Kain/Cecil. G. 100 words.
It’d been too long to remember.

Kain stood by the body of a young boy for a long time before Cecil touched his arm. He couldn’t remember the last time Cecil had dared. Through the layers of leather and steel, he imagined the heat of it.

“Do you remember Mist,” Kain said. He didn’t make it a question, and Cecil didn’t answer. “I knew what would happen to the village. Baigan made no secret of it.”

Again, Cecil said nothing. Without the visor’s shadow, his eyes were bright, clear, and still, Kain couldn’t find what he sought.

It would’ve been easier if Cecil could hate him.


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