The morning was quiet when Cain truly woke for the first time.
There was a stillness in the air, the kind that came after a storm had passed. Sunlight bled through the cracks in the shutters, catching on the motes of dust that floated lazily around the small, wooden room.
His eyes opened, not in delirium or fleeting consciousness, but in clear, solid awareness.
His limbs still ached, his muscles weak, and his chest sore with every breath, but the burning agony was gone. The war between two souls had ended, and for the first time since being reborn, he was present.
Cain Vox… and Cain the Betrayed.
One soul. One mind.
And now he was finally awake.
He turned his head slowly not wishing to induce nausea or dizziness already. But thankfully he was lucky.
The wooden beams of the ceiling hadn't changed, nor had the faint scent of herbs soaked into the room.
But this time, he saw more.
Small details.
A bowl of dried roots on the table. A faded scarf hung on the wall. The chair near the bed: quite worn, but recently used.
Then he saw the man slumped in it.
Angus Vox.
The once-village hunter and tanner, now looked more like a worn-down hermit.
Streaks of grey had crept further into his beard. He sat half-asleep, arms crossed, his back bent at an angle that looked painfully uncomfortable. His shirt was rumpled, his boots caked in dried mud. But even asleep, the man's fingers twitched as if ready to rise at the slightest sound.
Cain stared at him.
This man had stayed. Through all of it.
The pain. The fever. The soul-clashing madness.
He hadn't run.
Cain shifted. His throat rasped as he tried to speak, the muscles unused for far too long.
"…Fath…er…"
It came out barely above a whisper. His voice was dry and cracked like old parchment. Still, it carried enough weight to break the silence.
Angus stirred immediately.
His head shot up, eyes bloodshot with sleep, but wide with alertness. When he saw Cain's open eyes... truly open this time—he froze for just a breath.
Then his expression cracked wide with relief, joy, and exhaustion all at once.
"Cain," he said, voice rough but filled with warmth. "Thank the gods…"
Cain winced. Not at the voice. At the gods part.
'Fuck the gods...' He said or at least intended to but all that came out was "gods..." He strength betraying him to even rebel verbally.
But Angus was already on his feet, hands fussing with a cloth, trying to pour water from a nearby jug.
"I—I didn't think you'd wake up today. You've been in and out for weeks, boy. Rambling. Fevered. Couldn't tell day from night."
He brought the cup to Cain's lips.
Cain drank. It wasn't refreshing—just wet. But it was enough to loosen his throat.
"How… long?" he rasped.
"Seventeen days," Angus said quietly. "Since the… the attack."
Cain blinked slowly. 'That long?'
He'd felt the passage of time, in dreams and pain, but to know it… it was a strange weight.
Seventeen days since the Gem Masters had fought like gods above insects.
Seventeen days since the other Cain—this body's Cain—had died, only for him to rise.
Seventeen days of agony, and yet… this man had stayed at his side the whole time.
"You stayed," Cain said.
It wasn't a question.
Angus scoffed, sitting back down. "Of course I stayed. You're my son, aren't you?"
Cain looked away. He wasn't sure how to respond to that.
Not because he didn't want to... but because a part of him did.
"I… remember," Cain said after a long moment. "What happened..."
Angus nodded grimly. "Damn bastards. Don't even know who they were. They didn't stop, didn't apologize, just kept flying like we weren't even there."
"Gem Masters," Cain murmured.
Angus's expression twisted with something bitter. "Aye. Supposed to be our protectors. Heroes, even. Gods' chosen. But they didn't even look at us."
He rubbed his eyes, the anger in his voice sharp. "Half the village gone. Ash. Fields torn to shreds. And you… you barely breathing. Your chest was caved in, blood coming out your mouth. I—I didn't know if—"
He stopped.
Cain remained still. Listening. Processing.
There was so much pain behind Angus's voice. Not just grief. Failure.
As if the man blamed himself for not protecting a son he couldn't have saved.
"I remember… the rabbit," Cain said quietly.
Angus let out a dry chuckle, though there was no humor in it. "Stubborn boy. Wouldn't come home empty-handed, even with the woods crawling with-beasts. You were always like that. Always trying to prove you were strong enough."
Cain didn't speak for a while. His gaze drifted to the window. The sunlight had shifted, painting the room in soft gold. The warmth felt real.
More real than anything he'd known in years.
"I'm sorry," Cain whispered.
Angus blinked. "For what?"
Cain's throat tightened. "For… making you wait."
Angus leaned forward, placing a hand on Cain's arm. "You're here. That's all that matters."
Cain looked at him—and saw something he had not known since before his betrayal. Not even from his companions, friends or his very own blood brother.
Unconditional love.
It scared him more than any god.
The silence between them grew comfortable.
Eventually, Angus stood up. "Rest. You'll need your strength. Once you're steady, I'll help you walk again. You've lost too much weight."
Cain nodded.
The exhaustion was already returning, but this time, it wasn't laced with agony.
He was healing.
Slowly, but surely.
As Angus left the room, Cain closed his eyes and let his breathing steady.
But his thoughts turned inward once more.
'Zeus is here.'
'The gods are still playing with lives.'
'But this time, I won't be their pawn.'
This world may not have realized its chains yet… but he would break them, link by link.
And when Zeus stood before him again—he would burn. And if the other gods tried to stop him, he would not hesitate like before.
He would become the monster they claimed him to be.