Beneath the shroud of a darkened sky, deep within the forest, the air was pierced by the screams of the hunted and the guttural growls of monstrous beasts.A family of Faunus fled through the trees, their breaths ragged, their footsteps frantic—running not for victory, but for survival.
The father led the charge at the rear, his sword clenched in his right hand, a shotgun gripped tightly in his left. With practiced precision, he cut down the Grimm that surged from behind, refusing to let them reach his family. Beside him, the mother fought with twin blades, one in each hand, her movements swift and fierce as she struck down any creature that dared flank them from the sides.
Ahead of them, the children—a set of identical triplets—ran with trembling legs. The boy, his face pale but determined, gripped the hands of his sisters, one on each side. The girls sobbed in terror, their cries echoing through the night, unaware of anything but the overwhelming fear and the monstrous roars closing in behind them.
"Don't stop! Run!" the father shouted, his voice sharp and commanding as he cut down another charging Grimm with a clean slash of his blade.
But fate had other plans.
From the darkness, a massive Ursa burst through the trees with terrifying speed, barreling toward them from the side. The mother didn't hesitate—she charged in to intercept it, blades gleaming under the pale moonlight. But the beast was faster, stronger. With a single, devastating swipe of its thick arm, it struck her mid-charge.
She flew through the air like a ragdoll, crashing into her children with a sickening thud. All three were launched backward, their bodies colliding hard with the base of a tree. The boy's head struck the bark, his vision fading into black as unconsciousness claimed him.
His sisters screamed, their voices raw with pain and fear. Tears streaked their cheeks as they cried out, clutching at each other in confusion and terror.
Groaning, the mother forced herself back onto unsteady feet, blood dripping from her forehead. Her hands trembled, but she raised her arms and stood between the encroaching Grimm and her daughters, ready to fight with every last breath.
The father arrived seconds later, positioning himself beside his wife. Together, bruised and bleeding, they formed a final wall between their children and death.
The Ursa lunged again.
Its massive claw came down in a brutal arc, and their combined aura shattered on impact—crystals of light burst outward, sparkling like broken glass in the night.
Still, they stood.
Still, they fought.
But the beast would not be denied.
With another sweeping slash, the Ursa's claws tore through them both. Flesh ripped, limbs were flung, and blood splattered across the trees and ground like red rain.
Their bodies fell—broken, lifeless.
The girls could only stare, paralyzed with horror as the scene unfolded before them. The warmth of their parents' love had been replaced by crimson mist and silence.
The nightmare had only just begun.
As the chaos unfolded around them, the boy's senses slowly returned. The haunting wail of his sisters pierced through the fog of unconsciousness. But this time, their cries were different—no longer filled with pure terror. They were laced with something darker. Something raw.
Horror. Anger. Despair.
His eyelids fluttered, and with a painful groan, he forced himself to turn. What he saw made his heart stop.
His parents—his protectors, his everything—were no longer standing. No longer fighting. Their bodies, torn and shattered beyond recognition, lay scattered on the ground in a gruesome testament to the Ursa's brutal assault. Blood painted the earth, and limbs were strewn like discarded toys.
His breath hitched as his gaze shifted to his sisters.
Their faces were pale, streaked with tears, but their eyes... their eyes were not filled with the same fear they had felt moments ago. No. There was something else. A fire burning deep within them. Anger. Pain. The very same feelings that now surged through him, coursing through his veins like molten steel.
He had felt their fear, their desperation, but now, in this moment of agonizing clarity, he felt everything they did.
The weight of their loss. The rage of their parents' violent death. The crushing grief of a future stolen from them.
His eyes trembled, not in fear, but in fury. He could feel it—the searing, aching pain of the truth, of what had been taken from them. And it burned through him like a wildfire.
A radiant white glyph shimmered into existence in the boy's eyes—and in his sisters' too.
They screamed, their voices piercing the silence, not from fear but from something deeper. Awakening. Power. Grief.
In the air above them, dozens of matching glyphs spiraled to life, glowing brighter and brighter until the night sky itself was drowned in blinding white light. The forest, once cloaked in darkness, now glowed like midday.
The Grimm around them shrieked, writhing in agony as the searing light consumed them. One by one, they turned to dust, disintegrated by the sheer purity of the energy that surrounded the triplets.
And then… silence.
As the last of the light faded, the glyphs vanished into the air. The monsters were gone. The forest stood quiet.
The boy fell to his knees, tears cascading down his dirt-streaked face. His body trembled, his arm wounded and shaking as he wiped his face with it.
"I'm sorry... I'm really sorry..." he choked out, barely able to speak through the sobs.
"I'm sorry I was late... it's all my fault... please… forgive me..."
His sisters, silent and broken, approached him and gently rested their heads against his back. Their tears soaked into the fabric of his shirt. Though they said nothing, their trembling shoulders and soft weeping spoke volumes. They understood the weight behind his words, because they carried the same unbearable pain.
The moon hung high above the forest of Anima, its silver light casting a soft glow on the three small figures wrapped in grief. Their cries echoed into the wind, swallowed by the night, as time slowly passed them by.
Eventually, their sobbing ceased.
They didn't speak. They didn't need to.
Together, they stood.
Moving with quiet resolve, they returned to the spot where their belongings had fallen. From a pile of scattered supplies, they pulled a large sheet of cloth—worn, but clean. Wordlessly, they began the heartbreaking task of recovering what was left of their parents.
Piece by piece. Limb by limb. They gathered every fragment, every torn part of the mother and father they had lost. With small hands and solemn faces, they placed the remains on the cloth like broken puzzle pieces, carefully and lovingly arranged.
Once they had collected everything, they gently folded the cloth over the bodies. The load was heavy, but the weight meant nothing to them anymore.
They walked—slowly, endlessly—through the woods. The boy led from the front, gripping the corners of the cloth. His sisters followed behind, holding onto the edges as best they could. Wounded, exhausted, and only three years old… but numb to the pain. Numb to everything except the loss.
Eventually, they reached an abandoned village.
The homes stood empty, silent and forgotten. It wasn't much—but it was shelter. A place to rest. A place to say goodbye.
The boy found a broken wooden plank and began to dig.
His sisters joined him, hands raw, knees scraped, but they dug beside him without complaint. And when the hole was finally deep enough, they lowered the cloth-wrapped remains of their parents inside. With quiet care, they filled the grave with earth.
When it was done, they stood for a long time before the makeshift mound, staring at it in silence. Not speaking. Just being. Just remembering.
An hour passed.
The boy finally turned and led his sisters into one of the abandoned homes. Inside, the air was stale, the floor dusty. He sat down against the wall, slumping slowly until his body leaned into the wood.
His sisters lay down beside him, each resting their heads on his thighs. He didn't move. He didn't mind. He simply closed his eyes.
And for the first time that night, they found peace—not in joy, but in stillness.
In being together.