Cassius had had enough.
The air inside the cottage was thick with burnt magic and baby breath. The scent of milk still clung to his robes. His hands were trembling—not from fear, but from the sheer strain of not reducing the entire dwelling to ash.
He rose, jaw tight. The child was finally asleep, stuffed into a pile of blankets with the smug satisfaction of someone who had won. Cassius didn't even look back. He pushed open the door, the wooden frame groaning in protest, and stepped outside.
The sky was gray. Muffled clouds hung low over the treetops. Cold wind kissed his face like an old friend—indifferent, sharp, honest.
For the first time in hours… he could breathe.
He walked toward the trees without thinking, boots crunching softly against the ground. Just a breath. Just a moment without crying, without lightning, without eggs and giggles and soft mortal eyes watching him from behind a plate of food he didn't want.
He stepped into the forest, the shadows greeting him like kin. It was quiet. Peaceful. And then he stopped. Something shifted behind the trees—subtle, quick. And he instantly knew he was being watched.
Cassius narrowed his eyes, body stilling like a blade before the strike. Slowly, without a sound, he turned toward the rustle. And then he moved— silent, tracking the barely-there trace of breath and movement.
The presence lingered behind the bushes. Watching him. Cassius bared his teeth. "Curious little shadow, aren't you?"
With a snap of his hand, dark tendrils burst from his fingers, searing through the air toward the figure. But they missed.
The figure—small, fast—darted away with inhuman speed, dark hair flashing between the branches. Cassius didn't hesitate. He gave chase. This was perhaps the most exciting thing he could do in this place.
Branches tore past him, bark shattering under his touch as he pushed himself through the woods like an unchained beast. The figure ran with grace—too much grace. Not a normal girl. Magic pulsed in her trail, faint but wild, uncontrolled. The air shimmered faintly in her wake.
Illusion magic?
No—wind.
Cassius moved faster, weaving through trees, shadows stretching to pull him forward like a sling. He was gaining. She looked back—her face pale, framed by loose raven hair—and then threw something.
It exploded in a flash of wind, sending needles of pressure stabbing at his senses. Cassius ducked, rolling, then surged forward again with a growl.
"You're not mortal." she yelled.
The girl leapt across a rock ledge, barely landing before tearing off again. But just as Cassius closed in—another figure appeared before him, cutting off his path.
A man.
Tall. Clad in blue and silver robes, sigils burning cold across his arms. His hand lifted—and the forest froze. Ice exploded from the man's fingertips, racing across the ground, the trees, the very air. Cassius barely raised a wall of shadows in time, the freezing bite slamming into it like a tidal wave.
The girl vanished behind the blinding storm.
Cassius roared, tendrils flaring, and leapt at the new threat. The man fought well—crystals forming around him, blades of frost clashing with shadow spikes. He was a trained mage. Disciplined. Deadly. But Cassius was not trained.
He was born for this.
With a snarl, he shattered the ice with a punch, shadows wrapping around the man's legs, dragging him to the ground. The man tried to cast—but Cassius stabbed a spear of darkness into his shoulder. The man screamed.
And then it was over.
Cassius stood over him, breathing hard. The man writhed, blood soaking into the frost. Cassius crouched, calm and cruel now, voice like velvet soaked in venom. "Who sent you?"
The man coughed, smiling through bloody teeth. "We know what you are… Demon King. You can't hide in sheep's clothes forever."
Cassius's gaze darkened. He knew he was always being hunted. He had made several enemies over the years, but he just wasn't sure which one of these groups did this guy belong to. "And you can't bleed forever," he said coolly, lifting one gloved finger. He placed it gently against the man's forehead. The man's eyes widened—too late.
Cassius pushed.
Darkness flooded into the man's mind. Images. Memories. Whispers of prayers. Chanting in stone halls. Holy sigils. The emblem—white and gold, the cross embedded with chains.
The Holy Church.
Cassius's eyes snapped open. A low, guttural growl crawled up his throat. Of all the enemies he had made over the years, the Holy Church was the worst and he knew it. They always managed to catch up to him, and thanks to their Holy Magic, they were the only ones who could manage to inflict pain upon him. He hated that.
"They're still hunting me," he muttered. "After all these years…"
The man laughed weakly. "You're not safe. She's not safe. The child… will never be safe."
Cassius's face twisted, and without a word, the shadows wrapped around the man's throat. Crack. Silence returned to the forest, cold and absolute.
But not the peace Cassius sought.
Only the growing certainty that his past was clawing its way into the present—and now, it had eyes on more than just him. This was one of the main reasons why he hated the idea of ever having kids or a family. They were a sign of weakness, and now, he was pretty sure the Holy Church would do anything in their power to exploit that.