Cassian ran.
The glass maze stretched infinitely, its walls twisting and shifting with every step. His reflection flickered along the smooth surfaces — distorted, fragmented. The air felt wrong, heavy, and each breath carried the taste of metal and dust. The floor beneath him clicked softly, like distant clockwork, counting down to something he couldn't see.
A whisper slithered through the dark.
Cassian whipped around, but the corridor behind him was empty. No… not empty. Something clung to the corners, curling and twisting, always just out of sight. He pressed forward, pulse pounding in his ears. The maze shifted, the path ahead warping and spiraling into new directions. Each turn felt more desperate. Every corner he rounded felt like stepping deeper into something's trap.
Then came the sound — soft, wet, and wrong. Like flesh peeling from bone. He didn't look back. He didn't want to see what made it.
The maze shifted again. The reflections grew sharper. Cassian glimpsed his own face, gaunt and pale, eyes hollow. In another wall, his reflection moved before he did, head turning slowly to stare at him. He pushed harder, his breath ragged.
Finally, the path opened into a vast chamber. The glass walls rose high into the darkness, and at the center stood a single door. Dark wood, heavy, carved with symbols that made his vision swim if he stared too long. His hands trembled as he pushed it open.
The library stretched before him.
The air grew colder. Rows of towering shelves spiraled upward, vanishing into the gloom. The books hummed softly, their bindings twitching as if alive. Cassian stepped forward, drawn deeper into the labyrinth of knowledge. Candles flickered along the walls, casting faint, wavering shadows.
He moved down an aisle, fingers brushing against the spines of the books. The titles were unreadable, shifting whenever he tried to focus. One book caught his eye — bound in dark blue leather, its cover smooth and cold.
He pulled it free, and the pages fell open beneath his touch. The words shifted, rearranging themselves into meaning. It read.
"The mind's boundaries are self-imposed."
The diagrams were elegant, intricate. They showed the delicate lattice of thought, the threads of the mind entwined with the Warp. Cassian followed the patterns, understanding seeping into him as if the book whispered its secrets directly into his thoughts.
There were techniques here — real techniques. Ways to refine his telepathy, to make it sharper, more dangerous. He read about Mental Lances, focused bursts of psychic energy that could pierce through a target's thoughts, leaving them stunned or broken. He studied the art of — cloaking his presence in the minds of others, slipping unnoticed through their perceptions.
Another page turned, revealing something deeper. Techniques to fortify the mind, weaving mental barriers to shield his thoughts from intrusion. There were methods to strengthen his connection to the Warp, using emotion as fuel — fear, anger, even pain — each becoming a weapon.
Cassian flipped another page, breath catching. There were ways to push the limits. To amplify his physical form, if only briefly, by channeling Warp energy through his nerves and muscles. It wasn't his discipline, but the technique was clear. He could feel the knowledge threading into his mind, becoming a part of him.
The candlelight dimmed.
Cassian stiffened. The shadows crept closer. The library groaned. He shut the book and turned, heart pounding. The shelves stretched endlessly, the path behind him gone. The darkness pressed in, cold and suffocating.
Then he heard something — the wet, scraping sound. Closer now.
The shadows slithered along the floor, pooling at his feet. He tried to run, but his legs felt leaden, heavy. The darkness climbed higher, curling around his limbs. The library twisted, the walls bending inward. The whispers grew louder, curling through his thoughts, pulling him under.
The darkness swallowed him whole.
Cassian jolted awake.
His breath came in ragged gasps, heart hammering against his ribs. The room was dark, the air stale and cold. Sweat clung to his skin, his sheets damp and twisted. He pressed a shaking hand to his forehead, trying to steady himself.
It had been a dream. Hadn't it?
He closed his eyes, but the knowledge was still there. The techniques. The diagrams. Every word was burned into his mind. Cassian sat up slowly, breathing hard. His head throbbed.
He swallowed, glancing around the dark room. The shadows lingered a little too long. The silence felt heavier.
Cassian lay back down, staring at the ceiling. Trying to get rid of the dream.
—-
Cassian woke to silence.
He lay still for a long moment, staring at the metal ceiling above him. The dream still clung to him. No, not a dream. It felt more like… an intrusion. His head throbbed faintly, and behind his eyes lingered the afterimages of twisting glass corridors and shadows that moved when they shouldn't.
The knowledge was still there. Techniques. Concepts. Words that felt like they didn't belong in his mind. He could almost feel the weight of them, like something foreign coiled in the back of his skull.
Cassian sat up slowly, rubbing his face. His sheets were damp with cold sweat. He glanced around the dimly lit room. The ship's ancient ventilation system hissed softly in the background, a sound he usually found comforting. Today, it grated against his nerves.
He dressed in silence, pulling his worn boots on and fastening his coat with slow, movements. His hands trembled slightly. He clenched them into fists until his knuckles turned white.
As he stepped into the corridor, the ship's cold metal floor sent a shiver through him. The lights flickered faintly overhead, casting long shadows that seemed to shift when he wasn't looking directly at them. He ignored the creeping sensation crawling up his spine and moved toward the mess hall.
That's when he heard them.
Low, urgent whispers drifted through the corridor, bouncing off the metal walls. Cassian slowed his steps, pressing himself against the cold bulkhead, straining to listen.
"—You said we'd meet yesterday!" A man's voice, angry, strained. "You swore, Jakob. We made a plan. Don't lie to me."
"I… I don't remember." The second voice trembled, confused. "I swear. I don't remember anything like that."
Cassian edged closer, peering around the corner. Two men stood in the dim light, their faces pale and drawn. The first was tall, gaunt, with sunken eyes and a thin scar running along his cheek. The other — Jakob, apparently — looked worse. His skin was ashen, sweat glistening on his brow, and his hands trembled as he held them up defensively.
"You're lying." The scarred man's voice was low, venomous. "We agreed. We were going to check the lower decks together. We talked about it."
"I don't remember!" Jakob clutched his head, voice rising in panic. "I don't even remember talking to you yesterday! I… I woke up, and it was gone. The whole day! Just—" He snapped his fingers. "—Gone."
Cassian frowned. He stepped closer, boots scraping softly against the floor. The two men stiffened and turned toward him. Their eyes were wide, darting around the corridor like cornered animals.
"Is there a problem?" Cassian asked quietly.
The scarred man scowled but said nothing. Jakob looked at Cassian, eyes bloodshot and wild. "I… I don't know." He licked his lips, glancing nervously at the walls, as if expecting them to close in. "I think… I think I'm losing time."
Cassian's stomach tightened.
Jakob wrung his hands, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I remember going to sleep. Then I woke up, and the whole day was just… gone. Like it was stolen. Or erased."
The silence stretched. He glanced at the scarred man, who only shook his head and turned away, muttering under his breath as he stalked down the corridor. Jakob stayed behind, trembling.
"Jakob." Cassian's voice was steady, but quiet. "Get some rest."
Jakob nodded shakily and stumbled off, glancing over his shoulder more than once. Cassian watched him go, a cold unease settling in his gut.
He stood alone in the corridor. The lights flickered again. The ship creaked softly, the metal groaning like a distant sigh.
Cassian exhaled, long and slow.
He pressed his palm against the cold wall, steadying himself.
He turned toward the mess hall, boots echoing softly against the metal floor. The corridor stretched ahead, unnaturally long. He glanced behind him once, but the corridor was empty. Only shadows remained.
—-
Cassian sat on the edge of his cot, staring at the floor. The metal felt cold beneath his bare feet, but he barely registered it. His body ached. Not the sharp pain of injury but the, bone-deep exhaustion that settled into a man when sleep brought no rest.
His hands hung loosely between his knees, fingers half-curled, twitching faintly with each slow breath. The air in the ship was stale, heavy with the faint scent of recycled oxygen and unwashed bodies. The ship's lights flickered. They'd been doing that more often.
He rubbed his face. His eyes burned. He hadn't been sleeping well. Not that sleep made much difference. The dreams always found him. Or maybe they weren't dreams. He wasn't sure anymore. The line between waking and sleeping felt thinner these days.
His thoughts drifted. Back to the Hive. The screams. The blood. The distant roar of something too vast and furious to comprehend. He could still feel the heat of the fires licking at his back, the weight of every step as he ran, lungs burning, heart pounding. Survive. Survive. Survive.
And he had. Somehow. Only to end up here.
This planet… It was wrong. Even the air felt heavier. Like the atmosphere itself pressed against his skin, whispering things he couldn't quite hear. The people were worse. Fractured. Forgetful. Acting as if everything was normal while the edges of reality frayed around them. The crew didn't talk about it. The nobles pretended not to see it. But Cassian felt it. He could taste it.
He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, pressing his palms into his eyes. He was tired. So damn tired. Every step forward felt like sinking deeper into quicksand. He kept moving, kept pushing, but the weight never lifted. There was no end to it. No relief. Just more running.
He let out a long breath. His hands fell to his sides. His eyes stared blankly ahead, unfocused. Was this it? Was this what life was now? A slow crawl from one nightmare to the next? Was he supposed to just keep moving forward, hoping the next place wouldn't kill him?
No.
His hands clenched into fists. No, he wasn't some helpless cog in the machine. He'd survived because he fought for every step. Because he refused to stop. The galaxy wouldn't hand him a way out. He'd have to carve it out himself.
Cassian closed his eyes, inhaling slowly, steadying his heartbeat. The weight didn't lift. The exhaustion didn't fade. But it didn't matter. He'd push forward anyway.
Because that's what he always did.
—-
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