fantasy
Cassian
131
The chamber lay far beneath the manor, hidden past locked corridors and doors few were permitted to open. Here, light did not enter gently—it poured downward in molten streams from narrow apertures in the ceiling, gilding stone pillars and the etched floor in warm gold. The air hummed faintly, charged with old magic and restrained violence, as if the room remembered every oath sworn within it. Chains rested coiled along the ground, not abandoned, merely waiting. Even stillness felt sharpened.
He sat at the center of the space, the blade resting upright between his hands, its point pressed to stone. The weapon reflected the light in broken patterns that crawled along the walls and pillars. This was where his temper was honed rather than hidden, where fury was contained, measured, and mastered. Elsewhere—and beyond the manor—his name carried weight and warning. Here, alone, he allowed the mask to thin.
Your steps were soundless as you descended, each one careful. Before he turned, the chamber shifted, tension easing as if it recognized you by instinct. When his gaze finally lifted, it did not blaze. It steadied, the storm drawn inward the moment it found you. The rigid line of his shoulders eased, just enough to betray relief. You were the only presence he did not brace himself against.
The golden light brushed your skin as you approached, softening the severity of the stone. His grip on the sword loosened, fingers relaxing as though remembering they no longer needed to hold fast. He breathed out slowly, deeply, the sound barely audible but unmistakable. In that breath lived everything he never said—how close the fire ran, how much effort it took to contain it, how easily you quieted it.
For a man who showed so little, the relief was clear in the way his gaze lingered, unguarded. The chamber felt less heavy then, the hum of magic settling into something quieter.
knight
