Kein And The Serpent

The immortal Kein stood still in the quiet shadows of his frostbound castle, nestled deep within the Northpoll—a place so cold, no human could survive even a breath of its wind. He had been sniffing the fruit in his hand for what felt like several millennia, though time had long lost meaning to someone like him. It was the last of its kind—decaying, yet sacred. The fruit from his ancient harvest, the one he grew before he became a cursed wanderer. Before he was known as Kein, he had a different name. A name whispered with both dread and pity: Cain, the firstborn of Adam and Eve. The brother of Abel. The farmer whose offering the Creator rejected.

But Kein was no longer a man. He was an immortal stitched together with vengeance, guilt, and a thirst for power no time could quench.

He had heard rumors—a whisper carried on the winds of war and internet radio—that somewhere in a poor rural town in the East, there existed a doorway. Not just any doorway, but one that led back to the enchanted garden. Not Eden, no. That had been sealed long ago. But another garden. A living memory of paradise. The place where he once met the fascinating couple—Malacaz and Maghanda. The guardians of something he had long lost: the barrel of fruit that could grant immortality.

“My Lord,” a voice echoed through the crystalline halls.

Caiphaiz had arrived. Once a devout priest, a scholar of sacred texts, and a feared Pharisee, he now served Kein as an immortal pawn. His transformation had been violent, his fall from grace even more so. He had once sought to crush the serpent’s head. Now he followed it.

“We are ready to travel,” Caiphaiz announced, bowing slightly. “Are you sure you don’t want me to accompany you?”

Kein glanced at him, eyes glinting like frozen coals. “We can handle it on our own. Velial and I will suffice. Unless, of course, you’d enjoy the journey.”

He smirked knowingly. Caiphaiz hated the fruit Kein held. Not because of its taste or smell, but because of the worm writhing within it—proof that the serpent still had a home.

That fruit wasn’t just any fruit. It was the last one from Kein’s own cursed harvest—the same harvest he reaped before killing Abel. A fruit from the field, rejected by YHWH, and now pulsing with memories that would never rot away.

Caiphaiz’s eyes flickered, uneasy. “Very well, my Lord. I will wait for your return.”

In truth, he never wanted to be apart from Kein—the one who turned him into what he was now. The one who had fed him the fruit after the day everything changed.

Back then, Caiphaiz was still human. He had just presided over the crucifixion of a Jewish rebel—a man his people called “Messiah.” A man who, after death, left behind an empty tomb and a trail of terrified guards. That same week, Caiphaiz encountered Kein for the first time. He had appeared like a boy, but radiated a power that unsettled even the deepest knowledge Caiphaiz held.

And just like that, with a single bite of a strange fruit, Caiphaiz traded robes for shadows. He shed his loyalty to YHWH and bent the knee to Kein.

But Caiphaiz never knew the whole story.

He did not know that the fruit Kein held now was all that remained of his original plan—the one he abandoned when he stumbled upon Malacaz and Maghanda. The couple who lived in a garden resembling Eden but was something altogether different. They reminded him of his parents, of love, of loss. But he had been too afraid to ask them for what he needed most: the barrel of immortality.

He had left it behind.

And now, ages later, a chance to return had emerged.

Kein dismissed Caiphaiz with a simple nod. The journey ahead would be grueling, a shift from the icy void to the heat of a tropical land, but the reward was worth the discomfort. If the whispers were true, someone had discovered a relic—an ancient vase—that could serve as the key. A conduit. A map.

The enchanted garden wasn’t random. It was tied to a mythical city Kein once stumbled into during his wanderings: Veering-Gan. A place built between dimensions, flickering between dream and memory, reality and myth.

YHWH’s curse had made Kein immortal, yes—but it also made him utterly alone. No one could kill him. No one could truly love him. He was to walk the earth endlessly, a relic of divine disappointment. But if he could retrieve the barrel and turn others immortal—others like Caiphaiz—he wouldn’t have to be alone in his hatred, in his hunger.

He had even kept up with the mortal world. Through companies, tech empires, and a thousand aliases, he controlled much of the media’s lustful gaze. One day, while scrolling through one of his many feeds, he found her.

Cassandra.

An online performer. A harlot, the kind the world both shames and worships. She danced in her childlike outfits, spoke with sultry tones, and told strange stories while selling illusions of love.

But it wasn’t her beauty that caught his attention.

It was a tale she told—a rant, really—about her friend and her friend’s lunatic mother. The mother was obsessed with restoring a broken vase she claimed had spiritual significance. A vessel, she claimed, that could reopen a lost doorway to a place called Malacaz.

Kein froze.

The name struck him like thunder in the bones.

He watched the video again. And again. Then he tracked Cassandra. With a touch of charm and a calculated seduction, he arranged to meet her.

In the East.

And from there, the hunt would begin.

The enchanted garden. The city of Veering-Gan. The barrel. The couple. The answers.

“Hisss…”

A faint sound slithered through the fruit in Kein’s hand. A tiny head, wormlike, emerged. It had lived inside the fruit all these years. The serpent’s spawn.

“I can’t wait,” it whispered, “to meet the couple again. The ones who haunted you like your parents haunted me.”

Kein grinned. “Yes… that adventure was worth every exile. Every drop of blood. I’d do it again.”

He crushed the fruit lightly, and the worm slid back inside, sated.

Then Kein whispered into the cold wind, as if the garden itself could hear him:

“Veering-Gan City… here we come.”