#cn;chapter

Nam Sibyllam quidem Cumis ego ipse oculis meis vidi in ampulla pendere, et cum illi pueri dicerent:Σιβυλλα τι θελεις; respondebat illa:αποθανειν θελω. *

( I saw with my own eyes the Sibyl at Cumae hanging in a cage, and when the boys said to her: “Sibyl, what do you want?” she answered: “I want to die.” )

the past few weeks haven’t been the best — not that anything is desirable in war apart from victory — in terms of his schedule. holding down the fort at one of the islands outside elv hadn’t been too hard. neither was helping the troops clear out of the land near the outskirts of tempestade before the opposing sides engaged in a prolonged skirmish that lasted a few days (three days, ten hours and fifteen minutes, if cain was being exact, but who was keeping count?).

it was the pirates that irked him the most, fighting battles they could not win, and pushing him into making his fleet stay at sea just to fend them off. they bred like cockroaches, anyway.

and it was after a particularly refreshing meal that a messenger knocked upon the door, and proceeded to deliver news that made him stab the poor desk he’d been eating on.

“excuse me?”

“captain nam heeyeon, sire. she was killed in action, after having eliminated most of the enemy —,”

                   killed.

before the poor boy could finish the message, cain was already on his feet, grabbing the scabbard that remained among other choice weapons behind him. “who did it?”

“suryans, your highness. they were reported to have sailed north, towards elv. they were spotted about thirty clicks east of our location.”

                   killed. 

                                      they killed his favourite —

“get a smaller ship ready for me. call scott — the colonel is in charge for now until i get back,” cain instructed — more like snapped, scabbard sheathed at his hip and his glasses removed, placed neatly inside the drawer at his desk. it was easy enough to locate his jacket despite the sudden blurred vision, after having lived with it for so long. “NOW.”

“y-yes! yes, sire.”

only when the boy was gone did grief crush him entirely. once the door closed his palms fell against the wood, arms shaky as cain felt his chest cave in completely. the finality of death wasn’t lost to him; the finality of loss was something new, something foreign, something unwanted. cain had never lost something so precious to death — never lost it while never having hope, elusive and fantastical as it was, that someone precious could come back to him again. his throat and his eyes ached, and only when tears fell warm and heavy onto the marred surface did he realise he was crying. cain’s jaw was set, teeth locked in an effort to keep the grievous cry trapped within it at bay.

and there lay the uncertainty, the hopelessness, the loss of something he’d come to accept as normal, as routine.

for once in his score-and-a-year’s worth of existence, cain felt something like what others would call sadness — and he hated every second of it.

cain quickly inhaled, and wiped the tears away, and by the time his orders were accomplished did he set out with his hands aching for blood.

“sir.”

“i know.”

it’s easier to fight in the water — his element, his greatest weapon and his greatest shield. it’s foolish for the suryans to fight him here, and perhaps that is why he finds himself on land. it’s on one of the small islands apart from the mainland where they’re stationed for a month or two — his time in court had been too short. he quite liked it, too. at least the food was carefully prepared.

it’s the little things that irk him.

“damn fucking suryans,” he mumbles, sheathing the blade at his hip, the stone he’d used to sharpen it being covered so carefully with cloth and placed under the makeshift table he’s sitting at.  “can’t let a man finish taking care of his shit. i could just kill them for it.” his statement, meant as a form of jest, is met with silence. it doesn’t faze him; not many people had his sense of humour. then again, he hadn’t been entirely kidding. “how many were sighted?”

“a battalion. maybe less, ten clicks north.”

he removes the spectacles from his face then. while everything else is suddenly blurry, his decisions are not. cain decides that waiting for scott to come back from leading her own scouting party won’t do any good. action is vital in winning a war. besides, cain doesn’t believe in staying still; he isn’t going to be his brother. and if scott isn’t the one reporting this to him, there must be a reason. had she been held up somehow? caught in some little skirmish?

“we’ll meet our scouting party halfway, then chase the bastards away. and while we’re gone, i expect everyone to be on guard. no one is allowed to sleep until i get back,” cain announces, already standing up and adjusting his armour. “give me ten of your angriest men, and ten of your fastest. the new ones looking for blood to spill, and the ones who look like they can’t take me on in an actual fight.” and more silence. honestly, scott is a better conversationalist than this. doesn’t hold her tongue, that girl. “what?”

“just twenty…sir?”

ah — the guy must be new.

cain is given a new round of newly-promoted dumb fucks every mission that, at this point, he’s learnt how to be the slightest bit patient. they must have heard of him by now, must know his reputation one way or another. maybe that’s why he’s given the task of helping them with their discipline issues. he’s never quite lost a battle either — not entirely, at least. that’s what he likes to think, anyway. most of it, he blames on his damn eyesight; it’s a miracle he’s even gotten this far, but he isn’t complaining.

“let me tell you something you might have forgotten, corporal,” he says, tone perfectly stable as he stands before the lower-ranked officer. “i was like you a few years back. i understand your concerns. but you gotta understand — i’m your superior for a reason. now, on the off-chance that i don’t come back, feel free to promote yourself. otherwise, you better learn how to fucking listen.”

his hand rested at the hilt of his blade, gaze cutting straight through the male, all with the iciness of an elvan winter. he isn’t feared without a reason. cain smiles though the expression can’t seem to thaw the coldness of his gaze.

“get me those men. don’t make me say it again.”

“s-sir.” he’s given a salute, and the officer ducks out of the tent with his tail between his legs. cain likes it when they do that — their fear is always so amusing. it’s not like he actually does anything to severely harm the soldiers (and seamen, if he’s lucky) under his command. just a little beating will do.

and there is a reason for the small amount of men he’s taken with him. it’s faster to move that way, less people to worry about, and less people to lose. there are weapons and supplies in their little encampment, and the economy doesn’t do wonders for the amount of rations they receive. cain will not allow it to be seized, if the enemy seeks to distract them with their little hunting party. suryans are smart little bastards.

the angriest men will go with him. the other half will be tasked to poison the sources of water they find that isn’t within half a mile radius of their camp — and this needs to be done quickly, lest the enemy catch them in the act. who knows how many of them there are? soon enough, however, he knows that this will matter very little.