Without another word—and without waiting for mine—he turned and disappeared into the dark.
My breathing grew heavier, each inhale scraping my throat. My heart pounded so loud it drowned out the night insects.
Qahir's words kept turning over in my head.
"Your the funniest, strangest, strongest, squire I've had yet."
But where are they now?
Probably dead.
I tilted my head back.
The stars burned brighter tonight, sharp as cut glass against the black.
Was Qahir telling the truth… or was this just another fairy tale, like the ones in my world?
Could those lights really be gods?
Could one of them be watching me now?
…Probably not.
Minutes passed before a streak of light cut across the sky, gliding past the others.
A shooting star.
I'd better get ready, I told myself.
My heart was still pounding, sweat crawling down my arms as I slipped inside the manor, heading toward the cellar to grab what little I owned.
"Cassian."
The voice came from my right. Yasmin stood in the kitchen with her sleeves rolled up, arms deep in a basin of cloudy water. Pots and wooden utensils bobbed in the suds. She didn't meet my gaze—her hands moved fast, scrubbing like the pot in her grip had personally wronged her.
"You're leaving, aren't you?" she asked, voice taut, like she was holding back more than just the words.
"I am," I admitted.
The pot slipped from her fingers and hit the floor with a metallic clang, water splashing against her dress. She stepped toward me, jaw set.
"So you were just gonna leave like that?" she demanded. "Without saying a word to me?"
I stayed silent, and her anger sharpened.
"What about Noura, huh? Were you even planning on apologizing to her?"
Her voice said Noura, but her eyes said something else entirely.
"You think you can just walk out, Cassian? Leave everything behind like it's nothing?"
I sighed. She was right—I'd been an ass. Maybe I still was. But I wasn't going to walk out like a thief in the night, not to her.
"You're right," I said, stepping closer. "I'm terrible at this. At goodbyes. At… everything. But I don't want to leave without saying that you've kept me sane here. More than you know."
Before she could reply, I closed the space between us and kissed her.
It wasn't soft—it was quick, rough, clumsy. Her hands, still wet, curled into my shirt and held on. For a moment, she kissed me back, like she'd been waiting for it. Then she pulled away, breathing hard.
"You're coming back," she said, almost a command.
I smirked faintly, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. "I'll try."
Her laugh came out bitter, but she didn't step away until I did. And even then, her gaze followed me, sharp enough to make me wonder if walking away was the hardest thing I'd done yet.
I left the kitchen with Yasmin's voice still echoing in my head, her eyes haunting me more than her words.
The cellar door was just ahead when another voice called out from the shadows of the hall.
"Cassian."
Metania stepped forward, the lamplight catching the silver in her dark hair. She looked tired—she always looked tired—but there was something sharper in her gaze tonight.
"So it's true," she said quietly. "You're leaving with Qahir at sunrise."
I nodded. "That's the plan."
She studied me for a moment before speaking again, her voice steady but low. "I've been in this world longer than you've been alive, Cassian. And I know you think you've seen cruelty. You haven't. Not yet."
My mouth opened, but no words came out.
"You've seen a corner of it, inside these walls. But out there…" she gestured, "…there's no limit to how low people will sink. No one fights fair, no one spares the weak, and the moment you think someone's earned your trust is the moment they'll carve it out of you."
Her eyes locked on mine, cold but not unkind. "Do not mistake the brutality you've seen here for the worst of it. The outside world will show you how much further it goes."
I swallowed, unsure what to say.
"Keep your blade sharp, your head sharper… and your trust in check. That's the only gift I can give you."
For a moment, her expression softened—just enough for something like sorrow to seep through—before she stepped back into the shadows.
"Go, Cassian. Make your god proud."
The way she said it—like she knew exactly who she was talking about—sent a chill through me.
My god?
What god?
I turned to ask, but she was already gone.
The horizon was bleeding with the first hint of light. I needed to hurry.
I rushed down the stairs to the cellar, keeping my steps as light as possible so I wouldn't wake anyone. The air was cool and smelled faintly of damp earth.
I grabbed the few things I owned—a worn book from Yasmin to help me learn the language, a spare set of clothes—and stuffed them into the small sack that usually served as the pillow for my bed of hay.
I scurried back up, every creak of the stairs making my pulse spike. My hands were clammy, my chest tight, though I couldn't say why.
It wasn't fear of the road ahead. Not exactly. It was something heavier.
This was the next chapter in my life… or maybe, if I wasn't careful, the epilogue.
As I stepped out of the manor, the sound of a small army stirred the air.
Pockets of soldiers clustered across the yard, voices low—the calm before the storm. Horse hooves clomped against the dirt as handlers led them in slow circles. The sunrise crept over the mountains, casting everything in sharp gold.
The soldiers were a strange sight—no matching armor, no polished parade gear. Some wore scraps of steel and battered chainmail, others full suits of plate like Qahir's. They weren't dressed like the manor guards. No polished crests, no gleaming colors. These men wore their emblem like a threat.
Over their chests sprawled a black sun, its jagged rays uneven, like claws tearing outward from a hole in the world. At its center, a faint glimmer caught my eye. At first I thought it was chipped paint, but when one stepped into the light, I saw the truth: a scatter of tiny silver dots, arranged into constellations I didn't recognize.
A thin ring of crimson edged their sleeves and shoulder plates—like dried blood. The same black sun marked their cloaks, its jagged rays stretching to the hem. Even their shields bore it, the silver stars only visible when the sunlight struck just right.
They didn't need gold or jewels to announce themselves. The emblem alone was enough—an eclipse in motion, warning that the light was gone, and all that remained was them.
Then I spotted Qahir, standing in full armor with several others. They were shorter than him, but the way they spoke… this was no casual gathering. Whatever it was, I wasn't about to walk into it.
I wandered the manor grounds instead, passing racks of weapons and glints of steel—like stepping into the center of some medieval painting.
Then a horse stepped into my path, sides heaving, breath wheezing as if it had galloped across the whole world.
"Hey! Boy!" a voice barked from behind it.
The horse passed, and I saw a man I'd never met. He was definitely a soldier, though not a rich one—chainmail and leather shoulder guards marked with the same black sun and crimson as the others. He was massive, broader than any man I'd seen here, though still shorter than Qahir.
"Get over here!" he shouted again.
I looked left, then right, unsure if he meant me.
"If you don't move right now, I'll tell Qahir you disobeyed me!" His voice cracked like a whip.
That settled it. I rushed forward. "Yes—yes, sir. What do you need?"
The man looked me up and down like he was measuring the weight of a coin.
"You're Qahir's boy, aren't you?" His voice had that thick, grinding quality of someone used to barking orders.
I nodded. "I'm his squire."
He snorted. "Squire, huh? Must be nice. Never thought Qahir was the type to keep pets."
My jaw tightened. I didn't answer.
"Relax," he said, though his smirk made it sound more like a threat than advice. "I just need you to carry something." He turned, waving me after him.
We passed between groups of soldiers who glanced our way, some curious, some… dismissive. I could feel their stares following me. Not friendly ones.
The man led me to a cart half-buried under sacks and crates. He pointed to a heavy chest reinforced with iron bands.
"Lift that and bring it to the west end of camp. Don't drop it. And don't open it. If you do… well, let's just say you won't make it past sunrise."
He handed me a worn leather strap to sling around it. The chest was heavier than it looked, the weight uneven, shifting inside.
"What's in—" I started, but his stare cut me off.
"You don't ask questions, boy. Not here. Not in this camp. You just do what you're told."
I bit back my words, adjusting the strap across my shoulder.
As I walked away, I heard him mutter under his breath to another soldier, his voice carrying just enough for me to catch:
"Let's see how long Qahir's pup survives outside the manor."
The chest bit into my shoulder as I hauled it through the camp, weaving between cookfires and rows of sharpened pikes.
Everywhere I passed, the air shifted—conversations dipped, eyes followed.
At first, I thought it was me they were staring at.
But then I caught the tone.
"…can't believe we're still taking orders from him," one man muttered over a half-cleaned blade.
"Not like we've got a choice," another grumbled. "Council says jump, we jump."
The first spat into the dirt. "I don't care what the Starborne Council says. He's not fit to lead us. Not with his blood."
I slowed, pretending to adjust the strap on the chest.
"Careful," the second hissed. "You want him to hear you?"
"I don't care if he hears me. Let him swing that halberd all he wants—doesn't change where he comes from."
They both fell silent when they noticed me watching. I hurried along, pretending I hadn't heard a word.
Leader?
Orders?
Qahir?
I reached the west end of camp and set the chest down beside a stack of spears. My arms ached, but my mind was buzzing.
Qahir had never once mentioned leading anyone. I'd assumed he was just another soldier—a skilled one, sure, but not someone these men would resent.
Now I wasn't so sure.
I wiped the sweat from my brow and turned back toward the manor, hoping to slip past the clamor without bumping into anyone else.
But luck wasn't on my side.
Rounding one of the supply carts, I stopped short.
Qahir stood a few paces away, squared off against a man in heavy pauldrons—one of the ones who'd been staring earlier.
"You think being the council's dog makes you untouchable?" the man sneered, stepping forward until they were chest to chest.
Qahir didn't move. His voice was low, but every word carried. "No. But I don't need their permission to take your head off where you stand."
The soldier's jaw worked, his hands flexing at his sides. "You shouldn't be leading us. Not you."
Qahir's smile was thin, almost amused. "And yet… here we are."
The man muttered something I couldn't catch and stormed off, shoving past me hard enough to nearly knock me into the tent pole.
Qahir's eyes flicked to mine. For a heartbeat, I thought he might explain, but he just said, "Get ready. We march soon," before walking away without another word.
Leader.
He was their leader.
And whatever history he had with these men… it was thick enough to cut with a blade.
Then a holler split the air from somewhere down the line—another leader's voice, sharp and commanding.
"Everyone! March formation! We leave in twenty!"
The camp erupted into motion. Soldiers broke off into a chaotic rush, grabbing gear, tightening straps, yanking weapons from racks. Armor clinked, boots hammered the dirt, and orders were barked in every direction.
I didn't know where to stand, but instinct told me—stick with my knight.
I wove through the swarm, scanning for Qahir. Then I spotted him—standing apart from the chaos, framed like some warrior from an old painting. His halberd rested against his shoulder, and the rising sun burned behind him, throwing his figure into a dark silh1ouette.
The gates of the manor swung wide, and for the first time since arriving in this world, I saw beyond them.
"Cassian!" His voice cut through the din. "Follow me, my squire! We're moving out!"
A smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.
"Moving, sir!"
I rushed forward, weaving between soldiers and horses like a dog sprinting to greet its master—one eager step closer to whatever lay beyond those walls.
As Sir Qahir hauled himself onto his massive black stallion, the poor beast groaned under his weight, muscles straining. He extended a gauntleted hand toward me without a word.
I took it, and in one swift pull, he yanked me onto the back of the saddle. I landed hard, wedged against the cold steel of his armor, my own body swallowed in his shadow.
"Black Sun Vanguard—march!" Qahir's roar cracked through the morning air. His halberd shot upward, catching the sunlight in a flash of steel.
The stallion reared high, front hooves slicing the air. My grip tightened on Qahir's armor as the ground dropped away for a heartbeat, my stomach lurching. We came crashing back down, the thud of hooves shaking through my bones.
Around us, the vanguard moved as one—shields shifting, boots pounding, the black sun emblems glinting like eclipses in motion.
We were finally leaving. My heart had stopped racing—not from calm, but from a strange steadiness. For once, I didn't feel dread. In this moment, I was part of something. Something I didn't understand, maybe never would, but it was more than I'd ever had before. My life, at last, was moving toward something… even if I didn't know where it led.
I glanced back at the manor one last time.
Yasmin stood in the doorway, framed by the rising light. She raised a hand, her wave small but steady.
I lifted mine in return.
The smile faded from my face before it could even settle. I turned away, knowing deep down I wouldn't see her again.
Maybe that was for the best.
As the Black Sun Vanguard filed out through the gates, I felt that flicker of excitement—finally, I'd see the world beyond the manor walls.
It didn't last.