ACOTAR one shots, imagines and short stories

Echoes of a War-Torn Heart (Cassian x OC) - Part 5

Word count: 5326

Characters: Cassian and Lyra (OC)

Warning: Angst and mentions of PTSD

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Cassian stood on the wide, open balcony of the House of Wind, the early morning light casting long shadows over Velaris. The view was breathtaking, with the city's rooftops glowing in the dawn, but it paled in comparison to the balcony at the home he had shared with Lyra... their former home. He wasn't sure if it was the view itself that made that balcony their sanctuary or the simple fact that they had shared it together. The peace he so desperately sought now felt even more elusive, knowing that what he truly missed was not just a place, but the comfort of her presence beside him. 

The wind tugged at his hair, a harsh reminder of the peace he so desperately sought but found elusive. His gaze was distant, lost in the turbulent sea of memories that haunted him. Cassian's guilt was palpable. He felt responsible for every life lost under his command, believing that each death weighed heavily on his shoulders, threatening to crush him. He grappled with a profound sense of failure, unable to shake the feeling that he had betrayed those he swore to protect. The burden of their deaths and the chaos of the battlefield seemed to be suffocating him.

Amidst this crushing weight, he felt an even deeper void—the absence of Lyra. The very woman whose love had once been his anchor was now miles away, a painful reminder of what he had lost. The memories of her warm smile and unwavering support felt like a distant dream. In his solitude, he missed the comfort of her presence, the way her eyes would soften when she looked at him, and the simple solace of her hand in his. Her absence was a sharp ache, intensifying the loneliness and regret he felt. Each moment of reflection brought back the realisation of how he had pushed her away, how he had allowed his own darkness to drive a wedge between them. The longing for her presence, her touch, her voice—every reminder of the love he had so recklessly shut out—made the burden of his guilt even heavier.

The training grounds, once a place where he channeled his internal strife through physical exertion, now seemed tainted by the very guilt he hoped to escape. Cassian had avoided the training grounds, recognising that his previous attempts to drown out his pain with physical exertion were counterproductive. His guilt was not something he could fight away; it was something he needed to confront.

Rhysand, his High Lord and brother, had sensed the weight Cassian carried. Rhysand, who had endured his own harrowing nightmare under Amarantha's cruel reign—where he was forced to be her lover for fifty long years, separated from his loved ones to protect them from her wrath—now offered a lifeline. The two men met in the quiet, dimly lit study of the House of Wind, where the shadows seemed to whisper of shared pain and healing.

Cassian was sitting on a worn leather chair, his shoulders hunched, staring at the floor. Rhysand approached with a gravity that spoke of deep understanding and empathy.

Cassian looked up, his eyes reflecting a turmoil that words could hardly capture. "I don't know how to move forward," he admitted, his voice raw. "I feel like I'm dragging her through this mess I've made, and I can't even begin to fix what's broken."

"I know it's hard." Rhysand's gaze was steady, but there was an underlying empathy in his eyes. He took a deep breath before speaking, his voice soft yet imbued with a gravity that Cassian had rarely heard from him. . "It's something I rarely talk about, but I want you to understand that you're not alone. I've walked through my own darkness, forced to do unimaginable things under Amarantha's tyranny, and I've come out the other side."