It was noon when the ashen-haired boy opened his blood-red eyes, drifting about as he lay in a refinement tank. On his bare shoulder, the emblem of the crimson spear shimmered a dimly lit glow.
He smiled, glancing over at Syris in the chamber next to his, fully nude. And fully woman.
"Calm, Poised, and Patient," the young master muttered. His eyes broke away as he pulled himself out of the tank, allowing the strange odorless fluid to fall from his broad shoulders and hair. He managed a mirthless smile, his fingers finding the brand on his shoulder that sought to brand him a slave.
'Roxas, Azura, and now Cain.' he said, the words carrying with them a fury so deep, he felt his Three Circle heat up.
Nine Years, he walked the Lake of Rot. For nine years, he ate of the foulest creatures, felt their smiley flesh against his tongue, drunk of their rotting blood, festering pestilence without reaction.
And now he was free.
