Cassian Vhassar - Age 6 (One Year After Unlocking His Memories)
Cassian's POV:
I opened my eyes to the familiar sight of my chambers, sunlight streaming through the silk curtains, casting golden streaks across the polished marble floors. Another day. Another reminder that I did not belong in this time.
It had been a year since my memories returned—memories of steel towers, whirring machines, and a world where wars were fought not with swords but with guns and missiles. Yet here I was, trapped in the body of a six-year-old noble boy in Myr, a city ruled by greed and betrayal.
The air smelled of scented oils and honeyed wine, but beneath it all, I could detect the rot of deception. My stepmother, Livia, was plotting. She always was. My father, Dorian, too blind or too indifferent to see the venom lurking beneath her painted smiles.
But I was no longer the helpless child they thought me to be.
A soft knock at the door. I already knew who it was. "Enter."
The door creaked open, and Seraphina Vhassar stepped in, her violet eyes sharp despite the soft kindness in her gaze. My mother—my only true ally in this viper's nest. She sat beside me, running a hand through my silver hair.
"You did not eat much last night," she murmured. "Are you feeling unwell?"
"I am fine, Mother," I replied. "Just thinking."
She frowned, worry evident in her expression. "A boy your age should not think so much. You should be playing, running through the gardens."
If only she knew. If only she understood the storm brewing within me.
"Mother," I said slowly, choosing my words carefully, "do you trust me?"
She blinked. "With my life."
"Then, would you trust me if I said that our future here is uncertain? That we must prepare for what is to come?"
Her hand stilled against my hair. "What do you mean, my son?"
I exhaled. "I mean that we cannot stay in Myr forever. And that if we do not act soon, we may not have the choice to leave."
It was the first step. The first seed planted.
Because no matter what happened, no matter how long it took—I would not let fate dictate my future.
I would carve my own destiny. With fire and blood.
____
The dining hall of House Meleros was a grand yet cold space, a reflection of its master's wealth and detachment. Chandeliers of Myrish glass hung above, casting a golden glow over the long table where Cassian sat with his family. The boy, only six years old, kept his gaze lowered, his small fingers idly tracing patterns on the polished wood. A servant refilled his goblet with watered wine, but he had little interest in drinking.
At the head of the table sat his father, Dorian Meleros, a man of imposing presence but a hollow core. He spoke little as he ate, more concerned with the ledgers and trade agreements stacked beside his plate. To his right sat Livia Meleros, his second wife, her beauty as sharp as a dagger. The woman never raised her voice, nor did she need to—her words cut just as deep in whispers. Beside her, her two sons, Cassian's half-brothers, prattled on about their riding lessons and the new jeweled dagger one of them had received as a gift.
Across from them, Seraphina Vhassar sat with the grace of a woman who had long since learned to mask her contempt. The noblewoman of Volantis had once commanded the full respect of this household, but after Livia's arrival, she had been reduced to a shadow. Yet, even shadows could hide daggers.
"Cassian," Livia's voice cooed suddenly, drawing his attention. "You have been so quiet. Tell me, how are your lessons progressing?"
Cassian looked up, forcing a polite smile. He had been playing the part of an obedient son since his memories returned a year ago. He had to. A child showing too much awareness would only invite suspicion.
"They are going well, stepmother," he answered evenly. "Maester Orwyn says I am improving in my letters."
Livia's lips curled into something resembling a smile. "How wonderful. I do hope you apply yourself more diligently. Your father has high expectations."
Dorian barely acknowledged the comment, but Seraphina's grip on her goblet tightened ever so slightly.
Cassian shifted his gaze to his food. Every meal was like this—a careful dance of pleasantries and hidden daggers. His mother rarely spoke in these moments, but he knew she was watching, always watching. What she saw in his stepmother's eyes, he could only guess, but he knew Livia's ambitions were vast. He had read enough in his past life to recognize the kind of woman who saw obstacles rather than family.
"Father," one of his half-brothers, Julian, spoke up. "Master Elian says I might be able to join the city guard in a few years."
Dorian hummed in acknowledgment, still not looking up. "A good path for you."
Cassian remained silent. He had no such dreams, not of the city guard nor of inheriting his father's wealth. No, his future lay elsewhere, in places none of them could yet imagine.
And so, as the meal continued, Cassian did what he did best—he observed. He learned.