Echoes of Cain
Asir POV:
8 years ago, I died, and I was reborn as my sister.
8 years ago, my clan was whipped out.
Today was the day my vengeance started.
The scent of crushed petals and old incense clung to the fabric like a secret. I tightened the sash around my waist, fingers trembling, the silk whispering against my skin.
« You tied it too tight, » murmured Mei, her voice soft as a reed flute. She stepped behind me and loosened the knot, her touch careful, gentle. « It's supposed to flow like water, not choke you like a noose. »
I didn't answer, I couldn't.
Through the open screen paper window, morning lightbled accross the polished wood floor. Beyond it, the countryard glowed with golden mist, the plums trees heavy with white blossoms.
Servants, girls from my clan, moved like ghosts-quiet, swift, forgotten.
« Do you think he'll notice us today? Mei asked, trying to sound cheerful, but her voice cracked around the edges.
He. The warlord's heir, Prince Cain.
I turned my head away from the mirror. « He will never notice… »
She laughs a little. « Good. That's safer.
Safer. The world settled in my chest like a blade.
I glanced back at the mirror when she wasn't looking. The reflection started back-pale, silent, framed in white silk and curtain of hair like snow. Her hair. Her dress. Her scent.
I felt like a thief.
Like a ghost.
----
Long ago, in the verdant valley of Tharalem nestled between silver-peaked mountains and crystal rivers, there flourished a noble people known as Vanyari. They were a clan of timeless grace, blessed by God with hair like woven snow, eyes like molten silver, and voices that echoed like wind through ancient trees. Their beauty was more than skin-deep attuned to the rhythm of the earth and sky. They kept secrets of the forgotten world in their chants.
Among them, the birth of twins was a rare and sacred event, a sign of divine favor. And none was more beloved than the twins Asir and Alya.
Asir, though born male, bore androgynous grace- his features soft and radiant, his gaze deep, he was the gentler flame of the two. Alya, his twin was like a pale star shining twilight. Though they looked nearly identical- both with flowing white hair and piercing silver blue eyes.
As children of a prosperous and ancient clan, they knew only beauty and wonder: soaring temple towers, fields of silver-blossomed trees and songs sung at dusk that made the stars weep. They learned the old rites, the dances of fire and water, and the languages of the moon.
Alya hands gentle hands, full of warmth around Asir little ones. He would sit for hours listening to her, to the wind and writing stories in the dirt with a stick.
But peace, as always, is fleeting.
Far beyond the mountains, in lands of fire and steel, dark kingdoms stirred for power. Jealous of the Vanyari's light and blinded by stories of land promised to them thousands of years ago, they saw not people, but a threat-a mirror to all they lacked. One moonless night, they came.
Without warning. Without mercy.
Flames consumed the white-stone towers.
Rivers ran red where once they shimmered silver.
The Vanyari—noble warriors—had not been prepared for hatred so cruel, so absolute.
They were slaughtered with merciless precision. Not even the fathers, the elders, or the mothers were spared.
Only the youngest were gathered, huddled at the center, forced to watch the annihilation of their clan.
Forced to understand there was no one left to run to.
The warlord in command did not spare the boys—
he feared they would one day rise and reclaim what had been taken.
The twins, only eight years old, fled into the sacred glade beneath the Great Tree—the place they had always called home.
"Come on, Asir, hide here—hurry!"
The tree's hollow was just wide enough for Asir to squeeze inside. But not for both of them.
"Alya! Come in, I know we can both fit!"
Alya looked at him, struggling to fit alone. Then, gently, she pulled down some of the weeping tree's branches to cover her brother.
That was when the enemy found her.
Alya did not hesitate.
She stepped in front of the hollow, arms outstretched—her small frame a fragile shield of light and defiance.
Her voice trembled, but it held steady as she cried, "Get away from us."
And then—silence.
When Asir awoke beneath the ash-filled sky, the world was gone.
His sister's body lay still beside him, her silver eyes open to the heavens. Her final breath had been a promise—to protect him.
He was the last silver flame of the Vanyari.
A little girl approached him. "Mei… Alya… she…"
"I know," Mei whispered. "I'm sorry…"
She held him tightly before soldiers came to take them away, along with the other girls.
Through cries and screams, they understood from that moment on, they would carry the sorrow of a thousand songs in their hearts.
And though Asir never spoke of that night again,
he would never forget her name.
Alya—
the one who gave her life so he might live.
He always remembers that night.
It wasn't sudden-it was deliberate. Measured. They came at night, wearing silence like armor. One by one, the men were dragged into the square. My father's blood steamed on the stones. My brother's screams were cut short.
They said itw as mercy, sparring the girls. Letting them live to sing and serve.
White hair floated in the wind, strands whipping accross my face like spectral fingers reaching from the past.
Her hand-warm at first, then cold as snow-never let go of mine until morning. She died saving me and I lived becoming her.
But she was gone, and I was all that was left. I adjusted the ribbon around my neck-hers. The one she used to tie every morning while humming that stupid melody I used to tease her for. Now it was my anchor.
My reminder.
My punishment.
The drums began to sound from the upper countryard-deep, slow, like the heartbeat of something ancient and cruel.
Mei flinched. « Asi- Alya It's starting, »
« Yes »
« Are you… ready ? »
I met her eyes for the briefest second.
« I have to be. »
Each step I took felt like I was walking further from myself. But revenge had a price. And if wearing her face, her scent, her name was the toll…then so be it.
The scent of lotus smoke curled through the morning air as the ceremonial drums echoed down the valley. I stood among the other girls silent, fragile, shadows in silk. My posture perfect head bowed low; hand clasped gently in front of me like I had practiced. Like she had practiced.
The enemy stood on the high stone throne, robbed in blood colors, laughing over wine and conquests. They never looked at us-only through us. We weren't people. We were ornaments.
Proof of their victory.
The hem of my dress brushed against the lacquered tiles, just like the others, but I walked differently. My footsteps were hers- but they carried a thousand screams burried beneath ash and snow.
They didn't know.
Not yet.
My clan was known for two things: their beauty…and their blades. The former, they kept. Later, they tried to burry.
But they missed one.
They though they killed every son. They didn't know one had survived hidden beneath his sister's blood-soaked robe, breath swallow, heart numb.
I lived.
She didn't.
Now I am her.
For a little while before I finally let her name rest.
Every ceremony, I washed. Learned. Listened.