A profound self-possession marked Cassian’s every gesture. His childhood, shaped by the stringent expectations of House Thorne’s Scriptorium, had instilled a rigid discipline. He loathed the thought of baring vulnerability, an aversion so deeply ingrained it functioned as an instinct. Consequently, even amidst the most tumultuous of courtly whispers or veiled threats, he maintained an almost unnerving composure. Servants and even some lesser scions often remarked upon his placid nature, deeming him dispassionately dull, incapable of true passion or ire. Not that fury eluded him; rather, each emotional disturbance had been meticulously cataloged, then calcified, hardening into an impenetrable sheath. With each passing year, fewer stimuli could truly penetrate this armor. This held true for Lord Kaelan Thorne, as it did for everything else. Indeed, this very trait allowed Cassian to persist within Kaelan’s capricious orbit. His quiet diligence, his mastery of the ancestral maps, kept him a useful, if unremarkable, fixture in the Thorne household. He occupied a respectable, if subordinate, position within the manor’s intricate social stratification, a delicate perch he had painstakingly secured. “Cassian, where’s that parchment I asked for?” Kaelan’s voice, a casual whip, cut through the midday quiet of the Scriptorium. “On your writing table, Lord Kaelan. As always,” Seraphin replied, without looking up from the illuminated manuscript he was supposedly studying. A low-born ward, Seraphin had an insolence that grated on most, yet Kaelan seemed to tolerate it. “Seraphin, your tone is rather… sharp, today. Did you wake on the wrong side of your cot?” Kaelan chuckled, a sound without warmth. “Better a sharp tongue than a dull wit, my lord,” Seraphin retorted, a lazy smirk playing on his lips. “Unlike some, I rely on my intellect.” Kaelan merely laughed, dismissing Seraphin’s barb. Only a jibe that truly struck home would elicit more than his indolent amusement. Kaelan’s gaze, however, drifted across the vaulted chamber, settling with predatory intent on a hunched figure sketching at a far drafting table. Elara Vance, a lowborn cartography apprentice, trembled beneath his scrutiny. “Seraphin, are there no more… engaging prospects among the manor’s wards?” Kaelan pressed, ignoring Seraphin’s earlier remark. He gestured vaguely toward a group of gossiping pages. “Engaging, my lord? Define engaging.” Seraphin’s voice held a practiced weariness. “Someone with a bit of a fresh face, perhaps a spirited air…” Kaelan’s words trailed off, his eyes fixed on Elara. Kaelan was impetuous, coarse, and prone to swift cruelties. Since his first awakening to the court’s baser temptations, his true nature had been starkly evident. His harassments, devoid of any nuanced restraint, grew ever more flagrant. By the close of this season’s harvest festival, Elara Vance found herself almost entirely shunned. Yet, even this isolation seemed insufficient to sate Kaelan’s peculiar malice. Kaelan’s inner circle—Lord Marcus, Lysander of House Veridian, and Sir Gareth—often lingered, awaiting his leisure. Other pages and distant retainers, Torvin, Rhys, and Lorien among them, vanished with unseemly haste the moment the bell for midday repast chimed. During Cassian’s first year as a Thorne retainer, he had often found himself among Kaelan’s immediate company. But by his second year, a subtle shift occurred. He overheard Lysander’s flippant comment one eve: “Cassian eats with Seraphin, doesn’t he? Always so… deliberate with his portions.” Without a single word from Cassian, his place was implicitly rescinded. Most galling was Kaelan’s indifference. Cassian’s presence, or lack thereof, mattered little. A quiet fury simmered. Cassian quietly addressed Kaelan, his voice carefully modulated. “Am I truly so… deliberate, then?” “Of course, you are. You sit there, dissecting every morsel as if charting a new continent, while the rest of us finish repast in five minutes flat.” Kaelan’s eyes glinted with amusement. “Indeed, Lord Kaelan. We are always late to fencing practice because of it.” Lord Marcus, ever Kaelan’s shadow, chimed in. “Ah.” Cassian’s breath caught. “We have a challenge bout with the Ravenscroft pages today. Best you take your repast with Seraphin.” Pride, a fragile thing, forbade any plea to remain. Besides, the persistent indigestion that had plagued his first year was undoubtedly due to gulping meals to keep pace. And truthfully, the notion of clinging to Kaelan’s wake like a discarded husk disgusted even him. He offered no protest, no desperate entreaty. Just like that, he was an outsider. His silent will, his careful adherence, held no sway. Attempting a façade of indifference, Cassian met Seraphin’s gaze. Seraphin, slouched across his work table, idly juggling a polished river stone, regarded him with a casual quirk of his brow. “When do you take your repast, Cassian?” “…” “Typically, I go in ten bells.” “That suits me as well.” Cassian’s voice was even. Truthfully, he had never dined at that hour. But survival instincts, honed by years in the manor, asserted themselves. To remain within any circle, even Seraphin’s, demanded adaptation. The first time they broke bread alone, Cassian found himself leaving half his plate untouched, feigning a lack of appetite. Seraphin raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Are you truly eighteen summers, and still so particular about your provender?” “What concern is that of yours?” Cassian’s voice, for once, held a faint edge. “Honestly, you are like a child.” “Even men grown don’t take spiced boar with honeyed figs,” Cassian retorted, glaring. Seraphin’s facile observations often nettled him. In his first year, Cassian and Kaelan had been almost inseparable. By the second, their moments had dwindled, largely due to Seraphin’s presence. Yet, Cassian held no right to complain. Seraphin, by birthright and wit, outranked him. Seraphin and Kaelan’s associates often overlapped, largely comprising dissolute pages and ambitious retainers whose academic prowess was as meager as their manners. These were the sort who would forge late-duty chits or slip from their lessons, exploiting the indifference of tutors who rarely bothered to confirm their whereabouts. Kaelan, mindful of his father’s distant scrutiny, usually remained in his lessons until dismissed. As for Seraphin, whose reputation for irreverence was almost as infamous as Kaelan’s, Cassian once inquired why he bothered to remain. “Do you truly believe me so pathetic?” Seraphin had asked, a flicker of something sharp in his eyes. “No, but your associates… they are all of that ilk.” “Associates? What in the name of the Ancestors is that cant? They are no friends of mine. They are dross.” “What?” “A student’s sacred duty is to attend his lessons, to learn, is it not?” Seraphin’s voice had dropped, almost a hiss. “…That is true.” “Do not lump me with dross such as them. It offends me.” “My apologies.” “I sought no apology.” His statement, while sound, felt absurd coming from Seraphin, whose so-called circle skipped their duties at least once each week. Regardless, Cassian spent the better part of his second year in the company of Kaelan and Seraphin. He considered it a singular, almost sacred space, immune to outside intrusion. It would have been perfect without Seraphin’s irritating presence, yet surprisingly, they had forged a truce of sorts. Cassian did not like him, but Seraphin was not so intolerable that he would storm away. Merely… vexing. But Elara Vance, unwitting in her quiet brilliance, turned even those days into a lingering nightmare. --- This day, however, felt subtly different from the usual. A dull thud echoed through the Grand Dining Hall as Kaelan slammed a fist onto the polished oak table, his face a thundercloud as the fourth bell neared its close. “Curse Marcus and Gareth, those craven curs!” Cassian, hearing Kaelan’s outburst, turned at once, a thread of anticipation threading through his quiet voice. “They’ve absconded again, my lord?” “Fools.” Kaelan’s jaw worked. “Unfortunate. With whom will you share your midday repast, then?” Hope, a treacherous ember, flickered within Cassian’s chest. His fingers, unseen, tightened on the back of his chair. Kaelan let out a heavy sigh, his gaze falling upon Seraphin, who was still idly juggling his river stone beside Cassian. “Seraphin, I’ll be joining you two today.” “Do not. No one issued an invitation,” Seraphin replied, blunt as ever. “Continue that insolence, and I’ll silence you myself.” Kaelan’s voice dropped, a dangerous rumble. “Ancestors above, today truly tests my patience, Kaelan.” Seraphin’s stone clattered to the table. “Go on, try it, simpleton.” “Grand words for a lordling who would otherwise dine alone.” Cassian could restrain himself no longer, interjecting, a faint tremor in his voice. “Come, let us all dine together. We cannot allow Lord Kaelan to take his repast in solitude.” His desperation, sharp and undeniable, must have been evident. Kaelan smirked, a triumphant gleam in his eyes, glancing at Seraphin. “See? I have loyal friends.” “…” Seraphin merely scowled, sweeping Kaelan’s polished writing box from the table, sending it clattering to the flagstones. Whether Seraphin favored Cassian or not held no weight. What mattered was Kaelan joining them for repast. It had been so long since they had shared a meal, and Cassian felt a quiet thrill, compelling him to consume even the stewed lamprey, a dish he abhorred. But Kaelan paid scant attention to his food. His eyes, like a predator’s, scanned the bustling hall. Cassian, too fixated on Kaelan, did not notice Seraphin pilfering the spiced figs from his own tray. Then, without warning, Kaelan’s spoon clattered. His free hand shot out, grasping the arm of a slight figure passing their table. Looking up, Cassian saw it was Elara Vance. Her face, always pale, blanched further. “Sit here,” Kaelan commanded, nodding toward the empty seat beside him. “You have no one else with whom to dine anyway.” Elara’s face burned crimson. Her eyes darted, briefly meeting Cassian’s, before she bit her lip, slowly taking the seat Kaelan had indicated. Cassian felt a profound shock. Stunned. Dumbfounded. Since when did Kaelan feign concern for Elara’s company? And the very reason Elara had no companions was Kaelan’s calculated malice. Kaelan loathed any who drew close to her. A bitter taste rose in Cassian’s throat. Unconsciously, Cassian slammed his spoon onto his wooden trencher, the sound sharp and jarring. Only Elara reacted, flinching, her eyes wide and fearful. Kaelan, however, remained fixated on his prey. Damn it. In that moment, the protective shell Cassian had meticulously constructed over years began to fissure. He fought it, tried to staunch the flow, but he could not. Perhaps he had, unknowingly, reached a precipice. Desperately clinging to denial, Cassian snapped at Elara, his voice low and strained. “Elara. You should leave.” “H-huh?” “Do not heed Kaelan. Go. It is permissible.” “Cassian,” Kaelan’s voice, dangerously low, cut through the din. Kaelan, who had ignored the clang of Cassian’s spoon, now ground his teeth, his gaze scorching. That glare, far from deterring, solidified Cassian’s resolve. He fixed his eyes stubbornly on Elara. “I will manage him. You may go.” “Uh, o-okay.” Elara’s voice was a whisper. “And Kaelan, cease this already.” “Aye, I concur,” Seraphin chimed in, through a mouthful of spiced figs, his words barely intelligible. His sudden interjection felt misplaced, an irreverent jape. He chewed and swallowed with irritating deliberation, glancing between Cassian and Kaelan, a smirk playing on his lips. “What are you staring at? You’re spoiling my appetite.” As always, Seraphin’s gratuitous provocations grated on Cassian’s nerves. The man was insufferable. Ignoring him, Cassian turned back to Kaelan. “Leave Elara alone.” “Who in the Ancestors’ name are you to command me?” Kaelan spat. “It is tiresome for the rest of us to witness.” Cassian did not blink, holding Kaelan’s furious gaze. Kaelan slammed his fist on the table. The sudden impact made Elara, poised awkwardly, flinch and squeeze her eyes shut. Seraphin, on the other hand, chuckled lazily, raising a hand as if in surrender. “Count me out of this fray.” He licked a drop of water from his lips, adding, “Let us decide by majority. I am neutral. Cassian desires her departure. Kaelan says she stays.” Seraphin was one of the few who addressed Cassian by his given name, a familiarity Cassian found irksome every time. That irritation, a faint hum beneath his composure, manifested now. “Cease your meddling. Your vote holds no weight.” “Why not? There is another person right there.” Seraphin, unfazed, smirked and gestured toward Elara, a casual flick of his hand. “What? Is Elara not a person?” “You are bereft of reason.” “Why is she so quiet? Let her speak her mind.” As if Elara could possibly utter a word in this suffocating tension. Cassian sighed at Seraphin’s thoughtless antics, picked up his spoon, and idly stirred his rice porridge. Just then, Kaelan tapped a finger on the table, his voice chilling. “If you depart, Elara, you are dead to this manor from this very day.” Tears welled in Elara’s large eyes, glimmering as she looked to Cassian, a desperate plea for succor. Damn it. Cassian pressed his lips together. “It is fine. I will stop him,” Cassian murmured, attempting to reassure Elara. “Cassian,” Kaelan growled, his voice tight with barely contained fury. Cassian forced himself to meet Kaelan’s gaze, feigning a calm he did not possess. He felt an overwhelming urge to simply shatter. To suppress it, he stared at the ornate ceiling for a long moment before lowering his head, replying nonchalantly. “What is it?” “You…” Kaelan clenched his fist, glaring with an intensity that promised to consume him. Still, Cassian had to endure. His instincts screamed that he could not abandon Elara to Kaelan’s cruelties. But Kaelan’s focus shifted back to Elara. “I-I will go,” Elara stammered, her voice a reedy tremor. “…” “Th-thank you, Cassian.” Elara scrambled from the seat, her footsteps echoing unevenly as she hurried away. The moment she vanished through the archway, Kaelan turned abruptly, his glare falling solely on Cassian, cold and venomous, promising retribution for the affront.

The Cracks in the Compass