Сhains

Darkness.

He was drowning in it again—thick, heavy, like a swamp.

Reaching for the light, but it stayed out of reach.

And again, from somewhere deep below, a voice:

"Find the fire..."

Cain jerked—but his body didn't obey.

He opened his eyes.

The world didn't return in pain—

It returned in cold.

Stone. Metal. The smell of rust.

The first thing he saw was Ko'oni.

She was sitting across the room, slumped against the wall.

Chains on her wrists. Chains on her ankles.

Her head bowed low.

He tried to speak, but his lips were cracked dry.

She looked up.

And her eyes… weren't hers.

No spark. No defiance.

Just—empty.

"Finally awake," she said.

Her voice was dull, squeezed out of her like breath through clenched teeth.

"I thought I was stuck here alone."

Cain looked around.

Stone walls. A dim lamp in the corner.

Chains on his own wrists and ankles.

He pulled—metal clanged in protest.

"Where are we?"

"A cage. A cell. Does it matter…"

"How long was I out?"

"Three days."

She sat cross-legged, back against the wall.

"You didn't move once.

He came by. Watched. Didn't touch me.

Just kept saying, 'The Lord is waiting.'"

Cain noticed the traces on her face.

Not blood...dried tears.

But she didn't shake. Didn't rage.

She just sat.

He wanted to ask what they did to her.

But Ko'oni spoke first:

"They… got into my head.

Showed me something. I don't know… if it was mine. Or someone else's.

Like I lived a whole life in a second.

And now I can't unsee it."

A pause.

"It hurts, Cain. But I can't even cry."

A grinding sound.

The door flew open with a clang.

Light flooded the cell.

He was standing there.

The same mask. The same tattered shadow of a cloak.

Hands behind his back. Spine straight.

Silence entered with him.

Ko'oni raised her head. Her voice pulled taut like a string:

"Are we finally going to see your Lord Oser?"

The mask walked toward her.

One step. Another.

He didn't raise his hand.

Just struck her.

Backhanded.

The sound cracked like a whip.

Her cheek flared red. Her head snapped into the wall.

"Our Lord's name is Osher."

Cain lunged.

Chains rattled and screamed.

"Bastard!"

From the shadow behind the mask, five more stepped forward.

Same masks. Same cloaks.

They fell on Cain.

The blows were precise. 

Not rage—punishment. Cold. Practiced.

The leader didn't even turn.

He listened, as if it were music.

Ko'oni cried out, lurched toward Cain—

The chain yanked her back.

The masked man turned toward the door. Without looking:

"You're not ready yet."

The five vanished back into his shadow.

The door slammed shut.

Cain lay spread across the cold stone.

Blood dripped from his chin, trickling into the dust.

But his face… wasn't pitiful.

It was fury—banked. Waiting.

"Cain… are you okay?"

He didn't answer right away.

Sat up slowly.

Spat blood to the side.

He had no hood. No cloak.

Just a body—corded with muscle, forged by hell.

Scars. Burns.

The imprint of chains.

It was the body of a survivor.

"Yeah," he said.

"Yeah what?"

"Yeah. I'm fine."

Ko'oni shook her head. Smirked—real, though bitter.

"So all it took to get you to talk to me…

was being thrown in prison."

A pause.

"Why do you have so many scars?" she asked quietly.

He looked down at the chains. At his own hands.

Didn't answer.

Asked instead:

"How old are you?"

"Sixteen. You?"

He lowered his gaze.

"Don't know."

Silence.

He stared at the floor.

"All I remember…

I opened my eyes three and a half years ago.

And I was already in chains.

Mines. Stone. Screams.

Walls like these. Shackles just like these."

He looked up.

"I didn't have a name. No age. No 'before.'

Only slavery."

Ko'oni listened. Truly listened.

"All I know is—I'm good at killing.

But I don't know why.

Sometimes I feel like a stranger inside my own skin."

Silence fell between them.

Ko'oni let out a breath.

And suddenly—smiled.

"You know… there's one good thing about all this."

Cain raised an eyebrow.

She nodded toward him.

"Without your hood, you're actually pretty good-looking. Gray as an old man, though."

He blinked.

Not surprise. More like: Did you seriously just say that?

"I mean it.

You remind me of my brother.

Always brooding, with that rock-face expression."

He didn't respond.

But the corner of his mouth—twitched. Just barely.

"Of course, he wouldn't have hit me if I bit his arm," she added with a snort.

Silence returned.

But now—

it felt like the breath before a storm.