Chapter 212 Reckoning at the northern passes.

Chapter 212 Reckoning at the northern passes.


CASSIAN 

The northern passes were a graveyard.

I had seen death before. I had seen it in the faces of my enemies, in the eyes of the dying, in the stillness of bodies that had once been full of life. But I had never seen death like this, not on this scale, not with this intimacy.

Bodies lay scattered across the rocky terrain like discarded dolls. Norwyn soldiers in their black armor, their faces frozen in expressions of shock and terror. Some had been burned, their flesh blackened and smoking. Others had been crushed, their bodies twisted at unnatural angles. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood, the acrid bite of smoke, and the cloying sweetness of death.

I stood in the center of it all, my chest heaving, my hands still crackling with the remnants of my power. The magic that had surged through me moments before had faded, leaving behind a hollow ache that seemed to seep into my very bones.

I had killed them. All of them. 

I had descended from the sky like a wrathful god, my power blazing from my hands in bolts of force that tore through their ranks. I had felt the magic coursing through my veins, hot and terrible, and I had not held back.

I had not wanted to hold back.

The memory of my father's death was still fresh. The image of that spear striking his chest, of his body crumpling in the royal box, of the blood that had spread across his tunic like a crimson flower, it was burned into my mind, seared into my soul.

And I had channeled that rage into destruction just as Taheer had done. 

The battle was far from over, but we had won the northern passes back. 

For now.

\---

I walked through the aftermath.

The ground was slick with blood and mud, and my boots made a wet, sucking sound with each step. The smoke was thick, obscuring my vision, making my eyes water. But I could still see the faces of the dead.

Norwyn soldiers.

Young men, most of them. Young men, really. They had been sent to die for a king they had never met, a cause they did not understand. They had been told that Aurelia was the enemy, that we were the ones who threatened their homeland.

I should have felt triumphant.

But this sort of victory felt hollow. 

\---

"Cassian!"

I turned.

Evander was running toward me, his face pale beneath the grime and sweat, his eyes wide with something that might have been fear. He was covered in soot and blood, his tunic torn, his hair disheveled. But he was alive.

"Cassian, you need to rest." He grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly strong. "You have done enough. You have done too much. You need to..." 

"I am fine."

"You are not fine." He pulled me toward the camp. "You are barely standing. You used too much power. You can't fly back to the palace like this..."

"I am fine," I repeated.

But even as I said it, my legs buckled.

Evander caught me before I could fall.

"I told you," he said, his voice sharp with a mixture of fear and frustration. "Come on. Let us get you to camp."

I wanted to argue. I wanted to push him away and prove that I was still strong and still capable. But the words would not come.

I let him lead me.

\---

The camp was a makeshift collection of tents and fires, scattered across a rocky plateau that overlooked the northern passes. The soldiers moved between them, their faces tired but hopeful. They had won this battle. They had held the line.

But the war was far from over.

Evander led me to a small tent near the edge of the camp and pushed me down onto a cot. The canvas was rough beneath my hands, the cot creaking under my weight.

"Stay," he said.

"Evander..." 

"Stay."

He left before I could argue further.

I lay on the cot, staring up at the canvas ceiling, my body aching, my mind reeling. The hollow ache had spread, filling my chest, my limbs, my very soul. I felt empty, drained, like a vessel that had been poured out until nothing remained.

It was a sick feeling. I hated it. I felt powerless and weak, but the war was still far from over. I had to recoup fast. Fast and soon enough. 

Sargon was still out there, somewhere in the mountains, plotting his next move. Veyraxis was still out there, her hatred burning as bright as ever. And I was too weak to fight them.

Too weak to protect anyone.

The thought made me want to scream.

\---

Evander returned with a cup of water.

I took it, my hands trembling, and drank. The water was cold and clean, and it eased the burning in my throat.

"You look terrible," Evander said.

"Thank you."

"I am not trying to be kind. You look like death."

I almost laughed. The sound was dry, hollow, barely a whisper.

Evander sat on a stool across from me, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He was covered in the grime of battle, his hair matted with sweat, a fresh cut above his eyebrow. But he was still standing. Still fighting.

"You should not have done that," he said.

"Done what?"

"Used so much power." His voice was flat. "You could have burned yourself out. You could have died."

"I had to."

"You could have let our men finish them off. Or even Taheer." 

I said nothing.

Evander studied me for a long moment, his eyes searching my face. I saw the anger there, still simmering beneath the surface. But I also saw something else. Something that might have been concern.

"I still hate you," he said quietly. "For what you did. For taking her from me. For everything."

"Evander..." 

"But you are still my brother." His voice was steady, unwavering. "And Aurelia is still my kingdom. I will do whatever it takes to protect it. Even if that means fighting beside you."

"Evander..." 

"Do not make this into something it is not." He stood, his jaw tight. "I will never forgive you. But I will fight with you. Because that is what is needed."

I looked at him.

He looked back.

And for the first time in a while, I saw something other than anger in his eyes. Something that might have been acceptance. Something that might have been peace.

"Thank you," I said.

Evander nodded.

Then he turned and walked out of the tent.

\---

I lay on the cot, staring at the canvas ceiling.

He still hates me, I thought. But he is still my brother.

And that is enough.

The sounds of the camp drifted through the tent, the murmur of voices, the crackle of fires, the distant cry of a dragon. Taheer was out there, patrolling the skies with the other dragons, keeping watch over the camp and the passes beyond.

I should have been out there with him.

But I could not move.

I was too weak. Too exhausted. Too drained.

I need to rest, I thought. Just for a few hours. Just until I can stand again.

Then I will go back out there.

Then I will... 

The thought faded.

Darkness crept in at the edges of my vision.

I let it take me.