Isolation

At the edge of a training field, a young boy stood alone. His name was Cain. He watched the other Birkan children with a mix of longing and resentment, his eyes burning with unspoken pain.

"Look at them," he muttered to himself. "They have everything I don't. Wings, friends, a place to belong."

The other children, their wings fluttering in the breeze, practiced combat techniques under the watchful eyes of their instructors. They moved with grace and precision, their laughter and shouts of encouragement filling the air.

But when they saw Cain, their laughter turned to jeers and mockery.

"Look at the wingless freak!" one boy shouted, pointing at Cain with a sneer.

"Cursed child," another spat. "He'll never be one of us."

Cain felt each word like a physical blow, but he stood his ground, his fists clenched at his sides. He had endured this torment for as long as he could remember, but it never got easier.

As the years passed, the bullying only escalated in cruelty. Cain was shoved into mud, his belongings stolen or destroyed. He often found himself bruised and battered, the target of the other children's aggression and disdain.

One particularly brutal incident stood out in his memory. Cain was walking through the village when he heard the familiar sound of mocking laughter behind him. His heart sank as he turned to face his tormentors, a group of older Birkan boys led by none other than Enel himself.

Enel, a young Birkan with a commanding presence and piercing blue eyes, stood tall and muscular, his blond hair framing his angular face. He was already known throughout Birka as a rising star, a warrior of unparalleled skill and ambition.

"Well, well, if it isn't the wingless wonder," Enel sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "Out for a little stroll, are we?"

Cain said nothing, trying to gauge his chances of escape. But the boys had already surrounded him, their wings spread wide to block any potential exit.

"You know, I've been thinking," Enel continued, cracking his knuckles. "It's not fair that you get to walk around like you belong here. Like you're one of us."

He stepped closer, his face inches from Cain's. "But you're not one of us, are you? You're a freak. A mistake. And it's time someone taught you a lesson."

Before Cain could react, the first blow struck him in the stomach, driving the air from his lungs. He doubled over, gasping, only to be met with a knee to the face from Enel. Pain exploded behind his eyes, and he tasted blood.

The other boys joined in, their fists and feet striking Cain from all sides. He tried to defend himself, but there were too many of them. They pummeled him mercilessly, their blows fueled by years of hatred and disgust.

Enel's blows were the most vicious, each one delivered with a cruel smile on his face. "Your mother died because of you," he hissed, his breath hot against Cain's ear. "She couldn't bear the shame of giving birth to a wingless abomination."

Cain felt hot tears sting his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing his pain.

The beating seemed to go on forever. Cain's world narrowed to a haze of pain and humiliation, punctuated by the jeers and taunts of his attackers. They mocked his lack of wings, his dead mother, his very existence.

Finally, when Cain was little more than a bloody, broken heap on the ground, Enel stepped forward. He placed his foot on Cain's chest, pressing down until Cain thought his ribs would crack.

"Let this be a lesson to you, freak," Enel spat. "You'll never be one of us. You'll never be anything more than a mistake."

With that, they left him there, battered and bruised, his blood staining the pristine white clouds of Birka.

Cain lay there for a long time, his body aching and his spirit shattered. But as he lay there, a dark and terrible thought began to take root in his mind. A thought of revenge, not just against Enel and his bullies, but against all of Birka.

He dragged himself to his feet, each movement sending shockwaves of pain through his battered body. But he welcomed the pain. It fueled his anger, his hatred.

As he limped back to his isolated home, Cain made a vow. A vow that would shape the course of his life and the fate of Birka itself.

"I will grow stronger," he whispered, his voice hoarse with pain and rage. "Stronger than any of them. And one day, I will kill them all, every last Birkan. I will burn their precious city to the ground and dance on its ashes."

The vow was a dark and terrible thing, born of years of suffering and humiliation. But to Cain, it was a lifeline. A purpose that would drive him through the long, hard years ahead.

As he tended to his wounds, Cain's mind raced with plans and possibilities. He would need to train, to become a warrior without equal. He would need allies, those who shared his hatred for Birka and its people.

Cain had heard of another outcast shunned by the Birkans who might make a good accomplice. But for now, Cain decided he would secretly observe the training Enel and the other Birkans were doing and try to learn it by himself. He would find a place outside the village to train by himself and get stronger.

He found a secluded spot on the outskirts of Birka and began to create a small makeshift training field. Using whatever materials he could scavenge, he fashioned crude training equipment. It wasn't much, but it was enough to start his journey toward strength and vengeance.