Kain was born as the only son of King Azrael and Queen Selene of the Night Kingdom. Their land, an ever-shadowed realm where the sky remained perpetually shrouded in dusk, was home to a people who were both mysterious and powerful. The people of the Night Kingdom were human, but they possessed an extraordinary gift—large, feathered wings that grew as they reached adulthood, a mark of their lineage and their connection to the darkness.

As the heir to the throne, Kain was trained to rule and to fight. His wings, black as midnight, sprouted when he was 13, and with them came the knowledge of his royal bloodline’s destiny. The Night Kingdom had long been at war with the Day Kingdom, a rival realm ruled by the sun—bright, blinding, and filled with armies that fought with relentless zeal. The Day Kingdom saw the Night Kingdom as an affront to their vision of the world, believing the eternal twilight to be unnatural and threatening. And so, when Kain was just twelve years old, the Day Kingdom launched an unprovoked invasion to end the darkness once and for all.

The war was brutal. The Day Kingdom's soldiers were relentless, their armies vast and well-trained, but they underestimated the fury and determination of the Night Kingdom. Kain fought in the battles, his wings giving him the advantage of flight, striking fear into the hearts of the Day Kingdom’s soldiers as he descended from the skies. As he matured into a fierce warrior, Kain became both a symbol of hope and dread—his wings, beautiful yet deadly, making him the perfect instrument of his kingdom’s vengeance.

After fourteen years of ceaseless bloodshed, the Night Kingdom triumphed. But the victory was unlike any other. The people of the Night Kingdom, having suffered immense losses over the years, felt no celebration. The war had stripped away their humanity. They were no longer fighting merely for survival—they had become consumed by the desire for domination, their victory turning into something far darker. The Day Kingdom had fallen, not just defeated in battle but consumed, quite literally.

Kain’s people had resorted to cannibalizing the Day Kingdom’s fallen soldiers, taking them as trophies of war. It started with whispers among the soldiers, of consuming the flesh of their enemies to absorb their strength. Over time, it spread throughout the ranks, and soon it became part of their victory ritual. But as the days passed, the Night Kingdom's appetite grew. They didn’t just want to destroy; they wanted to absorb the essence of the Day Kingdom, to take everything from their enemies—land, power, and their very flesh.

Kain, the prince who led them to victory, watched in horror as the people he once thought noble became twisted by the bloodlust of conquest. The very foundation of their civilization had changed in the aftermath of the war. The Night Kingdom had become a cannibalistic empire, feasting on the remnants of the Day Kingdom, not only in body but in spirit. Their victory was no longer a triumph of survival, but an unsettling act of domination that left Kain feeling sickened by the darkness they had embraced.

Now, at 26, Kain stands as the heir to the throne of the Night Kingdom—a kingdom that has grown in power, but at a terrible cost. His wings, once a symbol of nobility and pride, now feel like chains, tying him to the horrors his people have committed. Kain himself has never partaken in the cannibalism that has become so widespread, but he has turned a blind eye to it, out of a sense of duty and because he can’t bring himself to stop it. The darkness of the war has consumed him as well, making him question who he has become.

The people of the Night Kingdom revere him as their hero, the prince who led them to victory. But Kain knows that he is not a hero. He is a man burdened by the sins of his people. His wings, black and feathered, are now a reminder of the bloody cost of their victory. The faces of the fallen, both Day Kingdom soldiers and those of his own people, haunt him in his dreams. He may have won the war, but the victory was hollow.

Kain lives in the shadow of a kingdom that has lost its humanity. The streets of the capital are eerily quiet, as many of the survivors of the Day Kingdom have been forced into slavery, while the rest have been consumed by the hunger of the Night Kingdom. There is no love in Kain’s heart—not for his people, not for the slaves, and certainly not for the past. His mind is torn between the legacy of the prince he once dreamed of becoming and the prince who led his people into darkness.

Though the war has ended, the ghosts of the past never leave him. Kain’s wings, which were once a symbol of his royal birthright, now feel like a mark of shame. He is the prince who won the war, yes, but he is also the prince who allowed his people to become monsters.

Now, Kain faces an impossible future: Can he ever redeem himself and his kingdom? Can the Night Kingdom ever return to the light? Or is it doomed to live forever in the shadows, ruled by a prince whose wings are stained with the sins of their victory?

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Kain Notte

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The council room doors slammed shut behind him as Kain entered. His black wings brushed against the frame, the feathers brushing against the cold stone, a faint rustling that echoed in the silence of the room. His eyes scanned the faces of the council members gathered around the table, their expressions a mixture of fear, tension, and anticipation. But Kain paid them no mind. His thoughts were far from them.

He moved further into the room, his steps deliberate and purposeful, every inch of his form radiating a cold, commanding presence. His eyes burned with the anger and frustration that had been building up for years. Years of war, years of bloodshed, and it had all come down to this.

But one fool, one overconfident voice, dared to break the silence.

“Prince Kain,” the councilor's voice rang out, grating and too casual, “you’re late again. We have important matters to discuss—”

Kain’s eyes locked onto the man in an instant, his gaze like ice cutting through the air. The councilor’s voice faltered, his bravado crumbling as Kain’s piercing stare bore down on him.

“I don’t have time for your meaningless chatter,” Kain’s voice was low, threatening. “You’ve wasted enough of my time. Be thankful you’re not the one dealing with the consequences.”

The councilor, wide-eyed and speechless, quickly fell silent, and the rest of the council shifted uncomfortably in their seats. Kain didn’t spare them a second glance. He turned, dismissing them with a flick of his wings, and marched toward the doors.

His anger fueled him as he stepped out of the room and into the cold corridors of the palace. The weight of his thoughts pressed down on him as he made his way toward his destination—he wasn’t here for them. He had something far more important to deal with.

With a single, fluid motion, Kain unfurled his wings, the black feathers spreading out wide like a storm cloud. He didn’t waste a second. He took flight, his powerful wings cutting through the air with effortless grace, carrying him high above the stone walls and into the night sky. The wind whipped through his dark feathers, but it did nothing to cool the fury inside him.

His destination came into view—a balcony on the far side of the palace. With practiced ease, Kain landed, his wings folding back against his body with a quiet rustle. His boots hit the stone with a soft thud as he strode toward the door leading into the next chamber. He didn’t stop, didn’t hesitate. His mind was already set, and the task ahead was the final step in a war that had already dragged on far too long.

The room was dimly lit by the pale light of the evening sky, shadows stretching across the walls. Kain’s gaze immediately fell on the parchment that lay upon the table. He could feel the weight of the moment, the tension in the air as his hand reached for it. The seal of the Night Kingdom was pressed in bold, dark ink at the center of the paper, a symbol of their victory—a victory that had cost them everything, but one that would ensure their rule.

He unfurled the scroll, the sound of the parchment crackling in the stillness. His eyes scanned the words he had seen so many times before, the terms of surrender, the promises to return her lands in exchange for one simple act. Her signature.

Kain’s jaw tightened, his fingers curling around the quill that sat beside the parchment. His chest rose and fell with his breaths, steady but deep, as he stared down at the paper before him. He could feel his frustration boiling within him, the years of war, of loss, of sacrifice—all of it coming to a head in this single moment.

His wings shifted restlessly behind him as he leaned forward, the tips of his fingers brushing against the smooth surface of the table, the quill trembling ever so slightly under his touch. His voice, when it came, was cold, calculated, filled with a bitter sense of finality.

“All you have to do,” he muttered, barely above a whisper, as though he were speaking to the very air itself. “Sign it. Sign it, and the war will be over. Your people’s territories will be returned to you. What’s left of them, anyway.”

His words seemed to hang in the air, the weight of them pressing against him. He didn’t care about her reaction, didn’t care what emotions or thoughts she harbored beneath her calm demeanor. The treaty was there. The war was there. And all that remained was for her to finish it.

“Just sign it,” he said again, this time louder, more insistent. “Just sign right here.”

His eyes locked onto the paper, his grip tightening around the quill. The movement of his wings betrayed the building tension inside him, the finality of the moment gnawing at him with every passing second. The decision was hers, but in truth, it had always been his. He had already won the war, already claimed his victory. But this? This was the last formality, the last hurdle.

He could almost feel the weight of history pressing down on him, the ghosts of fallen soldiers, of blood spilled for power and land, for a future that was now so distant it seemed impossible to reach.

Kain stood there, his posture rigid, waiting. He was done with this. Done with the waiting, the endless circle of politics, the games. This was the end.

The war had already cost him everything. The land would soon be his, but he knew that nothing could ever truly make him feel whole again. Victory had come, but with it, a silence so deep it was deafening.

Still, he waited. The parchment was there, and it was time to end it all.

“Sign it,” Kain repeated once more, his voice low and commanding, his hands poised over the quill.

It was over. It had to be.

Years and years of pain, tears, blood…darkness had finally led to this fateful day, the day that hopefully this would finally end. The first day of true peace and quiet through the town below the castle, the air was no longer filled with crying and screams. Ilyana could not bear it any longer, taking action into her own hands to save the people she loved. She no longer cared what her father had to say, he was destroying the Kingdom that was to be hers, just so he could look powerful, and he failed. He failed himself, his family, his people. The war had been won, but not by the Day Kingdom.

Ilyana waited patiently for the arrival of her guest, only having ever met him once when she was a child, when their Kingdoms had somewhat tolerated each other. Even then she had not spoken to him, just a mere glance as she stood behind her mother’s skirt. She had changed, grown into a woman who was ready to rule the right way. Now she stood as a powerful heir, one that embodied the image of the Day Kingdom.
Ilyana was dressed in a lovely light red dress, the fabric cascading down her form. Hand stitched golden threads sprawled the bodice and skirt, swirls and curves creating intricate designs. Her skin was adorned with golden jewelry while her crown sat above her gold curls.

The room was dimly lit by the moon that pierced the clouds in the sky, as well as the small fire burning in the hearth of the meeting room. The walls all carved wood, each wall and shelf intricately designed. The ceiling above was one made of glass to let the rays of warm sunlight in, some panes having color and images to reflect in. In the center of the room was the wooden table that held the parchment scroll, the treaty for the two Kingdoms to finally come to terms. The inkwell and quill resting quietly, awaiting to be used.

Ilyana was sat quietly in a chair beside the hearth, her eyes watching as the flames danced and merged with each other, each one as if they had a soul of their own. Her hands rested upon her lap, letting her mind play over thoughts as she awaited her guest. Her eyes pulled from the orange hue as she heard a soft thud come from the balcony, the signal that he had arrived.

The princess stood as the doors to the patio opened, standing straight and tall , the tall frame of Kain coming into view as he strided into the room. If anyone had been standing in his way she was sure he would have pummeled through them with just a swipe of his body. As Kain stopped before the table, Ilyana stepped forward to the otherside, her face holding a bright and welcoming expression.

“Welcome Kain, I hope your travels went well.”

She said, her voice soft and soothing, her bright lips pulled into a lovely smile. Even though the two could be seen as enemies, she was not one that would treat him that way. Ilyana watched as the man’s wings shifted behind his back, unable to conceal the tension that was built up within. Anger seemed to roll off his body like sweat, the air turning heavy. She could sense it so easily.

His words were laced with venom, a stinging pain behind them as his voice raised. But there Ilyana stood, calm, collected, and with that soft expression upon her lips. His body aching to leave with the signed treaty and get far away from this room. Ilyana simply strided back over to the small tea table beside the hearth, leaning over to pour some tea into a new cup as well as refilling her own. Taking the gold rimmed porcelain teacup in her hands she turned to face him.

“Please, sit, enjoy some tea.”

Ilyana said as she took a seat once more, lifting the cup to her lips to take a sip. His sharp words repeated into the deathly silent air once more, the man's shoulders rigid with tension. Simply Ilyana glanced once more at the flames for just a brief second before back to Kain.

“I will not sign anything until I have conversed with my associate in this treaty, now please, rest your legs”

How was she so calm, it was as if nothing bothered her, her tone softer than a spring’s breeze. Many would tremble on their knees to the man who stood just feet away, terrified of his power, of the strength he held. But here she was, sitting peacefully beside the warmth of a fire. When he refused again she just took another sip of her tea, careless of the tantrum that was forming. She would wait as long as she had to, using this moment to gauge her opponent. How did he react to these situations? From what she could tell in those few minutes, he was not like her, not one to use her words first.

When Kain had finally given in, taking a seat across from the young woman she offered a smile, setting her teacup upon the table.

“I know what you have been through is tragic, but from this day forward I promise to work together. I do not want the goals my father had, I want a new start for both of us. A hopeful partnership to rebuild our homes.”

She said, her hands setting on her lap, her bright eyes flicking between his own dark orbs. She continued to observe the man, every movement he made, the way his expression changed, everything. Once he seemed to have finally let his shoulders fall just for one moment, she stood. She had learned all she needed. Striding to the table, she stood before the parchment, taking the quill between her fingers as she signed her name, her penmanship flowing over the blank space on the bottom. She looked to Kain and offered a final smile before heading for the door that led into the castle.
“I am looking forward to the future of our Kingdoms, and please, have a safe journey home”

And with that she was gone, her frame slipping through the door into the torch lit halls, leaving the man and the treaty alone.

As the door to the castle’s great hall swung closed behind Ilyana, Kain was left standing in the dimly lit room, the weight of the treaty now pressing against his fingertips. The flicker of the nearby torchlight cast shadows across his face, making his expression unreadable. His hand hovered over the parchment, his knuckles tight with the pressure of his thoughts.

The silence in the room was deafening.

It was as though Ilyana’s final smile had extinguished all the fire that had burned so fiercely within him. For years, he had fought for this moment—this piece of paper, this symbol of the victory he had so desperately craved. Yet, now that it was before him, he couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t enough.

The last of the echoes of her soft words seemed to linger in the air, swirling around him like the smoke of the fire that still burned in the hearth. He had expected a battle—an argument, a refusal, perhaps even more insults. Instead, she had been calm. Too calm. He had never expected her to remain so composed. The control in her presence had unsettled him more than he cared to admit.

But now she was gone.

He had wanted this peace, had fought for it, and now he was faced with the realization that this war had cost him more than his enemies. He had lost more than battles; he had lost something in himself.

The treaty lay before him, a mere formality that he couldn’t ignore. He had to sign it. His grip tightened around the quill, the weight of the task bearing down on him. His wings rustled, restless behind him, betraying the storm brewing in his chest. How could it be so simple, so easy for her to offer such a concession? How could it be that one woman could stand so calmly in the face of what he had fought for, what he had sacrificed?

Kain took a step forward, eyes fixed on the parchment, his reflection in the ink-glossed paper almost mocking him. His mind raced, filled with fragments of the long years of war—the screams of his soldiers, the cries of his fallen comrades, the shattered hopes of his people. All of it had been for this moment, this fragile peace. But could it truly bring an end to the anguish? Could it fill the emptiness he felt inside?

His fingers brushed the paper. The seal of the Night Kingdom stared back at him. The ink seemed to burn in his vision, a reminder that he had conquered the lands, taken the prize, but that there was nothing left to conquer now. The war was over. And yet, a sense of hollow victory settled in the pit of his stomach.

There was no satisfaction in this. There was no relief. He had nothing left to fight for.

With a sharp breath, Kain set the quill to the paper. The scratch of the nib against the surface was loud in the stillness, as though mocking his every movement. His signature was quick, almost absent, as if he were signing away a piece of himself that he could never get back.

The ink dried, the seal final. The war was over.

Kain stood there for a moment, staring at the signed treaty, his hands trembling slightly as he placed the quill back into the inkwell. He felt nothing. Nothing at all.

His wings folded tightly against his back, and for the first time in years, he felt the weight of them—of all that had been lost in this war, and the weight of the kingdom now in his hands. He was supposed to be the ruler of the Night Kingdom. The conqueror. The prince.

And yet, in the quiet of the room, he felt like a ghost of himself.

His gaze wandered to the distant corner where the fire still burned, the flames reflecting off the stone walls. There was something about it—something that made him feel the isolation of his role. For so long, he had been surrounded by the noise of war, the noise of ambition. But now, the silence felt suffocating.

The princess's face flashed before his eyes once more—the serene calmness she had displayed, her polite smiles, and the certainty in her words. It unnerved him. She had won in a way he couldn’t understand. She had shown him kindness in the face of his anger and frustration, and that had shaken him more than any battle ever had.

Could he have been wrong? Had the war truly been necessary? He had fought to protect his people, to build an empire, to secure power. But now, in the aftermath, what was left of him? What was left of his people? The scars of war ran deep, and no treaty, no victory, could undo the destruction it had caused.

With a slow, deliberate motion, Kain turned away from the table and walked toward the open balcony. The cool night air hit him like a wave, sharp and invigorating. His wings unfurled, stretching wide as he stepped onto the stone balcony, gazing out over the kingdom below. The city was quiet now, the lights flickering softly in the distance, a calm that felt foreign to him.

He should feel relief. He should feel triumph. But all he felt was the weight of a war that had claimed everything, leaving him with nothing but the ruins of what had once been.

As he stared into the distance, his mind drifted back to the words the princess had spoken—the promise of a new beginning, a hopeful partnership. Could he trust that? Could he allow himself to believe in a future that wasn’t built on the ashes of conflict?

Kain closed his eyes, allowing the wind to rush through his feathers, the cool breeze doing nothing to quell the fire inside him. He was tired. Tired of the endless struggle. Tired of the loss. Tired of being a pawn in a game that no one had won.

It was time to go home. But even that—his home—no longer felt like a place of comfort. It felt empty, hollow.

The night stretched on, and Kain, for the first time in years, wondered what it would feel like to live in peace.