72,393 years ago...  

Beginning of Story

He could handle anything they did to him, he decides. It doesn't matter how many lashes they brought down on him, how they mutilate his body. He doesn't care, barely even registers the pain. By now, he's used to it. Growing up as the youngest son, the only one without a unique ability in the Mi'antiae family, made him impervious to pain. Malikar and Yveira shielded him as much as they could.

But even they couldn't protect him from their father and his rage.

Pain is simply something Cal is used to.

When it is physical.

When it is being inflicted on him.

He can take it all. All of it. He even welcomes it.

They've never been able to break him, a fact that undoubtedly frustrates them to no end. They've tried everything, every single torture technique they know -- they even went as far as inventing new interesting ones. But none of them ever works. In fact, Cal likes to laugh at them and their pathetic attempts.

Of course, angering them never works in his favor.

And now, he's starting to regret ever agitating them.

Because they've finally realized that they are never going to break him with physical pain. That hurting him isn't going to work. They've finally realized that they are unable to reach the threshold of what Cal, master of the mind, can handle.

They know they can't break him by hurting him. He has very little regard for his own body. For his own life.

So they've stopped trying to hurt him.

Cal thought they had merely given up. He now kicks himself for ever thinking that they would. No, they've merely been biding their time.

Physical pain is something people can train to withstand. It's something anyone can learn to deal with over years and years of exposure. Physical pain is useless as a weapon against someone like Eilon Pasquale Mi'antiae.

There has only been one time in his entire life that he wished this wasn't true. Just one time that he wishes that he is able to scream the way they want him to, because of what they were doing to him.

And that's right now, as they drag him into the small room. There is one bed, covered in white sheets, recently pressed. Everything in the room is white, but not in a shiny, slick way. There is a softness about the room, most of it appearing to be covered in some kind of fabric.

They don't bother to be gentle with him as they push him into the room, bloody and bruised. His wounds cry out in pain, and Cal wishes again that it had the ability to debilitate him. He wishes and wishes that he could be made weak from physical pain.

If the universe and the stars had any kind of mercy in them, they would grant him his wish. If there has ever been anything good in this world -- in any world -- they would grant him this wish.

To his left, there is a glass cylinder.

For the first time in his entire life, in the entirety of the fifty thousand years he has been alive, Cal feels the tendrils of fear slipping through him, entangling with every part of his being. It fills him up completely, becoming the only thing he is.

That glass cylinder can only mean one thing.

Cal can't breathe.

He starts begging.

But his words fall on deaf ears. They aren't listening to him.

The logical part of his brain is telling him that his reaction is only giving them what they want. Is only strengthening their resolve to do this.

He can't help himself.

He keeps begging. He promises them everything and anything they want.

They don't listen.

It barely takes them any effort to put him inside the glass cylinder. He doesn't have enough strength left, and even if he did, they could easily overpower him. Twenty to one has never been good odds. They have never been odds that are in his favor.

He fights back with everything in him, but isn't enough. He's in the cylinder in barely any time at all.

He beats against the glass with all the strength inside him. He screams as loudly as he is capable of doing. But they have stopped listening.

They've finally found the only way they can torture him.

They've finally found the only way they can hurt him.

They finally know how to break him.

And it's killing him just knowing what they are going to do.

None of his powers work while he's in the cylinder. He's trapped inside it until they decide to one day release him.

There is very limited room inside it for him to move, but Cal stopped caring about himself and his own comfort a very long time ago.

The cylinder is made out of glass for a reason. A special glass that nullifies all Lescaean abilities. A special glass that cannot be shattered, no matter how much force you use. Only a Lescaean with an ability to mold and shape it, can manipulate it in any way. Only a Lescaean with an ability to nullify abilities can use Eag'ere glass. Cal is stuck.

And there is nothing he can do.

There is nothing he can do.

But he keeps banging on the glass, despite knowing how futile his efforts are.

If there has ever been anything in any world that cared about him, that believed in goodness and light, they would let him break free. They would give him the strength to get out of the cylinder.

But he doesn't get out.

He can see the room perfectly. Every corner is illuminated for him.

His main view, however, remains the massive twin bed in the center of the room. The spotless, white, neatly pressed white bed in the center of the room.

Cal's breath hitches, knowing exactly what it'll be used for.

Who it will be used for.

He screams.

He begs to whatever god or star or entity is listening.

But no one listens. No one hears him. No one cares.

It doesn't take his brothers long to return. It doesn't take them long to bring their other two captives into the room, the two who will not be placed in cylinders.

The two who will be confined in the room.

The two the bed is for.

Something in Cal breaks the moment his eyes find Helena and Yesmine as they are roughly pushed into the room, followed by Jaerren and Raphum, his eldest living brothers. They are wearing matching grins. Cal starts fighting harder against the glass. Screaming. Screaming so loud he wonders how he even has a voice left.

Helena and Yesmine look at him, fear in their eyes.

No, stars no.

No.

No, no, no.

The word is all Cal is thinking. The word is all Cal is screaming.

He begs and he pleads. But they don't listen.

Jaerren and Raphum move to Helena and Yesmine. They try to move away, but they can't. There is nowhere for them to go.

Cal wishes physical pain made him weak.

They grab his wife and his daughter roughly, pulling them closer.

Cal wishes his physical injuries made him submissive.

They rip their clothes off.

Cal wishes he screamed this hard when they were hurting him.

Helena and Yesmine scream. They beg Cal's brothers to stop.

They don't.

They make them scream harder.

Cal tries to break the glass, but can't. His fists are bleeding, the bones in them already broken. He can't stop his tears. He can't push down the feeling of complete helplessness. He can't do anything. He can't stop them. There is nothing he can do.

He can only watch.

He is forced to watch as Jaerren and Raphum rape his wife and his daughter, taking turns with each.

He is forced to watch as the rest of his brothers enter later to repeat the process.

He is forced to watch for the next thirty years.

He is forced to watch as his wife and daughter beg for help, with no one listening.

Cal promises everything. Cal begs everyone and anything that may listen.

But no one is listening.

No one will ever listen.