Chapter 63: Cain
Seeing Cain walking further and further away, Abel bade farewell to the two girls.
His primary reason for coming out was to reason with his brother; making his mood even worse had certainly not been his intention.
Upon spotting the wreath of white roses adorning Avan's head, Acrylicman felt a sudden pang of desire; she called out to Abel's retreating figure:
"Brother, when you come back, you have to bring me some flowers!"
"All right!" Abel agreed readily. Alternating between walking and running, he breathlessly caught up with Cain, all the while keeping a distracted eye out for any beautiful flowers growing nearby.
White roses were out of the question—Avan already had some, and if he brought back the exact same kind, Acrylicman was bound to be cross with him.
He glanced left and right; once they entered the mountainous terrain, he also had to be mindful of hacking away the vines that tangled around his feet and sides. Although the autumn breeze was cool, his exertions left him feeling stifled and drenched in sweat.
Observing his brother's frantic activity, a look of mockery flickered across Cain's brow.
"You really ought to just carry her around with you—never letting her out of your sight—to truly do justice to such devotion." He reached over, took the wooden bow that was proving somewhat cumbersome on Abel's back, and slung it over his own shoulders instead.
Flushing at his brother's remark, Abel nevertheless managed a good-natured smile. "Brother, let's venture a bit further out today; there's hardly anything left to hunt on the nearby peaks."
Cain remained indifferent, offering a half-hearted, noncommittal nod. He showed no inclination to speak, yet Abel found he could not hold his tongue.
"Brother, you really ought to stop antagonizing Father."
Although the two of them were now capable of fending for themselves, how could they possibly hope to measure up to their father?
In Abel's eyes, their father, Adam, was a man of great magnanimity and gentleness—someone who not only knew the names of every plant and animal but also possessed knowledge of countless things that remained a mystery to them.
Indeed, his own success in hunting prey was owed entirely to his father's guidance.
Cain, however, seemed determined to do the exact opposite of whatever their father did; at times, the very origins of their conflicts were so bizarre as to be utterly dumbfounding.
He simply could not fathom why they would come to blows over such trivial matters. "Yes, *of course* you wouldn't get angry with him. What reason would *you* have to be angry? After all, he favors you far more than he does me." He gave a cold sneer. "You're the only 'good son' in his eyes; you're the only one he loves."
"That's not..."
"If that's all you're going to say to me, you'd best just head back now and let me walk alone." Cain sounded thoroughly impatient. "In his eyes, my very existence—the fact that I was born at all—is a mistake."
His mood had soured so abruptly that Abel didn't dare say another word, lest Cain actually drive him away.
They continued eastward for a few more miles; just as Abel had predicted, they encountered scarcely a single living creature along the way.
Bored out of his mind, Cain suddenly saw Abel pointing toward a specific spot.
"Brother, do you remember?" he asked. "That's the exact spot where we once met a bird that could speak."
"It feels as though it happened only yesterday—even though we've never seen it again since then."
Cain followed the direction of Abel's gaze, and a look of wistful nostalgia crossed his face.
"Really? I, for one, feel as though I hear its voice quite often."
Abel looked puzzled, but they didn't pursue the topic any further.
For at that very moment, a deer bounded across their path. It moved with such effortless grace—as if its hooves were treading on clouds—that in the blink of an eye, it had already vanished into the distance.
"What a magnificent deer!"
"Looks like we're getting an extra feast tonight!"
Shouting in unison, the two brothers gave chase.
They pursued the deer for quite a distance until their path was finally blocked by a wide, rushing river.
The golden-hued deer splashed across the water and leaped safely onto the opposite bank. Cain and Abel paced along the shoreline for a while, but in the end, they had no choice but to give up.
It was hopeless; the river spanned more than ten meters across. Unless they suddenly sprouted wings, there was simply no way for them to fly across it.
As they walked upstream along the rushing current, they chatted about how handsome that stag had been.
They had never ventured into this territory before; even though they had lost the deer, they were still curious to see what lay on the other side.
Unexpectedly, the further upstream they traveled, the river's flow did not diminish—but grew even stronger. This was the confluence of two rivers; waves, churned with dark soil, surged through the rapids, carving out naturally fertile alluvial banks. Though it was early autumn, the riverbanks were still abloom with lotus flowers—a fragrant spectacle of pink and white.
"How beautiful! Let's pick some to take back to the others," Abel exclaimed, gazing at the lotuses with delight.
Cain had quickly caught a pile of fish and was just weaving a grass rope to string them together when he heard Abel mention picking flowers; he immediately looked displeased.
They had ventured quite far afield this time, having snared several fur-bearing animals along the way. With such a haul of game already in tow, adding a few more odds and ends seemed like nothing but a needless burden.
"It's fine; I can carry them. These are the flowers Akliman loves most—I never expected we'd still find them blooming at this time of year."
Hearing this, Cain let the matter drop. Once he had strung the fish together, he simply sat by the riverbank, giving in to his laziness.
That was just Abel for you—thoughtful and considerate in everything he did. He was a dutiful son and an exemplary older brother; everyone in the family adored him.
The afternoon sun cast a drowsy spell over the scene. Cain wasn't sure how much time had passed when a sudden cry of alarm rang out beside him; he snapped instantly awake, instinctively turning his gaze toward Abel.
He saw that Abel had fallen into the river. Cain rushed forward—moving with lightning speed—and managed to lunge out and seize Abel's hand before the current could sweep him away. Yet, pulling him back to safety proved to be no easy task.
The current was ferocious; one could only imagine the violent force Abel was enduring at that very moment.
"Hold on tight! Don't let go!" he shouted to Abel.
*Should I really not let go?*
Suddenly, a voice whispered from the depths of his heart.
*If only Abel weren't here...*
A flicker of fear and revulsion crossed his face, yet his mind could not help but follow that dark thought down its treacherous path.
*If Abel were gone, no one would ever overshadow me again.*
*If Abel were gone, no one would ever compare us against one another day after day.*
Once an evil thought takes root, there is no stopping its relentless growth.
The grip of his hand began to slacken ever so slightly.
Just a little looser, and Abel would be swept down the river—carried away to some unknown, forgotten place. "Brother! Save me!" Submerged in the river, Abel had never imagined that his older brother might let go; yet, as he cried out for help at the top of his lungs, he saw a flicker of unmistakable hesitation cross Cain's face. For a fleeting instant, he was struck with disbelief.
"Brother... save me... save me..."
Abel's voice grew fainter and fainter. Was it due to the despair born of the grip on his hand gradually weakening?
Or was it simply that the strength rapidly draining from his body amidst the struggle could no longer sustain his cries?
Cain found himself unable to think; before his eyes, the two clasped hands slowly parted, and in his ears, there remained only the sound of the rushing current surging over a human head.
Abel struggled to surface from the water; he looked up at Cain, his gaze pleading.
"Brother... don't..."
Abel's eyes awakened Cain's conscience; he could scarcely believe the thoughts that had crossed his mind in that moment.
He tightened his grip on Abel's hand once more, attempting to haul him back to the shore—but it was too late.
He watched helplessly as Abel was swept away by the current.
In that instant, he collapsed to his knees, his face contorted into a grotesque mask of agony.
"What... what have I done?!"
The sun had already set. The humans—having moved back into the cave from their treehouse to escape the cold—were now trapped in an agonizing silence of waiting.
Supper had long been prepared, yet the two brothers—usually so punctual—had still not returned.
Eve was deeply worried. She cast a reproachful glance at her husband, who sat with his back to her at the dining table; yet, seeing how little food he had touched, her heart softened slightly.
Adam, too, was worried about their children—though perhaps he simply did not know how to express it. Eve sat down beside her husband and took his hand in hers.
"I know what is weighing on your mind. But Cain is our firstborn son; the sin of the Forbidden Fruit was ours alone—it has nothing to do with him."
"I know," Adam replied, returning Eve's grasp. "It is just that he is wild and unruly; if we cannot rein him in properly now, how can he possibly turn out well in the future?"
"Then you ought to speak with him gently. Children have delicate sensibilities; treating him this way will only do more harm than good. Look—has he shown any resentment toward me or any of his siblings?"
Adam chuckled. "Since the beginning of time, has there ever been a father who yields to his son?"
Seeing the look of disapproval on Eve's face—and mindful of the rare harmony they had recently shared—he decided he did not want to anger her again. He threw up his hands in surrender. "Alright, alright, I'll do as you say. The moment he returns, I'll sit him down and have a proper talk with him."
But Adam, Eve, and the two sisters—Acliman and her sibling—waited until the moon hung high in the branches, until the hour when wild beasts began to prowl.
"This isn't right. If he stays out any longer, it will be dangerous," Eve said, unable to sit still any longer. Adam immediately stood up, gently pressed her back down, and then issued instructions to the two girls.
"I'm going out to look for him. You two stay inside the cave—and whatever you do, don't let the fire go out."
Fearing that wild beasts might approach while he was gone, Adam spent a few moments setting up some simple traps and snares at the cave entrance before venturing out. He had barely gone a short distance when, amidst the gloom of the night, he spotted Cain returning. Adam's anger flared instantly.
"So you *do* remember how to find your way home!"
In his hands, Cain clutched two lotus blossoms; his demeanor was utterly distraught.
"What happened? Where is your brother?" Adam sensed that something was terribly wrong; an ominous premonition began to take root in his heart.
Inside the cave, Acliman was doing her best to comfort her mother, who was trembling with anxiety. Suddenly, the sound of their father's furious roar drifted in from outside. Mother and daughters alike sprang to their feet in unison.
"I'll go see what's happening! Avan, you stay here and look after Mother!" She rushed out of the cave like a whirlwind, only to witness her father delivering a resounding slap across Cain's face—a blow struck with such force that it seemed to make the very air around them shudder.
What on earth had happened? In the past, no matter how much they bickered or clashed, things had never escalated to the point of physical violence.
Acliman frowned and sprinted toward them.
"Father!" she cried out.
Adam, his back turned toward her, did not hear her call. He took a deep, steadying breath.
"You are the firstborn son—yet you have failed utterly to even look after your own brother."
Acliman froze in her tracks, stunned into silence.
Who was Father talking about?
Who was it that he had failed to look after? And Abel?
"Where is Abel!" she shrieked. Cain turned his face toward her; his deep, dark pupils glowed in the night, and in that instant, Akliman thought she was looking at a demon.
Half of Cain's face was swollen grotesquely high, yet he seemed to have lost all sensation. Clutching two lotus blossoms, he walked step by step toward Akliman.
"He fell into a great river trying to pick these flowers for you."
"No! I don't believe it!" Akliman cried. She stared at the flowers as if they were poisonous weeds—harbingers of death—and hurled them violently to the ground.
"Did you not try to save him?" She seized Cain's arm, her fingernails digging deep into his flesh.
"Why didn't you save him?" she demanded, her voice laced with suspicion—especially given that Abel had met with this tragedy so soon after she had jokingly uttered those words earlier that day.
She did not believe Cain's story.
Yet Cain allowed her to vent her fury, only to then cast her into the depths of hell with a single sentence.
"I *did* try to save him. I searched that stretch of the river all afternoon."
"That area is thick with flowers just like these; these two were growing right in the center—the finest blooms of them all."
"He chose to fall into the water himself rather than let go of them before throwing them onto the bank."
"And so, I brought them back."
Cain's words struck like a sharpened blade, piercing deep into Akliman's heart.
Even if she suspected Cain—what did it matter?
It was *she* who had asked for the flowers.
Abel had never once refused a request of hers.
It was *she* who had caused her brother Abel's death...
"Ah!" The realization struck her, and she nearly lost her mind.
The commotion outside the cave soon drew Eve and Avan out from within. Upon learning the tragic news of Abel's death, Eve fainted on the spot.
Grief and chaos shattered their home. Watching it all unfold, Cain whispered to himself:
'It wasn't my fault.'
'I *did* intend to save him.'
'My hand held his—from beginning to end.'
'I never let go.'
He struggled to rationalize it to himself, yet the inconsolable grief of his parents and Akliman's utter breakdown proved too much for him to bear. He never stepped foot inside the house again; as if he had lost his soul, he spent his entire days staring blankly out across the fields.
He did not know what to do, and he began to miss Abel with a desperate intensity. He had never loved him quite like this when Abel was still alive; only after losing his own brother did he begin to see the goodness in him everywhere he looked.
He even found himself wishing that it had been *he* who had fallen to his death instead.
That way, it would be *him*—not Abel—whom they mourned now; and it would be *him*—not Abel—whom they loathed.
He neither ate nor drank, as if undergoing a ritual of self-punishment.
Having already lost her second son, Eve could not bear to lose her eldest as well. Yet, consumed by her own grief and burdened with the task of caring for the distraught Akriman, she simply had no energy left to attend to Cain; she could only ask Avana to go and try to reason with him.
Asking the taciturn Avana to mediate a family conflict was, in truth, a heavy burden to place upon her.
But in this household, the "abnormal" second daughter was, ironically, the only truly normal one left.
Even if she failed to persuade him, simply keeping watch over Cain would be a comfort in itself.
Heeding her mother's instructions, Avana took some food and headed out to the fields to find Cain.
She was not a woman of many words; having found Cain, she still did not know what to say.
She placed the food beside him and sat there keeping him company—from dawn until dusk, and then from dusk until dawn again. When she grew hungry, she ate a little of the food she had brought; when she grew thirsty, there was water nearby to drink.
Three days passed in this manner—three days of utter silence—and her quiet persistence finally caught Cain's attention.
By the third night, Cain could no longer resist looking at her.
He wanted to see what she was doing; didn't she ever get bored?
He gazed at Avana: the silver-haired girl sat with her eyes closed, her expression serene and tranquil, as if sorrow and grief were matters entirely unrelated to her.
And yet, in reality, she had just lost her second brother.
By any standard, such composure was utterly abnormal.
But in this moment, Avana's quiet serenity offered him a measure of unexpected solace.
"Avana."
At the sound of his voice, the girl's lips—which had been moving ever so slightly—fell still, and her clear, crimson eyes opened.
As she grew older, the red within her eyes seemed to deepen.
It was a color so unnatural that no one in the family dared to meet her gaze. Cain averted his gaze; fixing his eyes on the ground, he asked her what she was doing.
Awan replied that she was praying for Abel.
Cain felt a stir in his heart and could not resist looking back at her. Their eyes met, and for the first time, he truly looked into the depths of Awan's eyes.
He suddenly recalled that, in his childhood, he had actually longed for a younger sibling.
When he was the only child, he had yearned for a companion.
As Abel's birth approached, he even felt that he anticipated the child in his mother's womb more eagerly than his father did.
Later came Acrylicman—a lovely infant girl with golden hair and blue eyes. Yet, once he realized that she favored Abel more, Cain's affection toward her grew distant.
When Awan was born, it was as if he had found a weapon with which to wage war against them; he treated Awan better than any of his other siblings—yet this very "kindness" was such that he could barely recall seeing her more than once a year.
He cherished her, much as one might cherish a blade of grass; the frequency of their genuine interactions paled in comparison to his exchanges with Acrylicman—and certainly to those with Abel.
Within the family, Awan had always possessed a faint presence. Although Cain felt—or perhaps merely told himself—that he loved her more than Acrylicman, that sentiment remained purely a matter of self-perception.
In truth, he held few concrete impressions of this quiet, emotionally reserved younger sister—who drifted through life like a transparent shadow.
For no one had ever been able to fathom the thoughts stirring within her heart, nor did she ever take the initiative to converse with her kin.
They had come to suspect she might be a cold-blooded monster—a creature as chilling as her outward appearance suggested.
Yet, even if she were indeed a monster, they would have accepted and loved her all the same.
However, when she spoke to him in a soft, gentle voice—telling him she was praying for Abel—Cain realized, for the very first time, that he did not truly know Awan at all.
Amidst the night, she appeared as serene and gentle as the moonlight itself.
Cain gazed at her in silence for a moment before finally speaking, his voice hoarse.
"If prayer could alter the will of God, then we would never have been cast out of the Garden of Eden."
"If prayer could change the course of fate, then tragedy would cease to exist in this world."
Cain did not believe in God.
"But you are afraid," the silver-haired maiden said; her gaze and tone alike were filled with absolute certainty.
"I am not!" Cain rose to his feet, denying it loudly. The thin night mist rose, spreading a white, hazy veil across the land and gradually obscuring the figures of the two of them.
Yawan looked up at him, yet it seemed as though she were gazing down from a great height, seeing right through him; beneath such a gaze, he had nowhere to hide.
"I didn't do it." Flustered, he averted his eyes and reiterated his denial.
He hadn't killed Abel—what, then, did he have to fear?
"You seem so lost." Yawan reached out to take his hand; their fingertips touched, and a chill seeped deep into his skin.
"This is the first time I've ever seen you like this."
Instinctively, Cain clasped her hand in return, seeking to draw strength from her...