C A S C A

Chapter 4

My breath leaves me in a quick whoosh. Did I hear him correctly? "Y-you killed your own father?" A shadow falls over his prominent features and that's enough of an answer for me. Images of my own father flashes before my eyes and my heart aches with a pain that I've long abandoned. "You're scum!" I spit at him, my intense emotions making me rash. "Someone who kills his own kin shouldn't be alive and free as you are. You should be tortured until death. You're inhuman!" He still says nothing and with the little energy that I've regained, I pick up my fallen sword and jab it at his side. Like usual, I expect him to easily block it but alarmingly, the sword slides a couple inches past his armor.

"Are you done?" He mutters before pulling my sword out of him with his bare hands.

"W-Why'd you do that? You could've easily blocked that..." Fresh blood coats the tip of my sword. I drop my sword again in defeat. "Is that why you want the knife? Because you're proud of your kill-"

"Enough!" His voice booms, shocking me silent. "What do you know? You're father was nothing like mine!"

I pause, quickly my surprise is replaced with confusion. "How do you know what my father was like?"

He's silent for a hesitant moment before his gaze meets mine. "We were neighbors."

And suddenly it hits me. "Gambino's son? You're Gambino's fostered kid..." I see it now, the similar features he shares with the isolated boy who lived next door. His jet black hair, frowning lips, and eyebrows that are always furrowed to make him look permanently angry. The reason I hadn't recognized him earlier is because of all his battle wounds.

I suddenly remember moments from 13 years ago of Gambino and his son. The two of them were always together, even after Gambino lost his limb, the boy never left his side. I could tell that, if anything, that boy had loved his foster father wholeheartedly. So then why...

"I hadn't intended it," he suddenly says. "I was asleep one night when he came into my room with the intent to kill me. He was on crutches so he wasn't balanced... He hated me. Ever since he took me in his life just started falling apart... Dammit!" In a quick and fluid motion, he pulls out his sword and swings it in a tree, almost cutting it straight through. "I didn't mean to kill him! He fell on my knife! I didn't mean-"

I don't know what being possessed my body, but I rush forward and grab his hands in mine. He stops swinging his sword, and I see the overwhelming hurt flooding his face. So he is human afterall.

"That was 13 years ago," I tell him. "It's over." He clicks his tongue and sighs, the anger draining out of him. I drop my hands and lean on my hip, "so I guess that means I owe you my life."

"What?" He raises an eyebrow.

"This knife was given to me by a boy on a horse to protect myself against..." I choke on the words as the memories flood back in. I push them back forcefully. Now is not the time to be walking down memory lane, "you saved me that night. If it's the knife you want, then keep it."

"Whatever," he mutters, suddenly turning cold. "I wasn't trying to help you." Irritation flares inside of me but then I remember how the girl from the jewelry stand said that the black swordsman helped her as well.

I snort a laugh and shake my head, so he's this kind of man? "Really now? How about when you helped that little merchant girl who was being bullied?"

He stiffens and crosses his arms over his chest, "I don't recall any such girl."

Giddiness floods my body, making me want to tease him more to give him a taste of his own medicine. I laugh, taking a long stride towards him and point a finger at his broad chest accusingly. "Admit it, you're a softie."