Qahir stood there, armor caked in dust and stains of blood, stinking like a pig left to wallow in its own filth.
"Cassian." His voice was flat, his breath rough. He pulled off his helmet.
"Start packing. We leave at sunrise."
Without another word—and without waiting for mine—he turned and disappeared into the dark.
My breathing grew heavier, each inhale scraping my throat. My heart pounded so loud it drowned out the night insects.
Qahir's words kept turning over in my head.
"Your the funniest, strangest, strongest, squire I've had yet."
But where are they now?
Probably dead.
I tilted my head back.
The stars burned brighter tonight, sharp as cut glass against the black.
Was Qahir telling the truth… or was this just another fairy tale, like the ones in my world?
Could those lights really be gods?
Could one of them be watching me now?
…Probably not.
Minutes passed before a streak of light cut across the sky, gliding past the others.
A shooting star.
I'd better get ready, I told myself.
My heart was still pounding, sweat crawling down my arms as I slipped inside the manor, heading toward the cellar to grab what little I owned.
"Cassian."
The voice came from my right. Yasmin stood in the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up, arms deep in a basin of cloudy water. Pots and wooden utensils bobbed in the suds. She didn't meet my gaze—her hands moved fast, scrubbing like the pot in her grip had personally wronged her.
"You're leaving, aren't you?" she asked, voice taut, like she was holding back more than just the words.
"I am," I admitted.
The pot slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a metallic clang, water splashing against her dress. She stepped toward me, jaw set.
"So you were just gonna leave like that?" she demanded. "Without saying a word to me?"
I stayed silent, and her anger sharpened.
"What about Noura, huh? Were you even planning on apologizing to her?"
Her voice said Noura, but her eyes said something else entirely.
"You think you can just walk out, Cassian? Leave everything behind like it's nothing?"
I sighed. She was right—I'd been an ass. Maybe I still was. But I wasn't going to walk out like a thief in the night, not to her.
"You're right," I said, stepping closer. "I'm terrible at this. At goodbyes. At… everything. But I don't want to leave without saying that you've kept me sane here. More than you know."
She didn't respond.
Her eyes stayed on mine—but the anger in them wasn't as sharp now. Something else sat underneath it. Something quieter. Something I couldn't quite name.
The space between us felt… different.
Not tense.
Not calm.
Just… heavy.
Like something was about to break.
Her grip tightened slightly at her sides, like she was holding herself back from saying something. Or doing something.
I hesitated.
This wasn't like fighting. There was no right move here. No clear answer.
Just a feeling.
One I didn't understand.
One I didn't have time to understand.
My gaze dropped for a second—to her hands, still wet, trembling slightly—then back to her eyes.
She didn't look away.
That was enough.
I stepped forward and closed the distance between us, pressing my lips against hers.
It wasn't soft—it was quick, rough, clumsy. Her hands, still wet, curled into my shirt and held on. For a moment, she kissed me back, like she'd been waiting for it. Then she pulled away, breathing hard.
"You're coming back," she said, almost a command.
I smirked faintly, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. "I'll try."
Her laugh came out bitter, but she didn't step away until I did. And even then, her gaze followed me, sharp enough to make me wonder if walking away was the hardest thing I'd done yet.
I left the kitchen with Yasmin's voice still echoing in my head, her eyes haunting me more than her words.
The cellar door was just ahead when another voice called out from the shadows of the hall.
"Cassian."
Metania stepped forward, the lamplight catching the silver in her dark hair. She looked tired—she always looked tired—but there was something sharper in her gaze tonight.
"So it's true," she said quietly. "You're leaving with Qahir at sunrise."
I nodded. "That's the plan."
She studied me for a moment before speaking again, her voice steady but low. "I've been in this world longer than you've been alive, Cassian. And I know you think you've seen cruelty. You haven't. Not yet."
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
"You've seen a corner of it, inside these walls. But out there…" she gestured, "…there's no limit to how low people will sink. No one fights fair, no one spares the weak, and the moment you think someone's earned your trust is the moment they'll carve it out of you."
Her eyes locked on mine, cold but not unkind. "Do not mistake the brutality you've seen here for the worst of it. The outside world will show you how much further it goes."
I swallowed, unsure what to say.
"Keep your blade sharp, your head sharper… and your trust in check. That's the only gift I can give you."
For a moment, her expression softened—just enough for something like sorrow to seep through—before she stepped back into the shadows.
"Go, Cassian. Make your god proud."
The way she said it—like she knew exactly who she was talking about—sent a chill through me.
My god?
What god?
I turned to ask, but she was already gone.
The horizon was bleeding with the first hint of light. I needed to hurry.
I rushed down the stairs to the cellar, keeping my steps as light as possible so I wouldn't wake anyone. The air was cool and smelled faintly of damp earth.
I grabbed the few things I owned—a worn book from Yasmin to help me learn the language, a spare set of clothes—and stuffed them into the small sack that usually served as the pillow for my bed of hay.
I scurried back up, every creak of the stairs making my pulse spike. My hands were clammy, my chest tight, though I couldn't say why.
It wasn't fear of the road ahead. Not exactly. It was something heavier.
This was the next chapter in my life… or maybe, if I wasn't careful, the epilogue.
As I stepped out of the manor, the sound of a small army stirred the air.