Chapter 2: The Alchemist's Betrayal
The months following Cassian's arrival in the Travelers' camp were a masterclass in tension. He lived in a small stone hut on the periphery of the settlement, a guest who was treated with the wary respect one might give a sleeping lion. He didn't eat much—his body seemed to draw sustenance from the very air—but he spent every waking moment watching.
He watched Qetsiyah weave the spell of a lifetime. He watched Silas's charming facade begin to crack as his obsession with Amara, the handmaiden, grew into a fever pitch. And most importantly, Cassian felt himself changing.
It was no longer a subtle hum. It was a roar. His skin felt like it was becoming reinforced with carbon; his vision had sharpened to the point where he could see the individual beats of a bird's wings a mile away. One morning, he had accidentally crushed a stone bowl just by gripping it too tightly. He was becoming a physical anomaly in a world governed by blood and bone.
The air in the camp was thick with the scent of ozone and ritual incense. Qetsiyah had spent weeks refining the elixir. She believed it was for her and Silas—a union that would transcend time.
Cassian stood in the shadows of the temple entrance. He knew what was coming. Tonight, Silas would steal the elixir and give it to Amara. Tonight, the first doppelgängers would be born from the universe's need for balance.
"You look like a man watching a funeral," a voice said.
Cassian turned to see Silas. The man looked radiant, fueled by the anticipation of his heist. He still couldn't read Cassian's mind, a fact that had shifted Silas's attitude from curiosity to a strange, competitive camaraderie.
"I'm watching the birth of a desert," Cassian replied cryptically. "Be careful, Silas. Nature doesn't like being cheated. It always demands a price."
Silas smirked, adjusting his chiton. "Nature is a slow-witted beast. I am faster. Once I drink the elixir, I will have all of eternity to deal with the consequences."
"You won't be the only one dealing with them," Cassian muttered, but Silas was already gone, slipping into the sanctum where Qetsiyah kept the chalice.
Cassian had a choice. He could stop Silas. He could kill Amara and prevent the entire Petrova line from ever existing. He could prevent the creation of the Other Side. But as he stood there, his power vibrating through his heels and into the bedrock of Greece, he realized the terrifying truth of his existence.
He was a fixed point, but he was also a parasite of time. If he changed the future too drastically, would he even have a world to inherit? If there were no Mikaelsons, no Elena, no Salvatore brothers... what would he be? A god of a dead timeline.
He felt a sudden, sharp spike in the local energy. The spell had been triggered.
He moved toward the ritual site, his speed startling even himself. He wasn't running; he was simply arriving. Every step covered ten yards.
He reached the private garden just in time to see Silas and Amara. They stood by a marble fountain, the golden elixir shimmering between them. They had already drunk. The air around them was warped, distorted by the sheer impossibility of their new existence.
Then, the scream began.
It wasn't a physical scream—it was a psychic one. Qetsiyah had discovered the theft.
The Wrath of a Goddess
The ground beneath Cassian's feet groaned. Qetsiyah appeared at the garden's edge, her face a mask of such raw, agonizing betrayal that it made the surrounding plants wither and turn to ash.
"Silas!" she shrieked.
The magic she unleashed was unlike anything Cassian had ever seen in the modern era. It wasn't just "the elements." She was tearing at the fabric of reality. She began to chant, the words of the spell that would create the Other Side—a purgatory for all supernatural beings, fueled by her own spite.
"I will give you what you want, my love!" Qetsiyah cried, her eyes leaking tears of blood. "You want to live forever? You shall. In total darkness. In a tomb where not even the wind can find you!"
She raised her hands, and the earth began to swallow the garden.
Silas tried to use his psychic powers to stop her, but his new immortality had come with a price—his magic was gone. He was a psychic, but he was no longer a witch. He was helpless against Qetsiyah's fury.
Cassian stepped forward. He didn't do it to save Silas. He did it to test his own limits.
"Qetsiyah, stop!" Cassian roared.
He stepped between the scorned witch and the petrified lovers. Qetsiyah didn't hesitate; she redirected her kinetic blast toward Cassian. It was a spell designed to liquefy the bones of a mortal man.
The blast hit Cassian square in the chest.
The shockwave shattered the marble fountain behind him and leveled the nearby trees. But Cassian didn't move. He felt the energy hit him, and instead of breaking him, his body absorbed it. His skin glowed with a faint, amber light for a split second. The "battery" inside him surged. He felt himself grow stronger, faster, more durable in a single heartbeat than he had in the previous month.
He was a sponge for the supernatural.
Qetsiyah gasped, her hands trembling. "How? No mortal survives that."
"I told you," Cassian said, his voice resonating with a power that made the air vibrate. "I am the Witness. And I will not let you destroy the world because your heart is broken."
But he was too late to stop the ritual entirely. The Other Side was already forming, a grey veil descending over the world. Qetsiyah, seeing she couldn't kill Cassian, turned her remaining power back toward Amara.
With a brutal twist of her wrist, she "killed" the handmaiden—turning her into the Anchor, a living bridge of pain between the living and the dead.
Silas was dragged away by the Travelers, destined for the island tomb. Amara was gone, hidden away to rot for eternity. Qetsiyah, drained and half-mad, looked at Cassian with a mixture of fear and loathing.
"You are the true monster," she whispered. "Time will not make you a god, Cassian. It will make you a statue. You will watch everyone you love die, and you will be too heavy to even weep for them."
She vanished into the night, leaving Cassian alone in the ruins of the garden.
He stood there for a long time. He felt the world shift. The era of the Travelers was ending. The era of the Shadow was beginning. He looked at his hand; he could now see the individual atoms vibrating in the air.
He was 2,000 years away from the story he knew. He was the strongest thing on the planet, and he was only getting started.