It was now 18 years ago since he was born into this world, not just as an infant but as an infant with the strength of a well-trained man, and the instincts of a Jedi Knight. And this infant from the very beginning dismissed his given name at the orphanage, and instead, he named himself Cain. And yes just Cain, not like his childhood hero Ciaphas Cain, but just Cain. And now as the year 1800 has come, the snows have begun to melt Cain has made it to the new world.
And now as he looked over the wilderness of the new world his breath misted in the chill morning air, creating small clouds that lingered briefly before dispersing into the silence of the winter woods. Like a conquering king, he stood tall and broad-shouldered at the crest of the ridge.
Truly he, Cain, just Cain cut quite an imposing figure against the backdrop of the pale morning sky, or thats what he liked to think. His deep blue eyes were calm yet ever-watchful, and beautiful damn he liked looking at himself in the mirror. But now he merely studied the untouched landscape below with careful scrutiny. Sure he was kind of a geek in his past life, but he was also a cop and a soldier which did get him killed, well the point is that now his eyes were piercing and his gaze hardened by memories and tempered by quiet resolve thanks to his past. A shadow of dark stubble traced his square jaw, hinting at days spent traveling without rest, yet his features remained sharp, defined by strength and quiet intensity.
Also, his clothing now spoke clearly of his practicality, rugged durability, and the nature of the year 1800 frontier fashion rather than refinement. He had a heavy woolen greatcoat, that was dark gray and weather-beaten, now hanging loosely around his powerful frame, providing ample protection against the harsh bite of any winter winds. And beneath it, he had a simple cotton shirt of faded blue resting comfortably, although it was well-worn after having already been months on the frontier trails. Plus he had sturdy buckskin trousers, patched in places but meticulously maintained, that were tucked into robust leather boots that had seen many miles, now thick-soled and scuffed from long treks through dense woods and over rocky slopes.
Then over his shoulder, he carried a well-crafted Kentucky rifle, its polished wooden stock was so smooth under his gloved hand. The weapon was a treasured companion, kept impeccably clean and always ready. It was both a tool for survival and a comfort borne from familiarity, though it was still no machine gun. Well thankfully he had other options as well, namely at his hip, partially concealed beneath the folds of his greatcoat, rested a finely forged hunting knife, its handle wrapped tightly in worn leather strips, it was a fine thing taken from a drunken man one late evening. And of course, like any real traveler in such a time as he was in, he had a sturdy canvas pack sat securely across his back, containing essential supplies carefully chosen for their practicality. Namely a flint and steel for fire, a small pouch of dried meat, salted and preserved, basic tools for repairs, and a tightly wrapped bundle of spare clothing, but no womens underwear. Beside these practical items lay something more personal, a small, carefully folded map he had sketched himself, marked with notes and trails, and a worn copy of an old leather-bound book, a faint echo of comfort from a past life he much didnt want to remember.
But still, he couldnt help but think back on his past as he looked at this landscape before him now, and compared it to his past. Like damn, he just couldnt help but pause at the sight of it all, his eyes were tracing over the untouched landscape below again and again like it was a dream. It all was just so pristine, almost unsettlingly so. It held a silent dignity that only wilderness untouched by human hands could possess.
And as he stood there, memories from another life washed quietly over him some more. He remembered standing in this same region, though centuries in the future when it was no longer wilderness but the bustling corridor connecting Texas and Oklahoma. Back then, there had been no silence like this, only the constant hum of cars racing along paved highways, trucks roaring past with cargo bound for distant cities, fucking immigrants, and of course planes crisscrossing the skies, leaving those white toxic contrails etched across endless blue.
He could almost see it now, ghosts of concrete roads cutting through these very hills, sprawling gas stations clustered with tired Hillbillies, and other travelers sipping Starbucks from disposable cups, blinking neon signs for strip clubs, advertising for motels and cheap fast food. It had been convenient, and sexy, but so empty somehow. Nature had retreated too much, pressed back relentlessly until it existed only in carefully managed parks and forgotten strips of land, mere echoes of the primal earth beneath. He remembered feeling a bit trapped by it all, by the constant noise, the ceaseless rush, the Hookers, the drugs, crime and the artificial glow of streetlamps blotting out the stars, it was so not like in the Lord of the Rings.
Yet here it was kind of like in those movies, now all was different and ready to be conquered.
Then a gentle breeze stirred the tops of the tall pines that fringed the clearing, carrying with it the crisp scent of frost and wet stone from the riverbed below. Cain couldnt help but inhale deeply, savoring the raw purity of the air that was untainted by gasoline, industrial smoke, and cigarettes. The clarity was striking, almost overwhelming. He tilted his head upward, eyes tracing an endless, flawless sky, a sky no longer scarred by vapor trails, missiles, or distant blinking lights of satellites. It was pure blue, crisp and sexy like his eyes in color, stretching infinitely above him in tranquil, limitless peace that soon he would change.
Cain stood for a long moment, drinking, and sniffing in the view. To anyone else in this time period, this might have seemed just another patch of wild frontier land, another lonely stretch of unexplored territory. But to him, this clearing was everything he'd ever dreamed of, untouched, remote, and ripe with potential. It was the chance to start again, not as a mere survivor or participant in a system he never chose, but as a creator, a visionary. Here he could build something pure, something white and free from the endless cycles of decay and distraction that had defined the world he once knew.
"Looks like we found it, my horse friend," he said softly, turning slightly to glance at Shadowfax.
The horse stood just behind him, tall and radiant, his coat almost glowing in the morning sunlight. His silver mane cascaded over his muscular neck, and his eyes gleamed with quiet intelligence. Shadowfax snorted gently, pawing the frosted earth as though offering silent approval.
Cain smiled faintly. "Man, am I glad I got you basically for free, you beautiful fuck."
Their relationship had been built on mutual respect, his want to have a horse like Gandalf had, and of course unspoken trust. Cain remembered vividly the first moment he'd encountered Shadowfax, standing defiant in a worn-down stable near a trader's post on the outskirts of New Orleans. The stablemaster had laughed at Cain's interest, calling the horse wild, dangerous, and unrideable. But Cain had seen something deeper, something familiar, in those proud eyes. He'd seen himself, unbroken, stubborn, seeking something more meaningful than mere existence, plus he had seen the price tag and it was cheap. And so he had instantly thought of Shadowfax as a name, Gandalf's mythical steed from Lord of the Rings, it was a name from his past life, a reminder of the quiet, nerdy joy he had once found in stories of heroes and journeys, of courage against overwhelming odds. He named the horse immediately, almost instinctively, feeling in that moment a spark of hope and nostalgia, as if the name itself might guide them both toward their destiny.
He hadn't tried to saddle the horse. He hadn't forced obedience. Instead, he'd extended his hand in partnership, in comradeship, and Shadowfax had accepted. And from that day forward, they had traveled as equals, two souls forging their own destiny on the edge of a new world.
Cain turned back to the clearing below. There were no roads here now, no neon signs or humming engines, no sprawling towns or distant skyscrapers blocking out the horizon. Just him, his horse, and the silent, untamed wild, that the Spanish supposedly owned but he didn't give a shit about that. Instead, a smile touched his lips, warmer now, more certain.
"This is exactly where we're meant to be, my horse dude," he whispered softly, the words carried away on the quiet wind, dissolving into the trees around them.
Cain slid carefully down the rocky incline, boots crunching against frost-crusted moss and patches of half-melted snow. He moved with precision, silent and balanced—the habits of a soldier not yet left behind. Even now, in the peace of an untouched wilderness, old instincts died hard. Each step was deliberate, calculated. His senses sharpened reflexively, scanning the shadows beneath tall pines and the dense underbrush surrounding the clearing.
Reaching the bottom, Cain paused briefly, letting the echo of his boots settle into quiet again. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of ice, soil, and distant pine, mingled with something he had almost forgotten—the pure, untouched clarity of air without smoke or exhaust. Slowly, he walked forward into the open expanse, the grass beneath him shimmering with frost, sparkling as if dusted with diamond shards in the early sunlight. The cold air sharpened each breath, every inhale feeling like a blade of fresh awareness filling his lungs.
Cain knelt slowly, placing his palm gently against the frozen ground like the Lich King. The earth felt solid and certain beneath his touch, an anchor of permanence in a life that had long felt temporary, fragmented. A strange sensation welled within him—part excitement, part awe, and part profound determination. It was an emotional tapestry woven from threads of relief, hope, and quiet trepidation. He closed his eyes briefly, feeling the rhythm of the earth beneath his hand, a subtle heartbeat of the wilderness itself.
Unbidden, memories from a different life intruded sharply. The soil under his fingertips had once, just before his death felt so very different, mud-choked, blood-soaked, and trembling under artillery fire. He could still recall the scent vividly, iron-rich blood, gunpowder, and burning flesh. He remembered the deafening roar of mortars, the distant buzz of drones, and the harsh cries of men whose faces he struggled to recall yet could never fully forget. The earth there had been scarred, churned into chaos by humanity's darkest impulses. In that moment, Cain felt a pang of guilt—a sudden sharp fear that he might somehow taint this pristine wilderness with echoes of violence, pain, and loss.
But as quickly as those shadows had risen, Cain pushed them away with a firm, steady exhale. He opened his eyes again, focusing instead on the serene beauty around him. The frost-covered grass, untouched by war or human conflict. The clear sky, impossibly blue, free from the contrails and chaos of his former life. This place would not bear the scars of his past; he would not allow it. Instead, it would be something new, something pure—a fresh start for himself and any others who might join him in this new world.
He straightened slowly, feeling resolve crystallize within him like frost forming on the blades of grass at his feet. A determination settled deeply into his bones, steadying his breath and clarifying his purpose.
"This is the place," he whispered quietly, almost reverently, to the stillness around him.
Then, without hesitation, Cain reached inward, mentally activating the mysterious system he had carried within him from birth in this life. And instantly, a soft white glow blossomed from beneath his boots, delicate and ethereal, like moonlight stitching itself gently into the earth. Intricate runes expanded outward, precise and beautiful, glowing softly yet unmistakably powerful. Beneath their touch, the grass darkened slowly, then faded away entirely, leaving behind a perfectly smooth circle of pristine soil, waiting to be shaped by his will.
Cain studied the system's readout hovering faintly in the air before him, shimmering like ghostly text in a forgotten language only he understood:
[SYSTEM ONLINE][CONSTRUCTION INTERFACE AVAILABLE][TOWN HALL – TIER ONE]Terrain: AcceptablePlace structure?
Cain nodded slowly, steadying himself. "Fuck yes," he said, his voice firm and clear. "Right here bros is the spot."
A gentle pulse of white energy flowed outward from his feet, causing the runes to shift into perfect alignment, poised as if awaiting his command. Cain took a step back, feeling the air around him vibrate softly—a subtle hum of expectancy and latent power, a sensation both thrilling and deeply humbling. His heart quickened, not from fear, but from the raw exhilaration of creation, the profound awareness that this moment marked the first tangible step toward something truly new and meaningful.
Quiet hoofbeats approached behind him. Shadowfax moved silently to Cain's side, sensing the gravity of the moment. The horse stood quietly, breath puffing visibly, warm and steady against the crisp, biting air. Cain glanced down at his companion, amusement softening his usually serious expression.
"You can feel it too, can't you horse dude?" he murmured softly.
Shadowfax tilted his head slightly, giving Cain a faintly dismissive look as if to say he was more interested in practical matters than mystical runes and shimmering lights. Cain chuckled softly at the horse's stoicism.
"Fine bro, I get it," he said lightly, the faintest smile touching his lips. "I'll build you a stable eventually with lots of horse bitches. No need to sulk."
He turned toward his pack, setting aside his rifle and beginning to gather the tools he'd carefully brought with him for the labor ahead. The glowing circle of runes continued to pulse faintly behind him, patiently waiting for the materials—wood and stone—to breathe life into Cain's vision.
Cain's gaze drifted toward the distant treeline, noting a faint wisp of smoke rising lazily into the cold sky from somewhere far to the south. It spoke quietly of other lives, distant villages—native or perhaps Spanish—he couldn't yet be certain. He'd carefully avoided trails and well-trodden paths in his journey, slipping silently through the wilderness like a ghost, not wanting to be discovered. He knew conflict was inevitable, especially as his settlement took shape and grew. For now, secrecy remained his strongest ally—no prying eyes, no unwanted questions, just the purity of his purpose.
He hefted his axe, feeling the familiar weight reassuring against his palm. The cool wooden handle was smooth and firm, a comforting reminder of simpler, tangible tasks awaiting him. Soon he'd fell trees, gather stones, and begin laying the foundation of an empire—not built from conquest, greed, or politics, but forged from his own ideals, dreams, and hard-earned wisdom.
Shadowfax stood quietly, ever patient, watching closely as Cain strode purposefully toward the treeline. The horse stepped forward to investigate the glowing runes, lowering his head curiously, nostrils flaring slightly as if trying to determine their reality. He snorted softly, seemingly satisfied, and then raised his head again, casting a vigilant gaze around the clearing. Shadowfax resumed his quiet watch, alert and poised, standing guard like a loyal soldier ready to protect his charge from any unseen threat.
Cain moved toward the trees, his breath steady, muscles tightening with determination. By day's end, he knew, this clearing would begin its transformation. Logs would be felled, stones hauled, and the very earth reshaped into something lasting and meaningful. He would turn a place without name or history into the foundation of something enduring—a kingdom shaped not by distant rulers or empires long faded, but guided solely by his own hand, his own vision, and the values he'd long cherished.
For the first time in a very long time, Cain felt something deeper than mere survival, something beyond simply escaping his past. It was genuine purpose, rooted not in orders, battles, or obligations, but in a dream becoming tangible beneath his fingertips.
"This is the start of a tyrannical Empire, Shadowfax," he said quietly, glancing back at his companion once more. "No turning back now, or there is but I aint gonna do that."
Shadowfax met his gaze steadily, calm and resolute. The horse's eyes reflected back quiet understanding, unwavering loyalty, and silent affirmation of Cain's words.
Together, beneath the vast, open sky of this unnamed wilderness, they took their first true steps toward a future neither fully understood, but one both were determined to bring to life.