressive agility for his age, climbing trees with the ease of a wildcat. The branches cracked beneath his feet, but he leaped from one to another with perfect balance, his body trembling with excitement. He had heard the wolves howling earlier, a wild call that still echoed in his ears. He had heard them many times before, but tonight, something was different. He felt an irresistible force pushing him to go further, to finally see them with his own eyes.

His eyes, usually a deep blue, began to glow with a strange light, a mix of red and gold, as if the flames of a mysterious fire danced within them. This supernatural glow, though fascinating, was also a sign of the unknown powers dwelling within him, powers he did not yet fully understand.

At the heart of the forest, where daylight never fully pierced, two packs of wolves were battling for territory. On one side were the white wolves, majestic and imposing, led by an alpha of terrifying beauty. This wolf, larger than the others, was a brilliant white, akin to lightning splitting the sky during the fiercest storms. Its eyes shone like pure gold, glowing like two miniature suns, and its fur seemed to crackle with electricity. This transcendent wolf, a living embodiment of the storm, represented the god Raikin, the Storm-Bearer, a nature deity known for his wrath and pride in the kingdom of Heliore.