"Mom... Mother... you seem sad." A seven-year-old Cassian clambered onto his mother's lap, his small hands clutching at the fabric of her gown.
His mother, Alaia Luminaris Valenor, gave him a sad smile, though her eyes remained distant and hollow. She gently placed a hand atop his dark hair, stroking it with a tenderness that felt almost mechanical. "How can I be sad when I have you?"
She was lying.
Cassian was young, but he knew his mother well enough to see through her facade.
Her eyes were darker than usual, burdened by shadows he couldn't fully understand. When he had entered her chambers, she had been staring out the window, her gaze unfocused, as though she were contemplating something far beyond the glass.
Something dangerous.
Something final.
Cassian didn't say anything. Fear kept his lips sealed. Instead, he forced a bright smile, nuzzling his head against her stomach like he always did. The room fell silent, save for the faint sound of their breathing.
This was their routine.
Every day, after his training and lessons, Cassian would come to his mother's room to sit with her, to hold her. They rarely spoke, their time together marked by long stretches of quiet comfort.
But today, Alaia seemed... different.
"Cassian," she began softly, her voice carrying a fragile warmth. "Did you know that I was a princess once? Just like your cousin, Elara."
"Mhm?" Cassian tilted his head to look up at her, his crimson eyes gleaming with innocent curiosity. "Yes, Mommy, I knew that! Uncle said you were the most beautiful princess before Elara was born." His face brightened with a wide grin. "But don't tell Elara, okay? I still think you're the most beautiful."
He expected his words to bring a smile to her face, to chase away the shadows clouding her expression. But instead, her features darkened further, her lips pressing into a thin line. She reached out, cradling his cheek with a trembling hand.
"Yet, you look just like your father," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "The same dark hair... those red eyes..."
Her thumb brushed gently across his cheekbone, and Cassian began to giggle—it tickled. But the giggle caught in his throat as her hand suddenly struck him, the sharp sting of the slap echoing through the room.
A gasp broke the heavy silence. "Your Grace!" the maid stationed nearby exclaimed, her voice laced with shock.
Alaia raised a hand to silence her. "Stay in your place."
"B-But, Madam—"
"Do not make me repeat myself."
The maid faltered, her eyes darting between Alaia and Cassian. Finally, she bowed her head, stepping back into the shadows of the room, her expression tight with pity.
Cassian sat frozen, his small hand clutching his cheek where the sting lingered. Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, but he bit down on his lip, trying to hold them back. His mother's gaze, once so soft, now burned with a wild, desperate light.
"You both look so much alike," she whispered, her voice trembling. "And yet... he doesn't look at me the way you do. Why? Why is that, Cassian? What's the point?"
"I-I..." Cassian's voice cracked, his words failing him. He didn't understand.
"You don't know either, do you?" Her tone grew sharper, laced with bitterness. "But you love me, don't you? You love your mother?"
"Y-Yes, Mother," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Then until you figure out why your father doesn't look at me the way I want him to," she said coldly, "you are forbidden to see me."
Cassian's eyes widened in shock. "N-No... No, Mommy. No! Why? D-Did I do something wrong?" His small hands gripped her tightly, his voice cracking as panic seeped into his cries.
But Alaia's gaze was icy, her lips pressed into a thin, unforgiving line. She turned to the maid and beckoned her forward. "Take him away."
"Your Grace—"
"Do it."
The maid hesitated, glancing down at the sobbing boy, her heart clearly breaking. But she obeyed, gently prying Cassian's hands from his mother's gown.
"No! Mommy, please! Don't make me go! I'll be good! I'll—"
"Mother!"
Cassian jolted upright in his bed, his chest heaving as he reached out toward the empty air, his fingers trembling. His dark hair clung to his damp forehead, and his body was slick with cold sweat. His crimson eyes darted around the room, disoriented, as the remnants of his dream faded into the dim light.
He pressed a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat. His head throbbed, sharp and relentless, as if something inside him was clawing to get out.
The sound of shuffling from beside his bed startled him. Instinctively, Cassian's palm ignited with a surge of fire. Without hesitation, he hurled the flaming projectile toward the source of the noise.
"Who's there?" he barked, his voice rough and commanding.
The fireball blazed across the room, illuminating the startled face of a young man before a gust of wind swept through the air, extinguishing the flames.
"Captain, it's me! It's me, Reynolds!"
Cassian blinked, his vision clearing as he recognized the man standing before him. Reynolds, his loyal second-in-command, looked both alarmed and relieved, his hands still outstretched from the protective spell he'd cast.
"Reynolds?" Cassian's voice softened slightly, though confusion lingered in his tone. "What—what are you doing here? What happened?"
The memories hit him like a tidal wave. Lucian's lifeless body. The haunting stillness of the Purple House. The suffocating, overwhelming magic that had engulfed him before everything went black.
Cassian ran a hand through his damp hair, his expression hardening as his mind shifted into focus. He glanced around the room, now recognizing the familiar surroundings of his private quarters in the Valenor manor.
"Where am I?" he demanded, his tone sharp and steady now.
"You're back in your room, Captain," Reynolds explained quickly. "You've been unconscious for a day."
Cassian frowned. "A day? I've never slept that long, not even after the worst of battles."
Reynolds nodded but said nothing, his lips pressed into a thin line.
"Lucian Faelith," Cassian said, his voice low. "What's the status?"
Reynolds hesitated, glancing away for a moment before meeting Cassian's piercing gaze. "Lucian Faelith is dead. The Purple House claims it was suicide. They're preparing for the burial as we speak."
Cassian's eyes narrowed, his jaw tightening. "Suicide?" he repeated, the word tasting bitter on his tongue. "No. Something's wrong. I felt it in his room. That magic... it was unlike anything I've ever encountered. Did they investigate it?"
Reynolds shook his head, his expression grim. "The Duke of Faelith has refused anyone entry to the room. He's fully convinced it was suicide, especially given... the recent events."
"And you believe him?" Cassian pressed, his crimson eyes boring into Reynolds.
Reynolds hesitated. "If there was foul play, the duke would've sensed it. But... I don't know, Captain. Something does feel off."
Cassian furrowed his brow, deep in thought. He couldn't shake the unease that had settled in his chest, the feeling that there was more to Lucian's death than met the eye.
"What about Adrian? The Duke of Averin? Or the royal family? Have they said anything?"
Reynolds shrugged slightly. "We haven't asked for updates, we've been waiting for you to wake up. By the orders of—" He stopped abruptly, his mouth snapping shut as he glanced away nervously.
Cassian's eyes narrowed. "By whose orders, Reynolds?"
Reynolds swallowed hard, visibly uncomfortable. "By the Duke of Valenor. Your father."
Cassian's face darkened instantly, his expression hardening into a mask of cold anger. "He was here?"
"Yes, Captain. He's still here—"
The door to the room creaked open, interrupting Reynolds mid-sentence. A tall, imposing figure stepped inside, flanked by two knights bearing the crest of House Valenor.
"Cassian," the Duke of Valenor said, his deep voice calm yet laced with authority. His piercing gaze swept over his son, taking in his disheveled state.
Reynolds straightened immediately, his stance rigid as he saluted the duke. "Your Grace."
Cassian remained seated on the edge of the bed, his crimson eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. "What do you want?" he asked coldly, his tone dripping with disdain.
The duke raised a brow, unperturbed by his son's hostility. "We need to talk."
"I don't have anything to say to you," Cassian snapped, rising to his feet.
The duke's expression remained unreadable, but his knights shifted slightly, their hands hovering near the hilts of their swords.
"This isn't a request," the duke said, his tone firm.
Cassian clenched his jaw, the tension in his shoulders visibly mounting as his father continued to stand before him, unmoving and resolute. The knights flanking the duke made no attempt to leave either, their presence an irritating reminder of the authority his father still wielded over him.
"I said," Cassian began, his voice sharp, "whatever you have to say can be written in a letter. I'm busy."
The Duke of Valenor narrowed his eyes, his composure unbroken. "You're acting like a child, Cassian."
Cassian's temper flared instantly, his fists tightening at his sides. He opened his mouth, ready to unleash the anger bubbling within him, but then—he saw it.
In the corner of his eye, the mirror near his bed glimmered with an odd light, drawing his attention. His gaze flicked to it instinctively, and his breath hitched.
There, in the reflection, he saw himself—but he wasn't alone. Resting against his shoulder was Lucian Faelith. His head lolled slightly as though in sleep, his pale face serene, his chest rising and falling faintly.
'What?'
Cassian's blood ran cold. He froze, his anger dissolving into shock. He blinked rapidly, hoping the vision would vanish, but it didn't. Lucian was still there, still leaning against him, his presence unmistakable.
A chill seeped into Cassian's body, and he instinctively glanced at his shoulder. Nothing. No weight, no presence. But when he looked back at the mirror, Lucian remained.
'This...what is this?'
He could barely hear his father's voice now, the words a muffled blur in the background. Even Reynolds had started speaking, but it was all drowned out by the pounding of Cassian's heart. His gaze snapped to his father and second-in-command, his voice cutting through the air like a blade.
"Get out. Both of you."
Both men faltered, their eyes widening in surprise. "Cassian—" the duke began, his tone edged with frustration.
"I said get out!" Cassian's voice rose, raw and commanding. "I just woke up from God knows what, and I'm tired. I will handle whatever business I have when I damn well please."
For a moment, his father looked ready to argue, his lips parting to retort, but something in Cassian's expression made him reconsider. With a curt nod, he gestured for his knights to follow him and turned toward the door. Reynolds hesitated briefly, concern etched into his features, but he too obeyed, stepping out silently.
The door closed behind them with a resounding click, leaving Cassian alone.
As soon as the room was empty, Cassian stood abruptly, his body tense with fear and confusion. "What the fuck," he muttered under his breath, his eyes darting back to the mirror.
The moment he moved, Lucian's reflection shifted. The ghostly figure slipped from where it had been leaning, collapsing onto the bed behind him. Cassian whirled around, his crimson eyes scanning the room, but there was nothing there.
He turned back to the mirror—and froze.
Lucian's body was still there, sprawled on the bed. His form was translucent, his colors muted and dull, but he appeared to be breathing. It didn't make sense. Cassian's chest heaved as he tried to piece together what he was seeing. "What is this trickery?" he mumbled, his voice shaky.
Before he could move closer, Lucian stirred. In the mirror, Cassian watched as the ghostly figure's fingers twitched, his head shifting slightly. Then, slowly, his eyes fluttered open.
Cassian's blood turned to ice. He felt a presence behind him, an inexplicable sensation that made his skin crawl. Turning sharply, he found himself staring at the very thing he'd seen in the mirror. Lucian Faelith was now in front of him, not a reflection, not a vision, but there—in person.
Cassian staggered back, his heart pounding. "What the actual fuck is this?" he hissed, his voice filled with disbelief.
Lucian blinked, his eyes adjusting to the room around him. At first, his expression seemed dazed, as though waking from a deep sleep. Then his gaze fell on Cassian.
Both men stared at each other, their shock mirrored in one another's faces.
And then, simultaneously, they erupted.
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"