Part I: Penance (3)
The sweat-soaked skin along Kain's neck prickled in the chill of the mirrored hall. His steps were measured, lance held ready in a loose grip as he picked his way inward. He chanced a glance downward and nearly stumbled from the vertigo that threatened to overtake him, the muscles in his legs tensing as though he was in mid-jump. Below him, darkness stretched. Only the impossibly thin sheaf of glass below his feet kept him from falling into its endless embrace. With effort, he loosened his stance. The discomforting feeling of being suspended from a fall by nothing more than a fragile pane persisted, however.
His armoured boots clacked against the polished floor; daunted by the oppressive dark, he half-turned towards the entrance, if just to orient himself – and found that it had been swallowed whole by the temple walls. His shadowed form, cast against the opaque glass, stared back at him.
"Another test, then," he murmured. If there was to be no turning back, then he would press forward, blindly into that suffocating gloom. At first, determination quickened his steps. The blackened hall, however, was relentless and time within mutable. After what felt like hours he slowed, his calves burning. His eyes ached from the strain of seeing an abundance of nothing, and the repressive silence felt as though it was filled with the baited breath of an ethereal audience, waiting for him to stumble and fall.
His uncertain gait slowed to a standstill. He breathed heavily through his nose, soaking in the absolute vacuum left in the absence of light. Then: "Why? Cecil had recounted nothing of this sensory deprivation during his ordeal. Am I so irredeemable that my presence merits not even the faintest illumination?" A feeling of betrayal stole over him, as heavy and cloying as Rosa's blossoming expectations of him during her shy confession of Cecil's proposal. Abruptly, his patience eroded.
"So I should accept these insults with open arms, once again?" he spat, spurred to anger by the injustice of it all. "Am I forever to be chasing hopeless ambitions?" And there was the rub of it; that these simple wants were hopeless only for one such as him. Memories rose up to take the place of sight, setting upon him in a merciless rush.
The stern tilt of his father's head, upon his lips never praise – only castigation. Following Commander Highwind's disappearance, he'd weathered King Odin's poorly hidden disappointment at his spurned offer of knighthood. Those royal eyes and hopes turned upon Cecil in his stead. But how could Kain have taken up the dark sword against his father's final words – the admonishment that the Highwinds were to be held to higher standards?
Standards which, in the aftermath of becoming orphaned, he had failed to meet. Repeated attempts to bond with Angelus, his father's mighty pact dragon, ended only in failure. Familiarity, trust, friendship – those he had surely built with the creature, and to such a degree as to inspire the triumphant return of Baron's Dragoons. But ultimately the beast's loyalty lay ever with his father, even until its last breath. His dogged attempts to fulfil that last wish, to win Angelus's favour and become the Highwind his father had expected of him, was taken by the kingdom as a sign of the purity of his devotion. It was a notion he was reluctant to disabuse, particularly when it came with the trappings of his title: Commander. That a dragoon would share no pact-bond with a dragon of his own was merely another disappointment in the long list of his many faults.
Cecil and Rosa had been his only joys in those dark times. Particularly Rosa; ever understanding, ever forgiving. He lowered his guard and spoke to her of the doubts in his heart – to be man enough to follow in his father's footsteps; to bring glory and honour to Baron, and thus release himself from the king's censure for his refusal to take up the arms of a Dark Knight. He had thought she understood his pain; foolishly believed that he could find succour in her arms, perhaps even chase the sting of loneliness away with her at his side, together with Cecil's friendship. Yet they both had betrayed him, finding what they sought within each other and leaving him once again alone; a wretched bystander to their singular devotion.
After all he had suffered, all he had sacrificed, was it too much now to ask for a simple redemption? To have the eyes of the world turn upon him with the same gratitude as their shining paladin? No – not even that, Kain chastised himself. Mere tolerance would be enough. To walk through life with his head held high, carrying the honour of Baron's Dragoons upon his shoulders rather than his shame. To finally, at long last, earn his father's pride.
The soulless temple mocked him; it was as empty as his hollowed hope to find salvation. Again in this Cecil had won something that he could never have. Elder Minh's words were a mockery to his ears now: the Light would provide? There was no Light to be found here. This place only stoked the dark, snarled shadows within him. It was a farce; he had been promised redemption. It was his due. To dangle hope before him, only to siphon it away in this never-ending darkness – how was it any different from Golbez's empty promises? "Was I truly born so cursed?" he ground out.
The jealousy burned bright and hot through him; in his fury, he saw stars blooming where he imagined the ceiling of the temple might be. "Am I to be worn down like this until naught remains of me but bitter envy? Have I truly earned nothing for my efforts?" His hoarsely shouted questions were swallowed by the darkness, remaining unanswered. But of course. Gripping his lance, he slammed it down against the floor, unable to check his frustration.
A loud crack sounded and he reeled back, blinded by the sudden explosion of radiance erupting around him. Spots danced before his eyes as it faded; a much gentler wash of light now pulsed from the reflective walls and through the clear floor, bathing the room in white. Kain took a moment to press his thumb and forefinger against the sockets of his eyes; once the pain receded, he took stock of his surroundings more closely.
The temple was surprisingly small. He spun around, uncomprehending – had he not marched for hours on end? At best, the room couldn't have been bigger than forty paces in length and half that in breadth. With the sudden illumination, he could now make out his own figure clearly in the reflective walls: unruly hair, stained armour, and a physique beneath gaunter than he'd remembered. Hard living on the mountainside hadn't been kind to his body.
A movement caught his eye; he turned, bringing his lance to bear reflexively. The figure in the wall mirrored his pose exactly; surely no reflection, however, for it looked nothing like him. The dragoon before him stood tall and proud in polished armour, no trace of defeat in his bearing. His helm was lowered, blocking all sight of his face, but Kain knew the strong slant of that jaw as his own. The figure stepped from the wall smoothly, each footstep bringing him closer.
"Have you ridden yourself of regret?" it asked him with his own voice.
"Stay back," Kain said hoarsely, his wrath leeching into dread. Was this how he'd appeared to the others, during the war of the crystals? This dark shadow, leaking malice in every gesture?
The doppelganger smiled, pointing his dark lance at Kain. "You are ruled by your desires," he declared. "Surrender yourself to me!" He rushed forward suddenly, sweeping the lance upwards, striking Kain with the edge of the weapon.
Pain exploded across Kain's jaw and he tasted blood. It was enough to bring him out of his surprised stupor; no simple hallucination, then. He leaned back and avoided the duplicate's swipe, blocking it with his own lance. Metal screeched against metal, sparks flying as the two opposing elements within their weapons clashed. Their skills were evenly matched; Kain knew he was fighting himself.
He gave ground, distracted even as he struck out with his own lance. Was this the darkness within himself that he needed to defeat to finally earn forgiveness? A seed of doubt was planted as he watched this other, so determined – revelling even – in the heat of the battle.
Was my life truly so barren as I thought? His counterpart's moves revealed a truth he hadn't dwelled on: only the severity of his father's upbringing could have taught him such martial discipline. No ordinary soldier could muster the stamina, strength, and above all speed necessary to become a dragoon; ultimately, dragoons were shouldered with the unenviable duty of keeping pace with their draconic companions.
And what of Angelus? Was it not their shared pain that had birthed Baron's decimated dragoons from the ashes, despite the advent of the Red Wings to take their place? Kain knew full well the true nature of wild dragons; he'd slain his fair share in the Lunar Ruins. Without its pact-partner, a dragon should have gone mad, or at the least reverted to its base nature. That Angelus had remained in Baron after his father's death was anomaly enough. But the dragon chose to wither and die in captivity. Guilt tugged at his conscience; without a bond, it was all but unheard of for a dragon to show affection for a human. And yet, Angelus had stayed by his side until the very end.
He grunted, blocking another strike; his dark incarnation was laughing, now. His cheek stung where his thoughts had afforded his opponent an opening; he'd nearly lost an eye in his distraction.
Rosa, his mind whispered traitorously as he blocked the pain. Everything he did was for, and because of, the one true love of his life. Had she not inadvertently spurred him to take this journey herself? He understood all too well Rosa's single-minded devotion to Cecil, because she held the same sway over his own heart. Utter loyalty caused him to turn away entertaining thoughts of finding another lover. That same fealty forced him to judge all of his actions and worth against Cecil, her perfect ideal.
Who was it who had been betrayed, then, exactly? As much as it pained him to admit it, Rosa had never once chosen him first. And the reason why stood before him, channelling every bit of strength he had ever fought to obtain into mindless destruction. How could Rosa, so pure and soft, ever open her heart to this driven, hate-filled creature before him?
Kain twisted out of the way as the duplicate threw his lance towards him; filled with a sudden anger at himself, he took the opportunity to drive his own lance into the floor and vault, clipping the other man in the chin with the sharp toe of his armoured boot. Landing, he smiled with satisfaction to see that his other self also bled.
If this incarnation was everything within himself that could not be loved; every raging emotion and base desire – well then, he would slay it, and prove himself the better. If Cecil could successfully face down his inner demons, then surely, he could do the same.
"I'll not lose to you, Cecil!" he swore, rushing the other man, who met and returned his lunge. Kain parried the strike with the shaft of his lance, knocking it aside. The other managed to force him to step back into a retreat, but Kain grit his teeth and pressed in. Their strengths matched evenly, and he strained against the blocking lance, sliding forward until their gazes met. "I will prevail," he swore lowly. His twin snarled in reply.
They broke apart. Kain leapt into the air, twisting to add power to his strike as he brought the point down upon the dark dragoon. The doppelganger parried perfectly, slipping away like water from the strike.
Kain swore under his breath; this was going nowhere. The other him knew every move, every strike, every parry he could make. If it was a matter of endurance, his mirrored self seemed more golem than man, even with the trail of blood dripping down his chin. Kain himself was beginning to flag, the strain of matching his opponent blow for blow weighing upon him.
Perhaps, then, a more unorthodox approach was required. He slid into a wide stance, glaring at his opponent. "Come, then," he challenged, and was met with a headfirst charge. Parrying the lunge, Kain released his hold on the Holy Lance and wrapped his fingers around the copy's weapon. Throwing his weight back, he brought the other man down with him, rolling to his back and planting both feet against the doppelganger's abdomen. Then, with the strength he reserved for a dragoon jump, he pushed, his fingers tightening around the weapon.
The clone's fingers were ripped away as he shot into the ceiling, slamming into the mirrored tiles there with a splintering crack. Wasting no time, Kain rolled to his feet and pointed the lance upwards, bracing himself. Gravity took its toll, and the doppelganger came down… spearing himself against his own weapon in a gruesome display. The dark dragoon convulsed, hands twisting and grasping at the lance that now protruded through his torso.
Steeling himself, Kain released his grip and grabbed the bloodied lance near its tip. Ignoring the slick, warm wetness coating his fingers, he leaned back and kicked, snapping the head off midway down the stock and sending his lookalike to the floor with a wet thump. Then, reversing his grip, he slammed the broken point through the back of the other man's neck. The doppelganger went rigid and then slumped to the ground, surrounded by a rapidly-expanding pool of blood.
Stepping away from the mess, Kain's legs gave out. It was not often a man bore witness to his own death; even less so that he was the cause of it. He swallowed thickly, disturbed. "What sort of trial is this?" There was no sense of triumph or even relief; just the fading pulse of adrenaline coursing through his veins, and revulsion warring with a gaping sense of emptiness within himself. He retreated along the floor on his hands and knees, reaching for his holy lance – the only other thing he could be assured was as real as himself in this odd twist of space and time.
And yet the body still lay there, bleeding out before him.
"By the Maker," he swore, falling backwards as his consciousness slipped away.
.x.x.x.
Kain Highwind.
KluYa's voice roused him from his slumber.
You wish to face your darkness, yet you refuse to treat with it.
He opened his eyes, unsurprised to see the twin moons hanging overhead. Cool grass tickled at his bare arms, and a gentle breeze lifted strands of his long hair towards the evening sky. He didn't think to wonder where his armour or lance had vanished to; he already understood he was dreaming.
"I have come to vanquish darkness, not barter with it," Kain replied scornfully. "What manner of trial is this? I have conquered my vices, yet I feel no enlightenment."
Is that what you believe? It is not your darkness which you have slain.
Kain remained silent, the doubt returning, unable to answer KluYa's quiet reprimand.
You give your sorrows life through your wrath. But you cannot purify that which you cannot accept.
He shook his head, feeling that emptiness within himself grow. The ground was solid beneath him, yet his stomach twisted as though he was in freefall. "Oh Keeper and Bearer of the Light," he managed, his fingers digging into the grass. What…" His voice came out hoarsely. The moons grew unbearably bright. "What manner of creature did I dispatch, if not my darkness then?"
The wind whispered across his sweat-stained brow, chilling him.
Poor boy. You have slain your passion. But you already know this in your heart.
He closed his eyes, feeling the bite of it in his soul. He saw his father's stern face, once again lit with disappointment at his failure.
.x.x.x.
When Kain awoke, he was alone. There was no trace left of the pitched battle he had fought, for which he was thankful. The wound scabbing along his cheek remained to assure him of his sanity.
He sat up slowly, testing his body. Strange; though he felt the aches and bruises of his recent struggle, he still could not discern the passage of time. Hunger and thirst were forgotten – fortunate given that he still could find no exit from this cavern of mirrors. He took comfort in that absence; perhaps KluYa was not done with him yet. He could still recover from this mishap; surely there would be another trial.
Finding no cause to pace about restlessly, Kain seated himself against a wall, leaning his lance over his shoulder, and waited. Time stretched endlessly in the now twilit chamber. Concentration waned, and his head nodded forward; he dozed intermittently as he tried his hand at waiting.
A noise snapped him awake; his eyes opened to see another doppelganger, weaponless and similarly seated across from him. This one chose to forgo the helmet; it was uncanny, looking back at his own face, albeit younger. This doppelganger was clean-shaven, brown eyes bright and sparkling with youth. His blond hair was groomed and plaited neatly down his back.
"Too prideful to become a Dark Knight," he said conversationally. "So devoted to your Dragoons. You wished to show Odin that you were better. That the skies already belonged to Baron. To prove he would have no need of a Dark Knight or the Red Wings, not so long as he had the company of your loyal dragon riders."
Kain's lips pressed together, whitening, but he forced himself to silence. Be still, he reminded himself. Be still.
It was as if the other could hear his thoughts and knew exactly where to needle him.
"Oh… but it wasn't the King at all, was it? You wanted to prove yourself to the woman. Your glistening blossom, the Lady Rosa. To show her you were better than that Dark Knight. You wished for her to see you: Kain Highwind, Commander of the Dragoons, loyal subject to the King. Cecil's superior in every way. She never did, did she? Acknowledge your greatness." His double laughed. "Failure has become your habit, your weakness."
"No!" Unable to keep his silence, Kain glared at the other. "I have no need for such useless pride. My wish to honour my father had nothing to do with Cecil or Rosa! You are a creature of filth and lies," he snarled. "Begone!"
"I shall not!" the doppelganger snapped back, the smile dropping from his face. "You, who sit here before me, were brought low by your own ambition and greed. The gods themselves have tried to turn your pathetic quest away, yet in your immense pride, you continue to slight them! So here you are, crawling at the doorsteps of the Temple of Light, slavering for a scrap of legitimacy to deny your craven nature. Yet even in this act of begging, you betray your true intentions. You still wish for greatness." The other man sat back, a smug smile upon his face. "You are me."
Kain shook his head. "It was never so! I carry with me the pride of the Dragoons, not some ill-considered desire to become this world's champion. I had my chance to be King Odin's knight in shining armour, yet I refused! Is that not proof enough of my good intent?"
The other's sly smile only widened; he clapped his hands together slowly. "Oh, well done. You actually believe that, don't you?" He leaned forward, brown eyes narrowing. "So tell me then. Where was this so-called 'pride of the Dragoons' when you were approached by Lord Golbez? There was no loss of will, no magic control when you agreed to become his second-in-command. Or need I remind you? The Red Wings of Baron were created because the Dragoons were obsolete. What better example of this than their Commander, Kain Highwind? The only Dragoon to lack a dragon." His mocking laughter rung through the empty temple. "How pathetic you were, so hungry for recognition that you abandoned your noble Dragoons and gave yourself over willingly to that magic-tainted darkness. All for a chance at power and glory."
Kain's fingers tightened around his lance. "You… you are my ambition, and my greed. It's only right and proper that you shall be defeated here, cleansed by the purifying fires of the Light." As if in response, he felt his lance flare with holy power, responding to his will. "Leave now while I am feeling merciful," he warned.
The other simply sat back, continuing to laugh scornfully. "As if someone like you has the power to make demands here!" He snapped his mouth shut and then leaned in abruptly, eyes sharp and flinty. A hand shot out and grasped Kain's chin; his clawed gauntlets tore new welts into the skin where they dug in. "Cease this useless mewling and know your place, you utter debacle."
Enraged, Kain let out a strangled roar and surged forward, throwing his elbow into the double's face. The hit was solid and the other reeled backwards, flailing. He'd intended to stop there, but the man sprung back, returning the blow with a backhand of his own.
Kain struck the mirrored wall, stars bursting across his vision, and then wheezed as the doppelganger latched a hand around his ankle and hauled him forward. His lance clattered away uselessly, and then a weight settled on his torso; the doppelganger towered over him, using his weight and the powerful muscles of his thighs to trap him against the ground.
He'd been lulled into a false sense of security by KluYa's admonishment and this incarnation's desire to talk, rather than fight. But Kain was suddenly and intensely aware of the danger; these reflections of himself could be just as deadly as he, when upset. The doppelganger reached for his throat, livid. Kain shot a hand up, fisting it in the other's blond hair, and attempted to pull him off. They were evenly matched in strength, and the other struggled against him, smashing his entire gauntleted palm over Kain's face, smothering and blinding him.
Kain redoubled his efforts, his fingers blindly reaching for an eye socket, a nostril, anything that would prevent his furious double from choking him to death. He felt clawed fingers mirror his hold on the hair near his scalp. He was lifted, and then his head bashed against the ground.
The starbursts were replaced with black lightning; for a moment, Kain lost all his senses, stunned by the blow. When he returned, he was suffocating; two hands encircled his neck, squeezing, and the man above him wore a look of malicious joy.
There was no time for thought; his lungs burned, screaming for air, and his vision blurred. Somehow, he managed to bend a knee; pushing his foot off the ground in pure desperation, he flipped the doppelganger over, reversing their positions.
Sweet air filtered back into his lungs in wheezing gasps; he didn't bother to enjoy it, instead clamping his legs down and wrapping his own hands blindly around the doppelganger's neck. His thumbs dug in and he squeezed, tears still leaking from his own eyes, blurring his vision.
Below him, against that endless drop into nothingness, his own face contorted below his hands, a macabre mirror reflecting the throes of a slow death. Clawed fingers scrabbled at his armoured wrists, marking his gauntlets with jagged streaks. The skin of the other's face turned grey and ashen, his look of hatred morphing into one of panic and horror as Kain continued to wring the breath from his throat. Eventually, his mouth fell open in a soundless plea for air. The doppelganger's struggles weakened, and then ceased. Quiet reigned once more in the silent glass tomb, and Kain loosed the tension in his legs. He nearly fell off of the body, shaken and exhausted.
His head turned, and he stared at his fallen challenger. Brown eyes met his own, glassy and lifeless.
Kain trembled. "I… I did not mean for this to happen," he ground out, his voice raw and aching. "I gave you ample warning!" The feeling of wrongness still gripped him. Cruel as his other had been, this one had not actively sought violence with anything other than words until it was visited upon him first.
Was this truly the way forward? A path to redemption carved in blood?
Slowly, Kain stood and moved away from the fallen figure. His reflection was unrecognizable to himself; matted hair, a stubbly beard, and hollow eyes. He looked to be a madman. If he was being honest, he felt like one as well.
.x.x.x.
This time, he dreamed of Mist. The town was burning; screams rung out all around him, and fire fiends danced through the air, sending houses and villagers alike into flame. Amidst the destruction, he saw a woman sprawled across the ground. There was no evidence of violence visited upon her body, and yet it was clear that she was dead. Clear by the way the small, green-haired child at her side wailed inconsolably.
Shaken, Kain tried to turn away. He found he couldn't move. His eyes were drawn to the woman's pale, waxy face; her ashen lips were frozen, open-mouthed as if in surprise, and her glassy eyes stared into infinity. They were bright blue. He shuddered.
"Why are you showing me this?" he asked – a whisper, lost amidst the screams and sounds of death.
Your darkest thoughts, the deepest malice that lies within you. You cannot burn such things away from your soul through denial.
"I— I was provoked. I thought if I were to slay my greed, I would be freed," he stuttered. The eyes of the dead woman saw through him. The wails of her child rose above the crackling of the flames.
Yet you know the answer. You have slain your will.
He fell to his knees by the woman's side. He reached out to close her eyes, to shut away that terrible, soul-stripping gaze, but his hands were covered in blood. He spared a moment to consider the sobbing child and realized with a terrible start: she had been loved.
The ugliness within him, that terrible, hungering jealousy, stirred once more. The dark whisper of his soul that sneered at her tears, for at least she had known love before it was snatched away from her. A blessed, lucky child; now she would suffer, just as he had.
Kain felt sickened, yet he could no longer deny it. He had slain nothing but his own illusions. The stain on his soul had settled in, rather than lifted. "All of my sins continue and live on within me." He had made yet another mistake; another failure.
You must leave this place. There is nothing for you here but suffering and death.
"I cannot," he moaned, shaking. "I must have another chance. There must be a third trial. I will— I must—!"
The smell of smoke and burning flesh faded; the mirrored hall was returning. The accusatory blue gaze faded with it, a small mercy. But he still felt the woman's eyes on his soul; she bore with them the burden of all those he had killed in his ill-thought path for fame and recognition.
He recoiled from himself. "I will have my absolution! I must! I cannot survive without it," he insisted, bowing his head over the crystalline floor. "I beg of you… give me one more chance. One more opportunity to prove that I can be redeemed!"
Silence; the eyes of the multitudes fell upon him heavier than ever, becoming a weight that bowed his shoulders to the ground. He sealed his forehead to the cool glass below.
You have no opponents to face here, Kain Highwind.
KluYa's voice rang through his mind, amplified by the many mirrors. He tried to raise his head, but couldn't move. Invisible hands pushed him down, kept him prostrate. The presence of the Light felt so close he thought he would burn.
Every reflection you have faced has defied your expectations. And there is only one reflection left within you.
"Then let me prove my worth!" he cried out, trying to sit upright. He caught a glimpse of feet standing before him; armoured boots, so very familiar. The last doppelganger. But try as he might, the pressure remained; he could not lift his shoulders no matter how he struggled.
You are but a child flailing in the throes of your pain, destroying all that is precious to you. If you face your true self, you risk shattering your very soul. You cannot destroy the darkness that resides within by dashing it to pieces.
No. It had to be a lie. Cecil had done just that, had he not? Cecil, the blessed son of KluYa; another loved child attended to by a doting parent. The bitterness roiled within him, prompting his words of defiance. "Then I will be the first! If you will not grant me the same absolution as your beloved son, then I will carve it from my very soul! I will take by force what you refuse to give," he shouted. "I will prove that I am strong enough to reshape my very self!"
But you know already, KluYa replied sorrowfully. This is no true measure of strength. You cannot erase your past.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his loathing so great that he could taste the bile washing through his mouth. "Then all the more reason to allow me to face this challenge! I refuse to lie down and accept my fate! I will fight, and I will surpass myself! If I should die in the process, then so be it!"
"Defeat is unacceptable," his own voice agreed, somewhere overhead, just as heated and eager to clash. "Face me. Fight me. This is what you live for, Kain Highwind. The thrill of the hunt. The rush of the battle. Only here can you lose yourself in the purest of joys, and leave all other concerns behind. Fight me."
Kain struggled to rise to his feet. "I accep-"
YOU SHALL NOT CHALLENGE ME IN THIS, BOY!
KluYa's voice thundered between his ears, cutting short his words and shaking the temple itself. The pressure doubled, and he heard the splint of glass cracking as he was forced even further to the ground, his cheek scraping against the ruined floor.
The incessant thrum for battle in his blood chilled. I have succeeded in angering a god, Kain thought weakly, impressed despite himself.
You will not find absolution here, Kain Highwind, until you understand: you will never be able to best yourself in a fight.
The invisible hands pushed at him, smothering him, and his world descended into black once again.
.x.x.x.
When he woke, he was outside, and the temple doors were firmly shut. He knew they would not open for him. Still, he struggled to his feet, taken by a savage outrage. Lance in hand, he struck at the door repeatedly, his cries ragged and desperate. Sparks flew as metal met stone; still, the doors remained obstinately shut.
In the end, it was his strength that gave out first. Soaked in sweat and panting, he collapsed against the door, exhausted from fighting nothing more than his own demons. He rolled to his back and stared at the overcast sky; the dense grey clouds matched his mood.
Time passed; the sky grew dark, and then light again. Kain observed the changes listlessly, feeling the anger drain out from him. In its place, a soul-deep fatigue took root.
"What am I doing?" he asked aloud.
A plip of rain answered him, falling wetly against his scarred cheek. It was followed by another, and then another; the only warning given before the sky parted and a deluge of water came down.
Cursing, Kain rolled to his feet and pressed himself against the shrine's entrance, the only shelter from the sudden and violent downpour. The movement knocked some of the grey fog that had enshrouded his thoughts since his unceremonious ejection from the temple. No matter what depths his mind might sink to, his body always remembered to protect itself.
His hand spread against the cool stone of the temple doors.
Even after all this, I still want.
He thought of the doppelganger KluYa refused to allow him to face.
It burned within him still, even at his most wretched: this desire to fight on, to push forward, to continue despite all of the misfortune the gods heaped upon him. If nothing truly mattered, then why did he care about a few drops of rain?
"Because… I still believe that I matter," he said slowly, realization coming to him much too late. Little wonder he had faced KluYa's fury; how could he slay his own desire to fight, to live? He had thought he was chasing absolution within the shrine; instead, he'd only attempted to commit himself to oblivion. He might have succeeded, had his hand not been stayed by the patient god within.
He sat against the temple, watching the grey rain beat down against the bleak landscape, digesting this new revelation. Eventually, the heavy clouds exhausted their burden; the driving rain tapered to a few scattered drops. The rich smell of wet pine permeated the air, promising a new beginning.
Slowly, painfully, Kain stripped himself of his battered armour. Each piece was carefully removed and laid at the door of the shrine, an offering to the Light. He told himself that he wasn't trampling on the honour of the Highwind family name by relinquishing the right to call himself a dragoon; he'd accomplished that already by nearly allowing Zemus to destroy the world. When he was done, clad in only his tunic and breeches, he stared for a long while at the Holy Lance, wondering where it belonged. Finally, he placed it on top of the neat pile. The scar at his palm itched.
He dozed again, alone at the summit of Mount Ordeals. This time, KluYa did not visit his dreams. Instead, he returned to the ruined village of Mist. The flames had long since died out; only charred rubble remained. The earth itself, too, had undergone Titan's violent transformation; jagged hills and deep ravines now dotted what had once been the fertile valley.
Standing alone amidst the smoke and ruin was the small girl. Her shock of green hair was mussed, her blue eyes bright and angry. She opened her mouth, and a voice both familiar and not emerged. She spoke with the soft lilt of a young child, but the sharp words of an adult.
"So you're giving up? You? Finding your new inner pacifist?" Her tiny fists clenched at her side. "First you take my mother, then my home, and now you would rob me of my justice?"
"Rydia—" he tried, an apology forming on his lips. The words seemed trite, in the face of all she had lost. All he had taken from her. He thought of his disgraceful jealousy; of his malicious satisfaction in making her – and her entire world – suffer. "I am not worthy to face even this version of you," he mumbled; knowing she was but a dream. He felt as though his shame would consume him.
She said nothing, pursing her lips angrily and glaring with the same damning blue eyes as her mother.
"What is it you would ask of me?" he finally said, unable to bear her silence. "Would my blood sate your fury?"
She marched up to him on her tiny legs, her eyes bright. "It isn't my hunger that needs to be sated." She pushed something into his hands. Not a staff; it was the lance. "It's you who needs to wake up, Kain Highwind."
He started awake, abruptly thrust out of his dream by the cold, hard weight in his palm. The Holy Lance lay in his grip, glowing softly. He closed his fingers around the shaft and used it to push himself to his feet. Weariness lay heavy over him; the unchanging skies were as grey and dour as he'd left them.
"It's time to leave," he decided, using the lance as a walking stick more than anything else as he began his descent. His former self would have been dismayed to see it; to be treating his weapon as anything other than an extension of his own body, the symbol of his pride and skill. Now, he was ashamed; had he not needed the clothes on his back, he would have torn them apart and wrapped the blade to hide it.
His breath misted before him, and Kain stopped walking, suddenly aware of the encroaching cold.
"What…?" He studied the surrounding forest with much more discretion, noting the first patches of frost creeping between the bushes. Faint dustings of snow remained on the boughs of the densely-packed trees.
Had it not been the height of summer when he ascended the mountain? How long had he been here, trapped in the Light's trials? Shivering, he quickened his pace. His journey down the mountainside was marked by a growing confusion. The presence of snow, the birdsong, the light of the dawning sky all told him that the world was just waking from the clutches of a deep, cold winter. It should have been the perfect climate for the undead that roamed the mountainside to thrive, and prey on weary pilgrims such as him. He wasn't even certain that he would be able to deal with them. Though he carried the lance still, it felt heavy in his grip, nothing like the weapon he'd trained so rigorously to use.
The thought of fighting at all made his fingers twitch and curl, and eventually drove him to search out the sturdy branch of a hickory tree. Painstakingly he whittled it into a staff, using the blade of his lance. It felt more comfortable in his hands than the weapon, which he strapped to his back and tried to ignore.
His efforts were only made possible by the near-total absence of predators on the mountainside, either living or dead. Sometimes, he would catch a whiff of rot in the air, or hear the unmistakable shuffle of bare, dragging feet. At those times he would hide as best he could and watch, warily, plagued by memories of his struggle to ascend to the summit. Yet every time, the undead and the monsters would steer away from him, as if he was invisible to their eyes.
With surprising speed, he reached the sacred wall of flames barring his exit. He welcomed the heat, after his long, cold trek down the wintery mountainside. Rather than bother with a campfire, however, he simply curled up at a distance away from the flames, both fully confident in and yet supremely unconcerned with his personal safety.
That night, he dreamed of returning to the temple; mirrors reflecting the darkness surrounded him on all sides. He could feel the presence of divinity soaking through the very walls themselves; he wondered how he had failed to sense it before.
What will you do now, Kain Highwind?
Kain bowed his head. "I will journey to Mist, and seek absolution there. If any survivors remain, I must make amends for my sins. Everything started there, from my own volition." The ensuing silence told him that this, too, was not where he would find the answers he sought. But he knew it was, at the very least, the first step towards them.
You are not the same man who ascended Mount Ordeals. The journey ahead of you is long. Be grateful for whatever you face, for each challenge will become your guide. Invite those hardships in to your life, and make them your welcome guests. For they shall cleanse you and pave the way to your absolution.
Warmth surrounded him; he found a blissful comfort in KluYa's hard-won blessing. A stray thought struck him as he greedily soaked in the feeling of being accepted: so this is what it means, to know a father's love.
He woke feeling no different than he had the evening before. The holy fires still raged before him; the dark, gloomy mountain rose behind. Guilt still dogged at his heels like leaden weights, and the weight of the lance at his back filled him with unease. But he rose with purpose, and gathered his meagre supplies. Then he faced the fire, allowing its heat to wash over him. He opened his arms to the flame, and stepped into them.
The warmth grew into an uncomfortable heat, but his feet carried him forward, through the wall of fire. He stepped out on the other side, undamaged. The first of many cleansings.
Adjusting the grip on his wooden staff, Kain inhaled deeply. "Let us begin," he murmured, his eyes fixed on the horizon.
A/N:
Angelus: a new character; the name of Kain's father's dragon.
Kain has brown eyes. He's had almost every eye colour known to mankind in his various game incarnations. But we settled on the colours presented in their battle sprites from the original game.
KluYa's wisdom is very directly inspired from the poem "The Guest House" by RUMI.
I apologize in advance for the tonal shifts; I don't write in exactly the same way lyrical way Sev does. Thanks for reading!