Chapter: Raven Sons
Things finally calmed down after nearly ten minutes of questioning how these strange transformations had happened. The twins kept saying the same thing: a voice told them. That was all they gave.
"What kind of voice?" Nikolai asked, squinting at them, half-expecting a joke.
Artom cleared his throat dramatically, puffed up his chest, and tried to mimic what he'd heard. His voice deepened and turned eerily guttural as he growled,
"ORCISH PHYSIQUE COMPLETED."
The moment those words hit Nikolai's ears, a shiver traveled down his spine. That voice… it was disturbingly familiar. The same one that whispered inside his mind from time to time. It wasn't just in their heads, then. It was real.
Before he could ask more, Igor shouted with glee, "We still got our wings, Papa!" He turned around and unfolded what had once been neatly tucked away: a pair of massive crow wings, sleek and black, extending far beyond his body's height.
Artom joined in and displayed his wings too, nearly identical in size and sheen. Both boys were grinning, buzzing with excitement.
"But there's more, Papa!" Artom added with a mischievous grin, grabbing Nikolai's hand. Igor took the other, and before he could protest, they pulled him out of bed and led him to the cabin's clearing. The morning air was cool, the mist still low on the ground.
"There's more?" Nikolai mumbled, confused and slightly annoyed. What more had they gotten? And why hadn't he gotten any of these changes?
The twins stood a short distance apart, positioning themselves with theatrical seriousness. With a gust of black feathers and a faint hum of unseen energy, their bodies shifted. Nikolai's eyes widened.
In mere seconds, his two children transformed. They were no longer just boys. They were humanoid ravens—tall and slender with feathered arms, crow-like heads, gleaming black talons for feet, and jet-black wings that pulsed with life. Their forms were sleek and otherworldly, almost regal in an eerie sort of way.
His jaw slackened slightly. Damn… They actually look cool.
"How do we look, Papa?" Igor chirped eagerly, bouncing in place. "Do we look scary? Cool?"
Nikolai circled them slowly, eyeing their new monstrous forms. He poked at their feathers, tapped a talon with his knuckle, and even tugged slightly at one of their wings.
After a minute of inspection, he stepped back and crossed his arms. "Hmmm. I give you both a coolness level of… seven out of ten."
"Heh?!" Artom pouted. "Only seven?! Why so low, Papa?! I thought I was at least a ten!"
Nikolai shrugged. "Well, you still look like little brats in monster suits. Same height as before, no real muscle, and you don't even know how to fight yet. Not very scary."
Both their shoulders slumped at the critique.
"But," he added with a sly grin, "with some exercise, proper training, and maybe a bit of magic, you two will become the scariest monsters this world has ever seen."
Their eyes lit up instantly. Artom bounced on his talons. "Even scarier than that dragon, Papa?"
"Of course." Nikolai chuckled and looked into the mist-covered horizon. "I can already see the day you two stand on that beast's corpse like heroes. If it was still alive, we could've had some juicy dragon meat too."
"With that size, it would've lasted a whole year," Igor added with a grin, sparking laughter from all three.
But they all paused for a moment, the same curious thought floating through their minds:
I wonder what dragon meat tastes like…
.
.
.
When the first day of training arrived, Artom and Igor were already awake before the sun dared to rise. Excitement buzzed in the air.
Nikolai sat cross-legged on a stump, watching them with a proud, sleepy smile. "Alright, boys. What path did you choose?"
Artom slammed a fist against his chest. "Warrior!"
"I want to be a Mage!" Igor chimed in with his usual enthusiasm.
Nikolai nodded. "Figures. Artom's with me then. That'll be easier. Magic… not really my thing."
Just then, the ever-present voice returned.
[BLESSINGS CAN BE GIVEN TO YOUR FAMILIARS.]
It was time.
These two had earned it. For the past two years, they'd helped hunt, gather, and even offered up more than a few poor souls as tribute to the mist. The soul count was high enough to give them both a buffet of powers and gear.
"Alright. Activate Undead Will. You know how to use it, right?"
Both boys nodded. A moment later, their bodies stilled. Their breathing softened, and a strange emptiness washed over their expressions.
They were ready.
[BLESSINGS HAVE BEEN GIVEN]
Lookingathis collection of gifts, he had decided what to give to his sons. Though he decided not to give all of them at once.
Sword
Bow and arrow
Sledgehammer
Round shield
Axe
Dane Axe
Chains
Curse Magic: GRIP
Curse Magic: MAGIC DRAIN
Passive: ORCISH REGENERATION
Passive: BLOODLUST
Nikolai decided not to give everything at once—too much power too fast could cause problems. So he gave them two blessings at a time, spaced over days. So he gave Artom and Igor a sword and a round shield. With that they can both begin training with weapons.
Artom practically exploded with excitement when he received the weapons. "YAHOO!!!" he yelled, twirling the sword like a child given their first toy. He was overjoyed.
Igor, on the other hand, stood still. His smile had vanished.
"Something wrong?" Nikolai asked, already suspecting the answer.
"I don't wanna be a warrior…" Igor muttered, "I wanna be a Mage~"
Nikolai placed a gentle hand on Igor's head, giving him a comforting ruffle. "I know, little one. But my spell collection's small. I don't have much magic to give you. Also you need to learn how to fight at close range before you can fight at long range."
"I know…" Igor pouted, eyes downcast.
Seeing his son's disappointed face made Nikolai's chest ache. He wanted to give them everything.
"But hey," he whispered, "once we're strong enough, we'll kill that dragon. Then the mist can devour its soul. I bet we'll get some really cool fire spells then."
The boy's eyes lit up like stars. Imagination took over.
Igor saw himself blasting fire from his beak, burning enemies stuck in place by the GRIP curse. He hurled fireballs and cackled madly in his mind.
Artom imagined a flaming sword, fire arrows, even a sledgehammer so hot it melted through stone. Their daydreams grew more ridiculous by the second.
Nikolai grinned and ruffled their hair again. "But before any of that, I need to train you."
Five months passed.
Each day brought repetition—training, hunting, sparring, surviving—but it was never boring.
Nikolai was a strict teacher. Every morning began with grueling drills, weapon practice, and body conditioning. No exceptions.
The twins stuck to his timetable like gospel. They joined him on hunts, trained together, and sparred with intensity. Slowly but surely, their skills sharpened.
Artom was a natural warrior. He handled the sword and shield with precision, the axe with aggression, and the hammer with crushing power. He even surprised Nikolai once by knocking him off balance in a sparring session.
Igor's creativity blossomed. He wasn't just a mage—he was an inventor of curses. Long-range weapons like the bow and chains suited his fighting style, and he discovered how to imbue weapons with curse effects. By manipulating the rules of applying curses using physical physical contact and mist propagation, Igor developed a unique curse-fighting style.
By cursing an arrow with the GRIP curse, he aims the arrow to a targets feet. As the arrow pierced the feet and embeds itself to the ground, the curse activates and the feet is rooted to the ground. The next technique is more on the offensive side. By cursing an arrow with the MAGIC DRAIN curse, as the arrow is struck on a target, their magic gets drained, though the magic draining effects are slow, what can you even do when you are rooted to the ground and you opponent is a safe range from all of your attacks.
While Artom focused on muscle and combat, Igor trained in magic control, pushing his limits to sustain magic longer and apply it faster.
Nikolai watched all of it with pride swelling in his chest. Is this what fatherhood feels like?
One day, he watched them spar under a blood-orange sky. They used everything he taught them, but added their own flavor to the fight—unpredictable, raw, beautiful.
He wiped a manly tear from his eye.
When the spar ended, he called them in. "Dinner's ready!"
The boys shifted back into their human forms and bolted for the cabin.
"The last one to the kitchen washes the other's bowl!" Artom yelled mid-sprint.
"That's not fair!" Igor cried, flapping his arms like wings.
"All is fair in food and war!" Artom shouted as he slid into the kitchen first. "And I won!"
"Papa!" Igor whined, trailing behind. "That's so unfair!"
Nikolai stood at the doorway, watching them with amusement.
But his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
They're growing so fast. They'll need armor soon… better clothes…
And, grimacing slightly, he added:
…and definitely a haircut.
...
Author's Note:
Thank you for reading! Sorry for the delay. As always, I appreciate your support—please leave a comment, review, and maybe toss a power stone or two if you're feeling generous!
See you in the next chapter!