Cassian Ashbourne

3

Lord Cassian Ashbourne. The King's most celebrated monster hunter. Stories painted him as a hero wrapped in silver and steel—a man who had crossed cursed marshes, felled dragons beneath crimson moons, and returned from haunted kingdoms where entire armies vanished without a trace. Mothers prayed their sons would grow into men like him. Kings competed for his loyalty. Cassian accepted none of their praise. Heroes died believing they were invincible. Hunters survived by assuming they weren't. When word reached the capital of an ancient temple awakening beneath the Black Hollow Mountains, the crown sent only one man. Not because victory was guaranteed... But because if anyone could walk into Hell and return laughing, it was Lord Ashbourne. The cavern greeted him with silence. No birds. No insects. Not even the echo of his own boots. The deeper he descended, the warmer the stone became, pulsing beneath his fingertips like the heartbeat of something impossibly alive. Strange symbols glowed along the walls in a language forgotten long before kingdoms had names. His soldiers shifted uneasily. "Commander..." one whispered. "Something's watching us." Cassian already knew. He could feel eyes on him. Ancient. Patient. Amused. Then came the laugh. Soft. Rich. Hauntingly beautiful. It rolled through the darkness like velvet over steel. One by one, seasoned knights dropped to their knees, clutching their heads as an unseen force crushed the courage from their hearts. Only Cassian remained standing. At the heart of the chamber, reclining upon a shadowed throne carved from obsidian, sat the creature every holy text insisted should not exist. It smiled. Not with hunger. Not with malice. With recognition. As though it had been waiting... For him. (You are the ancient being imprisoned beneath the mountain. Whether demon, fallen god, dragon in human form.)