When Rayne had been born in Falcon Scott, he suffered his first tragedy; that of existence.
When he turned six he suffered his second tragedy; his parents were not long for this world.
It would not be long before Rayne would suffer a third tragedy.
One would think the port city of Falcon Scott would be a thriving center of trade, affording rare opportunities to the lower class citizens who yearned for a chance at proper life — after all, many died in the field of work transporting goods by sea and needed replacements — yet it was the opposite.
Many could not, or would not dare work such dangerous jobs for the meager pay, and often resorted to unethical and... other less than elegant means of survival.
Verre being the older brother of Rayne, was one such person. Understanding just what was on the line for them, Verre would often work simple factory jobs by day that yielded pay in food, and work far from... ethical jobs by night. More often than not, Verre would return home bloodied as the price paid for the small amount of money he would earn.
It bothered Rayne that he could not do anything more to ease the burden.
"Rayne I'll be back in a few hours, alright? You just... stay awake."
Drawn out of the tired haze he had been engrossed with, Rayne looked over the edge of his bunkbed, locking his sluggish gaze on Verre's bent over figure. Verre was currently putting his boots on, getting ready to leave their small room of an apartment. His features were identical to Rayne's own, often times they would be mistaken for as twins.
Well, one physical feature that differed between them was the long scar running up Verre's pale white face. The scar snaked its way from his jawline up to his coal black hair. It was... a painful reminder to Rayne of the price paid in their past.
Regardless of this they were not twins, as Verre was a good two years older than Rayne.
"Don't take too long alright..?"
With a dramatic yawn, Rayne rolled onto his back and resumed his vicious unending fight against his newfound ailment. It had been a few days already since he had contracted the Spell, and it would most likely be a few more days before he succumbed to it.
But there was no telling how soon he would lose the fight, it could be a matter of hours for all he knew. All it took was one singular moment of distraction from the wearying battle and he would slip and tumble over the edge.
Verre knew it.
Rayne knew it as well.
Due to that very reason, Verre had been working himself like a dog to cover Rayne's portion of the workload as well as trying to prepare him for the inevitable path ahead. Despite the minor difference in age, Verre acted more like a father figure to Rayne at times than he would like to admit.
It had been that way between the two ever since their parents had been killed.
"Sure, sure. I'll bring you another can of soup too." Verre answered belatedly in his usual chastising tone.
Ah how that irksome tone annoyed Rayne.
He was always nagging at him for one reason or another.
Hearing the door close shut softly, Rayne shifted his attention to the singular window by their bunks in their poorly lit room. A gentle snowfall was clouding the view so he could not see the familiar distant cityscape, yet it was oddly comforting to Rayne despite how common snow was here in Antarctica.
'Damn Spell and this being tired shit...'
Finally closing his heavy eyelids, all Rayne could do was wallow in his guilt. He loathed that he relied on his brother for so much. By no means had he ever let Verre shoulder all of the responsibility for them, or even attempt to. Yet here he was, letting his brother risk his life excessively because of the damnable Spell infection.
Another wretched emotion ate away at his consciousness too. One that he did not admittedly often feel.
Unadulterated fear.
The prospect of dying in his First Nightmare, leaving his brother all alone scared him far more than any fight he had been in. Just the mere thought of leaving Verre tightened Rayne's chest. Hell, even the gangs around the area seemed like puppies in comparison.
Whatever puppies were, anyways. Rayne had heard they were cute though.
Deciding he could not stomach the restlessness anymore, Rayne swung his legs slowly over the bedframe and hopped down to the cold concrete floor with a soft thud. Below their bunkbed a small stack of old wrinkled papers rested in a pile neatly. These papers were worth almost two months of work — essentially their life savings — and were purchased at Verre's insistence.
The paper material itself cost majority of what they spent, but what was written was far more important to him at the moment. Verre had told — practically commanded — Rayne he needed all the unfiltered knowledge he could get about the Nightmare Spell, and gathered as much relevant information as possible for Rayne.
Though, this information was procured from rather untrustworthy greedy hags who ran a small pawnshop of sorts. Rayne was not fond of the store in the first place, and paying those asshole owners did not sit well with him either. But the information was legit, despite the fact that the slums contained a vast amount of propaganda revolving around the Awakened.
These papers were nearly as old as the Spell's existence on Earth itself.
Regardless of his discontent, with a long winded sigh Rayne reached under and grabbed the stack, sitting down. Scanning his eyes through the old papers Rayne read. So far, he had learned that the First Nightmare was one akin to a trial, not to kill the challenger but to test them in their intellectual capacity and adaptability to any situation.
He had also learned that so called "Aspects" would be rewarded within this trial which served as the cornerstone for the Awakened's power and authority.
Though for everyone this much was common household knowledge, Rayne had never bothered to follow along with the news about the Awakened. Afterall he had much more pressing things to deal with, such as who to mug or run a scam on!
***
Looking out of the window for what must have been the thousandth time, Rayne watched the distant crimson sun set over the jagged horizon line of cityscape. The snowstorm had died out a few hours ago, allowing a little light to bleed into the cramped apartment.
What mattered more was that it had been far too long since his brother had left. Deep down in his gut Rayne knew something was off, but he had been choosing to trust in Verre's ability to return on his own.
However his trust in Verre returning had... begun to wane, instead replaced by an unsettling unease. After a moment of contemplating, Rayne slipped out of his bunk once more. As he landed on the floor with a light thud, Rayne fought off the growing urge to curl up in a ball and sleep.
Certainly the Spell would not make anything easy for him, now would it?
With a small stinging slap to the face to wake himself up, he headed to the bathroom.
Softly splashing cold water on his face, he observed himself in the mirror for a moment. Perhaps if he was better fed, better raised, he would have been considered somewhat handsome. His cheekbones were somewhat visible through his soft pale skin, his tired stormy grey eyes no longer filling their depth with the light of life, instead dulled and numb. Even his once lush short coal painted hair had become devoid of health, now dried and ragged.
Frowning, Rayne shook his head dismissively and slipped into his jacket. There would be plenty of time for such idle thoughts after Verre was back home with him. Rayne practically jumped into his boots and headed out of their apartment with an unusual temperament.
He would be damned if he did not search for Verre.
Or if he was... hurt.
Again.
Rayne did not want to think such dark thoughts, but found it was very hard to avoid them.
The freezing cold breeze greeted him harshly as he felt the wind whip against his cheeks, his warm breath now visible in the night air. Looking around briefly, Rayne started his search through the vast slums.
Honestly he had no clue where to even start.
Where could he have run off to anyways? He hadn't said anything in the first place.
'Maybe he went to the Dock Wardens..?'
It would not have been unusual for Verre to do such a thing, after all the Dock Wardens were a large scaled gang that employed him regularly to help smuggle contraband through the slums as a gig.
Turning the corner of the cramped apartment filled streets, Rayne found himself at a usual alleyway hangout for them. Sitting by a small fire were the two usual lowlife grunts that were always all bark and no bite — Rayne had found this out first hand a few months ago.
"Hey you two dunces, has Verre been through here?"
Rayne stopped a few feet away from the two ragged men and crossed his arms.
One of the two men looked up from the fire and eyed Rayne suspiciously.
"What's it to you brat?"
Rayne resisted the urge to slug him in the jaw, his eye however betrayed his patience twitching involuntarily.
Shifting his foot slightly, Rayne inched forward towards the fire as an obvious bait.
"I won't ask again, Dell."
The slimmer of the two men shifted on the floor uncomfortably while intensely staring at the dancing flames, as if remembering something unpleasant.
Dell shot a harsh glare at him, before looking back up at Rayne with a gruff expression.
"Fine fine, no need to get all worked up kid. No, we haven't seen him."
Frowning for a moment, he held their gaze with a cold glare. But just as Rayne turned to leave the ragged men back to their boredom, Dell spoke out again.
"Hey kid. Be careful out there. Rumor has it on the streets that some bigshot Awakened was spotted around, don't get wrapped up with that kind of crowd."
Glancing back at the two disdainfully, Rayne suppressed the urge to laugh.
'What are these knuckleheads playing at now... should I just beat them again?'
"Oh? And what, they're here to play god amongst the poor? Yeah right."
Dell scowled, his displeasure written all over his face. His witless friend — Rayne could not remember his name for the life of him — seemed to still be wary of Rayne, perhaps reminiscing the last time they had messed with him.
"Look brat whether you believe me or not doesn't mean shit to me. But as one piss born to another, I'm warning you. Now fuck off."
'I really should beat them.'
Letting out a faint chuckle, Rayne cooled his emotions and ignored the two. He had more important things to deal with than their squabbles. Besides, he could not risk anything with the Spell.
One distraction was one too many.
Leaving the alleyway Rayne felt the snow crunch underfoot as he walked back onto the empty streets. Despite the passing storm, it was still too quiet on these usually busy streets. Perhaps there was some truth to Dell's words after all.
'Maybe he's at the market?' Pondering silently, he continued to search through the common locations Verre frequented.
But to no avail, Rayne searched around finding nothing.
Perhaps it was due to the impending storm. Even though they had just went through one, another was already on its way. While snow storms were far from uncommon, this one was forecasted to be an especially heavy one.
It would not be long before it thundered through Falcon Scott.
Was Verre was simply being held up because of that?
"Just where the hell are you Verre?" Rayne mumbled under his breath, his face scrunched in concentration.
"It's cold out here."
Finally after searching for the better part of an hour around the depressed and dark ghettos of Falcon Scott, he arrived at an old alleyway near a factory Verre would often work at. It was here that Rayne found what he had been desperately searching for.
Rayne had always considered his luck to be rotten — cursed even —, and today had proven to be no exception.
"Verre..?"
Laying buried under the mounds of snow on the dirtied floor was Verre's sprawled figure, a deep crimson red painting the surrounding snow. And in the center of Verre's chest rested a singular steel blade, towering proudly as if it was an monument to its cruel actions.
Rayne's froze in shock, his thoughts jumbled as his brain tried to process the scene in front of him. Seeing the pooled blood dye the snow around Verre a deep crimson red, Rayne wrestled his senses out of shock and rushed to his side.
What cruel joke was this?
"Verre! Wake up! What happened!?" Rayne gushed out, his hands finding their way under Verre's limp head, only to pull away slick with blood.
A rare tear began to well in the corner of Rayne's tired grey eyes, and stubbornly he wiped them away with his sleeves. A million thoughts began to rage through his mind, and unable to keep up with them all he shut them out.
His chest tightened and his throat dried as he assessed Verre.
"How do I... first aid? I-I was never taught to this extent..."
Rayne muttered quietly to himself as his hands fumbled around Verre's lifeless body, halfheartedly checking for other wounds.
Pressing his ear to Verre's neck, he heard a faint thump pass by every few seconds. There was still time! Studying the major chest wound again, it seemed that the sword impaling him had acted as a clot of sorts, keeping most of the blood within him instead of flowing freely.
With one carefully executed move, Rayne picked up Verre's crumpled body and began to sprint out of the abandoned alleyway.
The damn steel sword was still impaled in him too, there was far too much risk to remove it now without proper medical equipment.
"Help! Anyone, please!"
Rayne cried out desperately in the desolate streets, his throat raw and calloused. Of course no one answered. Truthfully, he had not expected anyone to in the first place.
That was simply how it was here in this forsaken impoverished land. Regardless, he still hopelessly called out. His voice wrought with emotions as he searched wildly for anything that could help, anyone even.
Yet no doors creaked opened nearby, no windows shifted their curtains as he ran by them.
Worse than that, the nearest hospital was well over two miles away, it would be too late by the time he reached it.
That's if they even accepted them inside. After all they had their own clients who actually paid for their services to take care of.
Who would care about some slum rats that could barely afford synthetic food?
"Fuck! Fuck it all!" Rayne snarled coldly, his eyes lit with a deep rage that seemed to claw its way out from the very depths his soul.
His little outburst had helped relieve a little stress as he sprinted, but did not alleviate the growing fear strangling his heart. That very fear began to cloud his thoughts as he ran aimlessly.
What had happened? Why was a sword of all things burrowed in Verre's chest?
No one had the wealth here to afford such a glamorous blade in the first place.
Thoughts began to whir inside his mind, and Rayne started to really think. Had it been the Awakened that Dell had warned him of?
Even so, why Verre?
Did they not fear the repercussions of murder?
'Of course they don't, we're like insects to them.'
Rayne scoffed, shaking his head at his own naivety.
The street lights half heartedly flickered alive as the night set in fully, all traces of light from the setting sun vanished now, and yet the white glow of the lights seemed oddly... blurry?
Suddenly Rayne stumbled to the ground, as if his legs had been paralyzed. Blinking slowly, he spotted a few distant figures running toward him.
'Damn I can't think straight... I-I can't keep my eyes open...'
Through all of his fatigue, he realized he was losing consciousness.
Glancing from the distant strangers over to Verre, he spotted him crumpled next to him, his chest still rising and falling slowly. Beneath that slow rising chest of his a pool of bright red blood began to form, the image ingraining itself deep inside Rayne's head.
Then his eyelids with an insurmountable weight pulling down, closed.
"Verre..." Rayne croaked out weakly before falling into a deep sleep.
He had lost the battle with his fatigue. Finally defeated by the Spell.
[Aspirant! Welcome to the Nightmare Spell. Prepare for your First Trial…]