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When Owen slips into unconsciousness, he's on that cold concrete again; kneeling in the middle of a puddle of blood, grasping a calloused hand, the faintest sound leaves his lips: "Cain." The name feels strange in his mouth. "I did this to you, you know. All of your misfortune is all my doing…" The statement is dull, devoid of any emotion.
He stares at the man lying on the floor, like a painter gazing at their own artwork, he thinks: This is my fault. I did this. I did this.
You did this, a voice inside his head spits.
"It's not your fault," the victim assures him, with the last energy he could muster. His eyes remain closed, and the strength that was pulsing through his veins once, is almost completely gone.
His pinky makes the slightest movement, but he can't grasp Owen's hand back.
Owen just stares, dumbfounded. Cain, on the brink of death, which was caused by Owen no less, was assuring the same Owen that he is faultless. That he is not to be blamed. What a sick joke.
Around him there's one–no, two people, calling out the same name, one too desperate, one too gentle. Chloe's tears shamelessly fall on the floor.
He doesn't hear either of them. "Cain, answer me. You should be able to see me, right?" His own voice makes his stomach turn. His head is pounding and the loud beating of his heart drowns all outside sound, almost threatening to rip his ribcage, so he raises his voice in an attempt to drown the sound of his heart out instead.
"Cain! Open your eyes!"
Silence. The hand that's holding the other's starts shaking, and he tightens his grip. Desperately clutching onto the Knight's hand, he knows that this deeply wounded body will soon give out, and turn to stone.
Even so, he doesn't let go, and soon, all three figures disappear, along with the glorious castle and the poisonous thorns invading it.
He's back in that place. The thorns growing out of the walls prickle his already wounded skin, in a place where almost no light reaches, he stares at his hands.
The blood on them still remains.
He hears something moving and looks down upon hearing his name.
"Owen." A mouse begins. It has another one with it.
"Owen. You were being bad again, weren't you?"
"No!" a child's voice denies, "I'm a good boy! See?" He frantically wipes his hands on the torn piece of cloth covering him.
"You are such a bad boy, Owen..."
"My, he's a total beast, isn't he? A monster."
His breath starts getting sucked out of his lungs. "No, no, no...I'm a good boy! I promise, I promise I will be a good boy!"
"A monster is all you are." one of them spits.
He shuts his eyes close.
When he opens them, a familiar ceiling greets him. He's back in his room at the Magic Manor.
He kicks away the pillow he was previously clutching and sits up to process his surroundings. He could not have been back at the Manor, because he never left. It was another nightmare.
Owen is used to nightmares, more than he wants to admit. They always start out with a damp, dark place, thorny plants wounding his skin, then voices taunting him, telling him that he's a monster, in all honesty, he does not know where these came from. He doesn't know if these are bits and pieces of his own past, or if it's just his brain torturing him like it usually does, but either way–he doesnt remember. He does not want to remember.
While it's been almost always the same, lately, after the incident, something changed. He started seeing Cain first–lifeless and covered in blood.
The Cain in his dreams is just like the one in real life: radiant, selfless, forgiving, and an absolute fool. He assures him the same way Cain did that day, and Owen holds onto his hand as if he could stop the soul from leaving his body. Chloe's cries and Rustica's gentle voice are all the same.
However, in these dreams, Cain never survives, and before he can see Cain turning to stone, Owen gets sent back to that hole his dream self is always trapped in.
Strangely enough, these nightmares had fairly decreased ever since he began his "new" life at the Magic Manor, even though he can't exactly pinpoint why, he doesn't complain. He has gotten so used to sleeping peacefully that he's forgotten that something is so incredibly wrong in there.
Deciding that a walk or maybe a conversation would help him shake the exhaustion off, with a long sigh, he rubs his temples, changes his clothes and exits his room.
The sun hasn't risen yet, so the Manor is quiet. Too quiet for his liking. Despite acting like the opposite all the time, he prefers sound over silence and company over solitude. People are always more fun than animals, and even though he'd never admit it, it feels good to be not alone.
He weighs his options. He considers going to the Sage, but he doesn't feel like answering questions (and the Sage always asks too many of them), he thinks of waking Mithra up, but he isn't in the mood to die today, either. Even if Mithra didn't bother beating him up to a pulp, he's sure that the exhaustion would catch up to him mid-fight, so he'd end up a corpse anyway.
Oh. Maybe ending up a corpse might help his little problem.
He lazily walks to the manor garden to find an available place to...die. It's an impulsive decision that he would probably never make in his right mind, but the sleep deprivation and constant harassment from his brain are catching up to him this week. He knows he'll regret it, because no matter how many times he dies, the pain is always fresh. Dying has never been not painful.
The spring breeze touches his skin lightly, as if to remind him that Hey, maybe that is a bad idea, he notices that the weather is getting warmer.
That's when he hears Cain's cheerful voice, cutting through the morning air gently.
"Yo, Owen!" The former Knight calls out. Oh, he thinks. The sun has risen too.
The Knight's hair looks silkier than usual, his tank top is a little too tight on him, and he's sweating all over, too, which, for some reason, doesn't bother Owen at all.
He stretches his lips into an uneasy smile and waves. "Morning, Mister Knight. What are you doing at this hour? Training? You really think you can become stronger than me?"
"Jeez, Owen, good morning to you, too." Cain's smile disappears at the sight of Owen's taunting at 7 in the morning. "Yeah, I'm training. I've been focusing more on controlling my breath like you taught me earlier." He smiles bashfully right after, making Owen's heart palpitate a bit.
"I didn't teach you anything." Owen denies, giving Cain the idea that he could only be nice when the other person doesn't acknowledge it.
"Sure, Owen," He doesn't put up a fight. "What are you doing so early? I know you hate waking up early." He silently recalls the day Owen swallowed a poisonous bird so that the Northern wizards could kill Oz and he wouldn't have to wake up early anymore.
"I was planning to slam my head on concrete repeatedly so I'd die, until you interrupted, Mister Knight." Owen answers, for the sole purpose of disturbing the Central Wizard.
Which seems to have worked, he concludes, from the way Cain's eyes widen.
"What? Why would you–" he abruptly stops, as if searching for the right word. "No...why do you want to die, Owen? What's wrong?"
Owen's lips curl downwards for a split second before an unsettling grin takes its place on his face again. "Haha...What, are you going to save me, Mis-ter Knight? Even though you're so useless?"
Cain doesn't even seem affected by the insult. "If you need saving, I'll come running, you know." There isn't a smile on his face, but there's something glimmering in his eyes, Owen notices. "I'll be by your side, Owen. I told you I would be."
He really wants to smash his head against a rock now that his stomach started burning.
He stares at Cain for a moment, the man who shines upon others like a star–like the sun, too warm and too bright, not aware of the fact that all Owen has ever known is pitch black. He doesn't know that he will burn him alive if his light keeps shining through the cracks of his walls–and that terrifies Owen. It means defeat, that he surrendered, that he was not strong enough.
He leaves without a word.
—
The days pass, one after another. Spring is almost over, but the Sage's Wizards' workload never seems to lessen.
The Southern and Eastern wizards are away on a mission, a fairly easy one, but "It would take some time," Figaro had said, so Mithra insisted on going for some reason, which he didn't even need to do, because he is Mithra and he just does whatever he wants to do.
The Manor is quiet that night without the majority that stays up until ungodly hours in morning, but what Cain didn't imagine is that he'd be one of them today.
The Central Wizard tosses and turns in his usually comfortable bed, tries hugging his pillow, lays down on his stomach, he even gets up and punches the air for a while at some point, but no matter what he does, the feeling of restlessness doesn't leave.
He finally admits defeat after hours of trying, and accepts that he won't able to sleep tonight. He isn't sure why this is happening, although the feeling isn't unfamiliar to him, he's still not good at dealing with it, so just like any other negative emotion, he buries this one deep inside him as well. If he did not acknowledge them, they'd surely disappear at some point...right?
Right, he silently mocks himself.
Lazily getting up, he notices how sweaty he is, so he puts on a new tank top and throws the dirty one on the empty bed. Maybe getting some fresh air would help him with the frustration, after all.
He quickly climbs down the stairs and steps outside, ignoring the strange light Mithra's room is emitting. The warm summer wind tickles his exposed skin.
Through the silence, a voice echoes in the garden. A faint, wordless melody fills his ears, pulling him in, it calms the storm inside him almost as soon as he hears it.
Wondering who the performer might be, he follows the voice, like a moth drawn to a flame. He's heard of beautiful, yet cruel creatures before, about how they lure people in with their singing, just to capture and devour them. He keeps following it despite the disturbing thought.
The melody leads him to a tree, and on it, Owen, sitting cross-legged and surrounded by a bunch of birds who seem to be sleeping. It's certainly a sight.
The song comes to an end after Owen spots him, looking down from the large tree.
"Mister Knight." he greets the Central Wizard.
"Owen." Cain can only stare, mouth agape and still under the effect of Owen's singing; he's starting to think it had some spell imbued with it.
"What are you doing outside at this hour? You don't like staying up late, do you?"
"I couldn't sleep," he honestly answers. He knows that there's no point in lying to the northern wizard, who has a talent for practically extracting the truth out of him anyway.
"Something troubling you, Mister Knight?" Owen asks. His usual snark isn't there, but he doesn't exactly sound concerned either.
Cain shakes his head. "It's nothing."
"Is that so?" he raises an eyebrow.
"Well, even if I told you, would you be willing to help?"
Owen carefully comes down from the branch but his feet don't touch the ground. Staring right into his eyes, he puts an index finger on Cain's chest.
"Why, I would be delighted to help you, Mister Knight," his smile as poisonous ever, he continues. "I can take your heart too, if you want. The dead can't feel after all."
Cain sighs. He knows (he's learned) that Owen won't harm him, not anymore, at least not willingly. "Or you could just not do that, Owen." He suggests, already sounding exhausted, wishing he could have one normal conversation with the northern wizard.
Owen's face drops. "Hmph. So boring." He sits down on the nearest bench, surprisingly, as Cain thought he'd have left by now. That's how their interactions usually go, anyway.
Cain hesitantly sits next to Owen, with the usual distance between them, and relaxes when Owen makes no move to leave. Cain notes that he's staring at the sky.
"I heard your singing..." Cain begins, in hopes of starting a more light-hearted conversation. "Your voice is really beautiful, Owen. I didn't know you sing."
"I don't. Those birds always flock to me whenever I sing, so I do it just to crush them in my hands like jelly." Owen says, and Cain has to suppress a laughter, because he just saw him carefully remove the birds from his lap a few minutes ago. It reminds him of the kids he used to play with, the ones that would try to act like an evil overlord despite having a bedtime.
Owen must have noticed that, Cain can tell, from the way he stares at his face.
"What. What are you grinning for?
"Nothing." Nope, he can't hold it in. A snort forces its way out, and a laughter follows right after. "I'm sorry–You–" He sees Owen's confused face from the corner of his eye and tries really hard to stop himself. "Hahaha! You're just so cute, Owen." He blurts out, then immediately stops in his tracks upon realizing what he had just said to Owen.
Prepared to die on the spot, he looks around him one last time, then back at Owen, who's making a face he's never seen on him before. His mismatched eyes are wide open, his pink lips parted slightly, he swears he noticed the way his cheeks got slightly less pale.
Owen stays still for a second before changing his expression to a completely new and threatening one. "Maybe I should have taken your tongue too, Mister Knight. What do you say?"
"Please don't," Cain whispers. He reminds himself that Owen will not hurt him, and that he's afraid of crossing a boundary with Owen more than any harm the other could cause him. Owen's shell is hard to get into and it will be even harder to break, Cain knows, so for the time being, he wants to stay as close as possible.
"Ugh. I was in a good mood but you ruined it." Owen snaps him out of his thoughts. Despite what he says, he doesn't seem to be in a bad mood at all, but still, Cain apologizes.
"Ah...I'm sorry, Owen. I'll be more careful next time."
"..........I really hate you."
"Eh? What did I do now?"
"Okay, be quiet, Mister Knight, will you?" He ignores Cain's question. "You said you couldn't sleep, right?"
"Yes." Cain answers, curious.
"I know this song that puts whoever listens to it to an eternal sleep. I'll sing it to you." He smiles innocently. His honeyed threats don't scare Cain anymore, yet he goes along with it.
"Ehh? But I have to wake up tomorrow..."
Owen glances at him, irritated. "Just shut up and listen."
He turns his face back to the sky, moonlight washing over his flawless, pale skin. The long strands of his hair flowing where the wind blows, he parts his lips, and begins his song.
With every word, his voice amazes Cain, keeps him in place, as if hypnotizing him. The song is full of emotion, or maybe it's just Owen giving it life. The melody leaves his lips and reaches Cain's ears, deafening every other sound that isn't him.
The singer is just as captivating as the song itself.
He has his left palm on his chest, his legs crossed, and his other hand subtly reaching to the sky. In that moment, his eyes are closed. Cain never noticed how long his lashes are before, but now that he can pay close attention, he notices the way his chest rises and falls with each sentence he sings, the way he's sitting so elegantly, the way he never once loses control of his voice. The Knight's eyelids get heavier.
He has never witnessed such a magical sight before, despite having seen the Great Calamity in all its glory. Owen had always presented himself as an elegant man, he carried himself with the air of a noble, so it should not be so surprising that he was capable of singing so well, so much that he'd know song spells and be able to cast them. Cain wonders how many more sides to Owen that he can't see. He wonders when he will get to see them, if he ever does get to reach them at all. His head feels foggy. The moonlight shining on his skin light fires where they fall.
The second time Owen sings the chorus, Cain's eyes close, and soon, he loses consciousness, suddenly, without a warning. Owen keeps singing. Cain may or may not have seen him reaching to his side to where Cain is, or maybe it was just his vision going blurry, either way, he carves the image of Owen singing for him deep in his mind.
His head falls and hits something soft and warm, rather than the hard bench he expected to pass out on. He faintly feels a hand running through his hair, or maybe he imagined it. He lets sleep take his body over completely.
—
The next morning, he wakes up in his own bed. Wondering if it was all a dream, (and hoping it wasn't,) he turns to the other side of his bed and notices a small piece of paper placed next to his pillow.
The note reads: "Talk about what happened to anyone and I'll kill you."
He smiles widely. Maybe Owen didn't hate him that much, after all.