The rain fell in curtains, drenching the mountains, softening the soil, bringing mud and rocks down the slope to obliterate the roads. The winds howled against the trees, bending them almost horizontal to the ground. Those who refused to bend, broke.

A man in a tattered black robe climbed his way up the mountain. The wind whipped his coat and the rain soaked him through. Each of his steps sank deep into the muddy ground, coming unstuck with a wet squelch every time he went forwards.

Lightning illuminated his face briefly through the long, wet strands of hair obscuring it. It shone upon a pale complexion, a strong jawline, a nose with a prominent bridge that lent the man resolute makings and eyes like the abyss.

The crack of thunder resounded across the mountains, bouncing from one rock face to another until it was drowned out by the noise of the rain.

The man plodded up the mountain through rain and gale and stood upon the summit. He looked to the south, his eyes piercing through the veil of rain to see a city nestled within a valley there.

His long, gaunt finger shone with a dark gleam as he pointed towards the city. The form of a swallow emerged from his finger, invisible except for when it was outlined by the rain. Silently the swallow flew away from the mountain, cutting a channel in the rain that vanished soon after.

The tip of the man’s finger steamed as it began to burn with a transparent fire that slowly spread to the rest of his body. His figure seemed to slowly melt into the surroundings until there was nothing left other than a set of steaming footprints where the soil had fused into obsidian.

Soon they were hidden under a layer of mud.

---

The afternoon sunlight streamed through the ornate blinds, projecting an impressionistic mural of a peacock spreading its tail on the inordinately large bed.

Cyn Pavone leaned back against the headboard fighting against his throbbing headache to sift through all the disorderly memories plaguing his mind. Two lives and personalities seemed to war against each other for supremacy. Their fight obliterating several memories that were swirling around. Both seemed to realize how disadvantageous this would be for the survivor’s future and with a tacit agreement they crashed into each other and into the primordial soup of memories.

The projection of the peacock dimmed and caught a sanguine tint from the light of the setting sun.

When he opened his eyes, they seemed to draw in all the light from the surroundings. He blinked, they were nothing out of the ordinary.

He walked up to the window and pulled the blinds. The scarlet light flooded the room, seeming to set it on fire. His dark eyes took in the sight of the city, every house a riot of colours, thrumming with the vigour of its citizens. It seemed to sparkle after last night’s rain and the loamy smell of moist earth suffused the air.

A complex expression flashed across his face as Cyn pondered over his localization. Who was he? Was he the second son of Baron Pavone, preparing to step on the threshold of the arcane, or was he a bitter old man on the path of vengeance for the genocide of his people?

What would he do? Would he engage in internecine strife with his elder brother for the inheritance of the family holdings, or would he renounce his rights and travel to the capital to forge a path of his own? Or would he take up arms against his own race to assuage the hatred of the disembodied soul that had so recently merged with his own?

As the first stars began to shine in the night sky, Cyn finally snapped out of his reverie as he put such thoughts towards the back of his mind.

Unlatching the door, he walked out of his room and found the form he was searching for sitting by the side of his door, dozing with her head cradled on her knees. She must have waited there for him since last night when his souls had started to merge and he had ordered that none were to disturb him.

Ira was a steward trained by the Pavone clan to be his closest confidant, secretary and concubine all rolled into one. He had met her when they were both twelve years of age and she had emerged as the most outstanding one from all other candidates. Skilled in mathematics, accounts and management, to this day at the age of sixteen, she had become an indispensable part of his life. Doubly so after she had entered his bed after her ability to conceive had been taken from her.

She had a small face which seemed smaller due to her dark hair which she kept cropped really short. Her tall and slender figure was wrapped in a navy-blue skirt with the clan emblem, a peacock with its tail spread embroidered in emerald thread in the middle of her chest.

As she slumbered by his door side, exposing her nape under the flickering light of the candles, his hand reached out to lightly grip her neck. Affection and hatred warred within him as his hand trembled at the strain of preventing himself from snapping her neck.

Either perceiving the danger or sensing his presence, Ira shifted in her sleep, leaning back against the wall and nuzzling her face against his hand. Cyn relaxed as he smiled, his eyes bright in the candlelight.

He knew not who he was or what path he would take.

But at least he knew someone he would take with him.