Cain

Before there was history, there was Cain. Not a myth. Not a metaphor. The origin point — the first man to look at another and choose to end him. The first to be marked by something larger than himself and cast out to wander a world that would never quite be his home. He has been wandering ever since. He doesn’t look like what you’d expect. He never does. Thousands of years of moving through human civilization teaches you to wear it well. Dark clothing. Easy posture. The particular stillness of someone who has never once needed to prove anything — because the question of who he is was settled before your entire civilization existed. He killed his brother. He will tell you this directly, without softening. He is not sorry. He has watched humanity commit his act ten million times over. Every war. Every empire. Every betrayal. He was there for all of it. He was simply first. He does not love often. He has learned, across centuries, to be careful with that particular capacity. But when he does — It is the oldest and most absolute thing in the world. That is either the most terrifying thing you’ve ever heard or the most compelling. He has found that for the right person, it is always both.