The interior was similar, hauntingly so. Standing inside the chief's building, it was almost as if he never left the north.
The walls were stark, sterile white. The exact shade as everything in Norrath. Even the furniture, although sparse, was arranged in the same utilitarian layout he remembered. The resemblance was too deliberate to be a coincidence.
He trailed a step behind Garrett passing a line of sentries guarding the hall. At the far end sat a throne. Black, jagged and internationally imposing. In a room full of marble white, it stood out.
The man resting on it matched its presence. Broad shouldered and heavily built, he exuded a quiet, indifferent authority. Two more armored guards flanked him like stone statues.
"Great chief" Garrett murmured, bending low.
Cassian imitated him. Wouldn't want to displease the king.
"Garrett. You may rise," the chief said, his tone dry. "What brings you before me today? Nothing too troubling I hope"
"Not at all, Sire. I found this boy, wandering the woods. He claims looters separated him from his carriage."
The chief remained silent, his gaze shifting to lock on Cassian. The silence stretched before he spoke. "Your name, boy?"
"Cassian. Sire"
The chief's brow twitched. Was Cassian imagining it, or had his name struck a nerve.
"Where do you hail from, Cassian?"
"Norrath, sire. Far north."
"I've heard no shortage of tales about the North. Is it truly as vast as they claim?"
Cassian caught a subtle flicker of curiosity beneath the man's flat tone. "Well—"
"Far grander than Eveldor, I imagine," the Chief interrupted smoothly. "With towers twice as white as these walls?"
"You're a long way from home," the Chief continued, leaning forward slightly. "What did you say your carriage was transporting?"
"Nothing, Sire. We were simply traveling. We took this pass and were... ambushed, as I said."
"And your companions?"
"They didn't make it, sadly."
Cassiam studied the chief's face for an expression, but the man's face remained utterly blank devoid of emotion, much like the Archon.
"I see, my condolences"
Cassian froze slightly. He had a feeling before, but now he was sure.
The Chief was using vocabulary foreign to these lands, spoken with a crisp, fluid accent that sounded eerily like the dialects of Norrath.
"You are welcome to shelter here for as long as you require," the Chief declared. "Garrett, since you brought him in, he will lodge with you."
"Yes, Sire," Garrett replied.
"I hope our humble city affords you some peace, Cassian."
Garrett rose and turned to leave. Cassian fell into step behind him, but as he turned, he caught a fleeting micro-expression on the Chief's face. Skepticism. It flickered across his features for a fraction of a second before dissolving back into stoic indifference, as if it had never been there at all.
"Looks like you get to keep your head, boy," Garrett grunted once they cleared the heavy doors.
Cassian offered a faint, noncommittal smile.
"Norrath can't really be that massive, though," Garrett added, shaking his head.
"What?"
"Norrath. It can't be much larger than the city of Eveldor. Sounds like an exaggeration to me."
He still stubbornly insisted on referring to Eveldor as a city.
Cassian chose not to correct him. He would be sharing a roof with this man for the foreseeable future; arguing over geography offered no profit.
Besides, the outcome was better than he could have hoped. He had a roof over his head and time on his side. Time to gather his strength and plan his next move. The Archon undoubtedly believed him dead, and Cassian intended to leverage that blind spot for all it was worth.
The people here were off, their eyes trailing him wherever he went.
Cassian couldn't blame them, though. Garrett had called him an outcast, and he wasn't wrong.
"Don't mind the stares," Garrett said without looking back. "They'll get used to you eventually."
"I take it you don't get many visitors around here," Cassian remarked.
"We live on the edge of nowhere. You tell me."
So Garrett was capable of humor after all.
When Cassian woke the following morning, the sun was already high—far later than he had intended.
It was the bed.
After all those nights spent sleeping on unforgiving stone floors, a real mattress had rendered him powerless. Still, he felt a surge of energy he hadn't possessed in days
He glanced around the small house, but Garrett was nowhere to be seen. He'd likely gone out hours ago.
Cassian sank back onto the bed, lifting his left hand and staring at the back of his palm.
"It's still here," he muttered under his breath.
"Of course it is," Materdea's voice echoed softly in his mind.
"But why? You said it yourself, it's useless now."
"Is a blade useless simply because it sits in the hands of a child?"
Parables and sarcasm. She really was the whole package.
"What are you getting at?" Cassian thought back.
"It is useless to you because you do not know how to wield it. Learn, and it becomes your greatest asset."
Before he could press her further, the front door swung open. Garrett walked in, a dead buck slung casually over his broad shoulders. He was wearing the same clothes from the day before. Did he sleep in that?
"Breakfast is served," Garrett announced, tossing the kill down.
Cassian just stared at the carcass, then back at him. "You hunt for your breakfast every morning?"
"As any good hunter should."
Garrett set to work skinning the buck, taking his time with every cut. By the time he actually began cooking, the morning was long gone, it was well past breakfast.
The vast expanse of free time felt foreign to Cassian. Back in Norrath, he would already be stuck in class by now. As tedious as those lessons had been, he had grown accustomed to the routine.
Mondays through Fridays, and the occasional agonizing Saturday.
He cut the thought short. No time for nostalgia. I can never go back anyway.
A string of muffled curses broke his train of thought. Garrett was muttering aggressively at the hearth, glaring at the meat as if it had offended him. It didn't take a master chef to realize the man was a terrible cook.
As entertaining as it was to watch the hardened hunter struggle against a piece of meat, Cassian pushed himself off the bed and walked over to
"I'm usually not this bad at cooking. It's just been a while since I cooked for anyone besides myself. "
Cassian nodded "I'm sure you do"
"What is that tone?"
"What tone"
He scoffed before he started struggling with the meat again. It was different from Norrath, in many ways, but he didn't mind.