Tiflos woke to whispers echoing inside his head—voices that weren't real, but remnants of his recent decisions, collapsing within him like shards of broken glass.
Valerius's final screams.
Noor's silent tears.
The sound of his visual blade piercing flesh and soul alike—
all of it resonated in his mind like a demonic symphony.
Sunlight crept timidly through the darkened window, drawing pale lines across the cold floor, which lay there like a corpse stretched out on an autopsy table.
Every speck of dust dancing in the weak light reminded him of the judge's body—buried deep within the graveyard of his memory.
Unexpectedly, Noor was sitting in the corner of the dim room, watching him with eyes filled with more questions than answers.
"You didn't sleep again," she said quietly. "The darkness under your eyes deepens every day."
"It seems sleep has become a luxury I no longer deserve," Tiflos replied as he put on his black coat—now as heavy as armor forged from memories.
"Every time I close my eyes, I see his face… I see all their faces."
The silence between them grew like a wall—brick by brick, layer by layer—until it became impossible to break through. Every glance, every movement carried the weight of his choices and the grief they left behind. Even their breathing had fallen into a painful rhythm, a reminder of a bond that no longer truly existed.
"Do you feel regret now?" she finally asked, her voice like a thin thread of silk in a storm, searching for what remained of his humanity.
"Regret?" He tightened his boots with mechanical precision.
"That's another cost I can't afford to pay. But I do feel something… emptiness. As if a part of me stayed there—on that white marble stained with blood. That's all I feel."
Tiflos left without looking at her, without another word.
Noor remained standing in the room, unsure whether the man who walked away was still the Tiflos she once knew.
---
After the usual breakfast, inside the advanced training arena, Tiflos entered first, with Noor following at a distance. Cain was waiting—accompanied by a new group of instructors.
Unfamiliar faces.
Red and silver eyes gleaming with curiosity and suspicion—like wolves scenting a newcomer to the pack.
The walls were covered with holographic screens displaying vital data and performance graphs. The air itself was thick with ozone and restless energy.
"You've surpassed the trainee stage," Cain announced, presenting Tiflos to them all, his voice rolling through the hall like thunder.
"Now begins the stage of the commander—the one who gives orders instead of following them, who sacrifices without hesitation. Leadership is not a privilege. It is a burden. And every decision you make will be paid for with the blood of others."
Cain's training methods were brutal—and fundamentally different.
Tiflos was no longer taught combat techniques.
He was taught how to command through holographic interfaces.
How to sacrifice soldiers to achieve objectives.
How to see people as pieces on a chessboard.
How to become Cain.
In one simulation, he was forced to choose between saving a group of civilians or continuing a mission to strike a strategic target.
He chose the latter.
On the screens, names and ages appeared—those who died because of his decision.
Noor watched from afar, unable to believe what she was seeing. She turned away, unwilling to watch any longer, yet a heavy dread settled in her chest—that these simulations would one day become reality, and that Tiflos might… might truly sacrifice countless lives for a single objective.
On the opposite side of the arena, Orion was training as well.
The blue fire in his hands had grown more stable—and far more dangerous.
The brothers exchanged a single glance across the arena.
It was a strange look—one of rivalry and estrangement, like two strangers bound by blood that no longer meant anything.
Orion's eyes held a metallic coldness, as if the flames he controlled had burned away the last remnants of his humanity.
---
Later that evening, Cain summoned Tiflos to the highest observatory balcony of the facility.
The stars shimmered above them like silent witnesses to a universe that did not care. Below, the sprawling city resembled a sea of scattered lights—each one a life, a story, a tragedy—yet all insignificant on a cosmic scale.
"I see your pain," Cain said, beginning calmly, his voice like a gentle breeze before a storm.
"I see the doubt in your eyes. The hesitation in your movements. I thought you were past this."
"Pain is proof that I can still tell right from wrong," Tiflos replied, gripping the balcony railing as if afraid the city beneath him might swallow him whole.
Cain chuckled softly, like autumn leaves brushing against one another.
"You think you're a hero? We all do at first. Every child is born with a legend in his heart, believing he'll write it himself."
Cain stepped closer, resting his hands on the railing.
"But the bitter truth, Tiflos, is that we are all fuel for the machine of history. A machine that shows no mercy, never stops, and grinds everyone down without distinction."
Tiflos tightened his grip, searching for something solid in a collapsing world.
"And does that justify everything you've done? All the blood spilled in your name? All the lives you've destroyed?"
"You think I'm a monster," Cain said, stepping closer, his golden eyes glowing in the dark.
"But I know I'm merely a secondary character in a far greater tragedy. Everything I do is a desperate attempt to become a hero in a story that doesn't care about anyone."
He paused, studying Tiflos.
"Aren't you doing the same? Searching for meaning in a meaningless world?"
"There's a difference between searching for meaning… and creating suffering."
"Ah, Tiflos," Cain replied, his tone that of a teacher delivering a fundamental lesson.
"Everyone is the main character in their own world. But in reality, everyone is a side character—because life doesn't stop when someone dies."
He continued, voice steady and absolute:
"In everyone else's life, you are nothing more than a fleeting moment in the flow of history."
"The difference between you and me," Cain concluded,
"is that I accepted this truth—while you are still resisting it."
Silence fell between them, heavy as molten lead.
Tiflos struggled to absorb the depth of Cain's words, each one piercing the foundations of everything he believed. Even the stars above seemed to drift farther away, as if the universe itself recoiled from such harsh truths.
"If nothing has meaning," Tiflos asked quietly,
"then why continue? Why not just end it all?"
"Because this is the game," Cain answered, the voice of a man who knew he had won this round.
"Either you play it—or it plays you. The choice is yours. The ending is the same for everyone."
"The only difference," he said as he turned away,
"is that some choose to be players…
and others choose to be pieces."
Cain left the balcony in silence, satisfaction glinting in his eyes.