Morning Mist
The forest was quiet that morning.
Mist curled like faded dreams over the dewy grass, and slivers of golden light filtered through the canopy. Birds hadn't begun their morning songs yet. Only the soft rustle of leaves and Cassian's bare footsteps disturbed the silence.
A wooden practice sword was strapped to his back. A half-eaten loaf of bread sat in one hand. He liked mornings like this—calm, simple, forgettable.
Until the scream shattered it.
A child's voice. Sharp. Terrified.
Cassian froze mid-step. The bread hit the ground.
Then he ran.
---
Wolf Ambush
He burst through the brush and into a clearing.
There she was.
A girl—maybe nine—crouched low in torn silks and a tattered blue dress, blonde hair tangled, her shoes far too fine for the forest floor. Blood streaked her legs. Her arms trembled.
Five wolves surrounded her—hulking, twisted things with glowing yellow eyes and matted fur. Their snarls weren't animal. They were… corrupted. Wrong.
The lead wolf lunged.
The girl screamed and shut her eyes—
And something collided with the beast midair.
Cassian.
He slammed his knee into the wolf's skull mid-pounce, sending it hurtling into a tree with a sickening crunch. He hit the ground in a roll, already spinning toward the second.
A snapped branch. A strike to the jaw. Bone cracked.
> "Get behind me," Cassian growled, eyes locked on the pack.
The girl stared in shock, unmoving.
The wolves paused. A tremor passed through them.
Cassian's shoulders tensed. His chest burned—like fire under the skin.
And then his eyes… changed.
Not gold.
But red.
Not glowing.
But ancient.
The wolves whimpered.
Then turned to flee.
Cassian didn't let them.
---
Unleashed
He moved like shadow and storm.
The third wolf lunged. Cassian met it head-on, his fist caving in ribs like twigs.
The fourth tried to circle—he ducked under its jaw and shattered its spine with a brutal twist.
The fifth bolted.
Cassian was faster.
He caught it mid-leap, slammed it into the ground, and drove his fist into its chest without hesitation. Once. Twice. Until it stopped moving.
Then stillness.
The forest fell utterly silent.
Blood steamed on the grass. The air stank of iron and death.
Cassian stood amid the wreckage, breath ragged. The red glow in his eyes flickered, dimmed, and finally faded—
Back to gold.
Back to… himself.
His hands shook. He looked at the blood on them, fur tangled around his fingers.
And he said nothing.
Just clenched his fists and turned away from the corpses.
Behind him, the girl slumped forward, unconscious.
---
Campfire Kindness
She was delicate up close. Pale skin, curled lashes. Her clothes—torn but ornate—marked her as noble, maybe even royalty.
Cassian didn't care.
He sighed and lifted her into his arms, gentle as he could.
Then he set to work.
The wolves' bodies were dragged into a pile. Dry branches gathered. Fire kindled. Sparks became flame. Flame became warmth.
Cassian worked in silence, skewering meat with a sharpened stick, rotating it over the fire with practiced rhythm.
By the time the girl stirred, the scent of roasted meat drifted through the clearing.
She blinked. Groaned softly. Sat up, confused.
> "Where…?" she mumbled.
Cassian didn't look at her. Just turned the spit once more.
> "You were attacked. I stopped it."
Her eyes widened. She remembered. The wolves. The boy with red eyes.
Then her stomach growled—loud and shameless.
He broke off a piece of the meat, laid it on a flat stone, and held it out to her.
> "Eat. Slowly," he said, his voice flat. "Your stomach's not ready for more."
She stared. Took the food with trembling hands.
> "Thank you…"
Silence stretched. She chewed carefully.
Then: "What's your name?"
Cassian didn't answer.
Instead, his gaze shifted.
He heard them first—before she did.
Hoofbeats. Voices.
> "Princess Felicia! Princess—where are you?!"
She jolted upright. "That's me! They're calling me!"
Cassian rose without a word.
> "Wait!" she cried. "Please—I never thanked you—!"
But he was already fading into the woods, silent as mist.
Gone.
By the time the armored knights crashed into the clearing, swords drawn, he had vanished like a ghost.
> "Princess Felicia Silverstream!" a man in silver armor gasped, dismounting. "Are you harmed?"
She looked past them, into the trees.
Her dress was torn. Her cheeks streaked with ash.
> "No… I'm fine," she murmured.
But her thoughts weren't on the knights.
They were on the boy with golden hair and red eyes who saved her—and vanished without asking for anything in return.
---
That Night
High above the valley, beneath a canopy of stars, Cassian sat alone on a tree branch.
Wind tugged at his hair. His eyes were gold again.
But his hands still shook.
> I lost control again.
He flexed his fingers. Blood still clung to the memory of what he did.
> That power... it wasn't me. Not really.
It was awake now.
The thing inside.
It wasn't satisfied.
It was watching.
Waiting.