I've tutored exactly zero kids in my life.
Unless you count helping my neighbor's seven-year-old do math homework in exchange for half a sandwich. And even that ended in tears, hers, not mine.
So naturally, the universe decided to throw me into a room with the future villain overlord of an empire and tell me, "Good luck."
Cassian sat at the desk already when I entered the study again, posture perfect, fingers laced neatly atop a thick book he'd probably read twice already. A fresh stack of leather-bound tomes sat beside him, ancient, probably magical, and likely not written for ten-year-olds.
He didn't look up when I came in.
"Do I have to greet you every time?" he asked flatly.
I hesitated at the doorway. "No. I just assumed basic manners were part of your curriculum."
He raised an eyebrow. "If I greeted everyone who entered, I'd lose half my day."
"Right. Can't waste time with common courtesy. You're far too important for that."
That got a reaction, a tiny twitch of his lips. It was almost a smirk. Almost.
I walked slowly around the desk and took the seat opposite him. The chair was carved Darkwood, plush but firm. I felt like it was silently judging my posture.
I cleared my throat. "So. Today we're going to do something a little different."
He blinked. Just once. "You're not using the assigned material?"
"No."
He didn't respond.
I leaned forward slightly. "I want to know what you already understand, your natural strengths. Anyone can memorize dates or alchemical terms. I want to see how you think."
Still nothing.
"Let's start with a simple riddle."
He didn't roll his eyes. He didn't scoff. But I could feel the weight of his opinion pressing down on me.
I took a breath.
"You see a man on the side of the road. He's bleeding, and you have one healing potion. But you know that if you help him, you'll be late for a meeting with someone important, and that meeting could save hundreds of lives. What do you do?"
He looked at me with calm, glacier eyes.
"Who is the man?"
I blinked. "I. What?"
He repeated, voice perfectly even: "Who is the man to me?"
"Does it matter?"
He nodded once. "Yes."
I stared at him. "Alright. Let's say he's a stranger."
He thought for a moment.
"Then I leave him."
Just like that.
No hesitation. No guilt.
I waited, hoping maybe he'd add a "...but I'd send someone else" or "...unless he was about to die."
He didn't.
"That's your answer?" I asked.
He met my eyes. "I told you. I'm not sentimental."
God.
He was already like this.
But before I could respond, he spoke again, softer this time.
"But… if he had my name on his lips… I'd stay."
That froze me.
Something about the way he said it, quiet, unsure if it was a mistake to admit, hit harder than I expected.
I didn't respond right away.
Because that wasn't logic. That was emotion.
Small. Buried. But there.
"Interesting," I said finally.
He narrowed his eyes. "You sound disappointed."
"No," I said. "Just surprised."
And maybe a little… hopeful?
Cassian closed the book in front of him with a soft thud, like punctuation to a sentence I didn't quite understand yet.
"I want to play a game," he said calmly.
And just like that, I forgot how to breathe.
A wave of cold crept down my spine as every horrible memory from the webcomic came rushing back. Cassian didn't "play games." He manipulated. He calculated. He tested people like rats in a maze, and if they failed, he didn't give second chance.
He'd once lured an entire noble family into "a game of strategy." The prize? Land. The penalty?A public execution. He was twelve in that arc.
My mouth had gone dry.
"You'll have to define 'game,'" I said, forcing a lightness into my voice I didn't feel. "Because I've read this novel, kid. I know what happens when you say things like that."
He tilted his head, that eerie calm never breaking.
"You're strange," he said.
"Thank you."
"It wasn't a compliment."
I smiled tightly, trying to hide the fact that my pulse had tripled. "Go on, then. What kind of game?"
He tapped his finger rhythmically on the desk—tick, tick, tick—like the second hand of a bomb.
"A test," he said. "I ask you a question. If you answer it correctly, I'll answer one of yours."
I froze.
And if I get it wrong? I already knew the answer. He didn't need to say it.
But he did anyway.
"If you fail," he said smoothly, "I'll stop listening to you."
I swallowed hard.
That's it?That's how I lose him?One wrong answer and he tunes me out forever. And then the story plays out exactly how it's meant to. Blood. Fire. Betrayal.
I couldn't let that happen.
He was already walking a razor's edge. I could see it in the way he spoke, the way he watched me without blinking, the way he always positioned himself near the door and never let me out of his sight.
"Fine," I said, masking the shake in my voice. "Ask."
His expression didn't change.
"What can't be seen, touched, or held… but controls every noble in this empire?"
I blinked.
A trick question. Or so he thought.
But I'd read this scene before, years ahead of where the story should be. It was something older Cassian said to the High Council during one of his coldest speeches.Chapter 19, right after he executed Lord Vellin in front of the court.I had practically memorized it.
I took a breath. "Legacy."
He stilled.
Not dramatically, but enough for me to notice. His hand paused mid-tap. His eyes narrowed just slightly.
He hadn't expected me to know it.
Score one for the reader.
"That's correct," he said, voice carefully neutral. "Your turn."
I didn't hesitate.
"What's the one thing you're most afraid to lose?"
His face didn't move, but something in his gaze darkened.
"That's not a fair question."
"It's my turn," I said evenly, though my heart was thudding loud enough to drown my thoughts.
There was a long silence.Long enough for me to start wondering if I'd pushed too far.
But then.He blinked slowly and said:
"Control."
The word landed like a blade between us.
I sat back, stunned not by the answer, but by the honesty in it.
No clever deflection. No sarcasm.
Just… truth.
And it made sense. Of course it did. Cassian grew up in a house full of monsters. Power was the only safety he ever knew. Control was how he survived.
"I'm not here to take that from you," I said, quieter than I meant to.
He turned to look at me. And this time, I saw something new behind those cold eyes.
Hesitation.
"You will," he said. "Everyone does eventually."