Cain's point of view

The reflection of ice and snow was not white.

It's blue.

The kind of cold blue, which held no warmth, no love, no kindness but a cruelty that was a mercy on its own.

And yet it was an integrated part of my childhood, something that I can and will never will forget.

The reflection of ice and snow was not white, but a freezing blue, though it was devoid of warmth, it was not devoid of beauty.

It was the color of my father's eyes.


"Cain! You're a Sacrofiel, the blood of more than a thousand warriors, running in your veins! Stand up!" He forced me into an offensive stance, his hands digging into my bruised skin. I could feel the world attempting to slide over and tried almost desperately to clear my head, tried to force the pain to be my ally, not my foe, tried to breathe evenly, tried to ignore the ache seeping into my bone, tried to force the ghost of my weaknesses to fade away, tried to stop the illness from taking over me…

I tried.

It wasn't enough.

"Father!! What are you doing?!" My father released me and I fell to the ground immediately, the cough that I failed to suppress wreaking my body and white hot pain shot through my chest. He made a sound of disgust before turning to my twin, who was running up to us, his pride evident in the faint curve of his stern mouth.

"Arandel, what is it?" He never spoke to me that way. Not once. Never in that voice that contained so much pride and affection. I dashed a hand across my mouth, feeling sweat sting my cut lip the movement causing my limbs to protest in pain.

Arandel, my twin, whom I loved more than my heart.

Arandel, my twin, whom in every dark corner of my heart I envied and resented.

"Father, you are pushing Cain too hard. His illness just-"

"His illness cannot be cured! He is but a disgrace! The runt of the family!" There, he said it. I felt a pain that all the pain I have ever experienced put together could not compare to pierce through my body. I was a disgrace. A stain on his perfect family portrait. I never was the warrior my brother was. I never was as strong as him, I never was as fast as him, I never was as smart as him, I never was as agile as him.

I never was as perfect as him.

It came as no surprise. A knot in me begun to ease and the pain brought sweet relief. I threw my head back, laughing.

He said it. I no longer have to be subject to my fears anymore because they were reality. With the pain, there was relief

It was a bitter laugh, harsh and full of cynicism. Arandel, who had been shocked by what Father said, should have felt the pain and the hurt that finally had an outlet for it to breathe. The pain and the hurt that I had pulled a bandage of denial over, but instead of healing it, the bandage caused it to fester and god, it felt so good to let it go.

A tingling sensation built up in me, coursing through my body with the sweet pain and it sent a jolt of pleasure through me. I remained on the ground, no longer in pain as I had at first, but at this surging feeling. The ache was gone and the cough that had been rising up came forward as an unknown sound, my lips moving in a language I couldn't identify. I didn't stumble over the unfamiliar words, but felt them ghost off my tongue in an ease that simply built up this sensation.

I saw my eyes reflected in Arandel's. They were like sapphire suns, incandescent with power, and I saw the cruel tilt of my lips in his eyes. The words continued to form in my mouth.

The sensation reached a peak.

That sensation, was my first taste of power.

The burgeoning power burst forth from me, in a force that made me tingle in pleasure all over. It was heady and intoxicating. Arandel screamed.

It was pure instinct that my father had gotten out of the way in time. Where he stood a split second ago was scorched ground, and it was still bubbling with the after effects of the heat, something unnatural and out of place.

I was aware that the aura that oozed from it was evil, but the pleasure from it had yet to ebb from my blood. I felt strong for once. I didn't feel inferior.

I felt powerful.

My father stared at me in shock, before he begun laughing. "I see. I see everything now." He grinned ferociously as he stared at me in fascination. "A sorcerer. The first in 57 generations."

And that was when, it all started.

The beginning of my own end, carved by my hands.