Caspian stood over Cain's trembling form, his breath uneven, his hand still crackling faintly from the remnants of his ability. The clearing was deathly still, the silence broken only by Cain's gasps—ragged and sharp like the inhale of someone drowning in memories they never asked to see again.
Caspian looked down at him, pity pooling in his eyes. Not condescension. Not forgiveness. Just sorrow—simple and devastating. When his power had surged into Cain, it had done more than incapacitate. It had opened doors. Shoved both of them into the worst corners of Cain's life—memories Caspian now carried like wet ash in his lungs. Memories he wished he hadn't seen, but ones he needed to understand.
Cain's screams had lasted too long. They weren't just from pain. They were from shame. From rage. From being seen.
Now he lay there, twitching on the forest floor like some hunted creature. His eyes were open, staring—but not really seeing. There was an emptiness in them that Caspian recognized instantly. He had seen it before—in the eyes of war orphans, in the eyes of broken men in the tower's lower halls. It was the look of someone who had survived something so cruel, so soul-deep, that they no longer knew how to feel without it hurting.
Cain didn't speak. He didn't need to. His silence said enough.
Caspian exhaled quietly and knelt down, both knees pressing into the cool dirt. He placed himself at Cain's eye level—not as a conqueror, but as a witness. A boy who had seen too much of the world already.
"Cain," he began softly, his voice carrying both weight and weariness. "I understand what you've been through. Truly, I do. But that doesn't justify what you're doing here. These children—whether this place is real or not—they feel real enough. Real enough for you to enjoy their suffering."
Cain didn't blink. He just stared through him, as if Caspian were a shadow cast by something long forgotten.
"Please," Caspian said, his tone shifting from confrontation to earnest plea. He extended a hand toward the trembling boy. "Stop this."
For a moment—just one—Cain looked at the hand as if it were the last piece of driftwood in a sea of fire. There was a flicker in his eyes, fragile as moth wings. Then, without warning, the flicker was snuffed out. Cain swatted the hand away violently, scrambled to his feet, and sneered.
"And why the hell would I do that?" he spat, his voice cracking. But there was an edge of something else beneath the mockery—something not quite rage. Not quite confidence.
"You saw my past. So what? Think that makes me change?" Cain laughed bitterly. "If anything, it strengthens my resolve. I am who I am because of that pain. So give me one good reason to stop."
Caspian stood up slowly, brushing the dirt from his knees. His voice, when he spoke again, was calm. Almost too calm.
"Because I know how to bring your father back."
The words hung there—like a sword suspended in midair. Cain's expression shifted instantly. His body tensed as if he'd been physically struck. His mocking bravado evaporated.
"No one can do that," Cain muttered. "Resurrection is just… just fantasy. You're bluffing."
"I swear on my life," Caspian said without hesitation, "that if you do two things for me, I will bring him back."
Cain's lip curled in suspicion. "You people—you're all the same. Always scheming, always offering deals with your forked tongues."
"Maybe," Caspian admitted, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth. "But you still want him back, don't you?"
Cain stared at him for a long moment. His fists clenched and unclenched at his sides.
"…Fine," he said at last, voice low. "What's the deal?"
"First, stop torturing these children. Completely. No tricks, no loopholes," Caspian said. "Second… join me."
"Join you?" Cain repeated, incredulous. "What the hell does that mean?"
"It means I need you," Caspian said plainly. "There's only one person alive who can bring back the dead. But he would rather let the world rot than help me. So I need to create someone else who can do what he does. And for that, I need your help."
Cain narrowed his eyes. "So you're saying you can't do it—but someone else might? And you want me to help you make that person?"
"You'll understand in time," Caspian replied. "But right now, all you need to know is that you're essential. You need me. And I need you. It's mutual."
He extended his hand again, steady this time. "So what do you say? Do we have a deal?"
Cain was quiet. His eyes searched Caspian's face, looking for cracks. For manipulation. But all he found was resolve.
After a long pause, he finally spoke.
"I'll agree… under one condition," he said slowly. "I get to be myself. You won't tell me to act noble, or be less cruel. I'm a Nightmare, Caspian. Evil is what we are."
Caspian nodded. "Fine. Be yourself. But keep your word."
Cain reached out and shook his hand.
"I will," he said, snapping his fingers.
From the woods behind them, the two children Caspian had encountered earlier emerged. They looked unharmed, cheerful even, as if waking from a dream.
"Hey, sirs, are you guys lost?" one asked kindly.
"We can take you home if you want!" chirped the other.
Caspian gave them a gentle smile. "Thank you, but we're fine."
He elbowed Cain, nudging him gently. Cain blinked, startled.
"Um… we'll be on our way now," Cain said, beginning to walk away.
Another nudge.
"T-thank you," he stammered, glancing at the kids. "But I'm… alright."
The children beamed, then scampered off down the path, vanishing into the forest—laughing, tossing handfuls of dirt in the air, chasing each other with innocent abandon.
A silence settled once more.
"So," Caspian said, lifting his hand to the sky as Nathan had once shown him, "I think it's time we left this place."
He looked at Cain. There was still a storm in the his eyes—but it was no longer unchecked. No longer all-consuming. Something in him had changed, if only slightly.
Caspian took one last glance at the clearing—the forest where shadows had howled and children had cried—and then up at the sky.
"Exit."
Back in the Library
Caspian lay sprawled on the cold marble floor of the Library of Nightmares, his limbs aching, his breath shallow. The same position—flat on his back, eyes half-lidded, arms limp—that he had taken when he first arrived here what felt like a lifetime ago. The air was heavy with dust and the faint hum of something arcane pulsing in the shelves around him. Towers of books loomed in every direction, pressing in like ancient stone pillars, their bound pages whispering softly in the stillness. Each tome, each volume, contained a life—a truth, a memory, a horror.
Beside him, Cain stirred. The Nightmare groaned and rolled onto his side, rubbing his temples as though the air itself had clawed its way into his skull.
"Gods," he muttered, voice thick with irritation and fatigue, "that gave me a horrible headache."
From a precarious perch above—a throne of crookedly stacked books threatening collapse—Nathan sprang to life. The movement nearly sent his chipped porcelain coffee cup toppling, but he caught it at the last second. A few droplets splashed onto the spines of some ancient, leather-bound volumes, darkening the cracked covers. He didn't even glance down at the spill.
"Ah, you're back!" Nathan chirped, his pale eyes alight with an almost childlike glee. But his expression faltered the moment his gaze landed on Cain. "But who in the realms are you?"
Caspian sat up slowly, brushing the marble dust from his black coat. He didn't rise just yet—something in the silence around them suggested that standing too fast would snap the fragile calm.
"His name is Cain," Caspian said simply. "He's a Nightmare."
The change in Nathan was immediate.
With an unnatural fluidity, he reached into the breast pocket of his worn vest and withdrew what appeared to be a simple pen. But as it left his pocket, the object shimmered—twisting, warping—until it extended into a blade of pearlescent metal. The sword hummed with ethereal light, and Nathan held it to Cain's throat with a precision that was practiced, rehearsed, and final.
"I should be asking you that question, geezer," Cain snapped, his eyes narrowing. Dark tendrils of energy gathered around him like rising steam, coiling at his fingertips, waiting for permission to strike.
Caspian rose and stepped between them. "Let's not do this," he said calmly, his hands raised. "Nathan, stop."
"Step aside, boy," Nathan growled, his eyes never leaving the Nightmare. "You're not qualified to deal with things like this. He's a Nightmare—a dangerous one. You think a conversation redeems him?"
"I didn't redeem him," Caspian replied, voice low. "I bound him."
Nathan's expression tightened. "Bound?"
"We reached an agreement. You said Nightmares could be negotiated with, and I did exactly that."
There was a long pause. The only sound was the gentle flickering of arcane light from the shelves.
Nathan studied Cain again, as if trying to look through him. Finally, he spoke. "So you're not going to attack me?"
Cain rolled his eyes. "Not unless you start something, old man. And trust me, you'd regret that."
Nathan's grip tightened on the blade. "Now I want to kill him just out of principle."
"Nathan," Caspian said, stepping forward. "The test is done. Now, can I have the rewards?"
The tension drained from Nathan's posture like air escaping a cracked bottle. The sword shimmered once more, folding into itself until it was a pen again, and he tucked it away with a sigh.
"Straight to the point, as always," he said with a dry chuckle. "Very well. You've earned them."
He stepped down from the teetering stack of books, dusting his sleeves as he walked.
"Reward One," he declared, "is access to any book in the library. Realistically, nearly all of them. These aren't books in the conventional sense, Caspian—they're the full record of a person's life. Their fears. Their strengths. Their regrets, their sins, their memories. The people they loved. The lies they told themselves before they died. Everything."
The weight of his words settled like frost.
"So," Nathan continued, "whose story do you wish to read?"
"Ezra Morvain," Caspian answered without hesitation.
The room seemed to still. The golden light dimmed slightly, and Nathan's eyes lost their sparkle.
He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, until his face was mere inches from Caspian's. "What is your relation to that man?" he asked, voice like steel under velvet.
"That's none of your concern."
Nathan stared at him, searching for something. Then he stepped back, the tension laced in his shoulders once again.
"That book is off-limits," he said curtly. "Even if it weren't, barely a page is written. The man's a myth."
"Then Andrew Grayson," Caspian said.
At that, Nathan smiled—small, tired, but genuine.
"Now that," he said, "is just your luck." With a snap of his fingers, a book shimmered into existence. Its cover was dark blue, worn at the edges, and the name Andrew Grayson was etched in faint silver lettering.
Caspian accepted it reverently and began to read.
He turned through pages quickly at first—then slowly. His eyes widened, his brow furrowed. The words written there altered something in his expression, softening it, hardening it, confusing it all at once.
After a long silence, he closed the book.
"That explains a lot," he murmured, offering the book back.
Nathan snapped his fingers again, and the book vanished in a ripple of light.
"Moving on," Nathan said, brushing phantom dust from his vest. "Reward Two. You may ask me any favor within my power. Be wise. I'm many things, but I'm not omnipotent."
Caspian's gaze didn't waver. "I want you to burn the book about me."
Nathan blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me."
"You want me to burn your book?" Nathan repeated, incredulous.
"Yes."
For a moment, Nathan said nothing. Then, with a sigh and the faintest grin, he snapped his fingers again. A white book appeared in his hand—the spine blank, the pages still sealed shut by unseen threads.
"I never read it," he said softly. "It was off-limits anyway."
The book caught fire with a sound like whispering voices, the flames pure white, licking the edges before consuming it entirely. The ashes vanished before they touched the floor.
Cain gave a low whistle. "You're bolder than I thought, kid."
Nathan folded his hands behind his back. "And now, the final gift. Reward Three. One question. Ask wisely. No riddles, no evasions—I'll answer honestly. If I can."
Caspian paused. The room seemed to grow colder, quieter. The shelves leaned inward, listening.
"My question is theoretical," he said. "It's never been tested, and I know it might be beyond your knowledge. But I have to ask."
Nathan inclined his head. "Proceed."
Caspian met his gaze. "Can two of the same Sin exist at the same time?"
Silence.
The shadows in the library lengthened.
Nathan's eyes widened, the color draining from his face. Slowly, he inhaled, then exhaled, as if calming a storm within himself.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet. Measured. But heavy with revulsion.
"Caspian Sinclair," he said, enunciating each syllable with care, "you are possibly the most despicable person I've ever met."