Cassian did not fall asleep easily.
Sleep came in fragments, thin and restless, tugging at him only after exhaustion finally won. When it did, it dragged him somewhere he had sworn he would never return.
He was kneeling.
Stone pressed into his knees, cold and unyielding, biting through skin and bone until pain blurred into something dull and distant. His arms were wrenched behind him, bound by heavy chains that burned where they touched him, etched with sigils that pulsed faintly as though alive. Every breath felt borrowed. Every heartbeat was measured, allowed only because someone else permitted it.
The surface was uneven, slick with something damp, and when he shifted slightly, he felt the faint pull of skin tearing. The smell of iron hung heavy in the air, thick enough to taste. Each pulse sent a shudder through his body, vibrating deep into his bones.
The Keepers stood in a half circle before him.
They did not rush. They never did. They had all the time in the world.
Their faces shifted constantly, never settling into one shape for long. Familiar eyes stared back at him from unfamiliar faces. Voices layered over one another, soft and coaxing, sharp and commanding all at once.
A mouth he recognized smiled with someone else's teeth. Shadows moved where features should have been. Voices layered over one another, soft and coaxing, sharp and commanding all at once, pressing in from every direction until he could no longer tell which one spoke first.
You know what you are.
You know what you are meant to be.
Cassian lowered his head, teeth clenched. He tried not to listen. He tried not to answer.
Chains tightened.
The pressure was immediate and brutal, crushing his chest until air fled his lungs. His vision swam. Something hot and furious stirred beneath his skin, clawing upward, desperate to be unleashed.
Do not fight us.
You never win.
Images flooded his mind against his will. Blood slicking his hands. Leira's face twisted in fear. Her voice calling his name, breaking when he did not stop. The memory burned worse than the chains ever could.
His hands came into view, held out before him, and they were slick. Red coated his fingers, pooled in the creases of his palms, dripping steadily onto the stone below. He tried to wipe them clean, but the blood only smeared further, soaking into his skin.
His gaze followed where the Keeper tilted his head. In the corner of the chamber, half swallowed by shadow, a body lay crumpled against the stone. Leira. Her hair was spread dark against the floor, tangled and still. Her skin was too pale, her chest unmoving. One arm was bent at an unnatural angle, fingers slack, as though whatever strength she had once possessed had simply left her. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing.
"No," he rasped, the word torn from him. "I will not."
One of the Keepers stepped forward, placing a hand beneath his chin, forcing his head up.
You already have.
The chains yanked suddenly, jerking him forward. The world lurched. The stone floor fell away.
Something massive moved behind the Keepers. A presence darker than the rest, heavier, its shape wrong in ways that defied reason. Its eyes burned white as it surged forward, mouth opening impossibly wide, swallowing light itself.
Cassian screamed.
He jerked awake with a sharp gasp, body arching off the narrow bed as though he were still bound, still falling.
"No," he breathed. "No."
Sweat drenched him, soaking through his shirt, hair plastered to his forehead. His heart slammed violently against his ribs, each beat echoing in his ears. His hands fisted into the rough bedding, fingers trembling as though they expected chains to still be there.
The room was dark. Stone walls loomed around him, bare and quiet. No sigils. No Keepers. No chains.
The air smelled faintly of ash and old stone. He pressed his palms flat against the mattress, feeling the solid weight beneath him, reminding himself where he was, reminding himself what was real.
The chill seeped upward, anchoring him in his body. His muscles ached, tension coiled tight beneath his skin. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake it off, but the feeling remained, heavy and unresolved.
The silence of the temple pressed in around him, broken only by the distant hiss of wind through the cracks in the stone. His skin prickled, every shadow seeming to twitch with unseen movement. Even the faint scent of the incense, lingering from the day's activities, carried a bitter edge, twisting into something almost acrid as memories of the nightmare clung stubbornly to his thoughts.
Cassian dragged in another breath, then another, grounding himself slowly. He pressed his palms flat against the mattress, feeling the solid weight beneath him, reminding himself where he was.
You are here. You are not there.
The nightmare lingered anyway, clinging to him like a second skin.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, the cold floor shocking him fully awake. His muscles ached, tension coiled tight beneath his skin. He rolled his shoulders, trying to shake it off, but the feeling remained.
The voices had been louder tonight.
That frightened him more than the dream itself.
Cassian moved quietly, slipping from the room without bothering to light a torch. He knew the layout well enough by now, every turn memorized through necessity and caution. The temple corridors stretched long and narrow, shadows pooling along the edges as though listening.
He did not go far.
Voices reached him before he realized where he was headed.
Soft. Familiar.
Leira's.
He slowed instinctively, stopping just short of the archway that opened into the smaller adjoining hall. The fire there had been rekindled, low and steady, casting flickering light across the stone.
Cassian leaned back against the cold stone, breath shallow, the chill biting through his shirt.
Kael stood near it, arms crossed, his silhouette sharp against the glow. Leira sat on the edge of the stone bench nearby, posture tired but composed.
Cassian remained in the shadows.
He did not mean to listen.
But he did.
"I know you want to believe in him," Kael said. "And maybe part of you does. But belief does not change what he is capable of."
There was a pause.
Leira did not answer right away.
"I am afraid," she said finally.
The words were soft. Honest.
"I am afraid that he wants to fight it, but that wanting will not be enough," she continued. "That one day I will look at him and see that same emptiness again. And I do not know if I could survive that twice."
Cassian leaned back against the cold stone, breath shallow.
She had been acting kinder to him. More patient. Open. Every small gesture had felt like belief.
Now he understood.
Hope, not trust.
"I do not think he is lying," Leira went on. "I think he means every word. But meaning something does not mean you can stop it."
Kael exhaled slowly. "That is what frightens me."
Cassian closed his eyes.
He did not interrupt.
He did not step forward.
He did not make his presence known.
When he finally moved, it was silent.
Cassian's chest tightened painfully. He remained perfectly still, every instinct screaming at him to leave, to stop listening, but he could not move.
Cassian swallowed hard.
She had not said she hated him.
She had not said she wanted him gone.
But she had said she was afraid.
And that hurt more than anger ever could.
Neither of them noticed him standing there.
Cassian stepped back silently, retreating down the corridor the way he had come. His hands trembled faintly at his sides, but he clenched them into fists, forcing the reaction down.
She does not believe you can win.
The thought lodged deep, sharp and unrelenting.
Back in his room, Cassian closed the door softly and leaned his forehead against the stone. His breath came slow and uneven. For a moment, the temptation surged.
To leave.
To disappear.
To give in.
It would be easier.
No one would have to fear him if he removed himself entirely.
But another image rose unbidden in his mind. Leira standing between him and Kael earlier that day, voice steady, choosing to try anyway.
He straightened slowly.
Cassian moved to the small basin against the wall, splashing cold water over his face. He gripped the edge, staring at his reflection in the dim light.
You do not get belief.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
But you can choose.
He turned away from the bed, sitting instead on the floor with his back against the wall. He closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, on the steady rhythm of the temple around him.
When the voices stirred again at the edges of his mind, he did not answer them.
He stayed still.
And in the quiet hours before dawn, Cassian chose restraint, knowing it might never be enough.
Knowing it might never earn forgiveness.
And choosing it anyway.