Recorded on every radar within the Sea of Mystery, a seismic anomaly occurred at exactly 3:32 PM on April 18th, 3041.
The source of this disturbance was later determined to be Chrone Castle, the very place whose east wing collapsed due to the intense tremors.
That day, as the disaster unfolded, Cauron Thorn stood in the castle's office, a black letter between his fingers, the sheer anguish radiating off his body decimating the surrounding terrain.
Marcus Twynam, the oldest friend of the Sea King and the man who had introduced him to the world of politics, had died.
He passed on alongside family and friends, only Thorn hadn't been invited, a fact that destroyed him from the inside out.
For the weeks that followed, he cancelled all meetings, redirected any diplomatic envoys, and even disregarded all incoming messages.
Completely isolated and lonesome, he waited for the day of the funeral, his rage and grief bubbling together as one.
On April 30th of that same year, as he carried the coffin alongside Rand, Julius, and Tiberius, that same heartache had faded to nothingness.
Lying his friend to rest had reminded him of one cold burden that he alone was destined to bear.
While he would attend each and every one of his friends' funerals, when his own time came, whether it be centuries or even millennia in the future, he would be utterly alone.
If I asked to be rid of this immortality, then would you allow me to die here and now?
He waited a moment before hearing a quiet, defeated response.
"『No…』"
And with the reply of a goddess, there was nothing else that could be done, his fate sealed and his resolve steadied.
While the contracted gods could not communicate with their contractors easily, she had yet to expend her stored mana and respond to the man's comments at any time.
Regardless of her presence from within the heavens, he stood high above yet another open grave, and he threw a bouquet into the depths; however, it was not the familiar pink flowers this time around.
Rather, it was something he had heard about from the man himself three years prior during one of Marcus's many visits to Chrone Castle.
Back then, he had spoken of a certain flower found at the bottom of shallow seas, explaining with sparkling eyes how it bloomed only once in a century and that its sheen was like no other.
Yet, he did not live to see them bloom with his own eyes, the gaping hole in the ground reflecting the failed wish he had carried all his life.
"Goodbye, old friend."
Cauron watched as the luminescent flowers lit up the pit, soon to be covered with dirt, glowing like molten iron freshly out of a furnace.
The corners of his lips twisted upward even though he wished to cry, the memory of their first meeting feeling like only yesterday.
"You're quick to understand! I like you!"
Closing his eyes tight, he allowed his senses to shut off the reality, his thoughts slipping away into a dimension far separated from his own.
The goddess consoled him as his grief threatened to consume him whole, a deep corruption blooming within his chest.
For the smartest man in the world, he never quite figured out why he hadn't been invited to visit Marcus in his final moments.
Nevertheless, the Twynams, who were there, remembered his farewell message well, the last words of their husband, father, grandfather, and even great-grandfather.
As his spirit began to cross towards the Great Beyond, he smiled, some of his younger luster returning in one short yet brilliant flash.
"Don't you let Cauron be alone now. He's lost… everything…"
He had paused, a deep shudder going throughout his body.
"I-I… I would've invited him here; however, I do not believe that would be right for him."
As his breath grew short, the newly engineered hospital machinery, pioneered by the very man he spoke about, began to beep rapidly.
Looking towards Tiberius slowly, his lips curled down, a grim expression immediately showing on his face.
"You… You won't…"
His heart rate spiked, his mana core cracking like an old clay pot that had weathered one too many seasons, the years of wear finally catching up to it.
Invisible chains constricted his mouth, forcing him back in the bed, his eyes shutting slowly as he left the Dimension of Waves, the Era of Kings passing its first generation.
To those who had been watching, it seemed like he had simply used the rest of his strength to speak, yet Tiberius felt something unusual.
Deep in his chest, a nervousness formed, and an image of flames flickered across his vision, making him flinch, yet vanishing so quickly it might as well have been a mirage caused by exhaustion.
All that was left was the scene of his grandfather trembling in the final moments of his life.
The events of that day would never be disclosed to Cauron Thorn, who was denied the opportunity to stand by his friend's side until the end, the feeling of loss so profound that even his enthusiasm for the world itself was dulled ever so slightly for all the days to come.
Yet, soon he would have other things to worry about—his grand-nephew's children were born three years later, two healthy twin boys with an unusual fate.
…
"Augustus and Claud Twynam."
The man spoke over muffled sobs, the two newborns clutched between his arms as he stared at the remains of his wife that amounted to no more than a handful of dust on blackened floorboards.
Her passing was far too sudden and too fast, her body collapsing while bleeding all over before flaring up in an explosion of light.
Cauron stood at the door, too late to do anything and far too numb to death to even shed a tear any longer.
Bending down slowly, he touched the ashes with his index finger, analyzing them carefully with his glasses.
Mana core overload… The same as Floyd.
He grit his teeth, gazing over at the two twin sons who brandished marks over their right pectorals.
Convincing Tiberius to let them go, allowing him to check their conditions, he left the man and the remains of his wife alone.
A fate worse than death, I suppose.
Entering an office and examining the newborns carefully, he diagnosed them as healthy, albeit with marks that he could only assume to be based on spirits he once read about in the Library of Nautilus.
Depicted in Volume 23: Spirits of the Otherside, the direct telling by a philosopher of a bygone age, thousands of spirits were written alongside their powers and mythos.
Two of those, which he remembered ever so clearly, matched what he saw on the boy's chests perfectly.
The first of which was the Emblem of Nyx, a power that could allow its wielder to create a parasitic bloom that, when attached to a host, would absorb their strength and transmit it back to the owner of the emblem.
Even only minutes after birth, he could already tell that the infant was attempting to use the power to suck out the orange-haired man's life.
Allowing a spark of pitch-black goo to hit him, he was instantly swayed with the urge to sob uncontrollably, the lack of control over his own body shocking him to his core.
It can alter my mind as well to make me less willing to resist… How interesting…
Placing Augustus aside and looking at Claud more closely, the Emblem of Aether came into perfect view.
By simply reaching out with one's hand, the boy would be able to form any object he could comprehend and envision.
If he thought of a sword, a blade would appear out of manacules.
If he wished for a lantern, the metallic shell of one would appear, though, without also envisioning a flame within, there wouldn't be light.
At this stage, with an unstable mana core and only minutes from birth, he couldn't create anything but specks of dust that floated throughout the air.
Quite the impressive children…
Taking a step forward and scooping them back up and into his arms, he made his way into the beautiful halls of the Twynam Estate.
As he walked, the long slanted windows allowed the glow of the sun to shine upon the children for the first time.
Cauron wished to bring them to a place special to him until their father recovered enough to do it himself, and therefore, the orange-haired man stopped in front of a large double-doored chamber.
Pushing them open, the two infants opened their eyes ever-so-slightly, gazing upon the room they were now in.
Books stretched out far, lining the sides of the Twynam Library—a vast collection of anything and everything from science to fairytales, perfect for early education.
Of course, without the engraving of the Sea of Mystery, it would be impossible for them to retain any memories from this day.
However, the mark of the Sea of Wishes wasn't useless by any means, a power with a potential so strong that it could come close to the gods'.
There was a reason that the gods forged their religions and cults within the Holy Capital before anywhere else.
If one was born within the confines of the Sea of Wishes and bore the Mark of Wishes, any followers they gathered would strengthen both their minds and bodies without limit.
Therefore, if one garnered enough belief, they could ascend to near godhood with the right conditions, the only lacking element being the Divine Authority that made a god truly a god.
However, the practical bounds of the mark were impossible to deny—to garner such faith, one would have to surpass the fame of even a Sea King, a task all but impossible for anyone except the ruler of the sea himself.
Bearing the Mark of the Sun would grant one that potential, the latent ability to achieve near-godhood if their fame could spread to the entire world.
Perhaps they could marry into the Kauri's family, and their descendants would gain the power of the Ghostship… I wonder how long until I can see that day…
Cauron laughed, placing them down onto the table where he quickly found some fabric and a needle.
An hour passed, then another, and another until the night sky covered the world, and a proud Sea King held freshly made baby clothes.
He had yet to hear from Tiberius or the other Twynams, making him slightly concerned; however, anytime he spent with the children was one of joy for the man.
Dressing them quietly, he sat and held them gently in his arms, his eyes gazing down at their sleeping forms.
I wonder if they will go down the path of the scholar or end up as a warrior like their father.
He pursed his lips, noticing Augustus stirring in his sleep.
"Hmm?"
Watching the baby open his eyes and gaze upon his great-great uncle, Cauron Thorn, suddenly felt a cold shiver run down his spine.
There was no explanation, simply an intense feeling of heat that washed over him like flames, his eyes watering slightly.
Furrowing his brow, he moved his right index finger towards his eye, feeling droplets of water within it.
"Am I… crying?"
The man wouldn't know it for decades, but one day, he would understand the emotions he felt that night.
And he would regret ever setting foot in that mansion one last time.