Cassian had always trusted reason.
He trusted structure, archives, the rules of magic and protection. Not myths. Not prophecy. Certainly not dreams. But now, everything around him was breaking like thin glass under fire.
Liara had changed.
Aeron was unraveling.
And he—he was beginning to see things he couldn't explain.
That morning, Cassian stood alone in the scriptorium, the only sound the hiss of enchanted candles and the soft shuffle of ancient pages. The book he sought had no title—just a sigil of two crescents entwined.
A forbidden ledger. One he wasn't supposed to open.
But he did.
And what he found made his blood run cold.
The Vault was forged by four—the Soul, the Warden, the Marked, and the Watcher.
Each tied to the seal in blood, in memory, and in pain.
Only one remained unbound, tasked with remembrance. To watch the rebirth of what once was whole.
Cassian stepped back from the book, heart pounding.
Watcher.
He had seen that word before. In dreams. In mirror-glints. On the strange scar near his wrist that never fully healed.
He'd always assumed he was simply clever enough to keep up with Liara and Aeron.
But what if he had a role, too?
What if he wasn't meant to intervene… but to remember?
And if that was true…
Then why had he started hearing voices in the walls?
That night, Cassian sat in the quiet of his study, staring at the flickering sigils above the fireplace. He reached for his wine—and froze.
In the flame's reflection stood a figure in silver light, blurred, watching.
He turned around.
No one.
But the mirror above the mantle now bore a mark—an X of golden fire crossing a crescent moon.
Cassian stumbled back, breath caught.
He was being watched.
And worse—he was remembering things he never lived.