How to Make a Sinner Sleep - Chapter 86: Chapter 86

Kaden knew death keenly; he had experienced it firsthand. He did not need to merely imagine the slipping of life—he needed only to remember it.
Perhaps he began dying long before his seven years of exile. Perhaps, for most of his twenty-nine years of living, he had hardly lived once. The first few years of his life were entirely forgotten. He could not envision who had birthed him, his parents, a family. A home.
He only knew that one day, in his earliest memory, he had woken in the slums, knowing nothing, being nothing. He had woken and searched for food—and failed.
The child had starved for days, weeks on vegetable peels, gnawing on chewed bones tossed into the trash among the starving rats. Later, as all humans did, he adapted and learned how to steal, how to fight, how to smile prettily and occasionally gain pity.
The last method was a last resort, and he could not do it well. Having never learned to socialize, Kaden had been awkward, clumsy—but he was blessed with a decent appearance.
It wasn't quite a blessing, with the lecherous looks. But the child learned to read intention, or at least, the negative sort. And when he learned intention, he learned how to run.
Then, he was taken off the streets by a young noble boy whose hair shone like spun gold in the sunlight, even among the grime of the slums. That boy had a gentle hand, a kind touch that Kaden never knew.
The gentleness didn't last. Kaden was abandoned.
For not being enough, for lacking, for his existence that was a sin itself? That he wasn't intelligent, wasn't wise, couldn't fight or hold a sword? Because he hadn't been blessed by a plethora of talent or ability, and that to become somebody he had to kill himself?
Reed, in the beginning, simply ignored him. The abuse was carried out by the staff, those of lower backgrounds that delighted in seeing something even lower than them.
The power that they held over the scrawny boy without a lick of muscle on his bones.
At some point, the abuse stopped abruptly and Reed had come back into the picture, awakened early with a strange power. Kaden, that day, became bound to Reed by a curse. Occasionally, during his punishments in the Room, some of the staff ventured down to belittle him, abuse him.
To satisfy their unresolved frustrations at their own inadequacy.
What better helped one cope with their problems than to take it out on another? It was a coward's way; it was a human way.
His life, in entirety, was a poor, pathetic tale that ended in tragedy.
In the seven years of exile, Kaden had plenty of time to think about it. The first three, he begged to leave, to have the company of a voice even if it came in the form of insults. He screamed to the skies, lost in madness, passing each day through forceful sleep.
He wasn't used to being alone; and though company did not come in kindness, it had been there. He was trained to understand how much he was given and how blessed he was.
In the beginning, it had been Reed's curse that commanded death at Kaden's hand.
Later, it had been Kaden's own will. His obedience.
The next three, he began to hallucinate. He saw images and shadows among the towering trunks, creating shapes from the leaves. He saw eyes, bleeding and staring. He saw hands, ghastly long nails, twisted and clawing fingers drawing near.
He came to the conclusion that he was going mad. To distract himself, he was forced to think. To escape into his mind rather than face the lies of his vision.
He thought of several things. One of them, strange as it was, though stranger was he, were the dragon's bottomless dark eyes that fixated on him. And yet, they did not appear cruel or violent, they did not appear to intend punishment.
There was only a distant frustration, a haunting darkness. As if the Kaden reflected in those black pupils was an entity that could never be understood.
Kaden also thought of where he'd gone wrong, but that was a foolish thought.
A murderer, a sinner. This was a befitting ending of a villain. He indulged in that thought. That at least, this was the blessing of an ending suited for his role in the story.
The greatest villain of the kingdom and he wondered how insignificant his life had been.
Kaden's limbs no longer worked as well in the seventh year, his entire body listless and tired. He thought it was the years of exhaustion finally catching up to him along with the hallucinations of creatures within the forest.
Certainly, he could move if he wanted to—he didn't.
Distantly, he remembered holding onto something cold, something that reminded him of his living. Then, there was a keen awareness of himself, his position among the soft breeze, far too gentle for the undeserving him.
A detached thought floated into his head. "Oh," he said aloud, but his voice was hoarse, a bare whisper. "So this is the end."
Then, that voice entered his head. Strongly resisting insanity, or indulging in his belief that he was stronger than his delusions, he ignored it at first. But it prompted him to think of his life once again, the entire cycle replaying in his head.
He only realized at his death,
"I regret it."
He woke up again, not in the empty forest with only his hallucinations to accompany him, but in a body that was both familiar, and unfamiliar. It was as if his memories and mind were detached, two separate patterns forcibly sewn together.
The entire life felt like a distant daydream where existence was floating. He felt numb to the core, barely present. He cried the first time he woke, curling into harsh blankets as noise filled his ears.
It was strange. He remembered living, as an orphan in this life too, of learning the language from an old man that sold candy on the streets and later passed. He remembered finding his own life, working several jobs in that strange modern society.
But it never felt real, as if his life there was temporary. A placeholder—for what, he didn't know.
After recalling his strange but familiar fantasy life, nothing changed. What could? Kaden simply continued living, finding a career in something he thought could give a little meaning to his insignificance.
Sometimes, he thought about that fantasy life he remembered, a life that felt like a dream, yet more real than his present life in modern society.
Everything became clearer after time passed, exposed to new values and belief in his current society. He'd mellowed, gaining a vague understanding of himself. That back then, his ending was a consequence of life, not just himself.
That it wasn't only him to be blamed for his misery—though he knew that he couldn't simply throw all the blame onto others, either.
But a past life—if it could be called such—was in the past.
Until he saw that mirage, a familiar, gloomy figure of a pink-haired man with an empty gaze. He'd thought, before, that maybe one of his regrets was that he couldn't do anything for himself.
That his entire life had been lived for the empty loving of another.
Therefore, he couldn't resist. He reached out, lunged for the mirage that tipped over the railing. That second, unlike the rest of his fleeting days, was a moment Kaden had felt vividly.
The drop of dread in his stomach that made him nauseous; the terror of a violent death; and deep, unyielding regret.
But what did he regret?
His tragic first life, or his empty second?
Kaden's eyes snapped open to the brightening ceiling of his room, feeling his hand securely held in another's. His chest rose and fell, a glaze over his vision. In the midst of his thoughts, a shuffle of blankets beside him interrupted him.
He turned his head slowly, letting out a breath. The light from their window scattered over Noah's closed eyelids, and the dragon's brows had furrowed slightly in annoyance.
Kaden turned his body entirely, squeezing the slender inked hand lightly, pressing the prominent knuckles to his lips. He continued to breathe slowly, waking from a terror-stricken nightmare that he didn't remember.
Noah woke up to the butterfly kiss against his knuckles, black-white hair scattered around his face. His voice was tired, hoarse from waking. "...good morning, Chauvet."
"I've been thinking,"
"Stop." muttered Noah tiredly. "Stop thinking. It's too early to think."
Kaden felt a little amused, eyes curving. "Early? Who was the one that used to wake even earlier than I, dearest Bellamy?"
Noah stared shamelessly and closed his eyes again. "That was before I could sleep well."
"Bellamy. If... if there was a person that was irredeemable, say you had to set a punishment on them. I read this book, lately. There was a villain, a terrible person. The hero didn't know the villain well, but had to punish him. What sort of punishment would you give?"
Noah frowned, slightly confused. "It's too vague. What crimes did the villain commit, and what power does the hero have to inflict punishment?"
"Crimes, well like, the normal ones."
"Specify?"
"For the most part, murder. I guess some theft. Mainly murder, though, for political and personal reasons. The altercation of information, the spreading of misinformation."
"Normal crimes." deadpanned Noah with some disbelief. "It's still vague. What punishment did the hero end up giving?"
"Exile. Permanent exile to a place no living creature could see them again."
"The relationship between the hero and the villain. What was it?"
Kaden considered the question solemnly, considering Noah was trying his best to answer the random prompt early in the morning. "They were... acquaintances. The villain was ordered to interact with the hero, and often annoyed him."
"Did the hero despise the villain?"
"I would assume so."
Noah propped his head up on one hand, leaning against his pillow, still half-asleep. "Why?"
"Isn't it natural to?"
The dragon felt a little more awake, yawning. Kaden yawned in succession after. "I'll reword that, since you're a fool. Did the hero ever, while the villain was attempting to interact, ignore or chase away the villain?"
Kaden froze. "No. No... he didn't. But he wasn't cruel. He wouldn't chase away a person merely because he hated them—"
"Then this hero is a fool as well. Stop reading novels with foolish protagonists." Noah fell back onto his pillow and tugged up the blanket, lazily draping an arm over Kaden's body.
"Fine. Fine, maybe he didn't hate the villain. But they weren't friends."
Noah smiled against the pillow, cracking his eyes open to peer at Kaden again. "I see. Exile..." He propped himself up once more, and Kaden deprived him of his pillow rights in case he attempted to sleep again. "I wouldn't exile somebody if it's the relationship I'm thinking of."
"You... wouldn't?"
"For somebody I didn't dislike, that I tolerated despite their notorious reputation, there would've been a reason why I didn't chase them away. I wouldn't exile a person like that."
"But what if you did? The hero did."
"I thought the question was what I would do?"
"The question has changed, darling dragon."
Noah huffed and thought about it for a second longer. He just couldn't understand the turbulence in Kaden's serious gaze.
"If I exiled them, I doubt it would be permanent. There are too many things to consider. But it might've been, as you said, a punishment disguised as something permanent. Or perhaps, if I believed their environment to be the catalyst for their crimes, my intention would be to remove them from the source of chaos. But it would be temporary in most scenarios I consider."
Kaden let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, fingers pressed heavily against the mattress. The depths of Noah's dark eyes told no lies—they would not, could not in his presence.
"A temporary exile," he whispered.
Noah nodded quietly, sinking into the possibilities of Kaden's tale. "I cannot understand the depths of this hero's mind. However, if I did not truly dislike a person who always remained near me, by choice or an outside command, I wouldn't punish them like that."
Then, curiously, he wondered, "What kind of person was this villain?"
Of course, Noah would be curious about the plights and thoughts of a person who deserved no kindness. An unsurprising, relieving thing.
An author, curious in the minds of characters that weren't his—for he could not understand what he didn't create.
That didn't prevent him from wanting to learn.
Kaden's breath held a tremble, lost under the warmth of being seen.
"He was," began Kaden in a daze, wondering who he had been. "Lonely. He desperately wanted to be acknowledged. He only wanted somebody to tell him that... that he had the right to be alive."
"Is that why he committed the terrors that he did? To be accepted by the one who issued orders to him?"
"...Yes."
Kaden swallowed. He felt as if he were drawing an image of a pitiful fool—that he was not, even if his loneliness were true.
"Understand Bellamy," he spoke, a beat too hurried. "He was irredeemable. Selfish. He killed many people, by command and his own will. He was annoying, ridiculous—" His voice sped up, irritated. "He was a loner that hardly made an attempt at being known. To complain, that would be a fool's act—"
" I really couldn't have disliked him." mused Noah, interrupting the frantic speech. "A fool like that—I couldn't have despised."
Kaden felt his entire body become soft, the rigid and taut lines smoothened by the gentle words. The certainty in them.
"I wouldn't have exiled him permanently. I would've intended to find him once the chaos was eased—when he could truly live unbound by sin. I would want to learn of the man unshackled by his uncertainty."
"Okay," said Kaden softly, a barely audible whisper. "Okay, I see. So that's how it was. The mindset of the hero I didn't understand."
"Does that answer satisfy you, Chauvet?"
Kaden's eyes closed, a shaking flutter of eyelashes as he lowered himself, suddenly drawing closer to the dragon. Noah was surprised, but raised an arm to allow the bundle to pull against him.
"I've never been more satisfied." Kaden muttered against the rhythmic sound of a beating heart, a reminder of life, his reminder of life.