In a world where legends intertwine with reality, stories were passed down through generations—carried by tongues, carved into relics, and written in ancient books…
But this time, the narrator is neither someone from the past nor a historian of the present.
This time, I am the one who will tell it to you.
The story of Narvas—
with all its secrets, all its mystery, and all the power that struck terror into the hearts of those who heard his name.
One thousand five hundred years ago, in a distant world unlike our own, within the endless vastness of the universe, a child was born to a family considered the most ill-fated in the history of all worlds.
His arrival was not a coincidence; it was as if fate itself wished to test the world through him, placing in his hands a secret that could change the course of all life.
The child was named Madrein.
From the moment of his birth, it seemed that fortune had abandoned him.
The king, in his cruelty and tyranny, ordered the execution of Madrein's father. His mother, meanwhile, died of starvation, leaving behind a harsh world before a child who had not yet reached two months of age.
No one cared for him except beggars who found him in the arms of his dead mother. They fed him whatever they could—food unfit for an infant: raw chunks of meat and dry, hardened bread that wounded his small mouth.
Thus began Madrein's life, surrounded by pain and suffering from the very moment he was born.
The king never rested. He waged war after war while his people suffered poverty, hunger, and oppression.
In the heart of the city lived a dark group of killers—former soldiers who had once served in the king's army but fled from his cruelty. They now lived among garbage, hiding in shadows, sharing life with beggars, far from the eyes of authority, becoming part of a merciless world that spared no weakness.
Fifteen years passed.
Madrein gained nothing but a frail, fragile body, barely able to run away from danger.
All his life, he waited for someone to feed him or care for him—silent, distant from others, never leaving the narrow alley where he had grown up.
His thoughts held no dreams or ambitions. They were confined to a single question:
How do I satisfy my hunger now?
Hunger was no longer just a physical sensation—it had become part of his being, his thoughts, and every day he lived.
A strange man entered the alley, stared at Madrein with eyes hidden behind wrinkles, and said in a calm yet sharp voice:
"Are you hungry, rat?"
Madrein slowly raised his head, his wide eyes shining with hunger and despair.
"Do you have food?" he asked.
The man smiled mysteriously.
"If you do me a favor, I'll give you all the food you want."
Madrein did not believe him. He shook his head and sat back down, silent and wary of the strange promise.
Suddenly, soldiers stormed the alley. They grabbed Madrein forcefully and dragged him away, leaving behind the darkness that had been his only home for fifteen years.
He tried to resist, but it was useless. They struck him on the head, and he lost consciousness.
Madrein opened his eyes to find himself in a strange, dark place filled with a foul stench—unlike anything he had ever seen.
Strangers approached him while he was bound to a bed. The men began carving strange symbols into his body with sharp tools, knives slipping beneath his skin as pain overwhelmed every sense.
He could not resist. His weak body had no strength.
All he could do was cry silently, groaning in agony, whispering to himself:
"I wish I were strong… just strong…"
He closed his eyes, tears falling onto the cold floor, surrounded by shadows and symbols that would change his life forever.
He opened his eyes again and found himself seated on a high chair in a dimly lit room.
"Where am I…? And what should I do now?" he whispered.
He tried to stand—then realized it had all been a fleeting dream.
But something strange began to happen.
A large worm moved beneath his skin, crawling toward his heart. When it vanished, his wounds began to heal gradually, as if his body were reclaiming its strength.
His heart raced as a mysterious power seeped into his being.
What was happening to him?
What was this unfamiliar sensation?
A voice emerged from among those present:
"Who are you?"
Madrein tried to remember his name, but his mind was empty.
"I don't know," he replied hesitantly.
No answers came. Only heavy silence filled the place.
One of them spoke firmly:
"You are the one chosen by the king. You are the strongest killer, meant to fight in the king's army."
Ideas were planted into Madrein's mind, as if his thoughts were being slowly washed away.
When they gave him food, they whispered:
"The king longs to see you…"
With every meal, every word, Madrein forgot his past—his hunger, his despair—replaced by a strange sense of duty.
His body changed unnaturally: muscles grew rapidly, strength doubled, his height increased by fifteen centimeters. He became faster and stronger than anyone around him.
Fate itself seemed to be forging him into a perfect weapon.
After two weeks, Madrein was taken before the king—his first time seeing sunlight since his transformation.
He stood chained, accompanied by five mages.
One mage stepped forward:
"My king… this is the son of the kingdom. The one whose body endured a drop of demon blood."
The king stared at him coldly.
"Strong soldier… have you ever killed before?"
"No… but I will obey any order you give, Your Majesty," Madrein replied.
The king smiled and rewarded the mages with gold equal to Madrein's weight.
"What remains?" the king asked.
"We will drain his blood and fill his veins with demon blood," a mage replied.
That night marked Madrein's rebirth.
The ritual was brutal. His blood was replaced with darker, more vicious blood. He did not die—he fainted repeatedly.
But by dawn, a new being had been born.
Yet one mage hesitated. He did not drain all of Madrein's blood. A fragment of his humanity remained.
Madrein awoke—his eyes filled with darkness. Hunger and thirst burned inside him.
He coughed blood, his voice harsh and unfamiliar.
He was no longer a weak child.
He had become something else.
The next day, the king ordered Madrein to kill three beggars.
With one swift strike, he tore them apart.
For a moment, he tried to eat their entrails—driven by uncontrollable hunger.
But horror and sorrow overwhelmed him. His human side resisted.
The king laughed and sent him to war.
That night, Madrein rode in a wagon toward the battlefield, empty inside.
He dreamed of a man offering him tea—only to realize it was boiling blood.
At dawn, Madrein entered a river. The water boiled around him.
"The demon blood is heavy," a mage said. "But he will no longer feel this pain."
Madrein sharpened his nails with stones until his skin split—yet healed instantly.
He whispered:
"Who am I now?"
After three days, they reached the battlefield.
Madrein met three soldiers:
Darkos, who counted his kills by fingers.
Elder, who joked about eating stones.
And Vindar, blind, who sensed others by presence alone.
"I am the son of the kingdom," Madrein said.
They spoke through the night—about life after war.
When Vindar told how the king had taken his eyes, Madrein's thoughts about the king began to change.
At sunrise, the drums of war sounded.
Madrein saw the truth: two hundred soldiers against eight hundred enemies.
"This war will kill them!" he shouted.
A commander kicked him aside, accusing him of cowardice.
Madrein stood and declared:
"I care about your lives. I do not care about mine!"
Silence fell.
The commander ordered Madrein executed for treason.
They bound him to a horse, set to charge into enemy lines.
Darkos stepped forward, pleading:
"Sir… please spare him—"
The commander stepped forward in anger and struck Darkos hard across the nose. It broke immediately, and he said sharply:
"You don't speak, soldier, unless I allow it!"
The soldiers remained silent, preparing for war, their eyes moving between Madrein and the horse.
Madrein sat on his horse, his head watching the animal that looked sick, as if the horse could feel exhaustion—while Madrein refused to exhaust it even more.
Everyone was on alert, and the air was charged with dread. Suddenly, the war cry erupted, as if the sky itself was screaming.
The horse was struck with the chant, and it charged forward at full speed toward the enemy armies, under a storm of arrows that looked like a dense cloud blocking the sunlight.
The horse ran without stopping, its sound roaring through earth and air, while arrows rained from every side.
Then something unexpected happened… one arrow hit the horse's leg. It stumbled and fell to the ground.
And Madrein's body—heavy with arrows—fell before everyone, allies and enemies alike, collapsing into a wide pool of his own blood…
Soldiers rushed forward, running over Madrein's body. They stepped on him brutally, even though he was still alive, his arrow-filled body trembling beneath their feet.
The sound of their screams mixed with pain and madness reached his ears.
And in the background, another voice rose—louder, stronger—shouting in every direction:
"Here… is the land of blood! Here we know the strong!"
Madrein flinched slightly, as if the words were strange to his ears, then he began to open his eyes slowly to see who was calling like that…
It was Vindar, the blind one, standing on the edge, his voice shaking the battlefield. His eyes were closed, yet he touched an invisible power in every word he spoke.
The scene around him was like a nightmare—blood covering the ground, soldiers screaming, the enemy watching in shock…
Yet Vindar's voice pierced the silence like a scream of life inside death, as if the whole world had stopped to listen.
Madrein looked toward Vindar, and his heart trembled with a small sense of reassurance… this was his brother, that was what he felt. He wanted to go to him, to rest beside him from the pain of the arrows raging through his wounded body.
But the moment he raised his hand toward him, he forgot Vindar was blind—
and an arrow shot from an unknown place and struck Vindar's throat directly. He fell to the ground without movement, life leaving him. He fell behind the hill he had climbed.
Madrein did not grasp what had happened. His hands began to tremble, and his eyes watched the horror around him: soldiers dying one by one, his army collapsing before his eyes.
Madrein stood among everyone, his body heavy with arrows, and he pulled an arrow from his body as if it were a part of him, and threw it toward the enemy soldiers.
The arrow flew at an unbelievable speed, like lightning cutting through the air. It pierced one soldier and came out through another, killing the equivalent of three soldiers at once.
The enemy stood stunned, not understanding what was happening.
The arrow burned with a mysterious fire, but there were no archers among the king's soldiers.
The arrows did not come from above—they launched from the horizon, like meteors falling into battle. Each one killed, burned, and planted terror within the enemy ranks, as if an unnatural force moved by Madrein's hand.
Madrein began to walk, stumbling among the corpses, his body covered in blood and sweat, trying to see if there was even one soldier alive on his side… but every attempt failed.
He moved between scattered bodies until he found the corpse of his friend Darkos. He lifted him carefully onto his shoulder, as if his friend's weight was lighter than the blood covering his body.
The enemies watched him from a distance, but they did not move, busy collecting spoils and weaving chaos around them.
Madrein continued forward. He smelled the scent of his friend Elder among the corpses. After a while, he gently moved the bodies aside and carried him too, as if every step brought back to him fragments of his lost humanity.
When he reached the place where he had seen Vindar, he stopped for a moment to catch his breath. His body trembled from exhaustion and pain, his eyes scanning the battlefield filled with blood and wreckage, ready for whatever would come next.
Madrein found Vindar sitting on the ground. Beneath him was blood, and his hand was wrapped in a piece of cloth—an effect of a deep wound that had not healed yet.
Madrein lowered his two friends from his shoulder and stood before Vindar, his eyes unable to believe what he was seeing.
Vindar turned his face toward him, and the blind man's expression frowned instinctively:
"I smell something… a bad smell… are you the king?"
Madrein burst into tears and crashed into Vindar's body, holding him tightly, his tears pouring without stopping.
He said, gasping between groans and crying:
"You're the only one who survived… everyone… everyone was killed… how did you survive?"
Vindar smiled with difficulty, his voice weak but full of determination:
"I caught the arrow before it hit me… I wounded my hand by mistake… and I was waiting for Elder to come and take me… but he was late… I think he… forgot me."
Madrein froze. His heart pounded while his tears kept falling, trying to absorb his friend's words—and to understand that amid chaos and destruction, one point of light remained… one life of them, at least.
Madrein said in a low voice, as if it came from another world:
"Elder is dead…"
Silence fell.
Vindar began to dig a small hole in the ground. Every movement of his hands was careful and steady, as if it were a sacred ritual.
Madrein watched anxiously and asked:
"What are you doing?"
Vindar replied in a calm but firm voice:
"We will bury our two friends… help me."
Madrein did not hesitate. He began digging the earth with his hands. It shook beneath every strike, but he felt the ground was fragile—hidden strength.
They dug together in silence, each drowning in his thoughts, trying to say farewell to the life death had stolen from their hands, with every hole they filled with soil.
After they buried their two friends, Vindar slowly stood and placed his hand on Madrein's shoulder. His voice was calm but tired:
"I don't know directions… take me to a place where there are people."
Madrein looked around for a moment. They were in a battlefield far from any city—ground full of blood and corpses, and the wind carrying echoes of death screams. He did not know what to say, so he simply walked in front of Vindar, moving toward the camp he knew… heading to the largest tent—the commanders' tent.
When they arrived, they found the commanders unharmed.
Vindar said, sniffing the air sharply:
"I smell a foul smell… is the king here?"
The commanders froze for a moment. Shock appeared on their faces, and they said in a low voice:
"How did you two survive?"
The truth was darker… those commanders were allied with the enemy, and betrayal seeped into every corner of the camp. There was no longer any place for trust—except what remained of Madrein and Vindar's determination to stay alive.
Madrein stepped forward in silence, and every step filled the place with the weight of darkness.
His eyes became darker, as if reflecting all of night itself, piercing even the souls of those before him.
When he reached one of the commanders, the moment paused, and time seemed to slow around him. Suddenly, the commander screamed before he could understand what was happening, and terror appeared in everyone's eyes…
In a single moment, all the commanders felt a deep shock, as if a strange force came out of Madrein.
The commander's heart was beating in Madrein's hand… but they did not see how it happened. They did not understand what possessed this young man until the moment became completely bleak.
The commanders jumped back. Their screams tangled with the crushing silence. Everyone was afraid, unable to grasp the phenomenon…
Only Madrein stood still, his black eyes shining with anger and an authority no one could resist.
Madrein began to move without mercy, killing the commanders one by one. Each strike was like lightning, and each of their screams disappeared into the silence of blood. None of them remained alive, and a deadly silence filled the tent when his brutal task ended.
Then the enemy soldiers arrived, shouting in challenge:
"Stop! Or we'll kill your friend!"
Madrein turned to them, his black eyes glittering with rage, then he ran toward them at an unimaginable speed.
A strange snapping sound came from among the soldiers, as if the earth itself shook. Blood rose into the sky, then fell like rain, and bodies flew in every direction.
He grabbed the riders' bodies and smashed them with other riders' bodies. The sound of bones breaking filled the air. The soldiers fled from him to no use, unable to catch him.
Every stab that struck him regenerated. His body reshaped itself as if death could not approach him.
The enemy crowded around him, thinking their numbers would stop him—but Madrein was faster and stronger… killing near and far, turning their bodies into projectiles that shattered everything in his way, until he finished them all.
The battlefield became filled with corpses and blood, and a terrifying silence wrapped the place after his raging fury.
After Madrein eliminated all his enemies, he paused for a moment, his eyes turning toward Vindar.
He said, panting from the violence of the fight:
"Brother… Vindar… can you take me with you?"
Vindar smiled with difficulty, then sniffed the air again:
"What is this bad smell?"
Madrein replied, trying to hold back tears and the blood covering his body:
"Don't worry… I'll wash… but I don't know where… can I come with you?"
Vindar hesitated, then said in a weak voice:
"No… my situation is worse than yours… I can't see…"
Madrein stood for a moment, feeling loneliness and confusion, but he understood that Vindar—despite his outward weakness—carried the strength to survive… and that their path together would be full of challenges, whether sight was absent or the place unknown.
Madrein asked:
"Where do we go?"
Vindar answered in a low but firm voice:
"Alright… let's walk until we find shelter."
They could not carry a tent; they were far too exhausted after the violent battle. So they only took a bag of the little food left with them, and they began walking in one direction without stopping.
As sunset approached, they reached a small cave between the trees, where they finally rested.
Before them stretched a vast land, almost empty of movement, covered by the cold evening breeze. Among the trees, they discovered a small stream with abundant water—clear and calm—like an oasis of quiet after the overwhelming chaos they had lived through.
They sat beside the stream, resting. For the first time in days, each of them felt temporary peace, even if it was only a short pause between a world of blood and battles.
Vindar said calmly:
"We'll stay here until someone finds us."
Madrein did not object. He was too exhausted, and all he wanted was rest.
Then Vindar added with a smile:
"I'll give you a name, brother… what do you think of the name Narvas?"
The moment he spoke the name, the atmosphere around them suddenly changed. Madrein asked him what the name meant.
Vindar answered:
"It means the person who becomes angry quickly."
Madrein looked at him and said:
"Thank you… from now on, my name is Narvas."
That moment was a new beginning, another chapter of his life. He was no longer just a lost child—he became Narvas… a name he carried in his heart, along with a power he had never known before.
♥️To be continued