“It’s been a long time,” Ethelred said beneath the skeletal mask he wore. 

“Not long enough,” Cassian answered, consciously stepping back. Ethelred advanced, his footsteps so smooth he was more shadow than man. “Asking thieves to do your bidding now?” Cassian asked with feigned courage even as his heart set a frantic rhythm within his chest. His grip on the dagger was crushing while he shifted to hide the staff behind him.

“I’d have no need to if you’d not hidden yourself from me.” Ethelred drew nearer. “Give me back what’s mine, Cassian, and I’ll let you cling to life a while longer.” He reached out, a pale hand emerging from within the folds of his black cloak. Cassian felt his mouth go dry, his hands shaking even as he clutched onto the staff. 

There was a second of stillness—tense and deathly quiet. 

It came crashing down with a cracking sound. Cassian made to turn and only managed to catch a glimpse of splintered wood before a hand was clamped over his mouth. Another gloved hand gripped his own, tugging the dagger free from his slackened grip. 

The thief, Cassian thought, and cursed himself for having forgotten about the man in the face of Ethelred’s appearance. He winced as his arm was twisted behind his back. Still, he held onto the staff.

“Should have just handed the damn thing over,” the thief muttered, his breath warm against Cassian’s ear. He wished he could turn his head enough to glare at the wretched man. 

Instead, he contented himself with throwing his head back. He felt it slam against the thief’s face and ignored the pain that blossomed in the back of his head as he wrenched himself free. 

Cassian ran. 

He knew he couldn’t fight back, not against Ethelred and the man he’d hired, and so he ran with the staff still in his grasp. Ethelred did nothing to stop him as he dove into the woods. Cassian supposed he didn’t need to. Not when rapid footsteps followed after him a moment later, tearing through the woods in an effort to catch him. 

Cassian was exhausted, enough so that he knew he wouldn’t be able to escape. Not with his body aching and his lungs burning—not even with the mantle of darkness afforded to him by the night. Still, he ran, and tried to ignore the presence looming just a handful of steps behind him. 

He could hear the thief’s breaths, hear his steps grow closer as clearly as he could hear the thundering of his heart echoing in his ears. For a second, Cassian thought that must be what prey must feel as they are about to be caught. Not a moment later, he felt a hand grip his arm. He was tossed back onto the forest floor, the impact finally making him release his hold on the staff. 

Cassian was quick to pick himself up. Not quick enough.

There was a dagger pressed to his throat as soon as he was able to sit up. Cassian paid little attention to it, his gaze moving to the staff now held in the thief’s gloved hand. 

“Not a word from you,” the thief warned, clearly wary of any magic Cassian might attempt. He must have been warned, he realized, thinking back to all the times he’d prevented Cassian from uttering a single sound. 

The sound of rustling cloth drew Cassian’s gaze away from the stolen staff and to Ethelred. He all but glided into view—or what little of it was afforded to them by the dim light of the moon. 

“Well done,” Ethelred said, obviously addressing the thief. “And now to complete your task.” He held out a hand, waiting for the staff to be handed to him.

Cassian could feel his heart racing, dread pooling in the pit of his stomach at the thought of Ethelred getting a hold of the item. His eyes flicked to the thief who did his best to keep an eye on both Ethelred and Cassian. His hand hovered over the staff, gloved fingers brushing over it as he seemed to consider his next move. 

“And the payment?” he asked. 

Cassian almost wanted to laugh. He wondered just what it had cost for his life to all but be handed over by a stranger.  He hoped it was worth it. 

Ethelred said nothing for a moment, but Cassian could feel his gaze boring into both him and the thief. It made him shiver more than the cold of the night and the knife pointed at his throat. 

“You shall have it,” Ethelred said, voice deceptively calm. 

“When?” 

For a moment, Cassian debated telling the thief to walk away while he could. Maybe if he weren’t being held at knifepoint, he might have bothered. Instead, he simply watched the exchange, wondering whose patience would run out first. 

It was likely a good thing he was watching so closely. Otherwise, he might have missed the miniscule shift in the fabric of Ethelred’s cloak and the spark of magic in the air. 

He acted without thinking. Cassian lunged at the thief, knocking him back until they were both flat on the ground. Not a second later, there was a blast of magic, the wind shifting with it and a feeling like the quiet before a storm hanging in the air. Cassian felt warmth spilling down his neck, the bandages wrapped around his throat loosening. He ignored it all—pausing only to grab onto the staff tucked in the thief’s belt—and scrambled back to his feet. 

“You can’t escape, Cassian.” 

The words made him freeze, some part of Cassian knowing Ethelred was right. He couldn’t run, not in the shape he was in. The staff in his hand felt like a heavy weight, the power in it an ominous thing Cassian wished he could do away with. 

And why not? Some part of his mind whispered. Better for it to be gone than for Ethelred to have it.

It was all Cassian needed. The reminder of how dreadful it would be for the staff to fall into the wrong hands steeled his resolve. He was living on borrowed time as it was—what would it hurt for that time to be shortened?

His grip on the staff tightened. Ethelred’s stare was set upon him, his head tilted the slightest bit. A moment of realization. 

Cassian pulled as much magic as he could muster, silver sigils twisting as he whispered words of destruction. The glow of the magic lit up the night and a bone-white hand rose from beneath a pitch black cloak. Ethelred’s magic glowed an eerie green as the first sparks of it began to appear. 

For a moment, Cassian feared Ethelred would succeed. That his last ditch attempt to keep the cloaked man from getting what he was after would fail all too soon. What little hope Cassian held flickered at the feel of the oppressive magic ready to strike him down. 

And then, there was a flash of silver. 

Cassian could hardly register the scene before him. The streak of silver shot directly towards Ethelred and sunk into the black fabric. Cassian saw his chance. 

He focused his magic on the staff, feeling the power within it resisting until it could hold on no longer. With a sound like thunder, the staff shattered, pieces of it falling to the ground—white bone and ebony stones and a grinning skull that stared into Cassian’s soul. 

When he looked up, Ethelred was reaching for the pieces, the knife still stuck to him all but forgotten. Cassian realized then what it was that stood before him. His magic wrapped around the waiver pieces, taking a hold of them and shooting up into the inky sky at the same time as Ethelred grasped towards the skull with magic of his own. 

By the time Cassian had turned his attention back to him, the skull was fading into a portal of swirling runes. Too late. 

“We’ll meet again, Cassian,” Ethelred said, voice like a whisper being carried away in the wind. 

The cloaked body shuddered and then dropped to the ground—a puppet with its strings cut. It lay there, still as the corpse hidden beneath the cloak should have always been. Cassian felt like a great weight lifted off his shoulders as the familiar magic faded away, even as a deep exhaustion took its place. His body ached and there was a warmth on his neck, trickling down with every passing second. 

His knees hit the forest floor, his legs finally giving out as the rest of his body followed after. He thought he could hear footsteps, a distant thing now as his mind became muddled as it stood at the edge of unconsciousness. His vision began to blur, shadows growing and reaching out to take him. Booted feet entered his diminishing field of vision. 

The thief, his mind provided. 

He wondered if the man would leave him there to die, or whether he would put him out of his misery. He supposed it didn’t matter. 

Cassian closed his eyes. The last thing he heard was a voice telling him to hold on.