Born under a bleeding moon, Volstom Korest came into this world with shadows clinging to his soul. His village, nestled in the cold embrace of the northern forest, offered little solace. Poverty was a constant companion, a gnawing hunger that mirrored the emptiness within him. Yet, amidst the despair, Volstom found fleeting moments of joy in the company of the whispering pines and the icy streams that ran like silver threads through the emerald green.

One cruel autumn, the kingdom of Tubor was plunged into a darkness deeper than the forests that cradled it. A neighboring kingdom, driven by insatiable greed and an appetite for blood, unleashed its ravenous legions upon the unsuspecting land. Volstom, barely thirteen, witnessed the unspeakable. His parents, the kindling that once warmed his heart, were extinguished in a storm of steel and fire. He and his younger sister, mere phantoms in the carnage, fled into the depths of the wood, their innocence forever shredded.

Days bled into nights as they wandered the labyrinthine paths, fear their constant companion. Hunger gnawed at their insides, mirroring the growing emptiness within. Just when hope seemed lost, they stumbled upon a haven, a hidden village of refugees huddled together against the encroaching darkness.

Here, amidst the whispers of forgotten lives and the embers of hope, Volstom discovered his true calling. He was drawn to the ancient arts of the soothsayer, the weavers of fate who glimpsed the future in the swirling smoke of sacrifice and the patterns of the night sky. He learned the language of ravens and the secrets whispered by the wind. His talent blossomed like a poisonous flower, fueled by the darkness that had taken root within him.

His visions, once mere glimpses, became vivid tapestries of the future. He saw the paths of enemies, divined the weaknesses of their armies, and warned his people of impending threats. His prophecies became shields deflecting the arrows of misfortune, and his pronouncements were etched in the hearts of the refugees like sacred runes.

One day, while communing with spirits in the heart of the forest, Volstom encountered a darkness different from the one that haunted his dreams. Bandits, their souls blackened by greed and cruelty, stalked the land, preying on the weak and vulnerable. In that moment, the fire of vengeance ignited within him, burning away the last vestiges of his childhood innocence.

He knew then that his role was not merely to predict the future, but to shape it. He would become the harbinger of justice, the storm that cleansed the land of evil. He would be the fear that haunted the shadows, the whisper of death in the ears of the wicked.

And so, Volstom Korest, the child of darkness, forged his own destiny. He embraced the mantle of the soothsayer, the weaver of fate, and became the protector of his people. His life, a tapestry woven of shadows and whispers, became a legend whispered in the wind, a chilling reminder that even in the darkest of nights, a spark of hope can ignite a fire that consumes all.