Where do I start? I guess the beginning is as good as any place to start. I was born a long time ago in a place I've long forgotten; to parents whose faces I have only a vague recollection of. My past is fragmented in my head; I recall some events and people as vividly as the sun, but others have been diluted or long forgotten.

I suppose over the course of anyone's life this phenomenon is bound to happen, however, the modern era offers many ways to preserve moments for a while. It is a good thing, but that presents me with some problems. Ah! Back to my story.

I do not remember too much of my childhood, but I will tell you about what I do remember, and if I recall any relevant bits as I continue to write this story, I will tell you.

My original name is very long, and names have become somewhat meaningless to me as I've had too many over the years. My sister called me Silas, so that is the name I will give. I was born into a family of strong mages. My parents were basically the modern-day equivalent of kings and queens in our settlement.

As a mage, I learned to speak the language of the gods, but pretty early on it became obvious that none of the gods we worshipped would give me permission to use their power, thus I could not perform magic. Being born in a family of mages and unable to perform magic made me a shunned child. To win father's approval, I trained to be a warrior instead, being the first warrior in the family.

My sister on the other hand, despite being my twin, was loved by the gods. Maybe too loved. While the most powerful witch in the settlement at the time, my mother, had permission to use the power of two gods, my sister could use the power of every known and unknown god. This made her become the subject of envy and jealousy, and also father's favourite.

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I could have lived in resentment, but I loved and cherished my sister, and she felt the same towards me. As we were twins, she always joked that the gods being unable to tell us apart gave her permissions that were supposed to be mine and that was why I couldn't use magic.

My childhood wasn't too peaceful, in fact, it wasn't peaceful at all. Our settlement was raided by Lycans every full moon when they had their festival to celebrate their god. Besides the Lycans, we had to fight warriors and mages from other bigger settlements that wished to expand their lands.

I was trained in the ways of a warrior by my best friend's father. Both the father and son were eccentric drunks, but they were skilled with any weapon. My friend's name was Ovidiu Aurel Fiul Lui Ovidiu Titus, which literally means Ovidiu Aurel son of Ovidiu Titus. His father took us both on our first hunt when we were five years old.

From my very first hunt, it was evident to Titus that I would make a fine warrior, so he'd asked father for permission to train me, of course, father eagerly gave consent. Over the next fifteen years of my life, Titus trained me. He taught me to use a spear, arrow, sword, dagger and just about any weapon that could be used.

Over those fifteen years, I participated in many battles. Some were to defend my homeland and some were to conquer new lands.

But just about when I was nineteen, the Lycans slowly became more powerful and resistant to the offensive magic of the mages in our settlement. One time when they raided our land, we were forced to flee, but my mother died in that raid.

After that my father became hellbent on wiping out the Lycans, it became an obsession of his. He started working on spells to buff our warriors so we could match the strength of the Lycans. If they were resistant to magic we only needed to attack them physically he said.

But the Lycans were very powerful, especially during the festival when they attacked. By the time I was 21 they had practically grown immune to magic and highly resistant to physical attacks. That year we lost many warriors, and Titus was one of them.

It was then I inherited my father's obsession with wiping out the Lycans.