Cassian Ven Dyke, a bastard of the noble Ven Dyke family, trudged through the muddy streets of the slums. The rain had been relentless for days, turning the ground into a mire. His tattered cloak did little to keep the cold out, but he didn't care. His mind was solely focused on the old training school ahead. The master's condition had worsened, and Cassian knew this visit might be his last.
The door creaked as he pushed it open, the familiar scent of old wood and sweat filling his nostrils. The training hall was empty, save for the makeshift bed in the corner where the master lay. The once-vibrant man who had taken Cassiane in when he had nowhere else to go was now a shadow of his former self, his breaths shallow and laboured.
"Master," Cassian called softly, kneeling beside the old man.
The master's eyes fluttered open, a faint smile touching his lips as he saw Cassian. "Cass... my boy," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of the rain beating against the roof. "You've come."
"I had to," Cassian replied, his heart aching at the sight of his mentor's frailty. "I owe you everything."
Cassian had met his master Russel five years ago when he was just a malnourished Nine-year-old living in the slums of the capital city, Valdora. Despite being the bastard son of the powerful Ven Dyke family, his parents' death had left him with nothing but a name and the harsh reality of street life. Russel had taken him in, not as a trainee, for Cassian's weak body couldn't handle the rigorous training, but as a caretaker. In return, Russel had taught him to read and ensured he never went hungry.
Russel's voice was now a shadow of its former strength, raspy and faint. "Cassian," he called, and Cassian immediately moved closer, kneeling beside the old wooden bed.
"Yes, Master?" Cassian replied, his voice steady but filled with concern.
The old swordsman reached under his pillow and pulled out a small, ornate box. His hands trembled as he handed it to Cassian. "Open it," he instructed.
Cassian carefully opened the box, revealing a beautiful, intricately designed necklace. It shimmered faintly in the dim light, with a gemstone that seemed to pulse with a hidden power.
"This necklace has been in my family for generations," Russel began, his eyes reflecting a mix of nostalgia and sadness. "I have no kin to pass it on to. The school has been sold, and I have nothing else to give you."
Cassian's eyes widened. "Master, I—"
Russel shook his head weakly. "Take it. Let it protect you when I no longer can." He paused, taking a shallow breath. "Promise me, Cassian. Promise you'll wear it."
Cassian swallowed hard, nodding. "I promise, Master. I'll wear it and keep it safe."
Russel managed a faint smile. "Good. You've been like a son to me, Cassian. Remember, you're stronger than you think," he said, his eyes teary as he struggled to keep them open. His lips trembled, but they curved into a tired smile as he rested his head. "Now I'm feeling a bit weary, boy. Don't forget to wake me up in the morning."
As the first light of dawn filtered through the dusty windows of the old training school, Cassian sat beside Russel's bed, clutching the necklace in his hands. The weight of grief pressed upon him as he struggled to comprehend the sudden emptiness in the room. Russel Ironclad, his mentor and guardian, had passed away in the quiet hours of the night, leaving behind memories and a legacy embodied in the necklace now resting against Cassian's chest.
Cassian's eyes were red and puffy from tears shed in silent mourning. He remembered the lessons Russel had imparted, not only in swordsmanship—which Cassian could never fully grasp due to his frail physique—but in life itself. Russel had been a father figure to him, a beacon of kindness and wisdom in the harsh world of Valdora's slums.
A knock on the door broke the solemn silence, and Cassian looked up to see several somber-faced individuals entering the room. They were members of the local burial guild, tasked with handling the remains of the deceased.
One of them, a stout man with graying hair, approached Cassian with a mixture of sympathy and practicality. "I'm sorry for your loss, lad," he said gently, placing a comforting hand on Cassian's shoulder.
Cassian nodded silently, his gaze drifting to Russel's peaceful face, now covered by a white cloth. The reality of Russel's death settled heavily upon him, and he clutched the necklace tighter, seeking solace in its familiar weight.
"We'll take care of everything from here," the man continued, gesturing towards Russel's body. "He'll be given a proper burial, as he deserves."
Cassian nodded again, his throat tight with unspoken emotions. He watched silently as the burial guild members respectfully lifted Russel's body onto a stretcher and began to carry him away.
Alone in the room now, Cassian stood up slowly, still holding the necklace in his hand. He examined it closely, tracing the intricate design with his fingers. The necklace was indeed unusual—a three-pointed star, with one point smaller and duller than the other two, which were longer and slender. It was made entirely of silver, gleaming softly in the morning light, without a trace of rust or tarnish. A black thread bound the points where they converged, adding to its mysterious allure.
With a deep breath, Cassian draped the necklace around his neck, feeling its cool touch against his skin. For the first time since losing his parents, he had a purpose—a responsibility given to him by his master, to protect the necklace with his life.
As Cassian stepped out of the old building that had been his home for the past year, the dangerous world wasted no time in reminding him of its harsh realities. Sharp, cruel eyes bore into him by a figure lurking nearby. The person's gaze was menacing, but it was their sinister smile that would have sent chilled Cassian's bones, as if it belonged to a devil in human form. They watched him intently, shadowing his every move as he made his way back.
"Ahhh…." Cassian's cry echoed through the dimly lit alley as he crashed to the ground, his back scraping against the rough pavement. He blinked up through the haze of pain, finding himself surrounded by three men whose eyes burned red with malice. Each bore a weapon—swords at their hips and a wickedly gleaming knife in the hand of their apparent leader, who advanced toward him with deliberate steps.
The ambush had been swift and unexpected. Cassian, returning alone from bidding his master final goodbye, couldn't comprehend why he had become the target of such hostility. He had no known adversaries, possessed nothing of significant value that might provoke such an attack. Yet here he lay, vulnerable and bewildered, confronted by aggression he could neither understand nor reason with.
Heart pounding, Cassian scrambled backwards on hands and feet, the cold brick wall pressing into his back as he sought to put distance between himself and the advancing assailant. "What do you want from me?" His voice trembled with a mixture of fear and confusion, his wide eyes darting between each menacing figure.
The leader of the trio, a tall man with dark hair that contrasted sharply against Cassian's shorter stature of just five feet, squatted down near him on the ground. His eyes fixated on the necklace hanging around Cassian's neck, glinting with a mix of covetousness and menace.
"That," the leader demanded while pointing his knife at the necklace on his neck, his voice carrying a tone that brooked no refusal. "I want it."
Cassian's heart sank as he instinctively clutched the necklace in his trembling hands. It was a gift from his master, bestowed only moments ago with strict instructions to safeguard it. The weight of responsibility pressed heavily on him, amplified by the leader's unwavering gaze fixed upon the precious heirloom.
"Not this," Cassian managed to utter, his voice quivering with a mix of fear and determination. "I can give you anything else, but this... I cannot part with."
The leader's smirk widened, revealing a hint of amusement mixed with malice. "You want to struggle?" he taunted, his voice low and dangerous.
Without waiting for a response, the leader's hand moved swiftly to his side, drawing a long, wickedly curved knife from its sheath. The glint of the blade caught the dim light, adding a chilling edge to the already tense atmosphere.
Fear surged through Cassian's veins as he realized the gravity of his situation. With every second that passed, the threat loomed larger, pressing him to make a split-second decision. Instinct kicked in, overriding his thoughts as he scrambled to his feet in a desperate bid to escape.
Ignoring the leader's mocking tone and the impending danger, Cassian turned and ran. His legs pumped furiously, fueled by adrenaline and the primal urge to survive.
The men watched with grim satisfaction as Cassian sprinted away from them, their laughter echoing in the quiet street. Their subordinates smirked knowingly, shaking their heads at the predictable outcome. The leader, a towering figure with dark hair, gripped his knife tightly, eyes fixed on Cassian's fleeing form. With a predatory smile, he muttered under his breath, "I'll take that as a yes..."
In a swift and practiced motion, he hurled the knife towards Cassian. The blade cut through the air with deadly precision, covering the distance in an instant. It struck Cassian's leg just as he reached a safe distance, the force spinning him around and sending him crashing to the ground. Confusion swept over him as he tried to stand, only to find that one of his legs refused to bear weight, as if the ground beneath it had vanished.
Stunned and disoriented, Cassian glanced back, desperate to understand what had happened. To his horror, he saw his leg lying several meters away, severed cleanly from his body. Blood gushed from the wound, staining the ground crimson, same colour as his hair. The pain hit him like a thunderbolt, but shock kept him from fully comprehending the magnitude of his injury.
"Why is my leg there?" Cassian murmured, his voice trembling with disbelief and agony. He struggled to process the surreal scene before him, his mind racing with fear and confusion. The reality of his situation sank in slowly, accompanied by waves of excruciating pain.
Cassian's cry echoed through the alley, a guttural sound of agony as the full force of the pain surged through his mind. The men responsible for his brutal injury exchanged satisfied glances, their smiles betraying a twisted pleasure in his suffering. The leader stepped closer to the now legless Cassian, his voice cold and deliberate.
"Then I'll make sure to make you struggle," he declared, a cruel satisfaction evident in his tone as he advanced towards the fallen Cassian.
Struggling against the agony and the dread of what awaited him, Cassian fought to crawl away, his palms scraping against the rough ground, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. His voice cracked with desperation as he cried out for help, each plea growing more desperate as he realized the futility of his calls.
"Help! Somebody, please help me! Stay away!" His voice cracked, a mixture of fear and pain, echoing into the night.
But the men remained unmoved by his cries, their faces etched with grim satisfaction. One of them, a younger accomplice with a glint of sadism in his eyes, suggested callously, "Shouldn't we just finish him off before anyone hears him?"
The leader chuckled darkly, his gaze fixed on Cassian's writhing form. He withdrew his knife from the ground with a deliberate slowness, its blade gleaming in the dim light. He licked the blood from its edge with a disturbing casualness, savoring the moment.
"Don't be in such a rush," the leader retorted, his voice cold and mocking. "We've got time to enjoy this. He's already begging for mercy, can't you see?"
Cassian, gripped by a cocktail of agony and terror, continued to drag himself backward, away from the advancing men. His eyes darted around desperately, searching for any sign of salvation in the darkness. Each movement sent fresh waves of pain through his shattered body, but the fear of what awaited him if caught spurred him on.
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