The sun peeked through the clouds like it was shy, casting a soft golden glow over the quiet village of Windrest. Nestled between rolling hills and thick woods, it was the kind of place where the days moved slow, and everyone knew everyone else by name. For Cassian, that was perfect.
He didn't need attention anymore.
Cassian stood at the edge of a small cliff just beyond the village fields, arms folded, watching the wind sway the tall grass below. His cloak fluttered in the breeze, and from a distance, he looked like just another traveler or a bored farmhand. But if anyone came closer, they'd notice the strange stillness around him, like the air itself avoided his skin.
It was the side effect of his power. Even now, after all this time, the anti-magic energy around him pushed lightly against the world, repelling the flow of magic in the air like oil to water. Animals could sense it. So could mages—if any ever came this deep into nowhere.
But that was the point. They didn't.
Cassian took a deep breath and turned back toward the village. He had chores to finish. Despite everything he'd been through, life here was simple. There was comfort in the routine: helping old man Jarek fix his roof, carrying water to the fields, and listening to the local kids argue over who could fight better with sticks. It was a world that didn't care about grades, bloodlines, or magicules. It just... existed. And for now, that was enough.
As he walked past the main road, villagers waved to him.
"Morning, Cass!" called out Mira, the baker's wife. "Fresh bread later, don't be late!"
"I'll be there," he answered with a nod and the smallest smile.
No one here knew what he was. Not really. They knew he had no magic, that he was quiet, polite, and strangely strong for someone who didn't seem to train. That was all. And that was how he liked it.
But sometimes—just sometimes—he'd pause while walking through the fields or look up at the sky and remember the past. The academy. The bullying. The accident. His death. And then... the awakening.
It all felt like a different lifetime.
He reached his small house near the forest edge, nothing more than a wooden cabin with a stone chimney and an overgrown garden. Birds chirped overhead, and somewhere behind the house, the creek babbled softly.
He opened the door, stepped inside, and let out a quiet breath.
The inside of the cabin was neat. Not fancy, but carefully organized. Books lined one side of the room—some on herbcraft, others on runes or magical theory. He didn't use spells, but he read everything. Learning how magic worked made it easier to destroy. Or bend.
A wooden training dummy stood in the corner, its arms charred black from old experiments. On the table, a half-finished carving rested beside a bowl of cold stew. He picked up the carving—a wolf in progress—and set it aside.
Today, he didn't feel like carving.
Instead, he walked over to the center of the room and dropped into a sitting position. Crossing his legs, he placed both hands on his knees and closed his eyes.
Focus.
He could feel the pulse inside him—quiet, deep, but constant. The anti-magic. It was always there, like a second heartbeat. Back then, in the academy, he could only summon it to one arm. Now, he could let it flow through his entire body.
It still fought against him sometimes. The power wasn't gentle. It wasn't meant to be. But he had learned to coexist with it.
Suddenly, a small flicker danced along his skin. Invisible to the eye, but real. The sensation of magical resistance. The very air seemed to tighten for a moment, as if expecting a spell to be cast and instantly broken.
He breathed out.
"I'm not your enemy," he said softly, not to anyone, but to the power itself. It didn't respond, of course. But saying it helped.
Knock, knock, knock.
Cassian opened his eyes. Someone was at the door.
Strange. No one usually visited this early.
He stood, walked over, and opened the door just a crack.
It was Marla, one of the village kids—barely twelve, with messy hair and wild eyes.
"Cassian! You have to come see this! There's something in the forest!"
His brow twitched. "Something? Like an animal?"
"No! I—I think it's a person. But... weird. Like sick or dead or... I don't know! Just come!"
Cassian blinked. That wasn't something he expected to hear today.
"I'll grab my things," he said quietly.
As Marla waited outside, Cassian walked back into the cabin and pulled on his boots, his gloves, and a long black scarf that covered the lower half of his face. Not because he needed to hide. But because old habits died hard.
He strapped a small dagger to his belt not for fighting. Just in case. His real weapon wasn't steel anyway.
Cassian stepped outside and looked toward the woods.
The peace he'd found in Windrest had lasted longer than he thought it would. But nothing peaceful ever stayed forever—not in his life.
And somewhere, deep down, he already knew:
This wasn't just a forest accident.