AN: So I hope you guys like this early chapter. I originally planned to upload it after chapter nine...but it's not quite ready yet and I haven't posted in a while so here is Kazim part 1!
Today, I am officially one year older. I'm not particular about birthdays, but it was alright. Anyways, Here you are and I hope you enjoy.

Oo~ High dive into frozen waves where the past comes back to life ~oO

Fight fear for the selfish pain, it was worth it every time

Hold still right before we crash 'cause we both know how this ends

A clock ticks 'til it breaks your glass and I drown in you again

'Cause you are the piece of me I wish I didn't need

Oo~ Chasing relentlessly, still fight and I don't know why ~oO

Clarity, by Zedd.

~oO Kazim Oo~

He was five years old.

And so was Tahir, his identical twin. Twin boys, their parents were as proud as they could be to have two sons. Boasting to neighbors, bringing the boys up in every conversation possible; it was as if no one had heard of them. The people in the village didn't mind, though; the brothers were more than entertaining. Well, at least one of them were.

Tahir was loud; loud and playful. He was the one with character, everyone said. Never did anyone kick him out, yell at him or tell him to get lost; he never got into fights because he was so positive and pretty much everyone loved him. Always play with the other kids in the village, he'd always get his chores done, and he always respected everyone. No one really hated him.

Except Kazim.

Kazim was the oldest brother by five minutes and he didn't cry at birth let alone move. His own parents thought he was dead. Maybe it was because the way his eyes were closed when he was expelled from his mother's body, or maybe it was because no one heard him breathe; no one saw him move a muscle. His parents were ready to give him up because they knew in an instant after he was born that there was another, Tahir. Instead of investigating their first son, his father handed him to their village elder, Mishal.

Mishal, a rapidly aging man, made Kazim feel something, talking to him was oddly relieving. If it weren't for the old man on several occasions, Kazim would have gone mad with rage because of the way people seemed to treat him in comparison to his younger brother. When he was born Mishal took him and made sure that he was alright. It turned out that Kazim was just naturally silent. Still, at least someone thought he was worth the attention. The old man took him under his wing and he'd always be grateful.

Both boys possessed the same sandy, light brown hair and brown eyes, but Kazim's eyes were slightly darker. Mishal told Kazim about how he could always tell them apart because of the difference of their eyes, but not by the shade of color. He told the older twin that his eyes were old, wise; Kazim didn't really believe in reincarnation, but it was a great story. He didn't want to ruin it.

While Kazim hated Tahir, Tahir didn't hate Kazim. He didn't even know how Kazim felt because of how distant they tended to be. Not that he ever asked what was wrong, no. The younger brother loved Kazim, too much sometimes. How dense did you have to be to love so blindly?

At five years old, Kazim was known as 'Tahir's older brother' and not just 'Kazim'. So he was a quiet child, he didn't mind it; being silent meant that he wouldn't have to deal with conversation. Except what he did mind were his parents.

"Kazim, are you studying?" Kazim raised his head from the papers on his desk and set his quill down.

She was a thin woman with sunken cheeks and frail arms; her hair was a faded light brown like her sons' and her eyes were hazel. They got their brown eyes from their father. She wasn't exactly a tall woman, but if she resembled anything, it was a skeleton. The brown locks that decorated his face were in a desperate need of cutting, but he never seemed to get around to it. Besides, the blade he used for his hair had disappeared from its drawer months ago. For a five year old boy, he was surprisingly capable.

"Yes, mom." he'd smile as he'd held up his work. Maybe this time she's see how much work he had put into his studies. One could hope, right?

She'd snatch it from his hands and barely glance it over. He didn't mind if she did, but at the same time, he wanted her to smile at him and tell him that he was going to become a great scribe someday like any other mother would; he wanted her to compliment his practicing how to spell, his dedication to learning, and his passion for literature. If he wasn't trying hard enough, he wanted her to tell him so he could work harder to please her and not just pass him by. But as her eyes would skim the page, he could feel his optimism drain away like water on a hot day. Finally, she'd just hand it back to him and say something like, 'Your handwriting needs work' or 'stop smearing the ink' and sometimes 'Why don't you just give up now while you still can?' She would sigh and say 'Your handwriting is still hideous' at the end of everything and walk out with an irritated huff.

Disappointed, Kazim took the paper and continued with his work while, outside, Tahir was too busy talking with the neighbors to study or read. What really put him down, though, was the fact that Tahir was never bugged to do anything like he was. And while he watched his younger brother from the window playing with boys their age, he wondered, 'Why did he care?' That's just it though, because he shouldn't.

Constantly inside, Kazim took to the charismatic men and woman in the biographies and in the children's stories he found so little of in his father's study. The collection of books in his room were from Mishal's private collection, but the old man was kind enough to share. Adventure, knowledge, passion; he took it all in and purged it to anyone he could, whether they wanted to listen or not.

"I've read about this one," he said one afternoon. Tahir had taken him outside to play with his friends because he thought he didn't get out enough, "It's a Jasmine plant. If you eat the berries, it'll disturb your digestive system and I think, I think, that the book said it was fatal. But the smell that the blossom gives off is great for incense!" That was the last time Tahir's friend let Kazim play with them.

He was six.

Oo~~oO

His father wasn't as harsh as his mother, but he was extremely strict. If his son wasn't reading, he made sure he was studying, and if he wasn't studying, he made sure he was reading. If he was doing anything else, he'd ask him why he wasn't studying. Out of sight, out of mind was probably what he was probably trying to put into motion.

"Kazim, I need your help with chores." He said one day. Kazim quickly put his books away and ran to his father's side. He led them to their animal pen across the house where their pigs and sheep were being held.

"I need you to get in there and shear a few of the sheep while I take care of the pigs." He explained, moving towards the front of the to the side, Tahir was watching for predators. Kazim glared in his direction. He hated his brother, though he was ashamed of admitting it. But who got all the attention? Not Kazim. Who got all the praise? Again, not him. Tahir was the spoiled one; he strived to do better than his twin all the time, but nothing was good enough. No matter what he did.

But now, his father trusted him with his sheep! This was a large step; his father's sheep, the things he took care of the most was now in his care and much better job than being a guard. Tahir must be jealous, he mused.

His father handed him a pair of old sheers, a large woven basket, and a look that screamed 'don't mess up' before sending him off towards the fields out back. He climbed over the gate and tried to contain himself so he wouldn't scare the animals. So while he slowly approached one of the mother sheep, he gave low, soft, coos. She bleated at his arrival. She allowed him to stroke her head and leant into his touch while her lamb clumsily ran around her legs, asking for attention. Animals…he liked them. If not more than books then just as much. There was nothing more beautiful than a baby animal; nothing was more loyal than a pet. When lamb stumbled into his legs and looked up at him, Kazim just had to stop his work. It looked up at him with big brown eyes, flicked its tongue out at him, and gave a long, lonely cry.

Cute.

Kazim smiled softly and stroked its' fuzzy head before returning to work. It only took about fifteen minutes to clear her of the scratchy material, but the basket was barely full. No complaining, though.

An hour in and his father came to check on him.

"Am I doing it right?" Kazim questioned. His father nodded, stoically ruffling his hair.

"You're doing well, keep going until that basket is full and come back." he replied, already returning to the house. Kazim was practically beaming with pride. A job and compliment from his father? Almost unheard of…today was starting to look up. That is…until Tahir ran up, sword in hand, grinning.

"Hey, Kazim! Look!" The older brother glanced up from his work and watched his brother swing the weapon. It look horrendous—he had no skill with the weapon! And how did he get it anyways? Wasn't that from his father's workshop?

"Tahir!" Kazim scolded, "Stop doing that! You're going to hurt..." Tahir shot his brother a smug look, as if he believed that he was immune, but as he twirled the sword in a mock figure eight, his grip faltered; he swung it in a low arc, preparing to thrust forward when, in a moment of hesitation, the sword dropped from his hand. Tahir cried out and his brother's eyes slowly widened. The sword had slammed down on his leg, "...yourself—FATHER!" Kazim yelled, dropping the basket and sprinting towards the house. "Tahir, stay there!" he yelled, running across the dirt path while his brother wailed. How could his brother be so stupid? No, it wasn't Tahir's fault was it? Kazim adored the stainless metal too, he would have done the same thing…but no, he would have been far more careful about it! How could he be so stupid to leave his younger brother alone with something like that?

As he ran, he wondered what his parents would say. Would they beat him for being so stupid? Would they wonder why he let his brother play with a sword? Would they ask if Kazim gave his brother the sword? Accuse him? Blame him? They couldn't do that, could they? He told him not to and his brother did it anyways! But then he saw it, the truth: it wasn't his fault, no, it was Tahir's...but it wasn't likely that his parents would see it that way.

He silenced the negative thoughts plaguing his head before they ventured any further and burst through the front door of their small house, swinging around wildly looking for their father, their mother, anyone who'd be around. Maybe he should have headed for Mishal.

"Father!" He yelled. There was a resounding sound of acknowledgment from the back rooms. Kazim quickly made his way through the hallway and didn't stop opening doors until he found his father in the study. The older man gave a heavy sigh.

"Kazim, you know better than to shout—"

"Father! Tahir's been hurt!" he sobbed hysterically.

"What?" His father quickly stood up and made his way around his cluttered work area and pushed past Kazim who followed in suit.

Back by the animals, Tahir had collapsed to the ground and started holding his leg, howling in pain. When Kazim and their father arrived, Kazim took off his shirt and wrapped it around the wound. He remembered that in one of his books, he read that wounds needed pressure and cleaning and that, depending on the width and depth of the cut, sometimes needed to be sewn closed.

"Help me move him." his father instructed, moving to lift Tahir's upper body while Kazim moved to get under his legs. A pain filled cry ripped from Tahir's throat when they lifted him from the ground.

Oo~~~oO

"It's okay, Tahir." Kazim cooed, as he finished bandaging the appendage. The younger brother ended up with no stitches in his calf, but he did have to stay in bed for weeks; after the extreme pain his brother had to go through, it was like a blessing to see him pass out halfway through. Kazim ended up doing all the chores with father for those weeks Tahir was too sick to stay mobile and in all the free time he had he wound up looking for medicinal herbs to use on Tahir's leg. He didn't want it getting infected. In addition to possible infection, Tahir was showing signs of a fever. All the more reason to help his brother.

But in all this time, his mother and father didn't stop criticizing him the entire time he worked. They said that he needed to work harder in the field of crops—that he needed to change Tahir's bandages more often, that he spent so much time outside he didn't study as much as he should have. If only they knew that he was searching for medicine for his twin, he wouldn't be yelled at nearly as much. He'd tried to tell them before, but it did him no good. Besides, he thought with a bitter smile, who would believe someone who let their younger brother play with a sword?

One afternoon, he went out searching for medicinal herbs and came back with his arms full of leaves and roots. . His mother was in front of the house looking positively furious. Kazim spotted her yards away, arms crossed, foot tapping.

"Where have you been?" she asked. Kazim held his arms out for emphasis and his mother watched some of the leaves fall to the ground.

"Tending to the garden I hope, because you were supposed to change Tahir's bandages long ago!" she growled. Kazim groaned. He forgot about that and the garden.

"I was just-"

"Throwing those away? I hope so."

"No, mother, these are herbs for Tahir."

"So you're trying to poison him?"

"What? No!" He was appalled,"I'm trying to help him!" he cried. That's when his mother sneered and frankly, that frightened him.

"You say you're trying to help him but you've been nothing but a problem to all of us this entire time," What? "And how would you know about all these herbs? From your reading? Your studying? You're nothing but a child," Kazim's arms tightened around his bundle of plants. Where was all this coming from? Repressed anger was slowly building up inside of him with every word she spat in his face, his eyebrows knitting closer and closer together, "It'd be better if you weren't here to take up space." No. Kazim threw the herbs down around his feet and clenched his hands; his face flushed dark red, spreading from his ears and down his neck. Sharp vocabulary laced with harsh sounds were dancing around his tongue, begging him to let them free and that's exactly what he did.

"And I call you my mother?" he yelled, mocking, "Here I am trying to help my brother and look at you! berating me and preventing me from helping. And where have you been anyways? You weren't the one who fed him, no, father did that! I changed his bandages and you never assisted in anything!" He took a few steps forward, crushing the plants below his feet, "I study and I keep quiet because it was you and father who told me to shut up and do as you instructed. I read because I enjoy it and not that it matters since nothing pleases you!" his mother was starting to back up now, but her face was turning an equal shade of red. Kazim was finally speaking his mind; he wasn't going to be quiet anymore.

"No longer will I try to please you, I will please the people who matter to me and guess what, mother," the endearment dripped with hostility and spite, "The only good thing you did for me that was worth anything was make me study. Do you have any idea why that is?" he pointed a finger at her, "Because now, I am smarter than you and father combined." he hissed. This was the first time he showed even a touch of narcissism. Not even a second after the last word left his mouth she raised a hand and struck his cheek, fury plain as day written on her face. His head jerked to the side and a small whine shuddered from his throat. Did she just...hit him?

Kazim stood up straight and the thought of retaliating crossed his mind, but he fought against it. His face returned back to its regular shade of tan except for the soft, red outlining of his mother's hand on his left cheek.

He thought about retaliating, about taking the chance to return the favor and hit her back for all the times when he was younger when she left him crying, wondering why she and father didn't love him like they loved his younger brother. It wouldn't take much, just one step forward and 'WHAM'. But, no, he couldn't do that; he wouldn't stoop to their level. He took a step back for good measure and crushed the rest of his herbs. His mother allowed herself look smug. Kazim thought that she couldn't possess a more fitting expression.

"Don't you ever disrespect me again. I have half a mind to put you on the streets." she snapped. Well, they did. Turns out, his father was listening from the window and when he came out of hiding he looked just as livid as his mother...they told him to get out, that they wouldn't stand to have a traitor to his family laying around.

So he packed a bag of necessities and left, not bothering to say goodbye to Tahir. He couldn't. His brother wouldn't have even gotten a word out with his fever anyways. Even if Kazim wouldn't admit it, he felt as if his heart was splitting in two as he approached the village gates.

He was thirteen.

AN: Leave me some feedback! Did you like this chapter, do you like the story, what do you think, etc. Feedback is appreciated!

I go back to school on September 3rd so chapters might be slower but I will sincerely finish this. I might start other fanfictions on the way, but that doesn't mean I won't finish this one. Hope you all had a nice summer! :) [Good lord it's so

Stay Chill~.