Chapter 6: The Neighbor of the God
In the fertile, mist-shrouded valley that would one day be known as Mystic Falls, Cassian became a fixture of the landscape. To the villagers, he was The Stone-Wright. He had built a cabin of such massive, perfectly fitted boulders that it looked less like a house and more like a natural outcropping of the mountain.
He had lived a thousand years. He was a creature of silence, a titan who had seen empires fall, but as he settled near the Mikaelson family, he found himself drawn back into the messy, vibrant web of human connection. He didn't just watch them; he moved among them, a silent observer of the sparks that would eventually set the world on fire.
The Father: Mikael's Rivalry
Mikael was a man built of iron and ego. He respected only two things: strength and lineage. From the moment he met Cassian, he saw a challenge.
Cassian was working on a bridge near the village when Mikael first approached him. The Viking patriarch was carrying a massive felled oak on his shoulder, a feat that would have impressed any mortal man. He dropped the log with a thud and looked at Cassian, who was currently lifting a two-ton river stone as if it were a loaf of bread.
Mikael's eyes narrowed. "You have the arms of a giant, Stone-Wright. Where is your clan? Where is your glory?"
Cassian set the stone down, the ground groaning beneath the impact. "My glory is in the things that stay built, Mikael. My clan is long dead."
"A man without a clan is a man without a soul," Mikael spat. He drew his sword—a fine piece of Norse steel—and pointed it at Cassian's chest. "I have heard the boys speak of your strength. They say no blade can bite you. I find that a lie told by cowards."
Cassian didn't move. He didn't even raise his hands. "Go home to your wife, Mikael. Your anger is a fire that will only burn your own house."
Mikael roared and swung. He was a master swordsman, his blow calculated to cleave through mail and bone. The blade struck Cassian's forearm.
There was a sound like a hammer hitting an anvil. The sword didn't cut. It didn't even leave a scratch. Instead, the fine steel blade shattered, the shards whistling through the air like deadly hailstones. Mikael stumbled back, staring at the hilt in his hand.
Cassian stepped forward, his presence suddenly expanding. The "Weight" within him flared, making the very air around him feel thick and pressurized. "Do not mistake my silence for weakness," Cassian said, his voice a low thrum that made Mikael's teeth ache. "I am not your enemy. But I am not your subject."
From that day on, Mikael never attacked him again. But he watched Cassian with a poisonous mixture of fear and envy, sensing that the Stone-Wright was the one thing in the world he could never conquer.
The Mother: Esther's Suspicion
If Mikael feared Cassian's body, Esther feared his soul.
As a witch of the Ayana line, Esther could sense the metaphysical displacement Cassian caused. To her "Witch-Sight," Cassian wasn't a man; he was a black hole in the fabric of nature. He didn't draw power from the earth or the ancestors; he simply was power.
She visited his cabin one evening under the guise of bringing bread. She stood at his threshold, refusing to enter. "You were there," she whispered, her voice trembling. "In the stories of my people. The one who fell from the stars when Silas walked the earth."
Cassian sat by his fire, his eyes reflecting the flames. "Stories grow taller as the years pass, Esther. I am just a man who has lived a very long time."
"You are a crime against Nature," she hissed. "I can hear the spirits screaming when you walk past. They cannot touch you. They cannot see you. You are a void."
"I am the balance, Esther," Cassian replied. "You seek to use magic to protect your children from the world. But the more you push against Nature, the harder it will push back. Be careful. You are weaving a shroud, not a shield."
Esther left in a flurry of silk and shadow. She recognized him as a "Static Immortal"—a being that Nature had failed to kill. It was his existence that gave her the seed of the idea that immortality was possible, though she would never admit it.
The Noble Son: Elijah's Education
Of all the children, Elijah was the one who sought Cassian out for wisdom. The young Elijah was already a man of "high morals" and "nobility," trying to navigate the bridge between his father's brutality and his mother's secrets.
He would sit with Cassian by the river, watching the older man work.
"How do you stay so calm, Cassian?" Elijah asked one afternoon. "My father is a storm. My brother Niklaus is a fire. But you... you are like the deep water."
"Calm is just a choice, Elijah," Cassian said, carving a piece of wood with a fingernail that was sharper than any knife. "When you are strong enough to break everything you touch, you learn to move very, very slowly. True power isn't in the strike; it's in the restraint."
Elijah took those words to heart. It was Cassian who taught him the beginnings of the "mask" he would wear for a thousand years—the composure that hid the monster. Cassian saw in Elijah a mirror of himself: a man who desperately wanted to be "good" in a world that only valued "strong."
The Broken Son: Niklaus's Longing
Klaus was a different story. The boy was a raw nerve of emotion and untapped potential. He knew he didn't fit in. He knew Mikael's hatred was deeper than just fatherly disappointment.
Klaus didn't ask for wisdom; he asked for a witness.
He would bring his drawings to Cassian—charcoal sketches of wolves and woods on scraps of parchment. "Father says art is for the weak," Klaus said, his voice defensive. "He says a man should only hold a sword."
Cassian looked at the drawing. It was crude, but it captured the loneliness of the forest perfectly. "Your father is a man who is afraid of anything he can't kill, Niklaus. Art is a way of making something that outlives you. That is a different kind of strength."
Klaus looked up at him, his eyes shining with a desperate need for approval. "Will you teach me to be like you? To be... unbreakable?"
Cassian reached out and placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. He was careful, lightening his touch until it was as soft as a feather. "You don't want to be like me, Nik. To be unbreakable is to be alone. Every time I love something, I have to watch it shatter because I am too hard to hold it."
Klaus didn't understand then, but he would. He saw Cassian as the ultimate father figure—the man Mikael could never be. It was this bond that would eventually lead to the greatest complications in the centuries to come.
The Sister: Rebekah's Hope
Rebekah saw Cassian as a figure out of a fairy tale. To her, he was the "Knight of the Mountain." She would bring him wildflowers and ask him stories about the "Great Cities of the South" he had visited.
"Is it true the Romans had floors made of jewels?" she asked, her eyes wide.
"They were made of stone, Rebekah. Just like these," Cassian smiled. "But they were polished until they shone like the moon."
"I want to see the moon-floors," she sighed. "I want to live a life that isn't just mud and blood."
Cassian felt a pang of pity for her. He knew the life she was about to inherit. He knew the "mud and blood" would follow her for ten centuries. "You will see them, Rebekah. But remember: the most beautiful floors are the ones that are walked on by people who love you. Without that, they're just cold rocks."
The Catalyst: Henrik's Innocence
Then there was Henrik, the youngest. He was the heart of the family, the one who kept them all tethered to their humanity. He followed Cassian around like a shadow, asking a thousand questions about the "Strength."
"Can you lift the sun, Cassian?"
"No, Henrik. But I can hold the world steady for a little while."
Cassian grew fond of the boy. Henrik reminded him of the children he had seen in Pompeii and Alexandria—the ones who didn't deserve the history that was about to swallow them.
As the year 990 AD approached, the tension in the valley reached a breaking point. The neighboring werewolves—the "Men of the Moon"—were becoming more aggressive. The Mikaelson children were growing restless.
Cassian could feel the "Weight" in the air shifting. His own power had reached a new threshold. He was 1,100 years old. He no longer felt like a man; he felt like a tectonic plate. He could sense the movement of the moon, the pull of the tides, and the darkening intent in Esther's heart.
One night, Henrik came to his cabin.
"Nik wants to go watch the wolves change," the boy whispered, his eyes filled with a mixture of fear and excitement. "He says if we're quiet, they won't see us."
Cassian looked at the boy. He knew this was the moment. The turning point of the entire timeline. If he stopped Henrik, the Mikaelsons might never become vampires. The world would be different. Klaus might die a mortal. Rebekah might live a simple, happy life.
But then, the "Weight" of the future pressed down on him. He saw the centuries of history that relied on the Originals. He saw the "Balance" that Nature demanded.
"Henrik," Cassian said, his voice heavy with a thousand years of grief. "Stay with me tonight. Let the wolves have their moon."
"But Nik will think I'm a coward!" Henrik protested.
Cassian looked into the distance. He saw the shadows moving in the woods. He saw the destiny of a thousand years unfolding. He had a choice. Save a boy, or save the timeline.
"Go then," Cassian whispered, closing his eyes. "But know that once you step into that moonlight, you can never come back to the sun."
Henrik ran off, laughing, toward his brother.
Cassian stood in the doorway of his stone cabin. He felt the first scream before it even happened. He felt the shift in the magical field as Henrik's life-force was snuffed out.
He walked out into the clearing as the sun began to rise. He saw Klaus carrying Henrik's limp body, his face a mask of such raw, agonizing guilt that it cracked even Cassian's stone-hard heart. He saw Mikael's rage and Esther's cold, calculated descent into madness.
The ritual was beginning. The Wine, the Blood, the Sun, and the White Oak.
Cassian stood on the edge of the village as Esther began the chant. He felt the magic tearing at the sky. He felt the birth of the Vampires.
And as the first Original opened their eyes, red and hungry, Cassian felt his own power spike. The "Weight" doubled in an instant. He wasn't just a witness anymore. He was the anchor for a new species.
He stepped into the village. The newly-turned Originals looked at him, their fangs bared, their hunger screaming.
Klaus, his eyes bleeding into that terrifying hybrid yellow, looked at Cassian. "Help us," he rasped.
"I can't help you, Niklaus," Cassian said, his voice echoing like thunder. "But I can teach you how to carry the weight of what you've become."