Cassian's POV
The fire was eating me from the inside out.
I couldn't breathe. Couldn't scream. The Dawnbreaker—the sword I'd trusted, the weapon I'd bonded my soul to—was burning me alive with holy light. My knees hit the marble floor of the throne room, and through the flames consuming my chest, I could see their faces.
The nobles. The priests. My father.
All watching me die.
"Such tragedy," Lord Matthias announced, his voice dripping with fake sadness. But his eyes—his eyes were smiling. "The sacred blade has rejected Prince Cassian. Clearly, the gods saw what we could not."
Traitor, I tried to scream. You did this!
But golden fire filled my throat, and everything went black.
---
I woke up screaming.
My hands flew to my chest, searching for the hole where divine flames had punched through my ribs. But my fingers found only smooth skin. No burns. No wounds. Just the rapid hammer of my heart threatening to explode.
Silk sheets tangled around my legs. Morning sunlight streamed through windows that should have been draped in funeral black. And when I stumbled to the mirror on shaking legs, the face staring back at me was wrong.
Too young. No scars. Eyes that hadn't watched their best friend orchestrate their murder.
"No," I whispered. "No, no, no—"
This was my bedroom from three years ago. The tapestries I'd asked Father to remove after my sixteenth birthday still hung on the walls. My training sword—the one I'd outgrown—leaned against the desk.
A knock rattled my door. "My prince? Are you well? You cried out."
That voice froze the blood in my veins.
Lord Matthias Corvain. Royal advisor. My mentor. The man who'd smiled while I burned.
"I'm fine!" My voice cracked. "Just—just a nightmare."
"May I enter?"
Every muscle in my body screamed no. My hands balled into fists, nails cutting crescents into my palms. Three years of rage—no, three years that hadn't happened yet—threatened to explode out of my chest.
The doorknob turned.
I forced myself to breathe. To relax my shoulders. To paste on the confused expression of a boy who'd just had a bad dream, not a man who'd been murdered by his most trusted advisor.
Matthias entered, silver hair perfectly combed, kind eyes crinkling with concern. He looked exactly like he had in my memories—the same face that had orchestrated every "heroic" quest, every "destined" battle. The same face that had turned my own sword against me.
"Are you certain you're well?" He moved closer, and it took everything in me not to flinch. "Today is an important day. The Binding Ceremony. It's natural to be nervous."
The Binding Ceremony.
My eighteenth birthday.
The day every royal heir chooses which sacred weapon will bond to their soul.
The day I'd chosen the Dawnbreaker and sealed my own fate.
"I'm just..." I swallowed hard. "What if I choose wrong?"
"Impossible." Matthias's smile was warm, fatherly, poisonous. "I've studied the sacred texts thoroughly. Analyzed your lineage, your temperament, your victories in training. The Dawnbreaker is perfect for you, my prince. The legendary sunblade that has served House Solmere for generations."
There it was. The gentle push. The first manipulation.
In my first life, I'd been grateful for his guidance. I'd thought he was helping me become the hero Astrion needed. I hadn't known he was leading me to slaughter.
"The Dawnbreaker," I repeated slowly.
"Every great Solmere prince has dreamed of wielding it." Matthias moved to the window, gesturing at the kingdom spread below. "With that blade, you could save villages. Slay monsters. Become the champion this realm desperately needs."
My jaw clenched. He'd used almost the exact same words three years ago. Or three years from now. Or—time was making my head hurt.
"What about the other weapons?" I asked carefully.
Something flickered across Matthias's face. Surprise? Suspicion?
"The other weapons are... adequate. But surely you've felt the calling? The Dawnbreaker has been waiting for you since you were born. It's your destiny."
That word made my stomach turn. Destiny. He'd used it constantly in my first life, making me believe every choice was divine fate instead of his careful manipulation.
"I should probably look at all of them," I said. "Before I decide."
"Of course, of course." But Matthias's smile had gone tight. "Though the sacred texts are quite clear about the prophecy. 'A prince of golden light shall rise when darkness threatens.' That's you, Cassian. The Dawnbreaker chose you before you were even born."
Lies. All lies. The Danbreaker hadn't chosen me—Matthias had programmed t to accept me, just long enough to make me useful. Then, the moment I was about to take the throne, he'd triggered whatever twisted magic let him control it.
And I'd died screaming.
"I'll think about it," I managed.
Matthias studied me for a long moment. Then he bowed. "As you wish, my prince. But remember—destiny cannot be denied."
The moment the door closed behind him, my knees gave out.
I'd died. I'd actual died. Holy fire burning through my chest, my own sword turning against me, the whole court watching in horror as their beloved prince was rejected by the gods themselves.
Except it hadn't been the gods. It had been Matthias.
A sob threatened to climb up my throat, but I shoved it down. No time for that. If I was really three years in the past—if this wasn't some dying hallucination—then I had a chance to fix things.
I wouldn't choose the Dawnbreaker.
But what else could I choose? Every other legendary weapon was already bonded or lost. The Stormcaller. The Frostbite. The Truthseeker. All taken.
Unless...
A memory surfaced. A drunken conversation with the royal historian, late in my first life, about the forbidden weapons sealed in the Vault's deepest chamber.
The Kinslayer.
The cursed sword that no one had touched in three hundred years. The blade that supposedly drove Prince Daemon mad and made him slaughter his own family. Every child in Astrion knew the story—it was the monster under the bed, the cautionary tale about corrupted weapons.
But the historian had whispered something else. That Prince Daemon's victims had been killed with different weapons. That the young prince had been screaming about betrayal, about stolen souls, about someone framing his dead sister.
What if Daemon hadn't been the villain? What if he'd been murdered—just like me?
"Dangerous thoughts, little prince."
I spun around. My chambers were empty.
"Who's there?"
"Three years you have." The voice was female, ancient, echoing inside my skull. "Three years before golden fire eats you alive. Will you waste them on safe choices?"
My heart slammed against my ribs. "Where are you?"
"The Vault. Three floors down. Behind iron chains and carved warnings." The voice turned sharp, hungry. "I've been waiting for someone like you. Someone who knows what betrayal tastes like."
"You're—you're one of the weapons."
"I'm the weapon everyone fears." Something like laughter scraped through my mind. "The one they've tried to forget. But you can hear me because you've "died" before, little prince. Your soul remembers. It calls to me."
My hands were shaking. This was impossible. The weapons were sealed, dormant until the Binding. They shouldn't be able to speak to anyone.
"What are you?" I whispered.
The voice went soft, dangerous, delighted.
"I'm your only chance at revenge."