CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

CASSIAN AND THE INFINITE THRONE

Volume 1: The Frontier Years

Chapter 11: Fear Changes Communities

The funerals took place three days after the hunters returned.

Spring had continued its slow advance during that time, but nobody in Frostwood paid much attention to warmer weather or melting snow. The village’s mood had settled into something heavy and uncomfortable. Conversations ended quickly. Laughter appeared less often. Doors closed earlier after sunset, and even the children seemed quieter than usual.

Death was not unfamiliar to frontier settlements. People became sick. Accidents happened. Harsh winters claimed lives.

Yet there was a difference between losing someone to misfortune and losing them to something waiting in the forest beyond the village fences.

The Ironclaw had a shape, a face, a presence. That made fear easier to imagine and far more difficult to ignore.

The burials took place near the southern edge of Frostwood where several generations of villagers already rested beneath simple wooden markers. The entire settlement attended. Nobody remained home unless illness forced them to stay behind.

Cassian stood beside Gareth and Lena while villagers gathered around the freshly dug graves.

Bran’s family stood nearest. Owen remained completely silent. That worried Cassian more than tears would have.

During the previous months, Owen had always seemed energetic. Whether he was arguing about strategy games, competing with Finn, or trying to prove something to older children, he rarely stayed quiet for long. Now he simply stared at the wooden marker bearing his father’s name.

Mara Whitlock stood nearby with one hand resting gently on his shoulder. The healer looked exhausted. She had spent the previous days helping prepare the bodies, comforting families, and tending to hunters who carried wounds less visible than cuts or broken bones. Some burdens could not be treated with herbs.

Aldric Thornfield spoke first. The elderly scholar did not attempt grand speeches. Nobody in Frostwood expected them. Instead he spoke about service, responsibility, and the simple truth that the three hunters had died protecting others.

Bran had protected Frostwood. Hale had protected Frostwood. Sela had protected Frostwood. The village owed them remembrance. Nothing more complicated seemed necessary.

When Aldric finished, silence returned. Wind moved through nearby trees. Somewhere beyond the fences, birds sang as though nothing had changed. Eventually people began leaving in small groups.

Owen remained. Cassian noticed Gareth watching the boy for several moments before finally approaching him.

The conversation happened quietly enough that Cassian could not hear the words. He watched Owen stare at the grave marker, then nod once without looking up. Gareth placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder and remained there for nearly a minute before returning.

“What did you tell him?” Lena asked.

“The truth.”

“And what truth was that?”

Gareth looked back toward the graves. “That Bran would’ve been angry if Owen stopped living because he was gone.”

Lena nodded slowly. Neither spoke again.

The days following the funerals proved difficult for Owen in ways that surprised many of the adults.

At first, several villagers expected tears. Then anger. Then questions. Instead, Owen became quiet. The change unsettled people far more than any outburst could have.

One afternoon, Cassian found him sitting alone near the unfinished game board that usually attracted half the village children. The pieces remained scattered exactly where someone had left them several days earlier.

Finn stood nearby, clearly uncertain what to do. Lily attempted conversation twice before giving up. Neither child seemed prepared for silence.

Eventually Elara arrived carrying a small basket of bread from Lena. She sat beside Owen without speaking and simply handed him one of the pieces.

Several minutes passed. Then another. Nobody mentioned Bran. Nobody mentioned the Ironclaw. Nobody tried to force a conversation. Finally Owen accepted the bread.

It was a tiny gesture, almost meaningless from a distance. Yet Cassian understood its importance. People often imagined grief as dramatic. Sometimes grief looked like refusing to play a game. Sometimes it looked like staring at an empty chair. Sometimes it looked like accepting a piece of bread after hours of saying nothing at all.

The board remained unfinished when they left. That was fine. Not every wound needed to heal immediately.

The village changed after the funerals. Not immediately, not dramatically, yet small differences appeared everywhere.

People repaired fences that had survived perfectly well before. Doors received stronger bars. Spears appeared beside entrances where walking sticks had once stood. Hunters no longer traveled alone. Livestock moved closer to homes.

Even the paths between buildings seemed busier because villagers preferred moving in groups whenever possible.

Fear rarely announced itself openly. Most often it appeared disguised as preparation. Cassian noticed those preparations everywhere he looked.

One afternoon he watched Edrik and several other villagers driving sharpened stakes into the ground near Frostwood’s southern approach. The barrier would not stop something like the Ironclaw, but that was not its purpose. Obstacles forced creatures to slow down. Slowing down created opportunities. Opportunities helped people survive.

At least that was the theory. Whether it would work against the Ironclaw remained uncertain. The uncertainty frustrated everyone. A week earlier, villagers had feared a monster. Now they feared a monster they knew existed. It was different.

Several evenings after the funerals, a large gathering formed inside Frostwood’s meeting hall. Nearly every adult in the settlement attended. Cassian sat near the rear wall beside Darren while villagers discussed the same question that had dominated conversation for days.

What should Frostwood do? The answers varied. Some wanted larger hunting parties. Some wanted stronger defenses. Others suggested abandoning distant fields until the threat disappeared.

Eventually the discussion reached the topic everyone expected. The local noble. “The lord should send soldiers,” one farmer said.

“He should’ve sent them already.”

“We pay taxes.”

“He has responsibilities too.” Several villagers voiced agreement.

The complaints grew louder until Aldric finally raised one hand. The room gradually quieted. “What you’re asking has already been done.”

Several people frowned.

Aldric continued. “I sent a messenger months ago after the first reports.”

The room became completely silent.

Cassian straightened slightly. This information was new even to him.

“What happened?” someone asked.

“The request was denied.”

The response triggered immediate protests.

Denied? How? Why?

Several voices spoke simultaneously before Aldric raised his hand again. “The official response stated that evidence was insufficient.”

Nobody looked pleased.

Aldric didn’t seem surprised. “The territory receives reports constantly. Missing livestock. Strange tracks. Rumors about monsters. Bandits mistaken for beasts. Drunken hunters mistaking shadows for threats.”

“This wasn’t a shadow,” Rowan said quietly.

“No,” Aldric agreed. “But proving that before the deaths occurred was more difficult.”

The explanation made sense. That did not make anyone happier. Several villagers continued arguing for another hour before a compromise emerged. A second messenger would be sent. This time the situation looked different.

Three dead hunters. Multiple witnesses. Confirmed attacks. Evidence impossible to dismiss.

Even if the noble still refused assistance, Frostwood would know it had exhausted every reasonable option.

The messenger departed at sunrise the following morning.

Nobody expected a quick response. The nearest administrative settlement sat several days away by wagon. Messages traveled slowly. Decisions traveled even slower. Waiting became unavoidable.

And three days before the messenger returned, Cassian overheard a discussion between Gareth, Rowan, and Aldric that would eventually answer a question he had not known to ask.

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The conversation began with the arriving soldiers. Or rather, with hopes for them.

“If the lord sends knights, the Ironclaw’s finished,” Rowan said.

Gareth looked less convinced. “Assuming he sends one.”

“One should be enough.”

Cassian glanced up from his notebook.

Aldric noticed immediately. “You’ve never heard the difference explained, have you?”

“The difference between what?”

“A soldier and a knight.”

Cassian shook his head.

Aldric leaned back in his chair. “Every living person possesses mana. Most never become mages. The same principle applies elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere?”

“Vital Force.”

The term was unfamiliar.

Aldric continued. “Every healthy person possesses some amount of it. Farmers. Merchants. Hunters. Craftsmen. Everyone.”

“Then why isn’t everyone a warrior?”

“Because possession and control are not the same thing.”

Rowan laughed. “Same reason owning a bow doesn’t make somebody an archer.”

Aldric nodded. “Most people never learn to sense Vital Force. Many who sense it never learn to control it. Some spend years training and discover they simply lack enough of it to progress very far.”

The explanation sounded strangely familiar. Mana and Vital Force. Different systems but similar limitations.

“What about knights?” Cassian asked.

This time Gareth answered. “Knights are different.”

The response carried a certainty Cassian rarely heard from his father.

“They strengthen their bodies with Vital Force. Stronger muscles. Faster movement. Greater endurance. Things ordinary men can’t match.”

“Can they fight monsters?”

Rowan snorted. “That’s exactly why they exist.”

The conversation continued after that, but Cassian found himself focusing on one particular detail.

Every person possessed mana. Every person possessed Vital Force. Yet only a few became mages. Only a few became warriors. The pattern felt familiar. Perhaps too familiar. Because his own situation seemed to be violating those rules entirely.

Since that newfound knowledge Cassian spent much of that waiting reading. His new book accompanied him almost everywhere. The text frustrated him repeatedly, yet the frustration differed from the mana primer he had studied months earlier. The primer assumed readers already understood concepts it never bothered explaining. The newer volume simply approached mana from an entirely different perspective.

At first the distinction seemed minor. Then it began bothering him. Every chapter discussed internal circulation. Every exercise involved internal circulation. Every warning concerned internal circulation.

The phrase appeared so frequently that he eventually started copying passages into his notebook solely to compare them.

One afternoon Aldric found him surrounded by open books and loose pages. “You look troubled.”

“I think these authors are discussing something different.”

Aldric sat across from him. “Different from what?”

“Each other.”

The elder glanced toward the books. “That would be unusual.”

Cassian hesitated. “No. Different from me.”

That answer earned Aldric’s attention. For several moments neither spoke.

Finally Aldric leaned forward. “Explain.”

Cassian pointed toward a passage describing beginner mana exercises. “This chapter says mana should be sensed inside the body.”

“It does.”

“Then it discusses moving mana through the body.”

“Also true.”

“And strengthening that movement through practice.”

Aldric nodded. The passage clearly stated all three.

Cassian tapped the page again. “I’ve never done any of that.”

The words lingered between them. Aldric studied him carefully. “Then what have you been doing?”

That question proved harder to answer. Cassian considered his response for several seconds before finally speaking. “The mana around things.”

“The environment?”

“Sort of.”

The elder remained silent.

Cassian continued. “The books treat mana like something people contain.”

“They do.”

“But I keep using the mana around objects instead.”

For the first time since meeting Aldric, Cassian saw genuine surprise cross the older man’s face.

Not alarm, not disbelief. Surprise. The reaction itself felt important. Very important. Because Aldric possessed more knowledge than anyone else in Frostwood and apparently this was not what he expected to hear.

The realization followed Cassian home that evening and remained with him long after sunset. Something wasn’t matching. The books discussed mana. He manipulated mana. Yet both seemed to describe entirely different experiences.

The contradiction refused to disappear. And for the first time since opening Tomas’s book, Cassian began wondering whether he had misunderstood not one text, but every text he had read so far.

The following week passed more slowly than any week Cassian could remember.

The messenger had already departed, carrying Frostwood’s request and the testimonies of every surviving hunter. Nothing more could be done until he returned. The village understood that. Unfortunately, understanding a limitation rarely made it easier to accept.

Life continued because it had to. Fields required preparation. Animals required feeding. Repairs required finishing.

Yet beneath those ordinary tasks, tension remained visible everywhere. Hunters traveled in groups. Children stayed closer to home. Evening conversations often drifted toward the southern forest before someone deliberately changed the subject.

The Ironclaw never appeared. In some ways, that made matters worse. An enemy standing before a gate could be watched. An enemy hiding beyond the trees could be imagined. Fear tended to grow in the space imagination provided.

Cassian escaped much of that fear by burying himself in research. The contradiction between his experiences and the books occupied nearly every spare moment. Each day he returned to the same passages, searching for evidence that he had misunderstood something obvious. Each day he found the opposite.

The authors consistently described internal mana. Not occasionally, not as one possible method. Always. A beginner learned to sense internal mana. A beginner learned to move internal mana. A beginner learned to strengthen internal mana.

The assumption appeared so universal that no author bothered defending it. To them, mana existed inside living creatures. That was simply reality. Cassian closed the book and stared toward the ceiling.

The possibility that he had spent months studying something entirely different should have felt alarming. Instead, it felt strangely exciting. Questions created opportunities. Answers merely ended them.

That afternoon he carried several pebbles behind Gareth’s house and resumed practicing. Levitation remained frustrating. The concept sounded simple enough. Surround an object with ambient mana. Apply balanced pressure. Maintain control. Lift.

The reality proved significantly more complicated. One pebble rose immediately. The next refused. A third spun sideways and struck a fence post. A fourth lifted successfully before dropping into the dirt after three seconds.

Cassian recorded every attempt. The notebook beside him contained increasingly detailed observations. Shape mattered. Weight mattered. Concentration mattered. Emotional state seemed to matter as well, though he lacked enough evidence to explain why.

Most importantly, ambient mana behaved differently in different locations. That discovery surprised him. Near the forest, manipulation felt easier. Near large groups of people, it became slightly more difficult.

The difference remained subtle, but repeated experiments convinced him it existed. He added another page to his notes. By the end of the month, he would probably need a second notebook. The thought made him smile.

A voice interrupted his concentration. “You’re doing it again.”

Cassian looked up. “Doing what?”

Darren stood nearby carrying several pieces of wood beneath one arm. “That thing where you stare at rocks for an hour.”

“I wasn’t staring.”

Darren sat beside him and set the wood down. “The rocks would disagree.”

Cassian laughed despite himself. For several moments he watched another pebble rise briefly above the ground. Unlike everyone else in Frostwood, Darren had grown accustomed to strange behavior from his younger brother. That did not mean he understood it.

“What are you actually trying to accomplish?”

Cassian considered the question. “A better understanding.”

“Of rocks?”

“Of mana.”

Darren nodded slowly. That answer apparently made more sense. “I still think books are easier.”

“They probably are.”

“Then why don’t you use books?”

Cassian glanced toward the notebook. “Because the books keep saying things that don’t match what I’m seeing.”

The response earned a confused expression. Darren looked exactly like someone attempting to solve a puzzle with several missing pieces.

Eventually he shrugged. “I’ll leave that problem to you.”

A wise decision. Cassian wasn’t sure he understood it either. The most significant breakthrough arrived two days later. He had been practicing self-levitation again. The exercise remained difficult, exhausting, and mildly dangerous. Every successful attempt lasted only a few seconds before concentration failed. Every failure risked bruises.

Nevertheless, progress existed. That morning he managed to remain suspended nearly half a minute. Not high. Barely above the ground. Yet undeniably airborne.

When the effect ended, he landed awkwardly and immediately noticed something strange. He felt no corresponding movement inside his body. The realization stopped him completely.

For several minutes he sat motionless, replaying the experience. A conventional mage, according to the books, manipulated internal mana. Movement began inside. Power flowed outward. Everything started within the body.

Cassian’s levitation worked differently. The ambient mana moved. His body simply came along for the ride. The distinction sounded minor. It wasn’t. It changed everything.

The books described mana leaving a person. Cassian described mana moving around a person. Those were fundamentally different processes.

He grabbed the notebook and began writing so quickly that several words became nearly illegible. By evening, six pages contained analysis, observations, and increasingly frantic theories.

One possibility appeared repeatedly. Perhaps ambient mana manipulation was not an advanced version of conventional magic. Perhaps it was an entirely separate discipline. The thought refused to leave him.

The next morning he carried the notebook directly to Aldric. The elder spent nearly twenty minutes reading. Occasionally his eyebrows rose. Several times he returned to earlier pages.When he finally finished, he remained silent long enough that Cassian began questioning whether the notes made sense at all.

Eventually Aldric closed the notebook. “I’ve never seen anyone approach mana this way.”

Cassian straightened. “Not even in books?”

“Especially not in books.”

That answer landed harder than expected. The old man folded his hands together.

“Understand something important. Frostwood’s library is small compared to major cities, but it contains enough material that unusual ideas appear from time to time.”

“And this?” Aldric tapped the notebook. “This is not unusual.”

The distinction immediately captured Cassian’s attention. “What is it then?”

The elder considered the question carefully. “I don’t know.”

Oddly enough, that answer felt encouraging. Aldric wasn’t dismissing the observations. He wasn’t calling them impossible. He simply lacked an explanation. Which meant an explanation might still exist.

The conversation ended when Rowan entered the office carrying a stack of village reports. The senior hunter looked exhausted. Dark circles sat beneath his eyes, and his movements carried a tension that had become increasingly common among Frostwood’s defenders.

“No sign?” Aldric asked.

Rowan shook his head. “Nothing today.”

Nobody seemed reassured. The Ironclaw’s absence had become almost as unsettling as its presence. That evening, a horn sounded from the northern road. The entire village reacted instantly. Conversations stopped. People emerged from homes. Several hunters reached for weapons before realizing the sound came from outside the settlement rather than inside it.

Cassian followed Gareth toward the entrance. A crowd formed quickly. The messenger had returned. More importantly, he had not returned alone.

Six soldiers marched behind him in disciplined formation. Their equipment immediately distinguished them from ordinary villagers. Matching shields. Professional weapons. Uniform colors. The sight alone made Frostwood appear smaller.

Three mounted figures followed. The first wore practical traveling clothes rather than armor. Gray streaks touched his dark hair, and years of administration seemed visible in the lines around his eyes.

Steward Marcus Harrow. The noble’s representative.

The second rider looked entirely different. Heavy armor covered both man and horse. A sword rested at his hip. His posture carried the effortless confidence of someone who had spent years facing danger and surviving. Even before introductions, Cassian understood this must be the knight.

Sir Roland Ashcombe. The title suited him.

The final rider wore dark blue robes trimmed with silver thread. He appeared younger than Cassian expected, perhaps around thirty years old, with sharp features and attentive eyes that seemed to evaluate everything around him.

Mage Cedric Vale.

The villagers watched in silence as the newcomers entered Frostwood. Marcus Harrow studied damaged fences and newly erected defenses.

Sir Roland Ashcombe examined tracks, watch positions, and hunting parties with a soldier’s eye.Cedric Vale appeared interested in people. Very interested.

For a brief moment, his gaze passed over the crowd and paused. Not on Gareth. Not on Aldric. On Cassian. The pause lasted only a second before continuing. Yet something about it felt deliberate.

Aldric stepped forward to greet the arrivals. Formal introductions began. Questions followed. The investigation had finally arrived.

And somewhere beneath the excitement spreading through Frostwood, Cassian found himself thinking about a completely different problem.

Every book he had ever read assumed mana existed inside living things. Everything he had accomplished involved mana outside them. For the first time, he suspected that difference might matter far more than anyone realized.

End of Chapter 11