Chapter 7: The Weight of Time

Cassian’s gaze remained fixed on the window, the pale moonlight casting fractured shadows across the room. The cold glass reflected his face back at him—hollow eyes, a jaw clenched with frustration, and a mind racing faster than he could keep up. His thoughts spiraled, repeating the same helpless mantras.

It’s been a year already, he thought, frustration building in his chest. A whole damn year, and now here i got stuck in this mess.

His mind replayed the reports he had heard on the news, though they were nothing more than a distant echo. David and the head guard of Lord Fenric’s collection house had turned themselves in. They had confessed everything. The trap they’d set up for him, the lies they’d spun. And yet, even as he thought about it, the clarity of it all seemed to slip through his fingers. How had he fallen for it? How had he let them pull him into their web?

And that damn officer... Raiden Nightshade. That maniac. His thoughts turned bitter. He’s the one who solved the case. He’s the one who found the evidence I never even knew existed. And now, it’s all coming back to haunt me.

The tightness in his chest deepened. I’m stuck. I can’t go back. Not now. Not after everything. Not after... that pearl.

The heat that had enveloped him when he swallowed it, the strange sensation that had followed—was it a dream? A hallucination? He couldn’t be sure. All he knew was that it had pulled him under, pushing him into a state that felt like nothing more than a twisted dream. Or had it been real? His mind still struggled to separate the two, the line between fantasy and reality growing blurrier with each passing day.

One year, he thought again. One whole year in a coma, and I’ve done nothing. Just let myself get trapped by my own damn mistakes. I swallowed that pearl like an idiot, and now I can’t even return the crown.

He clenched his fists. The weight of his failures pressed down on him like an anchor, dragging him deeper into his own self-loathing. He should have been smarter. He should have—

A small voice interrupted his thoughts, and his chest tightened at the sound of it.

“You... look tired,” the child said, his voice soft but filled with concern. “I think you should take rest. Rest is important, my mama said that. And you look like you need sleep right now.”

Cassian’s breath caught, and he finally tore his gaze away from the reflection in the window to look down at the child. The boy stood in the doorway, his small form bathed in the dim glow of the room, his eyes wide with an innocence that had no place in this world. He was concerned. For Cassian.

It shouldn’t matter, not after everything, not after the distance he had put between them. But it did. It mattered more than anything else.

*Rest.* The word echoed in his mind, strange and foreign. How could he rest when his life was a tangled mess of guilt, unanswered questions, and fears that gnawed at him constantly? How could he sleep when every time he closed his eyes, he was pulled back into the past, into that fevered dream where nothing made sense?

He sighed, rubbing his face with one hand, trying to shove the fatigue away. "I’m fine," he muttered, though the lie sat heavy on his tongue.

The boy stepped forward, his tiny hands clasped together, as if he were trying to summon the courage to speak. “But you don’t look fine,” he said. “You look... sad. You shouldn’t be sad.”

Cassian felt a pang in his chest. The child’s words, so innocent, cut through him more deeply than he wanted to admit. *Sad?* Yes, he was sad. And angry. And lost. He felt all of it, an overwhelming tidal wave of emotions he couldn’t stop, couldn’t process.

“I’m not sad,” Cassian said, but his voice wavered slightly, betraying him. He ran a hand through his hair, looking away. “Just tired. It’s nothing.”

The child didn’t seem convinced. He shuffled closer, his small feet making soft pattering sounds against the floor. “Mama said... when you’re sad, you should rest. And when you’re tired, you need to sleep. You should try... sleeping.”

Cassian couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly, though it was hollow. “Sleep won’t fix anything.”

But even as he said the words, he felt the weight of exhaustion pulling at him. It had been a year, and yet, he hadn’t allowed himself the luxury of rest. His mind never stopped, never gave him a moment’s peace. Even when he slept, his dreams were filled with fragments of the past—those memories he couldn’t escape, those regrets that burned like acid.

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The boy was still watching him, his expression earnest. “You’re not alone,” he said quietly, his voice small but certain. “I’m here. I won’t leave you.”

The words were simple, but they struck Cassian like a physical blow. He had heard them before, from so many people who had long since disappeared. Promises. Empty promises. But somehow, hearing them from the child, whose understanding of the world was still so limited, made the weight of those words feel... different.

Cassian opened his mouth to say something—anything—but the words caught in his throat. How could he respond to that? How could he explain that he was too broken to be anyone’s anchor, too consumed by his own demons to offer the reassurance the boy needed?

Instead, he nodded slowly, almost imperceptibly. “Fine,” he muttered. “I’ll rest. Just... don’t expect me to sleep right away.”

The child’s face brightened immediately, the corners of his lips lifting into a small smile. He seemed to take it as a victory, and for the first time in a long while, Cassian found himself feeling something other than bitterness and resignation.

The boy took a small step back, giving him space. “I’ll be here,” he said, his voice soft but filled with determination. “I’ll stay.”

Cassian watched him for a moment, a knot of something unfamiliar tightening in his chest. He couldn’t explain it, but something inside him shifted. The walls he had built so carefully around himself, the fortress he had lived in for so long, suddenly seemed less solid, less impenetrable.

The boy turned, his small hand gesturing for Cassian to follow him down the narrow hallway. His tiny footsteps echoed faintly in the quiet house. Cassian trailed behind, his boots scuffing the worn floorboards, the boy’s voice ringing softly in the silence.

“Follow me... brother,” the boy said, his tone bright and innocent.

Cassian clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to correct him again. He had already told the kid not to call him that. He didn’t deserve to be called “brother.” That word carried a weight he couldn’t bear, a bond he couldn’t return. But this time, he let it slide, the effort to argue more exhausting than the word itself.

The boy led him into a small, cluttered room. The air was faintly tinged with the scent of crayons and something sweet, like candy hidden under the bed. Drawings were taped haphazardly to the faded walls—childlike depictions of trees, animals, and a figure that looked suspiciously like Cassian, albeit crudely drawn, with an exaggerated frown and crossed arms.

Toys were scattered across the floor, their bright colors standing in stark contrast to the drab, gray walls. A small bookshelf leaned precariously in the corner, its shelves crammed with books, most of them worn and well-loved. The bed in the center of the room was unmade, a soft, threadbare blanket spilling onto the floor like a cascade of faded blues and yellows.

The boy climbed onto the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress before sitting cross-legged. He patted the empty space beside him with a grin that seemed too wide for his tiny face.

“Here. Sleep,” the boy said with a tone of authority that only a child could muster. “You need it.”

Cassian stared at him, then at the bed. His tall frame would barely fit on the mattress, and the idea of lying in the child’s small sanctuary felt... wrong. Out of place.

“kid,” Cassian said abruptly, his voice low and gravelly.

The boy tilted his head, his bright eyes blinking in confusion. “Huh?”

“What’s your name?” Cassian clarified, his gaze steady on the boy.

“Oh!” The boy’s grin returned, even brighter than before. “Sky! My name is Sky!”

Cassian nodded slowly, his gaze drifting to the walls again, where more drawings of skies filled with clouds and stars adorned the space.

“Sky, is it?” Cassian murmured, his voice softening despite himself. “Pretty name.”

Sky beamed, his small chest puffing with pride at the compliment. “Mama picked it for me! She said the sky is big and full of hope. Like dreams!”

Cassian felt a pang in his chest at the boy’s words, a strange mixture of warmth and sorrow that he couldn’t quite explain. He didn’t have the heart to ask where Sky’s mother was now. The loneliness in the house spoke louder than any words could.

“Why don’t you sleep here?” Sky asked, his head tilting again, his small hand patting the bed insistently. “You look really tired. Like... super tired.”

Cassian gave a dry chuckle, though there was no humor in it. “I am tired,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Then sleep!” Sky declared, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.

Cassian sighed, running a hand through his hair. His body did ache, every muscle sore from days of running and hiding. But rest was a luxury he couldn’t afford, not when the authorities were likely hunting him, not when his own nightmares were bound to follow him into sleep.

Still, the boy’s insistence tugged at something deep inside him.

“Fine,” Cassian said after a long moment, his tone laced with resignation. He sat down on the edge of the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. Sky’s small legs dangled off the side as he watched Cassian settle in.

As Cassian stretched out, his long legs hanging over the edge of the bed, he felt an odd sense of calm wash over him. The room was small, cluttered, and chaotic, but it was warm. Safe, even.

Sky grabbed the blanket from the floor and draped it over Cassian with the awkward determination of a child trying to help. The edges of the blanket barely covered Cassian’s chest, but the gesture made his throat tighten.

“There,” Sky said proudly, his tiny hands on his hips. “Now you’re all comfy!”

Cassian closed his eyes for a moment, the faint scent of crayons and innocence enveloping him. He hadn’t felt this kind of warmth in years. And while a part of him wanted to pull away, to remind himself that this was temporary, another part—small but growing—wanted to stay.

Sky sat beside him, his little hand resting lightly on the blanket. “You’ll feel better after you sleep,” the boy said softly, his voice full of certainty.

Cassian didn’t respond, his eyes still closed, his breathing steady.

For the first time in a long time, the nightmares didn’t come immediately.