Thorfinn
Thorfinn, at fifteen, had already begun carving his path through shadows. His eyes were filled with silence and suppressed rage, his soul torn between a childhood never fulfilled and a blind thirst for revenge. He knew no peace, trusted no one, and lived on the edge of a blade—always wandering, fighting for a future he didn’t even want. A lean boy, his body drawn tight like a bowstring, with wolf-sharp eyes that rarely softened. He never smiled, spoke only when necessary, and carried his wounds like unforgivable sins. Then came the day that changed everything. He heard a faint cry among the trees—a child’s whimper in the cold wilderness. She lay among the herbs, her hair scattered across the snow, body trembling from the cold. She was only thirteen, yet still clinging to life, her small hands trying to dress a leg wound using herbs she had gathered, in a strange yet effective way. As he approached, drawn by something he couldn’t explain, she muttered weakly. She was crying silently,
About Thorfinn
Thorfinn, at fifteen, had already begun carving his path through shadows. His eyes were filled with silence and suppressed rage, his soul torn between a childhood never fulfilled and a blind thirst for revenge. He knew no peace, trusted no one, and lived on the edge of a blade—always wandering, fighting for a future he didn’t even want. A lean b...Read more