The Night his story began.
The candles flickered bright in the small cabin.
Nyxlo leaned forward, small hands gripping the edge of the wooden table, eyes reflecting seven tiny flames in them. The room smelled of baked honey bread and melted wax. Outside, dusk settled gently over the rooftops of Luxia's outer district, brushing the narrow streets in violet light.
"Careful," his mother laughed softly, brushing her auburn brown hair behind her ear. "Make you're wish first darling."
His father stood behind him, one large hand resting on his shoulder.
Nyxlo squeezed his eyes shut.
He didn't wish for toys. Or sweets. Or friends.
He wished for something simple.
For nights like this to last forever.
"Alright," his father said. "Blow."
Nyxlo inhaled deeply and exhaled with all the strength he could muster and blew as hard as he could, smiling while watching the candles die away.
The room dimmed and went quiet, but soon loud sounds came from outside.
It was louder than one can expect. His mother didn't move at first. But his father did.
The hand on Nyxlo's shoulder stiffened.
A sound came from outside, His father's grip tightened.
"Stay here," he murmured.
Nyxlo frowned. "Papa?"
His mother's smile faltered.
Soon came the knock on the door, it was hard.
Silence stretched.
The second knock was softer.
His father moved toward the door.
Nyxlo didn't know why, but his heart started beating faster. The room suddenly felt smaller. The air felt heavier.
His father reached the door—and paused.
Nyxlo saw it.
Just for a moment.
A flicker of something across his father's face.
Fear.
Recognition.
The door opened.
Three men stood outside.
They wore long coats the color of deep ash. At their collars, faint silver embroidery shimmered in the dim light—they possessed a symbol on the clothing one Nyxlo did not recognize, but would never forget.
The man in the center smiled politely.
"Good evening," he said.
His voice was pleasant.
His father's body shifted, blocking the doorway.
"You have the wrong house."
The man tilted his head slightly. "Do I?"
The tension started to get stronger.
His mother stepped closer to Nyxlo, pulling him gently behind her.
"What is this?" she asked, voice steady but strained.
The man's gaze flicked past his father.
His eyes landed on Nyxlo.
And lingered.
"Unfortunate," he said quietly.
It happened faster than I thought.
Light flared.
Something bright like a fire—
Nyxlo soon heard a sound he didn't recognize at first.
Then he only realized it was his mother screaming.
His father moved.
Steel rang against something unseen.
The wooden door frame exploded inward.
Nyxlo fell backward, hitting the floor hard.
The world fractured into noise and splinters and light.
He only could catch a quick glimpse of seeing his father fight the men in the coats.
Nyxlo had never seen him like that.
Not the warm, laughing man who carried him on his shoulders.
Not the gentle voice that told stories before bed.
But something fierce.
Desperate.
The man screamed. The walls broke. One of the men stepped forward, expression unchanged, as if this was routine.
As if breaking families was routine.
Nyxlo scrambled to his knees.
His mother pulled him toward the corner of the room.
"Don't look," she whispered.
But he did.
He saw the silver symbol glow faintly.
He saw the man in the center raise a hand.
He saw his father stagger.
The sound that followed would echo in Nyxlo's dreams for years.
A disportful, heavy screaming sound.
He soon heard the body of his father fall.
The world went quiet for Nyxlo for a quick second.
Then everything rushed back at once.
His mother moved.
She didn't scream again.
She didn't beg.
She grabbed a kitchen blade and stepped between Nyxlo and the men.
"You will not touch him."
The man sighed softly.
A flick of his fingers.
Her body flew across the cabin.
Nyxlo lunged forward.
"Mama!"
She fell beside his father.
Blood spread slowly across the wooden floor, soaking into the grain.
The candles—extinguished minutes ago—released thin trails of smoke that twisted upward like fading spirits.
Nyxlo crawled toward them.
He didn't cry.
Not yet.
The men stepped deeply into the house.
Boots pressed into blood.
The one in the center crouched in front of Nyxlo.
Up close, he smelled faintly of caramel and peppermint and something colder.
"You won't remember this clearly," the man said calmly. "Children rarely do."
Nyxlo stared at him.
He memorized everything.
The shape of his eyes.
The scar beneath his left ear.
The exact curve of the silver symbol.
The way his voice never rose.
"Wrong place," the man added. "Wrong blood."
Nyxlo didn't understand.
But he understood enough.
The man stood.
"Leave him."
One of the others hesitated. "He saw—"
"He's just a damn kid,it's already bad enough he had to witness this."
The men then turned and walked out.
No rush.
No guilt.
The door remained shattered.
Cold night air crept inside.
For a long time, Nyxlo didn't move.
He reached out with trembling fingers and touched his father's sleeve.
Still warm.
He shook him gently.
"Papa?"
No answer.
His mother's eyes were half-open, staring at nothing.
Nyxlo pressed his small hands against her shoulder, as if he could push life back inside her.
The house felt enormous now.
Empty.
The smoke from the candles had thinned into nothing.
His wish had lasted less than a minute.
Finally, the tears came.
silent streams running down a small, stunned face.
Outside, the city of Luxia continued like they didn't hear the screams of Nyxlo, family. Somewhere in the distance, laughter drifted through the streets. A carriage rolled past.
The world did not care about what had just happened, it didn't even bother to stop.
Nyxlo knelt in the blood of his parents and felt something change inside him.
He felt that he was now empty inside.
The warmth of childhood had just disappeared right in front of his eyes.
In its place, something colder took root.
He did not understand why his parents had to die.
He did not know of the things they committed.
He did not know anything about these men.
But he understood this:
The men who killed his parents believed themselves untouchable.
Believed power made them safe.
Nyxlo wiped his tears with shaking hands.
He had just turned seven years old, and here he was now alone.
And already needing to learn about this world.
That pitiful night will always remain in his mind.
But now something else had awakened in the darkest depths of his soul.
And not even fate itself can stop him.
That night he vowed to get revenge for his parents and make the world know his name.
Nyxlo the revenger.