Digging with a machete—especially when he had no idea where the hole ended—was a slow, grinding misery that left his forearms burning and blistered.
Despite the crater-sized hole in front of him, there was still no end in sight.
The old man had left shortly after telling him about the mound. Cassian hadn't stopped him. It didn't seem like he'd need the man's help. He was too old for this kind of work anyway.
Before leaving, the man had given Cassian directions to where he lived, not too far from here. He said he lived alone in the forest. For how long, Cassian didn't know.
He didn't know if he could trust him either.
But having somewhere to stay was never a bad thing. Especially when the offer had been made freely.
Cassian swung the machete again.
The blade struck stone.
He gritted his teeth and pulled it free.
Materdea had been quiet.
Normally, she was quiet. She rarely said anything unless he spoke to her first. But this silence felt different.
She had just found out that she'd been trapped for four centuries.
Cassian didn't care if she was immortal. Four hundred years had to mean something to anyone.
And if it didn't mean anything to her, it certainly meant something to the people here. The people she'd apparently interacted with. She hadn't denied it.
Give them the monster they prayed for.
She had been serious.
Cassian could hear the rage in her voice. He knew that rage. It was the same one he'd felt when they'd tried to have him killed. The same energy that had coursed through him then had taken hold of her now.
He wanted to ask questions.
But he didn't know how she'd react.
It would seem insensitive to start interrogating her while she was still dealing with what she'd just learned. She was never particularly sensitive with him, but that didn't mean he had to return the favour. He would wait.
Besides, she had power over his life.
That felt relevant.
Cassian raised the machete again.
He swung.The blade struck the earth.Again.
And again.
A tiny gap had appeared in the wall.
Cassian stopped. He crouched and peered through it. There was nothing on the other side.
Nothing but darkness.He pushed his fingers into the gap and felt cold air brush against them.
His eyes widened.There was space behind the wall. The mound wasn't a mound at all, it was the entrance to a cave.
Suddenly, he had a reason to keep going. He swung harder. Stabbed,Pulled the blade free.
Swung again.
The hole widened little by little, and cold air began spilling through it. The wind whipped around him, curling through the opening like cold fingers as the sun sank lower beyond the trees.
By the time the hole was large enough for him to fit through, darkness had begun settling over the forest.It was barely wide enough.
He'd have to make it work.
Cassian squeezed his head through first, then forced the rest of his body after it.
He landed inside. The cave was dark.
The last rays of the setting sun passed through the hole he'd made, providing just enough light for him to see.
There was something in front of him.
Cassian narrowed his eyes. It looked like an altar. He approached slowly. He'd expected something. After four hundred years it was bound to feel something different, like the smell of wine marinated for years, but there was nothing.
Just wood.
Old wood, certainly, but nothing extraordinary.
Then he noticed what was sitting on top of it.
A book.
Its red cover was stained with dust and tangled with cobwebs.
Cassian picked it up.
There were characters written across the cover. He didn't recognise them. Maybe it was because the cave was too dark.
He opened it.
No. It wasn't the darkness, he couldn't read it.
"Any idea what this is?" he asked Materdea.
She didn't respond.
Cassian figured she wasn't ready to talk about it.
He looked around the cave one last time.
Nothing.No treasure.No weapons.No bodies.
Nothing except the altar and the book resting on it. The entire place had been built to protect a single book.Cassian stared down at it. Four hundred years beneath stone,
untouched by whatever had destroyed everything around it.
What kind of knowledge was worth hiding that carefully?
He tucked the book away and made his way back outside.
By the time he emerged from the cave, the sun was almost gone. Cassian hoisted his bag over his shoulder.He didn't like being here.
Something about this place had unsettled him from the beginning, but now that he knew how the people here had died, that unease had taken root in him.
It grew stronger with every passing moment.
And now that the sun was disappearing, and the moon was beginning to rise.
Cassian found himself looking toward the trees more often than he cared to admit. The shadows seemed deeper than they were before, and the sounds seemed to carry further.
Three thousand people had died here.
Their corpses were somewhere beneath the earth. Beneath his feet. The thought seemed different now that night was falling.
He tightened his grip on the machete and started walking.
The old man had told him where to find his home. He'd apparently be there if Cassian had questions.
Cassian hadn't had any before, so he didn't plan on staying. But now he had many.
And the first one was obvious.
"Can you read this?"
He held up the book as he stepped into the old man's wooden shack, several hills away from Oakhaven.
"I cannot."
Cassian sighed.
"I thought you said you were going to help me."
The old man stared at him for a moment before answering.
"I did say I would help you. But only to the best of my capabilities."
He nodded toward the book.
"And this is beyond me."
Cassian frowned.
"But you know what it is?"
"I can tell you about the book."
Cassian looked at him.
"So you know about the book, but you can't read it?"
"You say that as though it's a bad thing."
The old man settled into his chair.
"What you have in your hand is the Grimoire of the Seven. A record of seven marks. Marks that were different from the usual ones."
"How so?" Cassian pressed.
"They had better control over divine energy. Different abilities. A few other things."
The old man shrugged.
"If you haven't figured it out yet, they were special."
Cassian opened the book.
He flipped through the pages.
Nothing. More strange characters, more drawings, more symbols he couldn't understand.
Then he stopped.
There, near the beginning of the book, was a symbol he knew better than any word.
His breath caught.
The mark on the page was identical to the one on the back of his hand.
Down to the very last stroke of ink.
Cassian stared at it. The same mark that had ended his peaceful life.
And now it was sitting in a book that had been hidden beneath four hundred years of stone.