Chapter 240: v3 - 1: the man who survived I

Chapter 240: v3 Chapter 1: the man who survived I

Cassian remembered falling.

Not the moment before it.

Not the moment after.

Only the fall.

The branch beneath his hand.

The roughness of the bark against his palm.

The sharp crack as it broke.

For one suspended heartbeat, his fingers closed around nothing.

There was no ground.

No tree.

No solid thing beneath him.

Only empty air.

Then the world tilted.

The sky flashed above him.

The earth rushed upward.

And the river—

Cold.

Violent.

Merciless.

It swallowed him whole.

The impact drove the breath from his lungs.

Water filled his ears.

His body twisted helplessly beneath the current, dragged downward by the weight of his clothes, the force of the river, the sheer violence of it.

He tried to reach the surface.

He didn’t know which way was up.

His lungs burned.

His hands clawed through darkness.

For one desperate moment, there was only water.

Only cold.

Only the instinct to survive.

Then—

Nothing.

--

He woke to pain.

Not one particular pain.

All of him hurt.

His body felt distant somehow, as though it belonged to someone else.

His ribs burned whenever he breathed.

His side throbbed beneath a rough bandage, each heartbeat sending another dull pulse through him. His leg felt as though someone had driven a blade straight through it and left it there.

His mouth was dry.

His throat felt scraped raw.

Even his eyelids seemed heavy.

Cassian tried to move.

The smallest movement sent pain tearing through his side.

A groan escaped him before he could stop it.

Someone nearby stirred.

Cassian opened his eyes.

Wooden beams.

A low ceiling.

Darkened corners.

Faces.

Too many faces.

Men lay around him on the floor, some sleeping, others awake and staring blankly ahead.

There was no familiar face among them.

No one he recognized.

No one who looked as though they belonged to his world.

Cassian frowned.

He tried to sit.

Pain shot through his side so violently that his vision blurred.

He collapsed again.

A hand caught his shoulder.

"Stay."

Cassian looked sharply at the man.

The word meant nothing to him.

The man’s face was unfamiliar.

His clothes were unfamiliar.

Everything was unfamiliar.

The man said something else.

Cassian stared at him.

The sounds might as well have been noise.

He swallowed.

His throat burned.

"Water."

Nothing.

Cassian drew another breath.

"Water."

The man only stared.

Cassian’s gaze moved around the room.

There.

A wooden cup near someone’s feet.

He reached for it.

His arm barely moved.

It felt impossibly heavy.

His fingers scraped uselessly against the floor.

Another man noticed.

He picked up the cup.

For a moment, Cassian watched him suspiciously.

Then the man held it out.

Cassian took it with shaking hands.

He drank too quickly.

Water rushed down his throat.

He coughed.

Pain seized his ribs.

The cup nearly slipped from his fingers.

Cassian closed his eyes and waited for the pain to recede.

His breathing came shallowly.

Slowly.

Carefully.

And then—

Memory returned.

The funeral.

The Imperial escort.

The checkpoint.

His weapons being taken.

The road.

The soldiers.

The blade.

The ravine.

And Marian.

Cassian’s eyes opened.

Marian.

For a moment, everything else disappeared.

The room.

The pain.

The unfamiliar men.

The strange language.

None of it mattered.

He had been going to see her.

He remembered that much.

He had been thinking about what he would say.

The words he’d rehearsed in his mind.

The things he had imagined telling her.

He had intended to bring her to Ashford.

He had intended—

Cassian’s breathing tightened.

Then the soldiers had broughtnhum elsewhere and ambushed him.

His jaw clenched.

How long had he been gone?

He looked around the room as though the answer might somehow be written on the walls.

Nothing.

No clock.

No window that told him anything useful.

No familiar landmark.

No one who could answer him.

He looked down at himself.

His coat was gone.

His shirt was gone.

His boots were gone.

He was wearing nothing but trousers.

His belongings were nowhere to be seen.

His hand moved instinctively toward where his weapon would have been.

Nothing.

His fingers curled against empty fabric.

Cassian touched the bandage around his ribs.

Someone had treated the wound.

Someone had cleaned it.

Someone had wrapped him.

Someone had kept him alive.

But who?

And why?

He lifted his eyes toward the door.

It was closed.

Beyond it, unfamiliar voices drifted through the wood.

Low.

Indistinct.

He couldn’t understand a single word.

Cassian tried to stand.

His injured leg immediately protested.

His balance failed.

Two men caught him before he could fall.

He pulled away.

"Let me go."

They didn’t understand.

Cassian looked from one face to the other.

"Where am I?"

Nothing.

His voice sharpened.

"Where?"

Still nothing.

His frustration rose.

He gestured toward the room.

Then toward the door.

Then pointed at himself.

"Where?"

The men exchanged glances.

Cassian’s patience frayed.

"Which kingdom?"

The words hung uselessly between them.

One man shrugged.

Cassian stared at him.

That single gesture somehow felt worse than silence.

He lowered himself slowly.

Pain radiated through his side.

His hands rested against his knees as he caught his breath.

For now, he had no choice.

He had to remain quiet.

He had to observe.

He had to survive.

--

He did not know how many days passed.

Perhaps three.

Perhaps five.

Perhaps more.

Time became meaningless.

There were no mornings he could distinguish from afternoons.

No nights he could measure.

Only sleep.

Pain.

Hunger.

Awareness.

Then sleep again.

He slept whenever his body allowed it.

He woke whenever pain dragged him back.

Sometimes someone changed his bandages.

Sometimes food was brought.

Sometimes he was left alone for hours.

The men around him came and went.

Some were taken away.

Others replaced them.

Cassian watched.

Always watched.

He learned quickly.

They were captives.

He didn’t know why.

He didn’t know where they were being taken.

He didn’t know who had brought them here.

But he knew enough to understand one thing.

None of them were here willingly.

And neither was he.

The realization was difficult to accept.

Cassian had never been powerless.

He had commanded soldiers.

Given orders.

Governed his own lands.

Moved through the world knowing exactly who he was and where he belonged.

He had never needed to ask where he was.

He had never needed another man’s permission to walk through a door.

He had never had to depend upon strangers simply to know whether he would eat that day.

Now—

He didn’t even know where he was.

He didn’t know the language.

He didn’t know who held authority here.

And no one could understand him.

The helplessness was almost more painful than his injuries.

Cassian tried different languages.

Nothing.

He tried gestures.

Nothing.

He pointed toward the door.

Then himself.

Then mimed walking.

The men only stared.

He tried again.

Still nothing.

Eventually, Cassian stopped.

There was no point.

--

The first time he was taken outside, he nearly collapsed.

The door opened.

Sunlight struck his eyes.

Cassian squinted, instinctively turning his face away.

After so long in the dimness, the brightness was almost painful.

He took a breath.

Fresh air.

For a moment, he simply stood there.

Then he looked around.

Wagons.

Several of them.

Horses shifting restlessly against their reins.

Men carrying weapons.

Captives being gathered together.

Perhaps twenty of them.

Cassian’s gaze moved slowly across the scene.

He searched for something familiar.

Anything.

A road.

A hill.

A banner.

A uniform.

A landmark.

Something that would tell him where he was.

Nothing.

The landscape was unfamiliar.

Completely unfamiliar.

No road he recognized.

No banners he knew.

No soldiers wearing the colors of the Empire.

No sign that he was anywhere near home.

His chest tightened.

Home.

The thought came with another.

Marian.

Cassian turned toward one of the men who appeared to be in charge.

"Where are you taking us?"

The man ignored him.

Cassian stepped closer.

"I asked you a question."

Nothing.

The man reached out and grabbed his arm.

Cassian instinctively pulled back.

The man’s hand tightened.

Cassian glared at him.

The man struck him.

Not hard enough to knock him down.

Just enough to make the warning clear.

For a moment, everything went still.

Cassian stared at him.

His cheek burned.

His jaw tightened.

Every instinct in him told him to retaliate.

To put the man on the ground.

To remind him exactly who he was dealing with.

But his injured leg trembled beneath him.

His ribs ached with every breath.

He had no weapon.

He didn’t know how many other men were watching.

And he didn’t know where he was.

So Cassian looked away.

Not because he accepted it.

Because he understood.

Fighting now would accomplish nothing.

They put him into a wagon.

His wrists were bound.

He sat among the other captives.

The doors closed.

The sound of the latch falling into place seemed unnaturally loud.

Then the wagon began moving.

Cassian shifted toward the narrow opening between the wooden boards.

Through it, he watched the road.

It stretched behind them.

Slowly disappearing.

He kept watching.

Even after the place where they had stopped vanished from sight.

Even after the landscape changed.

Even after he could no longer see anything familiar.

He continued looking back.

As though somehow—

if he stared long enough—

he might find a way home hidden somewhere behind them.

But there was nothing.

Only road.

Only distance.

Only the steady rhythm of the wagon carrying him farther away.

Farther from home.

And farther from Marian.

--

He did not attempt to escape.

Not yet.

He watched instead.

He counted the guards.

Studied the horses.

Learned how often the wagons stopped.

Observed what happened when the captives were taken outside.

He listened to the voices around him even though he understood none of them.

Cassian knew enough about survival to understand that a reckless escape was not an escape at all.

He was injured.

He had no weapon.

No money.

No documents.

He didn’t know the roads.

He didn’t know the language.

He didn’t even know how far he had been taken.

If he ran now, where would he go?

Into the countryside?

He could barely walk.

He would be caught again.

Or he would die before he found another settlement.

So he waited.

--

Tbc