The wind howled between the brass towers of Cinewall, carrying the scent of burning coal and rust. Ten-year-old Cassius leaned against the rail of the eastern watchtower, staring at the endless sea of machinery below.
"One day," he whispered, "we'll fly away."
Lucius stood beside him, gripping the cold metal railing. "No more guards. No more curfews. No more Iron Order."
Below them, the city pulsed with life, factories churning smoke into the sky, enforcers clad in iron patrolling the streets, and workers slumped against grimy walls, their faces hollow with exhaustion. Cinewall never relented. It devoured hope like the gears grinding beneath their feet.
But up here, above it all, the sky stretched endless and open. They could almost believe escape was possible.
A gust of wind howled through the scaffolding, rattling the rusted beams. Cassius stretched out his hand as if he could catch the wind, as if he could grasp freedom itself.
Then, footsteps. Heavy. Too close.
A patrol.
Lucius stiffened as the sound of armored boots clanked against the metal stairs. They weren't supposed to be up here.
One of the enforcers cursed. "You brats again? Step away from the ledge, now."
Lucius panicked. Cassius didn't.
With a slow breath, Cassius raised his hand. The air crackled.
Lucius had seen his brother do this before, but never like this. The cuffs materialized from thin air, heavy, iron-forged things that shouldn't exist. But Cassius's magic made them real.
The man staggered back, his weapon clattering against the grating. He struggled, his curses turning to panicked shouts as unseen forces yanked him backward.
Cassius's magic.
Lucius's pulse pounded. He had always marveled at his brother's power, but now, for the first time, it terrified him.
Something was wrong.
The glow in Cassius's eyes didn't fade. His breath quickened, sharp and uneven. His hands shook, fingers twitching as though he couldn't release his hold. The chains tightened.
The enforcer's yells turned to gasps. His face flushed red, his struggles growing weaker.
"Cassius!" Lucius grabbed his brother's shoulder, shaking him hard. "Stop!"
Cassius inhaled sharply, like a man waking from a nightmare. The glow in his eyes vanished, and the chains dissolved into smoke. The enforcer collapsed, gasping for air.
Lucius turned to his brother, expecting triumph. Relief. Something.
Instead, he saw fear.
Cassius clutched his head, his breathing ragged. He stumbled back, his expression twisted in confusion, panic, horror.
"I… I didn't mean to." His voice was barely a whisper.
For years, Cassius had been the strong one, the fearless one. But as Lucius watched his brother shake, his breath ragged and unsteady, a thought crept into his mind, if Cassius was losing control, how could they ever escape Cinewall?
They fled into the night, but something had changed. Cassius grew quieter. Restless. Distant.
By the time they reached the rebel hideout, exhaustion clung to them like soot. The hideout was buried beneath the remnants of an old factory, its walls cracked but sturdy, its tunnels leading deep beneath the city. The rebels whispered in the dim light of oil lanterns, their murmurs brushing against the walls like ghosts.
That night, the nightmare came.
Cassius thrashed in his cot, beads of sweat trailing down his forehead. The chains were back, slithering through the darkness like living things, curling around his arms, his throat. The enforcer's face loomed above him, purple with strangled gasps, eyes bulging in terror. He reached out, clawing at Cassius, his lips forming a single, accusing word:
Murderer.
Cassius bolted upright, gasping for air. The dim light of the hideout cast jagged shadows against the brick walls. Lucius stirred in his own cot, blinking blearily.
"Another dream?" Lucius's voice was hoarse with exhaustion.
Cassius pressed a trembling hand to his chest, forcing his breath to steady. "I'm fine."
Lucius didn't believe him. Neither did Cassius.
Before they could rest again, Stellan slipped into the room, concern written across his face. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment before stepping inside, his gaze flicking between them. "What happened tonight?" he asked, voice low.
Lucius opened his mouth but hesitated. The memory of the enforcer gasping for breath lingered in his mind. Was Cassius really in control? What if it happens again? He glanced at his brother's hands, half-expecting to see lingering traces of chains.
Finally, he forced himself to speak, telling Stellan everything. The patrol. The chains. How Cassius nearly killed the enforcer. How he struggled to stop.
Stellan listened in silence, his jaw tight. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than usual. "You need to be careful," he finally said. "Mara won't tolerate anything that puts the rebels at risk. And people are afraid, Cassius. They saw what you did."
The next morning, the whispers had solidified into something worse: fear.
"He nearly killed an enforcer."
"That magic of his… it's unnatural."
"What if he loses control again?"
Cassius felt their stares, saw the way people moved away when he passed. Even the ones who had once been friendly hesitated.
Mara, the rebels' leader, pulled him aside. "Cassius, I know you're strong, but strength doesn't mean safety. We have to protect our own."
Cassius tensed. "You think I'd hurt them?"
She held his gaze. "Do you?"
Cassius had no answer. The air around him crackled faintly, an eerie shimmer at his fingertips. It wasn't intentional. He wasn't trying. But the magic responded anyway. A few rebels flinched, stepping back. Cassius quickly clenched his fists, forcing the power down, his breath unsteady.
Lucius stepped in. "Cassius saved us before! That has to count for something."
Mara sighed. "It does. But fear spreads fast, Lucius. Some of the rebels think we should send him away before something worse happens."
Lucius hesitated, just for a second. And Cassius noticed.
The words hit like a punch.
Cassius clenched his fists, but even as anger sparked inside him, his fingers trembled. Not from rage, but from uncertainty.
Because what if Mara was right?
What if it wasn't just the rebels who were afraid?
What if he was afraid of himself?