Prolouge: The Birth

In the vast expanse of the Grand Line, hidden among the clouds, lay the sky island of Birka. It was a land of warriors, where strength meant power. The Birkans, with their distinctive white wings, had built a society that revered combat prowess above all else.

It was in this world of winged warriors and ruthless ambition that a child was about to be born, one whose fate would be forever entwined with that of Birka itself.

The early morning light filtered through the small window, casting a soft glow on Sora's sweat-drenched face. She lay on a simple bed, her silver hair splayed out around her, hands gripping the sheets as another wave of pain coursed through her body.

The midwives moved around her with practiced efficiency, but their hushed whispers and furtive glances betrayed their unease. They had attended many births in their time, but something about this one felt different.

"The signs are unusual," one midwife murmured, her brow furrowed as she placed a cool cloth on Sora's forehead. "I've never seen a labor quite like this."

Her companion nodded, her eyes fixed on Sora's straining form. "There's something about this child," she said softly. "Something...different."

Sora let out a low moan, her wings twitching feebly as another contraction gripped her. The midwives exchanged a look, their hands moving to support her.

In the corner of the room, a young apprentice watched wide-eyed, her hands twisting nervously in her apron. She had only recently begun her training, and the intensity of the situation was almost overwhelming.

"Is she going to be alright?" she asked timidly, her voice barely above a whisper.

The older midwives didn't answer immediately, their focus solely on their patient. They had seen the signs, the way Sora's body seemed to be fighting against itself. They knew the risks, the potential for tragedy. But they also knew their duty.

"We will do everything in our power," one finally said, her voice firm with resolve. "This child will be born, no matter what it takes."

Sora's eyes fluttered open, her deep blue gaze locking onto the midwives. In that moment, despite the pain and the fear, there was a flicker of something else in her expression. Something akin to determination, or perhaps acceptance.

A agonized cry tore from Sora's throat as she bore down, her body shuddering with the effort. For a moment, the room seemed suspended in time, every breath held in anticipation. Then, with a slick rush, the baby emerged into the waiting hands of the midwives.

The room exhaled collectively, the tension dissipating like mist under the sun. Sora fell back against the pillows, her chest heaving, a sheen of sweat glistening on her pale skin. The midwives worked quickly, their hands gentle but efficient as they cleaned and swaddled the newborn.

But as they turned to present the child to its mother, their movements faltered. Whispers rippled through the room, hushed and urgent. Sora, still caught in the haze of pain and exhaustion, struggled to focus on their words.

"No wings," one midwife breathed, her eyes wide with disbelief. "The child...he has no wings."

In Birkan society, wings were more than just a physical attribute - they were a mark of identity, a symbol of strength and pride. To be born without them was unheard of, a deviation so profound it bordered on the unnatural.

Sora's heart clenched, a new kind of fear gripping her. She reached out, her hands trembling as she took her son into her arms. He was small, so fragile, his skin still ruddy from the trauma of birth. And there, on his back, where downy wings should have unfurled, she saw nothing more than a pair of pale, jagged birthmarks, their shape hauntingly reminiscent of forked lightning against the newborn's delicate skin. 

A hush fell over the room, heavy with the weight of this revelation. The midwives exchanged glances, their earlier relief giving way to a growing unease. This was no ordinary birth, no ordinary child. This was something else entirely, something that defied the very foundations of their society.

Sora clutched her son to her chest, tears spilling down her cheeks. She had known, from the moment she felt the first stirrings of life within her, that this child would be different. But never, in all her imaginings, had she envisioned this.

The Baby lay nestled in his mother's arms, blissfully unaware of the commotion his arrival had caused. He felt the warmth of her skin, the gentle rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to catch her breath. Though he couldn't understand the words, he sensed the emotion in her voice as she spoke his name for the first and last time.

"Cain," Sora whispered, her voice thin and strained. "Cain D Stryfe."

She held him close, her fingers tracing the contours of his face, memorizing every detail. In that moment, the rest of the world fell away. There was only the two of them, mother and son, bound by a love that transcended the fleeting nature of life itself.

"Your name," she continued, her words punctuated by labored breaths, "is your legacy. It's your right, given to you by your father."

Tears streamed down her face, mingling with the sweat of her exertion. She knew, with a certainty that pierced her heart, that these were her final moments. Every second was precious, every word a gift she could leave her son.

"You will face challenges, my little one," she said, her voice growing fainter. "But you are strong. Stronger than you know. Your path may be different, but it is yours to walk."

Cain stirred in her arms, his tiny hand grasping at her finger. Sora smiled through her tears, marveling at the perfection of this tiny being she had brought into the world.

"I love you," she breathed, the words a sacred vow. "Always and forever."

She held him then, pouring all her love, all her hopes and dreams, into that embrace. For a fleeting, perfect moment, they were one, two hearts beating in unison.

But even as she clung to him, Sora could feel her strength fading. Her vision blurred, the edges of the world growing hazy. She fought against the encroaching darkness, desperate for one more second, one more breath.

In the end, it was Cain's cry that filled the room as Sora slipped away. A final, piercing wail that seemed to carry with it all the sorrow and promise of a life just begun.

Cain felt a sudden chill, a void where his mother's warmth had been. Her arms, which had held him so tenderly, grew slack and fell away. He squirmed, his cries growing more insistent, seeking the comfort that had so abruptly vanished.

Around him, the room erupted into chaos. The midwives, who had been watching Sora with concerned eyes, now sprang into action. They moved with urgent purpose, their voices sharp with alarm.

"Quickly, bring more towels!"

"Her bleeding won't stop. We need to..."

Their words faded into a blur of noise, meaningless to Cain's infant ears. All he knew was that something was wrong, terribly wrong. The soothing rhythm of his mother's heartbeat, which had been his constant companion these first few minutes of life, had gone silent.

He wailed, his tiny lungs expelling his distress into the room. But no matter how he cried, his mother did not respond. She lay still and silent, her skin growing cold beneath his own. The midwives worked feverishly, their hands a flurry of motion.

They pressed cloths to Sora's skin, murmured incantations, tried every remedy they knew. But it was all in vain. The life that had burned so brightly in Sora had been extinguished, leaving behind only a husk.

Finally, when it was clear that no more could be done, the midwives stepped back. Their faces were etched with sorrow, their eyes glistening with unshed tears. Slowly, reverently, they drew a sheet over Sora's still form, covering her face for the last time.

In the silence that followed, Cain's cries were the only sound. They echoed off the walls, a plaintive plea for the mother he would never know. The midwives gathered around him, their touch gentle as they tried to soothe him.

But their comfort was a poor substitute for the one he had lost. Cain was alone now, a child born into a world that had already taken from him the most precious gift of all.

As he lay there, swaddled in blankets that did little to chase away the chill in his heart, Cain had no way of knowing the path that lay ahead of him. He knew only the aching void of his mother's absence, and the instinctive knowledge that his life would never be the same.