Chapter 204: Unexpected Guest
Xavier leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, watching Cassian talk. The guy’s voice was steady but there was weight in it, the kind of weight you don’t toss out unless you’ve been carrying it too long.
When Cassian finished, Xavier didn’t jump in right away. He let the silence hang for a beat, eyes narrowing, like he was measuring him. Then he exhaled through his nose and shook his head.
"So that’s what you’ve been holding in, huh?" His voice was low, not mocking, not pitying—just blunt. "You know what’s funny, Cass? Most people who spill their guts to me want me to pat them on the back, tell them they’re brave, or some shit like that. But you’re not that type. You wouldn’t have said all this if you weren’t at your damn limit."
Xavier leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His gaze was sharp but steady, locking on Cassian’s.
"I’m not gonna feed you sweet words. Life doesn’t give a damn about what we carry. It just keeps stacking more. You either burn under it, or you lift it until it stops crushing you. That’s the only choice."
He paused, then smirked faintly. "But I’ll give you this—you’re not weak. Weak men don’t say that shit out loud. Weak men hide it, bury it, pretend they’re fine until it rots them from the inside. You’re not one of them."
Xavier pushed himself up, standing tall. "So yeah. You said it. I heard it. That means it’s real now. And if you still got fight left in you, then carry that weight and make it pay off. If not..." He shrugged. "Then you’ve already lost."
His smirk widened just a little, but there was no cruelty in it. "Either way, Cass, you’re not getting pity from me. Respect, maybe. But never pity."
Cassian didn’t get angry under Xavier’s words. If anything, the fire in his chest burned hotter. He kept his smile steady, though his eyes carried something deeper now.
"You know... you’re right," he said quietly, almost like he was tasting the weight of Xavier’s words as they left his mouth. "The world doesn’t care. It’ll keep stacking more until we choke. But that’s exactly why I won’t break under it. If I have to carry it all, then I’ll carry it, and I’ll keep walking until my legs give out. That’s the only way."
Xavier tilted his head, eyeing him with that mix of suspicion and respect.
Cassian leaned back, exhaling slowly. "You call it fight. My family calls it something else. Testaments. Prophecies. Whatever name you slap on it, it all means the same thing. You don’t stop until you reach where you’re meant to." His smile grew sharper, more purposeful. "And me sitting here with you, right now, feels like part of that."
Xavier’s brows pinched for just a second at the word prophecies, but he stayed quiet, watching.
"I’ll put my trust in that," Cassian said firmly. "In the testaments, in the paths carved before us... in this." He gestured subtly between them. "Because if they’re true, then meeting you isn’t chance. It’s written."
Xavier hated those words. Something like fate and destiny was something only weak, powerless and cowardly would rely on. However, maybe, just maybe, meeting Oliver was a part of it, then he would at least try to accept that.
Just then, the door creaked and the waiter came in with trays of steaming food, laying them down between the two. Neither of them said a word until the waiter left again.
The meal dragged on with nothing but silverware tapping against plates. Neither of them spoke much. Whatever needed to be said had already been thrown on the table, and the rest was just air hanging heavy between them.
When the last of the food was cleared and the check signed off, Cassian stood first, offering his hand across the table. "Thank you for coming, Xavier. Whatever happens next... I trust you’ll keep Oliver safe."
Xavier rose without hesitation, clasped his hand firmly. "Count on it. I don’t throw words around."
Cassian gave a faint smile, one that carried both relief and worry, then turned and made his way out. Xavier followed, parting ways outside the restaurant without looking back.
He mounted his bike, fired it up, and rode straight for the Nexus Tower. The city lights bled past him in streaks, but his head was oddly quiet compared to the storm Cassian had left him with.
By the time he reached the Tower, night had draped fully over the skyline. He parked, went through the lobby, and took the lift up to his apartment without stopping anywhere else.
The second he stepped inside, he tossed his jacket on the couch, dropped his keys, and headed straight to the bathroom. Hot water roared to life, steam fogging up the glass as he stripped down and stepped under the spray.
The shrill ring cut through the hiss of the shower, echoing off the tiles. Xavier cursed under his breath, killed the water, and stepped out dripping. He didn’t bother with a towel. Naked, hair plastered against his forehead, he padded across the apartment and slapped the receiver.
The receptionist’s voice came through crisp and formal. "Sir, there’s someone asking to see you."
Xavier leaned on the counter, water still dripping from his shoulders. "Let me guess. Fans again?"
"Possibly. But... this one is different. He says he traveled from very far away. He’s been waiting in the lobby since morning, when you left for the academy. That makes almost fifteen hours, sir."
Xavier clicked his tongue. The thought of yet another obsessive showing up made his jaw tighten. Ever since his name blew up, it was nonstop—fans swarming his floor, selfies in the hallway, screaming kids at odd hours. The building fined him twice before he shelled out for a security package just to keep them out.
Today though, after Cassian and everything else, he wasn’t in the mood. "Send him back. Say I’m not home. Make up something."
A pause. Then the receptionist’s voice softened. "Sir, it’s only one person. He’s still here. He’s been waiting all day."
Xavier rubbed his face, sighing. Guilt pricked at him despite himself. "...Fine. Send him up."
Minutes later, the bell rang. Xavier, still dripping, strode to the door and swung it open, expecting another bright-eyed teen with merch in hand.
What he got instead froze him in place.
The figure standing in the doorway wasn’t human. Humanoid, yes, but his skin was dark, leathery hide with streaks of fur bristling along the arms. A long, sharp muzzle like that of a wolf’s, but with feline eyes—slit pupils glowing faintly amber in the dim hallway light.
His clothes were travel-worn, stitched leathers that smelled faintly of earth and iron. Across his back, strapped in thick rope, was a cylindrical container, carved with markings that pulsed faintly.
The beastman’s voice came low and gravelly, carrying a strange accent. "Xavier, my Lord. It’s been a while. Do you remember me?"
Xavier, still bare as the day he was born, blinked once. "...Not exactly the fan I was expecting."
It was a messenger from the Beastland Kilop had sent.