Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Everything was perfect—especially for Nesta, who was having her mating ceremony tomorrow.

Everything was perfect for everyone.

Except for her.

But that didn’t mean she was unhappy.

Seeing Nesta practically glow the night before her mating ceremony was something Elain wouldn’t trade for the world. She was truly happy for her sister—for her fierce, cold-as-steel sister, who had once been so terribly broken inside. No one, not even Elain, had been able to break through that icy barrier. But Cassian had. He had reached into the deepest, most vulnerable parts of Nesta’s soul—the parts she had kept locked away behind an impenetrable, frozen cage—and somehow, he had found his way inside.

Elain and Nesta had missed Feyre’s mating ceremony before, so this time, she would cherish every moment of one of the happiest days of Nesta’s life. Because Nesta had found her other half.

She still couldn’t believe it—how both of her sisters were now happily mated, their futures entwined with the males who adored them. If they were back in their old cottage, Nesta and Feyre would have laughed in her face if she had told them they would be the ones to find their mates—or husbands—before her.

Because among the three of them, Elain had always been the one destined for a happy marriage. She was the prettiest, the most poised among her sisters. At least, that’s what her sisters claimed.

But it seemed being the prettiest and most poised meant nothing in the fae world.

Because she was the only one still alone.

Would she always be?

Graysen had dumped and humiliated her the moment he found out she turned High Fae. And before that—before she even had a chance to grieve the life she lost—fate had cruelly tied her to a stranger. A high fae from the Autumn Court. A male she knew next to nothing about, other than the fact that he was a friend of Feyre’s and had played a role in the events that led to her and Nesta being kidnapped and turned into what they were now.

So she ignored him.

What else was she supposed to do? She wanted nothing to do with him. The mere thought of being bound to someone she felt nothing for—someone her family seemed to expect her to grow closer to—was sickening.

No, she refused to think about him.

The male she had always thought about, however, was Azriel.

But now, even thinking of him hurts.

Because of that Solstice night. Because of what he said.

No.

She needed to stop thinking about males altogether.

Because, in the end, they were all the same.

Or maybe she was just unlucky.

But one thing about Elain Archeron was that she never gave up hope.

She believed in happy endings.

She believed that, sooner or later, she would find hers—that one day, she would be just as happy as her sisters.

So she smiled, as if willing herself to believe it, and turned back to the conversation. 

Her sisters were chatting about— sigh —their mates.

***

Nesta’s mating ceremony had been perfect—so beautiful and so heart-wrenching that Elain couldn’t stop the tears from slipping down her cheeks.

When Nesta and Cassian approached, she wrapped her arms around her sister, holding her tightly. I’m so happy for you, she whispered. I hope you’ll always be happy.

Then Feyre’s arms joined around them, and the three of them embraced, holding on to each other for a moment longer than necessary.

From afar, Elain noticed Gwyn—Nesta’s Valkyrie friend—approaching. And as if on cue, the moment they pulled back from their hug, Gwyn and Emerie rushed in, enveloping Nesta in another fierce embrace.

Meanwhile, Cassian was still locked in a tight hug with Azriel, Rhys, and Mor— sobbing.

Amren, on the other hand, stood nearby with her arms crossed, looking bored. But the glint in her eyes betrayed her. She was happy for Cassian, even if she wouldn’t say it aloud.

And Cassian… he looked radiant, beaming with joy. Finally, he could call Nesta his mate. Finally, it was real.

As the ceremony settled, they all returned to their seats, laughter and conversation filling the air.

Feyre turned toward Gwyn and Emerie, offering them a warm smile as she greeted them. The two Valkyries shyly inclined their heads in respect to their High Lady. Elain greeted them as well, her own smile soft and welcoming.

Feyre spoke of how proud she was—of how far they had come. Elain nodded in agreement, especially when it came to Gwyn. It took immense courage for her to step out of the library, to train, to fight. Elain smiled at her, admiring the quiet strength that radiated from her.

Noticing that Nesta was busy chatting with Cassian, Feyre gently grasped both Gwyn and Emerie’s hands. Her voice was full of warmth as she thanked them—not just for helping Nesta but for simply being her friends, for standing by her side, for helping her heal.

Gwyn and Emerie exchanged a look before smiling back at Feyre. It was nothing, they said, their voices full of quiet certainty. We’ll always be there for each other. We’ll face whatever comes—together.

Elain watched them, admiring the unshakable bond they had formed. They were each other’s rock, their anchor in the storm.

Her thoughts drifted to another pair of sisters—the half-wraith twins, Nuala and Cerridwen. She knew they were lurking somewhere nearby, unseen but ever watchful, guarding the house against unwelcome threats.

She had shared so much with them. And in turn, they had shared so much with her.

Nesta and Cassian seemed to dissolve from whatever they had been chatting about as Nesta turned to face them. The others—Cassian, the males, Mor, and Amren—followed suit, their attention shifting to the group.

Cassian grinned as he turned to Azriel, clapping him twice on the back. "You're the last male standing here."

That earned a round of laughter from the females and a snort from Amren.

Cassian was right. Among the three brothers, Azriel was the only one left who was still single—just like her.

And she had been so stupid to think he wanted her.

All those lingering glances, the accidental brushes of their fingers. The way he was the only one who ever seemed truly interested in her, who listened— really listened—when she rambled about her gardening plans. She had let herself believe it meant something.

But maybe she had read it all wrong.

Azriel was naturally a gentleman, and she had mistaken his kindness, his attentiveness, for something more.

She forced herself to look at him. Just once.

He glanced at her quickly—too quickly—before turning away.

Her stomach twisted.

He really isn’t interested in me anymore, she told herself.

Or… was he ever?

Cassian's gaze shifted to Elain, his grin turning teasing. " So are you, Elain. You better catch up ."

Catch up?

With who ?

Lucien?

They would be so wrong if they thought she had any intention of catching up with Lucien.

She simply wasn’t interested.

The male she was actually interested in was the one who avoided her at every chance he got—who acted as if merely being near her was unbearable.

Every time she caught his gaze, he would look away—his expression shifting, tightening—

As if she was a mistake that shamed him.

***

“Elain, did you hear what I said?”

Elain’s head snapped up from her plate. Right—she was at the River House, having dinner with Feyre and Rhysand.Their sweet baby, Nyx, however was sound asleep in his nursery. Since the day he was born, Elain couldn’t help but visit her darling nephew almost every day. She loved taking care of Nyx—the way his big, round eyes sparkled with delight as he played with his toys, his bright giggles like a balm to her wounded soul. The way his tiny wings flapped when he was excited, his chubby hands grasping for everything with innocent wonder. Spending time with an innocent baby certainly filled her with a joy she rarely found elsewhere. Like the joy she felt when she watched her garden bloom.

Babies could never break your heart. She wished she could say the same for grown males. No matter how sweet they seemed, they always managed to shatter her in the end.

“I’m sorry, what were you saying?” She asked Feyre.

Feyre who sat beside her reached for her shoulder, rubbing it in comfort. She repeated her words. “Don’t be scared about getting those visions again, alright? I’ll be sleeping with you tonight.”

Elain gasped. “But Feyre, I really don’t want to impose. Can Rhys even sleep without you in bed?”

Rhys’s laugh followed her words. “I will certainly have some trouble sleeping without my Feyre darling. But I guess I could sacrifice a bit for her sister who’s much in need of company in bed.”

Elain flushed at his words but then let out a small smile. “I…really don’t want to steal your mate for the night, Rhys.”

Rhys chuckled. “Consider yourself lucky that you’re probably the only female I’d let Feyre sleep with. And yes, that’s because you’re her sister.”

Elain raised her brows “What about Nesta?”

Rhys let out a dry laugh. “Let’s just say I want to save Feyre from the awkwardness of sleeping alone with her.”

Feyre rolled her eyes at that. 

Elain sighed. “But seriously, I can sleep on my own. I don’t need you babysitting me, Feyre.”

Feyre shrugged. “Nonsense. Besides, you’re the one who has actually been babysitting our baby these days. We appreciate your help a lot, you know. And we want to help you too, Elain. We’re here for you. I’m here for you.”

Elain’s heart swelled at her words. She was so grateful to have such a precious and kind sister as Feyre. She’d always been so caring and selfless.

She had come to the river house after having lunch at the Town House to visit baby Nyx. Normally, she wouldn’t stay this late—she never wanted to impose on Feyre and Rhys, no matter how many times they insisted she was always welcome for dinner. But tonight was different. Tonight, she stayed because Rhys and Feyre practically demanded her to. They saw how the circles under her eyes grew larger, how she seemed fatigued and how the light in her gaze had dimmed.

And when they asked what happened, she simply told them that her visions had returned.

Elain had never been one to fear solitude. She reveled in it. But she couldn’t deny the anxiety creeping into her bones at the thought of having another vision again. The visions unsettled her. Sometimes, they felt like watching events unfold on a screen—distant, disconnected. Other times, it felt like getting dragged into a murky, liminal space, where she was no longer just a spectator but trapped in it. And the worst part is that the visions attacked her during her sleep. Sometimes it was so unbearable and suffocating that she’d wake up panicked and had trouble catching her breath, then silently cry to herself until she was tired enough to fall asleep again. Lately, it had been the latter. When she first got these visions, It was never this intense. Plus, she never got them during her sleep, only at random times of the day. Now, she gets them almost every night during her sleep.

She was terrified she wouldn’t wake up. If she won’t snap out of it.

So when Feyre insisted on her staying here at the River House, she couldn’t help but feel glad to know that someone would wake her up and pull her out from those murky realms if she ever got trapped in it. 

She really wanted to visit Nesta—to see how her sister was doing. Or maybe stay there for a few days.

It had been two weeks since Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony and, well.. she distinctly recalled Feyre mentioning how she and Rhys had spent an entire week locked in their room when they first mated. Feyre had laughed as she admitted how Rhys could barely stand to be away from her for even a moment. Elain, however, marvels at the thought.

Oh, to be loved like that. 

To have someone who cherishes you so deeply that they’d never want to let you go, craving your presence every moment they could.

So no, Elain wouldn’t intrude on Nesta and Cassian’s time together. They deserve their “no disturb” time very much. Nesta deserved it. After everything she had endured, Elain wouldn’t want to disturb her. 

Besides, Elain was quite certain that they were going to be… loud. And she had absolutely no desire to hear her sister’s moans echoing through the House of Wind. She shuddered. No, thank you.

Not that it mattered, since she had already prepared for the possibility. She had bought herself a pair of earplugs months ago—along with an extra set as a Solstice gift for… Azriel.

The thought of him made her chest tighten.

That was the other, much bigger reason she avoided the House of Wind. Because, of course, Azriel would be there.

Sitting at the dinner table tonight, she couldn’t stop the memory from surfacing. That Solstice night. It replayed in her mind like a broken record. 

The night when azriel gifted her that beautiful necklace. The night they had almost kissed. The night he changed his mind and pulled away.

That night he told her, “ This was a mistake ”. 

She had seen it—the way his expression darkened, the way his jaw tightened as he turned away.

As if he was disgusted by what had almost happened.

As if he was repulsed by his actions— by her.

She had been so shocked, so hurt, that she had unclasped the necklace and placed it back among the Solstice gifts. 

But even now, she could feel it—like a phantom weight against her throat. She could still remember the warmth of his fingers brushing her neck, the way he had tilted her head up, the way his gaze darkened as he leaned in.

She had been so sure he wanted it. She had seen it in his eyes.

So she had closed hers, waiting for the kiss she had imagined a thousand times—the kiss she was certain would feel like fireworks.

But it never came.

Instead, when she opened her eyes, she saw him pulling away. A mask of stone settling over his face.

And then came the words that had haunted her ever since.

This was a mistake.

***

Elain had agreed to sleep in Feyre’s room that night. So they lay side by side in bed, the warmth of the blankets cocooning them.

Feyre spoke softly at first, sharing snippets of her past weeks—of the endless duties that had drained her, of the exhaustion that clung to her bones. And true to her words, she drifted off not long after settling in, likely worn out from a day spent balancing her responsibilities and caring for Nyx.

Elain turned onto her side, watching her sister’s peaceful face in the dim light. With gentle fingers, she brushed a stray lock of hair from Feyre’s forehead.

She was proud of her—proud of what she had become.

A High Lady. A loving mother. A devoted sister.

Feyre deserved all the happiness in the world.

Elain then closed her eyes, and went to sleep. Or so she tried.

But the moment darkness took her, the vision pulled her under.

Cold. Damp. A stench of rot and something ancient clung to the air, thick as fog. She was no longer in bed with Feyre but standing on the banks of a lake. She stood in a land of endless shadows, the air thick with the scent of damp earth and decay.Its waters were black, as if ink had bled into every drop. And though the surface was still, something moved beneath it—something vast.On the far bank stood a male—no, not a male. A being draped in a cloak of night, his long, bony fingers pointed to the shore.

Then she saw them.

Figures along the shore, hunched and trembling. Their hands—no, their paws—twitched as if still trying to remember what they once were. A fox lifted its head, its wide brown eyes full of terror, curling its tail tight around its shaking body. A bird of flame flapped its wings, as if to shake off invisible chains.

"Poor, lost things," the cloaked being crooned. A voice like the scraping of bones.

Elain’s stomach twisted. She  felt herself blinked and suddenly the fox’s body twisted—melted—into something else entirely.

A male.

A fae male with long-red hair and golden-brown skin, shackles around his wrists, his face twisted in pain.

Lucien.

Elain gasped. She had to wake up. Had to pull herself out of this vision. But it wouldn’t let her go.

Koschei took a slow step forward, tilting his head—as if he sensed something. As if he felt eyes upon him.

Elain’s breath hitched.

No. He can’t see me. He can’t.

But his cold, soulless eyes flickered toward the space where she stood. His lips curled into the faintest smirk.

“Elain.”

Her name—whispered like a death knell.

“Elain!” Feyre’s voice broke through the lingering horror. A warm hand found her wrist, squeezing gently. “You’re breathing too fast—”

She woke with a sharp inhale, her breath coming too fast, too loud.

Elain’s hands trembled as she clutched the sheets. “He’s—he’s not just trapped him. He's t urned him .”

Feyre sat up fully now, voice sharp. “Turned who?”

Elain swallowed hard, the whisper of Koschei’s voice still lingering in her mind.

“Koschei turned Lucien into a fox.”

***

The next day, at Feyre’s request, Rhys held a meeting at the River House to discuss Elain’s visions. Cassian and Nesta arrived first, then followed by Amren and Aziel. Mor arrived last. Once everyone had gathered, Feyre wasted no time.

“Elain’s visions have been troubling her this past week,” she began, glancing at her sister with quiet concern. “They’re becoming more intense. Not just brief glimpses anymore—longer, clearer.”

The room stilled, eyes turned to Elain. 

Feyre took a breath before continuing. “Last night, she had another one. She saw Lucien. Shackled. Cursed—turned into a fox.”

A collective gasp filled the room.

Elain bit her lip. “It happened at the lake. And I saw Vassa there too, in her bird form. They were both there.”

She rubbed her sweaty palms against her lap, her voice serious now. “Koschei was standing in front of them, reveling in their misery. And then… he looked up. Right at me.”

Everyone inched closer to her from their seats, anticipation thick in the air. Their gazes were locked onto her, waiting—bracing—for what she would say next.

Elain swallowed hard, her throat tight. “When he looked at me—or maybe through me—Feyre woke me up then. I don’t know if he actually saw me, but—” She let out a shaky laugh. “I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare the shit out of me.”

Silence blanketed the room. Then—loud, booming laughter shattered it.

Cassian threw his head back, slapping his forehead as if he had just heard the funniest joke in the world.

“I can only imagine, El,” he wheezed between laughs. “Az would’ve shit his pants if that happened to him.”

Azriel scowled, shadows swirling around him as if they were also offended by the statement.  “Me? We all know you would.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Let’s be real. Anyone, including our mighty high lord, would've shit in their pants if they encountered a man who could turn people into animals.”

It was Rhys’ turn to scowl. Rhys crossed his arms, leveling Nesta with an unimpressed look. “I’d like to think I’d at least maintain some dignity.”

Cassian snorted. “Sure, sure. Just like you ‘maintained dignity’ when Feyre went into labor.”

Rhys shot him a glare while Feyre smirked behind her hand.

Mor sighed, drumming her fingers against the armchair. “I’d like to think we’re all animals with brains. And one particularly smaller than the rest” She said with a pointed look towards Amren.

Amren rolled her eyes. “If you were an animal, you’d be a snake”

Mor grinned. “A snake? Really, Amren? I’m a speaker of truth, not some two-faced liar. She turned to the others, tossing her hair dramatically. “I was thinking something a little more... majestic. A lioness, maybe.”

Nesta snorted. “For all I know, our mighty high lord exudes serious peacock energy”

Az chuckled. Cassian roared with laughter. “Good one, Nes!”

Elain laughed too, warmth blooming in her chest. It was the lightest she’d felt all week—save for the rare, peaceful moments she spent with baby Nyx.

She felt Azriel’s gaze on her as she laughed, the weight of it settling over her like a phantom touch. It made her suddenly aware—too aware—of herself, of him. The laughter caught in her throat, and she quickly cleared it, dropping her gaze to her lap as if that could somehow steady the sudden flutter in her chest.

Feyre chuckled before turning back to Elain. “Jokes aside, we need to take Elain’s vision seriously. It won’t be funny if Koschei gets his hands on us and decides to turn us into his own personal zoo.”

Rhys nodded then added. “That’s right. If Koschei could curse Lucien into a fox, then it means he has the power to do the same to any of us. We need to consider that possibility—and figure out how to counter it.”

Cassian crossed his arms, smirking. “Well, that’s reassuring. Try not to piss off the ancient death god who can turn us into livestock. Noted.”

Azriel shot him a dry look. “If you’re worried, I can start working on a muzzle for you.”

Nesta snorted. “Make it extra sturdy.”

Cassian clutched his chest in mock offense, but Feyre quickly steered the conversation back on track. “All jokes aside, the first thing we need to do is warn Lucien about this”

Azriel nodded. “I’ll take care of that”

Feyre studied Azriel for a long moment, then her gaze flickered to Elain. Then her gaze went back to Az as she said. “There’s one more thing you should take care of, Az”

Azriel raised a brow.

Feyre then announced “You should start helping Elain with her visions”

Chapter Text

 “ You should start helping Elain with her visions ”

Azriel replayed Feyre’s words over and over in his mind, each time settling heavier in his chest. Him? Helping Elain with her visions? 

He knew it wouldn’t be the same as teaching someone how to wield a dagger. No, this would be different—It wasn’t just physical; it would require deeper, more intimate interactions. Helping Elain navigate her visions meant stepping into uncharted territory, into the unknown corners of her mind. It required a different kind of proximity, a different kind of trust. 

To be near Elain, to learn the depths of her gift, to be the one she relied on—it would be exhilarating. And dangerous. A temptation wrapped in the guise of duty. Azriel shuddered at the thought. 

He risked a glance at Elain, searching for her reaction to this revelation. Her face tilted downward, expression unreadable—but there was something in her eyes. A flicker of something sharp, something almost like… resentment.

Hm. Of course, she would be repulsed by the idea of him helping her, of him being close to her. How could she not be? After what he did that Solstice night—after he left her waiting for a kiss that never came. He walked away like a coward, like a bastard.

She had every right to hate him.

And maybe she did.

The thought made something in his chest twist, sharp and unforgiving. He didn’t want her to hate him. He wanted anything but that.

Rhys’ voice echoed through the room, steady and measured. “Why Az?”

Azriel kept himself from snorting at that. Of course Rhys would oppose the idea of him helping her. He forbade him from being close to her. That even if he was allowed to help her, Azriel knew his High Lord would watch him like a hawk, waiting for any misstep, any sign that his intentions weren’t purely about helping Elain. And maybe Rhys would be right to worry. Because no matter how much Azriel wanted this—wanted her—he knew there were lines he wasn’t meant to cross.

“ You think you deserve her? ”

The voice slithered into his mind, as it always did, a quiet torment woven from years of self-doubt and unworthiness. Azriel clenched his fists, forcing himself to push it away. But it lingered, like a shadow that never truly left.

Feyre met her mate’s gaze and answered without hesitation. “Because Az is the most suitable person for this.” She gestured toward Azriel. “He can control and communicate with his shadows, Rhys. He understands how to navigate the unseen, how to sense what others can’t. If anyone can help Elain harness and control her visions, it’s him.”

Cassian nodded. “I agree. Let’s be honest—the last person qualified to help her is me.” He shot Elain a playful grin. “Sorry, El. I only do sword stuff. But hey, if you ever want to learn how to swing a blade, I’m your guy.”

Elain shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “The chances of Koschei proposing a peace treaty are higher than me training with a sword.”

Cassian let out a booming laugh. “I really like your humor, El.”

The others laughed too, including Azriel, who found himself growing more and more drawn to Elain’s quiet but sharp wit. He watched as her eyes sparkled, amusement dancing in them as she effortlessly filled the room with laughter once again. The sight of her looking carefree and radiant—sent a strange warmth curling in his chest, something dangerously close to longing.

But then Rhys sighed, his expression turning thoughtful. “I don't think it works that way. Az controls shadows—an extension of his magic. Elain’s visions, however, happen in her mind. The closest person who could truly understand and help her navigate them is a daemati.”

Azriel felt as if Rhys had just popped his balloon of hope with a needle. And the worst part? He hated to admit that Rhys was right.

Feyre held her mate’s gaze, her voice steady as she asked, “Then how do we help her?”

Rhys exhaled, considering. “We can slip into her mind when she has a vision—see what’s happening firsthand. If we can understand how they work, we might be able to help her gain control over them.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Amren noted.

Feyre sighed. “Fine, Rhys. You’ll try first. But if you can’t manage it, then we’ll ask Az to step in.”

At that, a flicker of hope stirred in Azriel’s chest. He wasn’t proud of it, but a part of him silently wished Rhys would fail.

Rhys crossed his arms, arching a brow. “Are you doubting my skills, Feyre darling?”

Feyre shook her head. “No, it’s not that… I just have a feeling that Azriel might be the one who can truly help Elain.”

Azriel’s heart tightened at that—the quiet faith his High Lady had in him. In his ability to help Elain. To be the one who could help Elain better than anyone else.

Rhys tapped his fingers against his crossed arms, his expression unreadable. “Why are you so determined for Azriel to help her, Feyre darling?”

Feyre met his gaze without hesitation, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “Why are you so against the idea of him helping her?”

The room went still, sensing the tension in the air between their high lord and high lady.

The room fell silent, the tension between their High Lord and High Lady thick enough to cut with a blade.

It was Elain—sweet, gentle Elain—who finally broke the silence. “I agree,” she said softly but firmly. “Rhys can try to help me first. But if it doesn’t work… then I’ll accept Azriel’s help. That is, If he wants to.”

Azriel’s gaze snapped to her, and when she looked back at him, it felt like time had stretched between them, pulling taut like an invisible thread.

His voice was quiet but steady when he finally said, “I’ll help you, Elain.”

Something flickered in her eyes—relief, hesitation, something he couldn’t quite name—before she gave him a small, strained smile.

Rhys nodded, steering them back on track. “Then let’s start with the basics. Elain, can you tell us exactly how you’ve been getting these visions recently?”

Elain straightened, folding her hands in her lap. “Lately, they’ve been coming to me in my sleep,” she admitted. “Before, they used to happen at random times during the day. But now… I don’t know why it’s different.” I don’t understand why it’s changed.”

She cleared her throat, glancing at her hands before lifting her gaze again. “It makes me wonder how I’m receiving these visions at all.”

It was Mor who suggested, “Well, maybe we should just wait for her to get another vision again and then…” She trailed off, glancing around the room as if waiting for someone to pick up where she left off.

Nesta snorted. “And then what? Watch her like some kind of experiment?”

Mor rolled her eyes. “No, I mean, Rhys can try to slip into her mind. And if that doesn’t work, then Azriel can step in.”

Elain shifted uncomfortably. “So… that means I have to be asleep, and the moment I get a vision, Rhys will slip into my mind?”

Rhys tapped a thoughtful finger against his jaw. “Exactly. The key is timing—I’ll need to sense the shift as soon as it happens and connect with you before the vision fades.”

Cassian grinned, clapping his hands together. “Well, that settles it then. We’re throwing a slumber party in El’s room. El can play sleeping beauty, Rhys can take the night shift, and the rest of us? We’ll be there for moral support—by which I mean eating snacks and placing bets on how long it takes for Rhys to doze off.”

Rhys rolled his eyes. “Please. I’d bet good money on you dozing off before our Sleeping Beauty even closes her eyes.”

Cassian scoffed, puffing out his chest. “Nonsense. I’ll make sure El sleeps first after she hears my sweet lullaby.”

Elain’s face burned as laughter echoed around the room. She glared at Cassian, who only wiggled his brows in response.

Azriel leaned back in his chair, arms crossed as he watched the easy banter unfold around him. The conversation rolled on—Cassian boasting, Rhys taunting, the others laughing—but his focus remained elsewhere. On her.

Elain sat across the room, cheeks flushed from all the attention, tucking a strand of golden-brown hair behind her ear. She shook her head at Cassian’s dramatics, but a smile tugged at her lips—soft, amused. Beautiful.

The idea of spending the night in her room sent something sharp curling in his chest. It wasn’t just the proximity that unsettled him, but the vulnerability of it. He knew what it was like to be trapped in nightmares, to relive moments beyond his control. And now, Elain would have to face hers while everyone watched.

Would she be afraid? Would she let him help her if she was?

Azriel clenched his jaw, forcing his gaze away before anyone could notice how long he’d been looking at her.

Mor raised her hands. “I call dibs on bringing the snacks.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “It’s not a party, you idiots.”

Azriel, silent until now, finally spoke. “We should be careful. If Koschei really did sense Elain during her vision, there’s a chance he could do it again.”

The humor in the room dimmed.

Rhys nodded. “That’s why I won’t be the only one keeping watch.” His violet gaze flicked to Azriel. “You’ll keep your eyes on her too.”

Azriel didn’t react, not outwardly. But something in his chest tightened. Watching over Elain as she slept, being in her space, in the quiet hours of the night—it was dangerous. For him. Because he already wanted more than he should.

He forced himself to nod. “Understood.”

Rhys nodded before announcing. “Then we will start tonight.”

Azriel leaned back in his chair, keeping his expression neutral as the conversation shifted. If Koschei had truly sensed Elain, then this wasn’t just about understanding her visions—it was about protecting her.

Cassian grinned, facing Azriel. “You’re gonna have to sit in a chair all night, Az. No sneaking under the covers to cuddle with me.”

Azriel shot him a look, unimpressed. “Tie me to the chair if that helps.” he deadpanned. But maybe—just maybe— it was about keeping himself in check, about stopping himself from doing something reckless while watching Elain sleep.

Cassian barked a laugh, but Azriel barely heard it. His attention had already drifted—back to Elain, who was staring at her hands, her cheeks still flushed from Cassian’s earlier teasing.

He exhaled slowly, willing himself to focus on the task ahead.

This wasn’t about him. This was about Elain, about figuring out how her visions worked, how to help her control them. About keeping her safe. And yet, as much as he tried to remind himself of that, one thought refused to leave his mind:

He would be there. In her room. With her.

Sleeping Beauty.

Cassian had meant it as a joke, but Azriel found himself agreeing. There was always something undeniably enchanting about her—the quiet grace, the ethereal presence that set her apart. 

And tonight, he was really going to watch her sleep.

He wasn’t sure if that thrilled him or terrified him more.

***

After dinner, Elain watched as Cassian and Mor eagerly urged everyone to haul pillows and blankets into her room. She chuckled, feeling a flicker of anticipation she knew she shouldn’t entertain.

Or maybe—maybe she was a little too eager for the idea of Azriel watching over her as she slept.

No. No, Elain. That male doesn’t want you like that.

Even if his gaze lingered, even if it burned into her with an intensity that made her breath hitch—it was only because he had to watch over her. Nothing more.

As everyone piled into her room, arms full of pillows and snacks, Elain awkwardly perched on the edge of her bed. She could feel their gazes settling on her, and warmth crept up her neck.

“I… I guess I should sleep now,” she murmured, tucking herself under the blanket in an attempt to escape the sudden attention. “Goodnight, everyone.”

A beat of silence followed—until Cassian grinned.

Then, in the softest, most ridiculous voice he could muster, he began to sing.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little Elain, how I wonder what visions you’ll gain—Up—”

The room erupted into laughter. Even Elain couldn’t help but giggle, covering her face as amusement bubbled up inside her.

Nesta, however, smacked Cassian hard on the back, making him lurch forward with an exaggerated oof .

Cassian rubbed his back with a dramatic wince. “Damn, Nes. I was just setting the mood.”

“The mood for what?” Nesta huffed. “Annoying Elain to death?”

Elain laughed again, shaking her head. “It’s fine,” she said, her voice still warm with amusement. “Though I don’t think that’s the lullaby to help me sleep.”

Cassian opened his mouth, no doubt ready to break into another ridiculous song, but a sharp glare from Nesta shut him up.

Rhys crossed his arms, smirking. “Alright, enough of this. Elain actually needs to sleep. Let’s not traumatize her with Cassian’s singing.”

Cassian scoffed. “I have a beautiful voice, thank you very much.”

Mor snorted as she flopped onto the pile of pillows she’d claimed. “Beautifully terrible.”

The teasing continued, voices overlapping, filling the room with warmth and familiarity.

Azriel, who had been silent through it all, leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching. His shadows curled around him as if trying to keep him anchored, but his focus remained on her. On Elain.

Azriel forced himself to glance away, clearing his throat. “Enough stalling. She needs rest.”

Elain met his gaze for a fleeting moment before pulling the blanket higher. “Goodnight, everyone.”

Cassian sighed dramatically. “Fine, fine. I’ll hold off on the lullabies—unless you want a midnight encore, El.”

Nesta smacked his arm again.

With that, the room slowly settled. The lights dimmed, voices quieted. And soon, only Rhys remained watchful, waiting for a vision to come.

Azriel, however, lingered near the shadows, unable to tear his thoughts and gaze away from the girl tucked beneath the blankets.

About two hours later, both Rhys and Azriel noticed the subtle shift in Elain’s breathing—faster, shallower. Azriel’s muscles tensed, but he forced himself to stay still, reminding himself that Rhys was the one in charge.

Rhys moved swiftly, kneeling beside Elain’s bed. With careful hands, he pressed his palms to her shoulders through the blanket, giving her a gentle shake. “Elain,” he murmured, his voice calm but firm.

She didn’t stir.

Rhys tried again, shaking her a little harder. When her eyes finally fluttered open, Azriel’s breath caught.

Because they weren’t truly open.

Her irises were glassy, unfocused—like a veil had been drawn over them.

A sure sign that she was deep in a vision.

Elain’s frantic breathing was loud enough to wake up the others.

Feyre was the first to wake up and as she did, she quickly stood up right beside Rhys. 

Without wasting another second, Rhys reached out with his daemati abilities, slipping a tendril of power toward her mind. He had done this countless times before—slipping into thoughts, guiding, searching for information—but the moment he brushed against the barrier of her mind, he felt it.

An obstruction.

It wasn’t a wall or a shield, nothing he could slip past with careful maneuvering. It was alive, like tangled ivy weaving an intricate barrier, shifting and growing stronger the more he tried to push through.

Rhys furrowed his brows, pressing harder. A mistake.

A burst of blinding light exploded from Elain’s mind, slamming into him with the force of a wave crashing against rock. He was thrown backward, landing hard against the floor with a grunt.

“Rhys!” Feyre gasped, kneeling beside him.

Rhys groaned, shaking his head. “There’s… something blocking me,” he admitted, rubbing his temple. “And it didn’t like me trying to force my way in.”

Feyre’s lips pressed into a thin line before she turned to Elain, who was still caught in the vision, her face pale, her breathing uneven. Feyre exhaled sharply and tried next, sending her own magic forward.

She met the same ivy gate, twisting and shifting, an unyielding force that repelled her. Feyre tried to speak to Elain’s mind, whispering her name, but the words were swallowed by an overwhelming silence. 

Feyre tried to sense Elain’s presence—tried to reach for that familiar thread of her sister’s mind. But there was nothing.

No whisper of consciousness, no trace of thought, not even the faintest flicker of awareness. It was as if Elain wasn’t there at all.

A cold dread settled in Feyre’s chest. She pushed deeper, searching, but all she found was emptiness—a vast, stretching void where Elain should have been. It wasn’t just silence. It was absent.

“Elain?” Feyre called again, louder this time, but it was like shouting into a dark chasm, her voice swallowed before it could even echo back.

Then, without warning, that same wave of blinding power struck her, hurling her back just as it had Rhys. Feyre gasped as she hit the floor, blinking up in shock.

Cassian, now fully awake, swore under his breath. “What the hell was that?”

Rhys sat up, his expression grim. “Something is keeping us out. And whatever it is… it’s protecting her.”

Feyre gasped. “I tried reaching out to her, but I couldn't even sense her presence there. As if she’s not inside her own mind.”

Nesta tried to keep her voice steady. “Let Azriel try then.”

Azriel stiffened at Nesta’s words. He had been standing just behind Rhys and Feyre, watching, listening—waiting. But at her suggestion, all eyes turned to him.

A muscle feathered in his jaw, his shadows whispering restlessly around him. He had expected this. Hoped for it, even. And yet, now that the moment had come, uncertainty twisted in his gut.

Rhys, still kneeling by Elain’s bedside, wiped a hand down his face. “I don’t like this,” he muttered. “If Feyre and I were thrown out, what makes you think it’ll be any different for Az?”

Nesta’s stare was unyielding. “Because maybe it’s not about power. Maybe it’s about connection.”

A heavy silence followed.

Azriel swallowed once before stepping forward. He didn’t dare glance at Feyre or Rhys as he lowered himself beside Elain. His heart thundered in his chest as he took in the way her breathing had evened out, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks, as if lost in something deep, something far away.

He hesitated only a moment before exhaling and reaching out—not physically, but with that quiet, searching tether of himself.

“Elain,” he murmured, voice low, careful.

The moment he reached for her, his entire body went rigid.

It was like stepping into a place he was never meant to enter. Cold, endless light surrounded him—not darkness, not shadows, but something blinding and pure. He had expected walls, barriers, something to push through. Instead, it was a sea of glowing threads, pulsing softly, stretching endlessly into nothing.

And Elain was nowhere in sight.

He pressed forward, wading into that strange, humming brightness. “Elain,” he called again, his voice barely a breath.

No answer .

His heart pounded. Because for all the power he possessed, for all the ways he could slip between shadows and secrets—he had never felt so utterly lost.

He recalled Feyre and Rhys mentioning an ivy-covered gate blocking their way. If they had seen it, then it had to exist somewhere in this strange, glowing expanse.

So Azriel moved forward, navigating through the pulsing threads of light. They shifted around him, humming softly, reacting to his presence like a living thing. Shadows had always been his domain—silent, elusive, obedient. But this… this was different. It was wild and unyielding, light bending and twisting as if deciding whether to let him pass.

Then, in the distance, he saw it.

A grand, wrought-iron gate, almost obscured by thick ivy, the vines crawling and weaving together as if they were alive. The air around it crackled with power, ancient and unfamiliar.

Azriel slowed his steps, studying it. This was it—the barrier keeping Rhys and Feyre out. The question was, would it keep him out too?

Azriel took a steadying breath and stepped forward. The light did not reject him. Unlike Rhys, unlike Feyre, he wasn’t thrown back by some unseen force. The gate simply stood there, humming softly, the ivy curling and shifting like it was waiting for something.

He tried calling Elain’s name, 

but just as Feyre had warned, he felt nothing—no tether, no sense of her presence beyond the gate. It was as if she wasn’t here at all. Yet… the barrier didn’t reject him. It let him stand before it, letting him linger in its presence.

Was it asking him to wait?

Wait for what?

Azriel reached out, fingers barely grazing the iron bars, but instead of resistance, the gate merely thrummed beneath his touch, neither opening nor pushing him away.

And then—

A presence.

Behind him.

Elain.

Or at least, something that looked like her.

She was made of luminescent white light, her form flickering like a candle’s glow, her edges blurred and shifting. She didn’t look at him—just drifted past him, straight toward the gate. And when she reached it, the ivy unraveled, the iron groaning softly as the barrier parted just enough for her to slip through.

Azriel moved to follow, but before he could take another step, the world around him blurred—

And then he was back.

Snapping his eyes open, sucking in a sharp breath as if he had been drowning.

At the same moment, Elain gasped and jolted upright.

Her hands trembled where they gripped the sheets, her wide, honey-brown eyes darting around the room, still hazy with whatever she had just seen.

“Elain,” Feyre breathed, kneeling beside her. “Are you alright?”

Elain blinked a few times, her breath coming fast, before finally turning her gaze toward Azriel.

And the way she looked at him then, like she had seen something she wasn’t sure she should have—made his stomach tighten with something close to dread. 

Rhys turned to face Azriel, his violet eyes sharp with curiosity. “You weren’t thrown back like we were.”

Amren, perched on the edge of the bed with her arms crossed, hummed thoughtfully. “The bigger question,” she mused, “is how you managed to slip into her mind at all—considering you’re not a Daemati.”

Silence stretched between them, all eyes now fixed on Azriel. He didn’t have an answer. He wasn’t even sure what had happened back there—why the barrier hadn’t rejected him the way it had Rhys and Feyre.

But one thing was certain.

Elain’s mind—her power—had almost let him in.

"I don't know," Azriel admitted, his voice quieter than usual. 

Feyre suddenly snapped her fingers. “Maybe it is about connections, like Nesta said before.”

Rhys twisted her expression as he glanced at Az. “And what type of connection could you possibly have with Elain?”

Azriel stiffened, feeling the weight of everyone's gaze shift to him. Rhys’s words hung in the air, a quiet challenge wrapped in curiosity.

Feyre cut in before Azriel could respond. “Not all connections are obvious, Rhys. Maybe there's something at play here that we don’t understand yet.”

Rhys crossed his arms, still watching Azriel closely. “Then explain why Feyre and I were thrown back while he wasn’t.”

Azriel exhaled slowly. “I don’t know.” It was the only thing he could say. He hadn’t done anything different—hadn’t forced his way in, hadn’t tried to break through the barrier. The light had let him in. Had waited for him.

Elain, still pale from whatever vision had taken her, sat up slightly, drawing all eyes to her. Her gaze flickered to Azriel. “I think…” She hesitated, then let out a breath. “I think you were meant to be there.”

A beat of silence stretched between them.

Nesta frowned. “Meant to be? What does that mean?”

Elain shook her head. “I don’t know. But it felt… right. Like he was supposed to be there.” She looked down at her hands, as if searching for the words to explain. Like they were waiting for him, too.”

Mor raised her brow. “Who’s they ?”

Elain bit her lip. “I don’t know…I’m sorry.”

A strange feeling curled in Azriel’s chest at that. It wasn’t just that he had been able to reach her—he had been expected.

Amren folded her arms. “This means one thing—Elain and Azriel need to figure this out together.”

Rhys frowned. “You mean we just let them play mind games until we get some answers?”

Amren shot him a sharp look. “Considering you and Feyre were tossed out like unwanted guests, and Azriel managed to stay? Yes.” She tilted her head toward Azriel. “Whether we like it or not, he’s the only one who’s made any progress.”

Rhys’s frown deepened, but he didn’t argue. Azriel, however, remained silent, his mind still replaying the moment he had seen Elain’s glowing form slip through that ivy gate.

Elain shifted beside him, her fingers curling into the blankets. “I don’t even understand my own power. How am I supposed to figure this out with Azriel?”

Amren sighed, as if explaining something painfully obvious. “You let him in once, girl. Whether it was intentional or not, your power recognized him.” She gave Elain a pointed look. “And if you want answers, you’d better start recognizing that, too.”

Chapter Text

The next day, Azriel stood in the training pit, watching the Valkyries move through their drills. His voice was steady as he gave instructions, his posture rigid as always, but his mind—his mind was elsewhere.

He shouldn’t be distracted. Not here. Not now. Yet, no matter how many times he corrected a stance or adjusted a grip, his thoughts kept slipping back to the night ahead. To Elain. To the fact that he would see her again, just the two of them, trying to figure out what the Cauldron had done to her—what the Cauldron had given to her.

His fingers curled tighter around the hilt of his dagger as he parried a strike from one of the Valkyries. The clang of steel should have grounded him, the familiar rhythm of battle a comfort. But instead, a restless energy coiled in his chest, tightening with every passing hour.

He had faced enemies far more terrifying than this unease. And yet, the thought of sitting across from Elain, of stepping into whatever connection lay between them, had his pulse betraying him.

From the other side of the pit, Nesta watched him. She was sharp-eyed as always, taking in every flicker of movement, every barely-there shift in his expression. She said nothing, didn’t call him out for the way his focus kept slipping, but she knew. He could tell by the slight narrowing of her gaze, by the way she tilted her head, assessing him like a puzzle she had almost—but not quite—figured out.

Damn it. He needed to focus.

Azriel exhaled sharply, stepping back from the fight, rolling his shoulders as if he could shake off the weight pressing down on him. But even as he resumed training, even as he forced himself into the motions, the thought of her lingered, settling deep in his bones.

As they broke for water and rest, Azriel leaned against the railing, rolling his shoulders to shake off the tension coiling in his muscles. He wasn’t oblivious to the way Gwyn and Emerie nudged Nesta, whispering amongst themselves as they threw glances his way.

Nesta sighed, clearly exasperated, before finally indulging them. “It’s about my sister Elain.” she said simply, voice low but not low enough that Azriel couldn’t hear.

Gwyn’s teal eyes widened slightly. “What about her?”

Nesta crossed her arms. “Last night, Rhys tried to slip into Elain’s mind during one of her visions.” She glanced at Azriel before continuing, “It didn’t work. Neither he nor Feyre could get in. But Az could.”

Emerie’s brows shot up. “Wait—you’re saying Azriel can waltz into Elain’s mind like a daemati?”

Nesta shook her head. “Not exactly. There was some kind of… barrier. But when Az tried to enter, it didn’t throw him back like it did to the others. And then Elain woke up.”

Gwyn exchanged a look with Emerie before turning to Azriel who approached them, curiosity written all over her face. “And you’re sure you’re not a daemati?”

Azriel shot her a dry look. “Pretty sure.”

Gwyn hummed, clearly unconvinced, but didn’t press further. At that, one of Azriel’s shadows curled subtly around his wrist, as if reacting to the doubt in her tone or simply her humming.

Nesta, however, wasn’t done. “He’s meeting with Elain tonight,” she informed them, watching Azriel carefully, as if waiting for him to confirm or deny it.

Emerie’s brows lifted, mischief dancing in her eyes. “Why tonight? Why not in the morning?”

Gwyn grinned, her voice lilting with amusement. “Oh, maybe they needed a romantic setting—”

Heat crawled up Azriel’s neck at that, his shadows recoiling slightly, but before he could cut in, Nesta interjected, her tone flat. “It’s because Elain only gets her visions in her sleep now. It’s different from before, when they came at random times.”

Understanding flickered across Gwyn and Emerie’s faces. “Ohhh,” they chimed in unison, though their teasing smirks remained firmly in place.

Azriel merely exhaled through his nose. He could feel their stares, feel the weight of their intrigue pressing in on him. He didn’t owe them an explanation. But still, he found himself saying, “We need to figure out what’s happening to her.”

Nesta studied him for a long moment before nodding. “Good,” was all she said, but there was something in her gaze—something knowing—that told him she saw more than he wanted her to. Her voice softened just a fraction. “We don’t know how long she’s been suffering through these visions. I just want her to be okay. And I trust you to help her, Az.”

Azriel held Nesta’s gaze, the weight of her words settling deep in his chest. “You can trust me,” he said quietly, firmly. “I won’t let her go through this alone.”

Nesta studied him again, as if weighing the truth in his words. Then she gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied, before turning her attention back to the Valkyries.

But Azriel remained still for a moment longer, gripping the hilt of his practice sword a little tighter. Because despite his promise, despite the certainty in his voice—he wasn’t sure who he was trying to convince more. Nesta… or himself.

He let himself rewind to last night.

“You let him in once, girl. Whether it was intentional or not, your power recognized him. And if you want answers, you’d better start recognizing that, too.” Amren had told Elain.

Elain had only nodded at that.

Then, the room was thick with tension. Feyre had been the first to speak, her voice firm but gentle as she decided, “Elain needs rest. We’ll leave her be for now.”

The others murmured their agreements, slipping out of the room one by one. But as soon as they were in the hallway, Feyre turned on Rhysand. “Azriel has to help her with this.”

Rhys crossed his arms. “How?”

“Exactly like what Az did tonight,” Feyre said. “Until he understands—they understand and figure out how she can control the visions.”

Rhys’s expression darkened. “I don’t like the idea of Azriel helping Elain while she sleeps.”

Azriel’s temper flared, his voice a low snarl. “Then trust me not to do anything stupid.”

Feyre crossed her arms, her jaw set. “I trust him, Rhys. You should too.”

Rhys let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine,” he relented, though his violet eyes still glinted with unease as he turned to Azriel. “But I’m having Nuala and Cerridwen keep close while you help her.”

Azriel didn’t argue. He didn’t care who was watching—he just needed to figure out what the hell was happening to Elain. And why, for some reason, it had anything to do with him.

Azriel exhaled slowly, forcing his grip to loosen around the hilt of his sword. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on last night—on Feyre’s words, Rhys’s reluctance, or the way his own pulse had thundered when Elain’s presence had appeared behind that ivy gate inside her damn mind—outside the barrier of her mind— wherever the hell it was.

With a flick of his wrist, he adjusted his stance and turned back to the Valkyries. They were already waiting, their gazes sharp, their bodies poised for instruction. Nesta arched a brow at him in silent question, but he merely gave a curt nod.

“Again,” he ordered. “Formations first.”

The clang of weapons filled the air, drowning out the thoughts still clawing at the edges of his mind.

***

After breakfast, Elain, Nuala, and Cerridwen made their way to Sybill’s flower shop. Nestled within the Palace of Jewels and Threads along the Sidra River, it was only a short walk from the Town House.

She had first become acquainted with Sybill two Winter Solstices ago, when she had purchased seeds for her garden. From the moment they met, Sybill had taken a particular fondness for her, treating her with warmth and a quiet sort of care that Elain had grown to cherish. She had taught her much about gardening—far beyond what Elain had already known—and had been nothing but kind.

Sybill was an interesting woman, to say the least. Sometimes sharp-tongued and snarky with her customers, other times warm and welcoming, she had an unpredictable charm that kept people on their toes. There was wisdom in her eyes, something deep and knowing as if she could see straight through Elain, past flesh and bone, down to the very core of her soul.

Elain had noticed it—had sensed it. She knew Nuala and Cerridwen had as well. There was something different about Sybill, something not quite ordinary. Not malicious, but unsettling to say the least.

Then again, it wasn’t so strange, given the nature of her shop. Though she sold normal flowers and seeds, there were others in her collection that were anything but. Enchanted blooms, seeds that held magic within them—mysteries woven into petals and vines.

Elain found herself utterly fascinated by it. Intrigued in a way she couldn’t explain, drawn to the shop with an irresistible pull. It was why she came nearly every day, whether with the twins or alone, depending on whether they had a mission from Rhys or Azriel.

As they finally arrived, Elain’s gaze lifted to the familiar signboard swaying gently in the breeze:

Sybill’s Wildflower Wonders: Flowers, Seeds, and Floral Whimsies

The elegant lettering was carved into smooth, polished wood, framed by delicate etchings of vines and blossoms. A soft smile played on Elain’s lips at the sight of it. No matter how many times she visited, there was always a quiet sort of comfort in coming here—a place that felt like a small sanctuary tucked away within the bustling heart of Velaris.

Nuala and Cerridwen exchanged a glance as they followed her up the steps, the faintest trace of amusement in their shadows. The twins had been here with her enough times to know how much she loved this shop.

And as Elain stepped through the door today, inhaling the heady mix of earth and blooms, she couldn’t help but feel it again—that strange, quiet hum of something unseen, something waiting.

"My girls!" Sybill’s voice rang out echoing through the shop, and Elain could’ve sworn the plants themselves rustled in greeting. Elain didn’t imagine it—she knew better by now. Sybill’s shop was very much alive.

Elain and the twins barely had time to step forward before Sybill yanked them into a crushing embrace, her rings cool against their skin. She smelled of herbs, wildflowers, and something electric—like a brewing storm wrapped in honey.

It was Nuala who pulled back first, smirking. "Any new shipments today?"

Sybill scoffed, flipping her braid over one shoulder. "Do I ever not have something new?" She spun on her heel, striding toward the counter with a dramatic flourish. "Oh, you’re in for a treat, darlings. Fresh from the Day Court, the rarest, most temperamental magical seeds you’ll ever lay eyes on. Helion would weep if he knew I had these."

With a gleam of satisfaction in her onyx eyes, she lifted a velvet pouch and let the seeds spill onto her palm, each one shimmering like stardust. "Starfire Blossoms," she declared, wiggling her fingers. "Only bloom under starlight, and if you get close enough—poof! You’re dreaming of things you never even knew you wanted."

She snatched up another pouch, shaking it like a rattle before pouring out molten-gold speckled seeds. "Phoenix Vines," she mused. "Heat makes them grow like wildfire. Be careful where you plant them unless you want your garden to strangle you in your sleep."

Finally, she plucked a single, pearl-like seed from the crate, holding it between two fingers like a precious gem. "Moonveil Lilies," she purred. "They bloom under a full moon and glow bright enough to lead lost souls home." 

Then, with a slow, knowing smirk, she flicked it at Elain. "You’re drooling, dear. Try not to get bewitched."

Nuala smirked. "Don’t worry, Sybill. Elain’s practically a witch already—she’s more likely to do the bewitching than get bewitched."

Elain huffed, reaching out to pinch Nuala, but the wraith was too quick, dancing out of reach with a mischievous grin.

"Too slow!" Nuala teased, her laughter light as air.

Sybill clapped her hands together. “Enough chit chat, garden gremlins! We’ve got work to do.”

Elain bit back a laugh as Sybill spun toward the back of the shop, already rattling off instructions. “Nuala, Cerridwen—sort through the new shipment and make sure none of the seeds got jostled too much in transit. Some of these little darlings are finicky and don’t like rough handling.”

The twins nodded, already moving toward the crates stacked near the back.

“Elain dear, I need you to check on the potted plants in the front. Some of them have been sulking, and if they don’t start looking lively soon, I’m going to have to start singing to them. And we all know how that went last time.”

Elain snorted, recalling the time Sybill’s off-key humming had sent a particularly grumpy vine plant curling into itself for days. “I’m on it.”

“Good. And I’ll be mixing up fresh soil blends—this lot from the Day Court is going to need something extra special.” Sybill wagged a finger at them as she moved toward the back room. “

"And no slacking, or I’ll let my lil’ ol’ snapdragon handle the motivation." Sybill gestured to a potted carnivorous plant on the counter, its sharp-toothed petals snapping eagerly at the air.

Nuala and Cerridwen laughed as the plant gave a little chomp, as if already picking out its first victim. They knew the plant was small, but there were stories—stories of it swallowing a full-sized faerie whole in the mountains.

Elain only smiled as she bent to inspect the rows of potted plants, already feeling that familiar warmth settle in her chest.

After they had set up the shop, the door creaked open as Raffe—Sybill’s shopkeeper—stepped inside. He’s a shy, slightly clumsy boy with an undeniable passion for gardening and plants, one that rivaled even Elain’s.

But poor guy, he was constantly on the receiving end of Sybill’s sharp tongue, always getting scolded for knocking over pots or overwatering seedlings. But despite his endless mishaps, Sybill had taken him in—because passion, she always said, was more important than perfection. She just had to have a little more patience.

Not that it stopped her from using him as her personal punching bag.

Still, Elain could tell—Raffe loved it here. Just as much as she did.

"And that's our cue," Elain announced, brushing the dirt from her hands.

It was the same routine—after setting up the shop, they’d head to Sybil’s cottage where her garden is located, the meadows of wildflowers stretched as far as the eye could see.

Sybill’s Wildflower Wonders was the elegant storefront in Velaris, but her garden—her true domain—was the beating heart of her business. Nestled near the fringe of the western woods where the land remained rich and untouched, the fields flourished with blooms unlike any other. The soil was fertile or perhaps enchanted to be, the air thick with the scent of earth and petals. The perfect place to grow both the ordinary and the extraordinary.

Her cottage sat there, just on the outskirts of Velaris, along the Sidra River in the rolling meadows beyond the city. A cozy, ivy-covered stone home surrounded by trellises of climbing roses brimming with delicate flowers, and a drying room filled with bundles of herbs and seeds hanging from the ceiling. Tranquil, timeless—almost magical, with lanterns glowing softly at night, casting golden light over the fields.

Elain would spend hours tending to the garden, her hands deep in the earth as she nurtured the blooms, learning from Sybill’s wisdom and the land itself. It was a peaceful escape, a place where she and the twins could unwind, surrounded by the hum of nature and the soft rustling of leaves.

But that wasn’t all.

Beyond its beauty and tranquility, the woods behind her cottage had a clear, open stretch of ground—perfect for training, and hidden from prying eyes. In secret, the twins had been teaching Elain everything they knew. Stealth, evasion, the art of moving unnoticed. They’d also drilled her in self-defense, ensuring that if the time ever came, she would not be left defenseless. The lessons were quiet, patient, woven into the rhythm of their days. And little by little, Elain had learned.

Elain had kept this to herself. Her sisters and everyone else believed she was simply helping other fae tend their gardens—which wasn’t a lie. But it wasn’t the full truth either.

No one questioned it. Why would they? Elain had always been the one drawn to flowers, to the quiet work of planting and growing. It was easy to believe she spent her days surrounded by blooms, learning from others who shared the same passion.

But beyond the meadows, beyond the scent of roses and herbs, she was learning something else. She never spoke of it. Not to Feyre, not to Nesta, not to anyone. Because this was hers. Something she had chosen for herself.

As they lay on the soft grass of the meadow, the warm afternoon breeze carrying the scent of wildflowers, Elain let her eyes drift closed. The meadow was peaceful, golden light filtering through the trees, the distant hum of the river blending with the rustling leaves. It was one of those rare, quiet moments where she could just breathe.

Elain caught the soft rustling of grass beside her, followed by the quiet chuckles of the twins.

“So,” Cerridwen began, her voice light with amusement. “Are we going to talk about last night, or should we pretend it didn’t happen?”

Elain cracked one eye open. “Talk about what?”

Cerridwen huffed a laugh. “Oh, don’t play coy. You know exactly what.”

Elain plucked a blade of grass, rolling it between her fingers. “I really don’t.”

Nuala rolled onto her side, propping her head up with her hand. “Azriel. You. The whole “Azriel suddenly has daemati abilities” and “Azriel was the only one who wasn’t thrown back” thing last night. Ringing any bells?”

Elain sighed. “It’s not—”

“It’s something,” Nuala cut in smoothly, grinning. “Something big , considering how broody he’s been all morning.”

That had Elain pausing. “Broody?”

Cerridwen nodded. “Restless. Even for him.”

Azriel had winnowed to the Town House that morning. He found Nuala and Cerridwen in the kitchen, moving about with effortless grace as they prepared for the day.

“Did Elain tell you what happened last night?” Azriel asked without preamble.

Cerridwen tilted her head. “No. She’s still asleep.”

Nuala frowned slightly. “Did the high lord and high lady manage to help her with the visions?”

Azriel exhaled, rolling his shoulders as if to shake off the lingering weight of last night. “They didn’t.” He didn’t elaborate. “When she wakes up, ask her yourself.”

The twins exchanged a glance but nodded.

“There’s something else,” Azriel continued. “Keep an eye on her. If she gets another vision during the day, I need to know.”

Nuala’s brows are knitted together. “You think it could happen while she’s awake like before?”

“I don’t know,” Azriel admitted. “But just in case.”

Watching both of them nod, he added.  “Tonight, I’ll be helping her. With her visions.” His voice was steady, but even he could hear the weight behind those words.

The twins’ gazes sharpened.

“And Rhys wants you there too,” Azriel added, crossing his arms. “He doesn’t like the idea of me helping her alone.”

Nuala and Cerridwen exchanged a glance.And before Azriel winnowed away, the twins caught the slight flicker of his gaze drifting upstairs—just for a heartbeat. Toward Elain’s room.

It was barely noticeable, but they saw it. The way his jaw tightened, the way something unreadable flickered in his eyes before he forced himself to look away.

Then, without another word, he vanished into shadow.

During breakfast, Elain told the twins what had happened the night before—or rather, what Feyre had told her. Because Elain herself had no recollection of what transpired while she was lost in the vision. Only the lingering weight of it remained, like a weight in the back of her mind.

Cerridwen plucked a daisy and twirled it between her fingers. “Well, you won’t find out by avoiding it.”

Nuala smirked. “Or by pretending it’s nothing when we all know it’s something.”

Elain rolled her eyes, throwing her blade of grass at them, which only made them laugh.

“I’m not avoiding it. And stop acting like he’s thrilled to help. He’s only doing what Feyre asked of him—nothing more. For all I know, he might hate the idea of helping me.”

Cerridwen arched a delicate brow. “You think he’s just doing this out of duty?”

Nuala smirked. “Oh please, he knows how to refuse an order if he wants to.”

Elain shook her head, plucking absently at the grass beneath her. “That doesn’t mean anything. He’s just—kind.”

“And thrilled to help.” Nuala added.

Elain frowned at that, something twisting in her chest. “It’s not like that. He just wants to figure out what’s happening. She cleared her throat. “I want to understand this. And if Azriel can help, then I’ll take his help.”

For It was the why —why Rhys and Feyre, both Daemati, had been shut out of her mind, yet Azriel had not. Why the light had thrown them back but not him. If there was, in fact, some connection between them that neither of them understood. 

Cerridwen exchanged a look with her sister before she said, far too casually, “Then I suppose tonight will be interesting.”

Elain glared, but the twins only grinned.

***

After having lunch with Sybil who came back to her cottage home earlier than usual, they made a stop at the Palace of Bone and Salt to buy some meat for dinner before heading back to the Town Houser. Sybil had declared that she’d had enough of the shop for the day—Raffe had apparently tested her patience to its limit. So, she left him in charge, muttering about needing a break before she hexed the poor boy.

Elain, as always, silently prayed he’d manage without any more incident.

At the Town House, dinner was nearly finished when, without warning, Azriel winnowed inside and almost had Elain choked on her drink. She blinked up at him several times, taking the sight of him.  A brief silence fell over the dining room. 

Elain was the first to break it. “You’re early”

Az only nodded at that.

“Have you eaten?” she asked, her voice careful.

Azriel gave a short nod. “I have.”

Still, he lingered, and Elain hesitated before saying, “Then sit.”

He did.

She took another bite, slower before picking her pace, not wanting to make him wait. 

Azriel’s gaze flickered to her plate. “No need to rush,” he murmured. “I’ll wait.”

Elain gave him a small, appreciative look before returning to her meal. Once she was done, she stood to wash her plate, the clinking of porcelain the only sound filling the space.

When she returned, Azriel was waiting at the sofa, his shadows curling lazily around him. The twins remained standing nearby, their watchful eyes tracking every movement of both Elain and Azriel.

Elain sat across from him. “So,” she started, brushing a stray curl from her face, “what’s the plan for tonight?”

Azriel’s expression remained unreadable. “The same as last night. We’ll try again. But first, I need to know everything about the vision.”

Elain nodded. “Alright.” She exhaled slowly before beginning, recounting what little she could. “I actually don’t remember what I saw last night.” she admitted, a crease forming between her brows. “It’s never happened before.”

Azriel raised his brow. “You mean, you don’t recall the vision you had?”

Elain nodded.

Azriel considered that for a moment before saying, “Perhaps it has something to do with what we did, Rhys and Feyre probably caused some interference that affects your memories of the vision.”

Elain hummed, thoughtful. “Maybe.”

Azriel’s gaze sharpened. “Did you sense anything when they slipped inside your mind? Feyre, Rhys?”

“No.”

His head tilted slightly. “What about me?”

Elain shook her head. “No.”

Azriel let out a quiet groan, and for a moment, she swore she sensed… annoyance?

She slumped further into her seat, bristling despite herself. She then crossed her arms, her brows furrowed. It wasn’t her fault—she had no control over her visions, no understanding of how they worked. 

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the slight twitch of his mouth as his gaze settled back on her. “Are you sulking?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks. “Why should I sulk? I’m just as annoyed by this as you are—if not more, considering I’m the one who’s actually going through it. So don’t think for a second that just because I haven’t been voicing my frustration, I’m okay with all of this.”

The words left her before she could think better of them, and only after did she realize—this was the first time she’d spoken to Azriel like this. Direct. Unfiltered. 

She looked away, unsure of what to make of that. Her fingers nervously twisting the fabric of her dress in her lap.

But when she looked back at him, his eyes widened slightly—before the corners of his mouth curved into the faintest smile. “I know, Elain. Believe me, I know that better than anyone.”

“Because of your shadows?” Elain asked.

Az nodded once. “I can hear things others can't—just as you could see things others couldn’t,  which is proven true given the fact that poor Rhys and Feyre got kicked out of your mind when you had your vision.”

Elain smiled as she said. “Believe me, I never thought my own mind was badass.”

Azriel let out a real, genuine laugh. Elain’s smile widened, warmth blooming in her chest at the rare sound.

As his laughter faded, a glint of amusement still lingered in his eyes. “And we’d have to figure out just how badass Elain Archeron’s mind can be besides effortlessly kicking out powerful daematis.”

Elain smiled sheepishly. “I’d hate to disappoint.”

Azriel's expression softened, his voice quieter but certain. “You never could, Elain.”

He shifted in his seat, studying her. “And don’t burden yourself with expectations. No one is asking you to uncover some hidden ability beyond your visions. We just want to make sure you can manage them—so they don’t take a toll on you.”

Elain gave him a few nods before asking. “Have you ever met another seer before?”

Before Elain could ask why, Azriel continued, “Because they’re invaluable—powerful assets, especially when it comes to defense against future threats or strategizing for war.”

That made sense, Elain thought. A seer’s gift wasn’t just rare—it was a weapon, a shield. Something to be coveted, protected… and, in the wrong hands, exploited.

“So, do you at least have any idea why your visions are changing?” Azriel asked.

Elain exhaled slowly. “It started after Nesta and Cassian’s mating ceremony. That very night.” She hesitated before adding, “As if the Cauldron is taunting me. Reminding me that my sisters are finally happy, thriving—while I’m still…” She trailed off, voice quieter now. “Still trying to figure everything out.” And certainly not happy .

“Are you unhappy, Elain?” Azriel asked simply.

Elain barely stopped herself from rolling her eyes. Did he really just ask that? Did he not remember that night—the way she had waited for a kiss that never came, the way he had walked away? And now, after all this time, after rejecting her, he had the nerve to ask if she was happy?

So she straightened in her seat, schooling her expression. “I’m happy right now,” she said smoothly. “But unfortunately, this whole vision ordeal isn’t exactly helping with that.”

She watched Azriel’s reaction carefully—the way his eyes darkened slightly, the subtle tightening of his jaw. But before she could decipher it further, he asked, “What other changes have you noticed in your visions recently?”

Elain considered for a moment before answering. “Aside from when I get them, it feels like the visions aren’t just shown to me anymore—they’re holding me. Before, it was like standing at the edge of a dream, half in reality, half out. But now…” She hesitated, fingers twisting in her lap. “Now, I feel completely pulled under. Like I’m being forced inside the vision and locked there. My body, the real world—it all disappears, and I can only hope I’ll come back.”

She swallowed, lowering her voice. “It feels like waking from a nightmare, gasping for air. And every night, I fear that one day… I won’t wake up at all.”

Azriel studied her for a long moment before offering a small nod. “I’m sorry you have to go through that.”

Elain shrugged, forcing a lightness she didn’t quite feel. “I try not to dwell on it too much. Because if something ever happened—if I ever got lost in a vision—I know there would be someone to pull me back.”

And that someone was you.

Azriel’s eyes flickered, as if he could hear the unspoken words lingering between them. When he met her gaze, something charged crackled in the space between them, something heavy and unyielding.

Elain forced herself to look away, to break free from the intensity of his stare before it unraveled her completely.

“I think we should start then,” Azriel announced, pushing to his feet. He hesitated for half a beat before adding, “Let’s… head to your room. It’s bedtime” A faint smile tugged at his lips.

Elain huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head as she stood. “Poor Shadowsinger, stuck playing babysitter for me.”

Azriel chuckled at that, but he said nothing as she turned and led the way upstairs. He and the twins followed close behind.

Elain stepped into her room, the faelights casting a soft, golden glow above them. She slipped beneath the covers as Azriel pulled a chair beside her bed, settling in with quiet ease. The twins leaned against the wall directly in front of her, their watchful gazes steady but unreadable.

“I’ll try to sleep then,” Elain murmured.

Azriel gave a small nod. “We’ll be here.”

She closed her eyes, willing herself to relax—but her mind refused to quiet. Her heart refused to still, not when she was acutely aware of Azriel sitting right beside her, watching over her as she tried to drift off. The thought sent warmth creeping up her neck, an unbidden flush that she quickly pushed away. She willed herself to think about his presence right beside her. This wasn’t about him. This was about the vision.

And yet, some small, foolish part of her wished he was lying beside her instead—his limb tangled with hers, preferably both of them naked—him whispering sweet words into her ear, his beautiful hands threading through her hair, tracing over her skin as he lulled her to sleep.

A quiet sound escaped her throat, unintentional and soft. A sigh, a plea—something dangerously close to longing.

Azriel shifted beside her, the chair creaking slightly. “Are you alright?”

Elain’s eyes snapped open. Heat flooded her face as she realized her little noise had been misinterpreted as distress. She swallowed, forcing a small, reassuring nod. “I’m fine. Just… trying to relax.”

She saw Azriel clench his jaw, the muscle ticking ever so slightly. And gods, why did that small gesture have to be so devastatingly attractive?

Azriel was always calm, always composed—so in control of himself that it was almost infuriating. Elain found herself wondering, just for a moment, what it would take to unravel him. To make him lose that careful restraint… because of her.

The thought sent a wave of heat rushing to her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it away.

"You’re thinking about something," Azriel observed.

Yes, she was definitely thinking about something—something completely inappropriate. Like how unbearably attractive he would look if he ever lost control. How his breath might come faster, how his sharp, lethal focus might turn entirely on her, how his eyes might darken with something raw and unrestrained—

Elain forced herself to shake the thought away. “You’re right… I’ll try to clear my mind.”

Which was impossible, really. Not when this gorgeous, infuriating male was sitting right beside her, making her mind anything but calm.

She cracked her eyes open, glancing toward the twins standing against the wall in front of her. Nuala was grinning, Cerridwen smirking—both looking far too entertained by the situation. They were obviously enjoying this.

Elain sighed before joking, “If only Cassian were here. He could’ve put me to sleep with the wonderful lullaby of his.” She smiled at the memory of last night, when Cassian had sung that ridiculous lullaby—before Nesta had promptly put an end to it.

But Azriel didn’t seem to find it amusing. Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed his fist clench in his lap.

Had she said something wrong? It was just a joke. But before she could change the topic, Azriel cut in.

“I can sing a lullaby for you too.”

The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them, and his own eyes widened slightly, as if surprised by what he’d just said.

“No, I meant—” Azriel started, but Elain cut him off.

“I want that. I want you to sing a lullaby for me.”

She didn’t miss the way his face flushed at her words, nor the way his shadows curled tighter around his shoulders—whether at the mention of singing, a lullaby, or both, she wasn’t sure.

Azriel exhaled, voice quieter now. “I don’t think I could do that.”

But Elain wasn’t going to let him refuse.

“I wasn’t asking,” she said, meeting his gaze head-on. “Rhys asked you to help me with my visions. I need to sleep to get them. And I can’t sleep right now. A lullaby would definitely help.”

She would be lying if she said she wasn’t surprised by her own boldness. But she was done holding back with Azriel. Done pretending she didn’t want everything this man had to offer—his presence, his touch, even something as small as this. Even if it was under the pretense of helping her with the visions.

Elain’s gaze didn’t waver from Azriel. His shadows curled around his ears, their movements restless, almost coaxing. She couldn’t say why, but she had the distinct feeling they were urging him to sing, whispering their own quiet persuasion. The slight furrow of his brows only strengthened her suspicion.

Then Azriel sighed, the sound barely audible. “Alright. But no singing—just humming.”

Elain’s lips curved into a small, satisfied smile. “Okay.”

She shifted under her blanket, settling in more comfortably, anticipation thrumming in her veins. Then silence fell—stretching, lingering. As if Azriel was still debating, still contemplating whether he should go through with it.

Elain waited.

And then—she heard it.

A low, rich hum filled the space between them, rough and velvety all at once. It was deep, unpolished, as if unused to such tenderness—yet steady, unwavering. The sound wrapped around Elain like the softest caress, a vibration that curled through her senses, sending a shudder down her spine.

Azriel’s voice was lower than she had expected, a husky rasp that carried the weight of things left unspoken. It was a sound that didn’t just reach her ears—it sank into her bones, seeped into her very skin. It was mesmerizing, intoxicating.

Elain let out a slow breath, her body unconsciously relaxing further into the mattress. Her fingers curled into the fabric of her blanket, grounding herself against the quiet ache that had begun to stir within her. How unfair it was, she thought distantly, that even something as simple as Azriel humming could unravel her like this.

She kept her eyes closed, not wanting to see his expression, afraid she might find the same wariness in his face that lingered in his words. Or worse—that she might see nothing at all.

But the way his voice reached her, warm and steady, made her wonder.

Did he realize what he was doing to her?

Elain’s eyelids grew heavier with each passing note, her breathing slowing, deepening. Azriel’s hum was a steady rhythm, a quiet, unspoken promise that she was safe, that he would keep her tethered even as she drifted.

His voice was a gentle caress, wrapping around her like silk and shadow, lulling her deeper into the warmth of sleep. It was almost hypnotic—the way the sound curled in the space between them, sinking into her skin, settling into the very marrow of her bones. She let it pull her under, let herself melt into the moment, into the comfort of knowing he was right there.

Her last waking thought was not of her visions, nor of the fear that often accompanied them.

It was of him. Of the warmth in his voice, the quiet protectiveness in his presence.

And then, with one final exhale, she surrendered to sleep.

Chapter Text

The scent of wildflowers carried by the morning breeze drifted through the open windows of Sybill’s cottage. Inside, there was a wooden table covered in neat piles of tiny rounded seeds, each one carefully gathered from the meadows beyond the cottage.

Elain and Cerridwen sat across from each other, fingers working deftly as they inspected and sorted the seeds into the small pouches. These seeds belonged to flowers that only grew in the Night Court, where their petals unfurl beneath the stars in colors that shimmered like captured moonlight.

“These blooms when the sky is clear,” Elain murmured, brushing her fingertips over a cluster of tiny, silvery seeds. “And it absorbs starlight, making them glow even after they’ve been picked.”

Cerridwen nodded as she sealed a pouch, pressing the wax emblem of Sybil’s Wildflower Wonders onto the twine. “It makes me proud, knowing we have such enchanting flowers that only belonged to our court.”

Elain smiled softly at the thought. The shop had been receiving more requests from other courts—High Fae nobles eager to cultivate something uniquely Night Court in their private estates. These seeds, harvested from the Sybill's wildflower meadow would soon be sent to customers across Prythian.

From the corner of the room, Nuala sat cross-legged on the floor, fingers stained green as she crushed herbs with a mortar and pestle. She was preparing a mixture of dried petals and powdered roots—A herbal blend Sybil swore would help these Night Court flowers thrive in foreign soils across other courts. "This would be easier if we had magic to do it for us," she mused, tilting her head at Cerridwen.

Cerridwen shrugged. “If we did, we wouldn’t have an excuse to be here,” she said, a small smile playing on her lips. “Besides, Elain doesn’t seem to mind.”

Elain hummed in agreement, brushing away the seeds that were chipped or dull. "I like the work," she admitted, glancing at the pouches she had finished. "It’s… grounding." She then carefully examined another handful of the seeds before tucking them into a pouch. “Do you think anyone will ever be able to grow these properly outside of Velaris?” she mused.

Cerridwen glanced toward the window, where the last light of day was beginning to fade. “They might, with enough care,” she said. “But I think some things are meant to belong to the Night.”

At the mention of night , her thoughts drifted back to last night —to the warmth of Azriel’s presence next to her as she laid on her bed. He had hummed to her, his voice low and steady, the melody threading through the darkness like a lifeline. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep so quickly—she had wanted to savor his presence just a little longer. But something about the husky, yet soothing timbre of his voice had lulled her under before she could even try to resist. And for the first time in what felt like forever, she had slept deeply—without visions pulling her into their grasp.

Her cheeks warmed as another thought settled in. The twins said that Azriel had stayed the whole night.  He had sat there, watching over her, waiting for hours—until it was almost certain she wouldn’t wake up gasping from a vision that he left. She could only hope she hadn’t looked utterly ridiculous while sleeping. The thought of Azriel watching her do something utterly ridiculous—like picking her nose or mumbling nonsense in her sleep—was enough to make her want to crawl under the nearest rock and never resurface. She wanted Azriel to see her looking lovely while she slept. She wanted Azriel to think about wanting her while watching her sleep. The thought of him holding himself back for hours, watching over her in silence, sent a warm, fluttering feeling through her chest.

A small smile tugged at her lips at the thought of Azriel watching her as she slept, his eyes dark with desire, his face inching closer—so close their breaths mingled, his lips parting, a groan escaped his lips as he—

“Elain.”

She blinked from her imagination, startled to find Nuala’s gaze fixed on her, sharp with amusement.

Nuala tilted her head, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. “You look very pleased about something. Should I guess what’s on your mind?”

Elain hastily turned back to her work, brushing aside a handful of flawed seeds with more force than necessary. “It’s nothing,” she muttered.

“Mmm.” Nuala only hummed, her smirk deepening. “With that blush, it’s not hard to guess what—or who —it’s about.” 

Nuala chuckled before she added. “Of course it’s none other than Mr. ‘I can hum you a lullaby.’”

Cerridwen snorted. “I still couldn’t believe he actually did that.”

Nuala shrugged. “He’s a completely different male when he’s with Elain...”

“We should call him Mr. ‘I’ll do anything Elain wants me to.’”

“Add ‘but I’ll try to not make it too obvious.’”

"Too bad he’s so obvious when it comes to her—it’s a shame no one seems to notice."

“Right? And last night his eyes never left her for even a second .”

“I swear I saw him inch closer to her—then pull back. Then inch closer again —”

“I swear we were third wheeling the whole time”

“You mean fourth wheeling. We’re twins so we count as two, not one.”

“Whatever. Anyway, If it weren’t for the High lord’s orders, I would’ve dragged you and me out of the room.”

“That crossed my mind too.”

“Do you think, at some point, he forgot we were even inside the room?”

“He tensed when you blew a heavy breath after we watched his face get a little too close to Elain’s. He definitely forgot.“

“I bet he wouldn’t have even noticed it was almost dawn if we hadn’t told him.”

“Honestly, I don’t think he wanted to leave her room at all.”

“He was practically glued to her bed the whole night—”

“Well well, did Elain finally took the shadowsinger to bed?” Sybill’s voice rang through the cottage as she stepped inside, mischief dancing in her onyx eyes.

Nuala and Cerridwen burst into laughter.

Elain gasped, her already flushed cheeks burning even hotter. “I have not!”

Sybill frowned in disappointment, then blowing a stray dark curl from her forehead with an exaggerated sigh. “Well, that’s a shame. I was already looking forward to planning the flowers for your wedding.

Elain huffed. “That’s nonsense, Sybill. I have a mate, remember?”

Sybill rolled her eyes. “So what if you have a mate? You didn’t want him.  And take it from a wise old lady—don’t let your so-called mate keep you from finding your true love.”

Elain tried not to cringe as she picked at the seed on the table. “I know that, but there's nothing I can do about it. Everyone would expect me to-”

A sharp smack echoed through the room as Sybill slammed her palm against the table. Elain and the twins jolted, seeds scattering across the wooden surface.

“Do not live your life bound by others’ expectations.” Sybill said, her voice firm, eyes burning with conviction. 

Silence hung in the room before Sybill casually added, “You’re a young, gorgeous female, Elain. You shouldn’t mope around just because you have a mate you’re not interested in.” She waved a hand dismissively. “There are plenty of other free and wild males out there worth tumbling into bed with.”

Nuala smirked. “Sybill, Elain hasn’t been with a Fae male before. The last and only time she had sex was with her human ex-fiancé.”

Sybill froze, then gaped at Elain as if she’d just confessed to a crime. Without warning, she grabbed Elain by the shoulders and gave her a firm shake.

“Oh, why do you deny yourself the pleasures of flesh slapping and the gift of fertility!” Sybill cried dramatically.

Nuala and Cerridwen howled with laughter, while Elain groaned and buried her face in her hands.

“Tsk.Tsk. What a waste of beauty, dear. If I were you, I’d spread my legs for other males just to make both your mate and the shadowsinger absolutely livid ,” she mused, amusement glinting in her eyes.

Elain chuckled softly and then shook her head, dismissing the ridiculous thought. “I can understand why Lucien would react… he’s my ‘mate’, after all.” She rolled her eyes, her fingers toyed with a loose thread on her sleeve. “I’ve seen it with Rhys and Cassian—how possessive they can get. Like when Nesta danced with Eris at the Court of Nightmares. I still remember how still Cassian went, the rage in his eyes. He was barely holding himself back from ripping Eris to shreds.” She had seen it, the raw jealousy radiating from him, as if the air itself had heated under his fury.

Her voice went quieter. “But Azriel… I doubt he’d care.” A small, bitter smile played on her lips. “As much as I wish he would.” She’d be lying if she admitted that she didn’t want Azriel to show some hint of jealousy at the thought of her with someone else or even lucien. She remembered how easily she had made Graysen jealous—just by speaking with his father’s men, how he…would stiffen, his jaw tightening as he pulled her aside, whispering sharp warnings about how those men weren’t worth her time. How, despite his cold words, there had been a fire in his eyes—a fire that told her he cared , or so she thought. 

Would Azriel react the same way if he knew she’d been with someone else? Would his beautiful, scarred hands curl into fists, his shadows swarming and whispering frantically around him? Would he grab her, pull her aside, demanding in a low and strained voice to know who had touched her? 

Or…would he merely nod at the news, unaffected, and walk away as if it didn’t matter nor bother him at all? The thought sent a sharp pang through her chest

Nuala huffed. “I’d say Azriel would be just as livid—if not worse —than Lucien. Don’t you see how protective he is of you? How much he cares ?”

Elain shrugged, forcing indifference into her voice. “Azriel cares about everyone ,” she said. Then, more bitterly, “And even if he seems a little overprotective of me, maybe it’s only because I’m just some weak, fragile girl who always gets into trouble. Always the damsel in distress.”

“No.” Sybil stomped forward, agitation crackling in her sharp, rising voice as she jabbed a finger at Elain. “You’re not some damsel in distress—you’re a force to be reckoned with.”

Elain blinked, caught off guard. Even the twins stilled, looking at each other confusedly. Elain opened her mouth to ask what she meant, but Sybil cut her off with a dramatic sigh.

“You need to let yourself loose. It’s a shame that you let your worries regarding males hold you back when you’re capable of so much more. And what better way to start than by simply enjoying yourself?” Sybill smirked.

“I am enjoying myself. I love being here with Nuala and Cerridwen, helping you.” Elain replied honestly.

But Sybill only shook her head. “As delighted as I am to hear that, my sanctuary here only provides you some kind of distraction—you’re still letting your worries linger in your mind. You’re still holding back.”

“Maybe distraction is just what I need. What’s wrong with that? And what do you mean by me holding back?” Elain frowned.

Sybill smirked. “Now you’re asking the right questions.”

Elain’s frown deepened. “I don’t understand.”

Sybil grasped both of her shoulders, leaning in until her lips were near Elain’s ear.“Why do you think I’ve let you, Nuala and Cerridwen help me all this time?” 

“Because you were working alone when I first met you, you accepted my offer because you needed help with your shop.” Elain answered, her eyes meeting Sybill’s. “Then I asked if Nuala and Cerridwen could join too, and you said the more help the better.” 

Sybill chuckled. “I never needed any help.”

Sybill released one hand from Elain’s shoulder and extended it toward the seeds scattered on the table. Shimmers of light rippled across the surface, wrapping around the seeds in a soft glow before lifting them effortlessly into the air. Elain gasped, eyes wide.

The twins sprang to their feet, eyes wide with shock.

It was Nuala who shattered the stunned silence. “You had magic this whole time? And you never thought to mention it?”

Sybill didn’t answer. Instead, she merely twirled her fingers, and the seeds responded in kind, swirling through the air in perfect harmony with her movements. With a sharp flick of her wrist, the seeds sorted themselves, the flawed ones falling away while the best of the batch drifted neatly into the waiting pouches.

“How can you do that? What gifts do you possess?” Elain asked.

“My gift is a blessing from the land itself,” Sybill said smoothly. “Just simple enchantments, dear—not particularly powerful, but useful enough to help me run my shop and tend to my flowers.”

Cerridwen folded her arms. “If you had magic, then why did you even let us help you? You clearly didn’t need it.”

Sybill exhaled, her gaze steady. “Because I needed your trust. And I’m not foolish enough to think you’d willingly associate with a suspicious woman who dabbles in magic.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you needed our trust.” Nuala took a step forward, watching Sybill carefully.

Sybill didn’t answer. Instead, she turned toward a painting on the wall—a simple portrait of a maiden sitting in a field of flowers. She knocked it aside, revealing another frame hidden behind it.

This one told a different story. The same maiden, but now she stood over a bubbling cauldron, vials of potions and scattered flowers littering the table around her. A broom rested against the wall beside the maiden—one that looked exactly like the kind ridden by a—

Elain and the twins stared at the picture, realization striking them all at once.

They gasped in perfect unison. “Witch.”

Sybill merely rolled her eyes at their realization. “Took you long enough. Though I wonder…” She stepped toward the twins, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. “You two are spies,” she purred. “Surely, at some point, you sensed something… unusual about me?”

The twins stood frozen, as still as statues.

Sybill chuckled. “I’ll take that as a no.”

Then, she turned to Elain. “And you, my dear? Have you ever felt something different about me?”

Elain hesitated before answering. "Well, you are a bit different."

Sybill hummed. "We are different from the rest, both you and I. We are the same."

Elain raised her brow. “Are you saying I’m like you? A witch?”

Sybill looked away from Elain, inspected her nails instead. “Do you believe that I’m a witch?”

Elain hesitated, then replied. “You grow flowers and herbs, you keep vials that are probably potions in your backroom—and you once joked about storing body parts in your attic. I didn’t want to believe it, but now… I’m not so sure it was a joke.” She turned toward the framed painting on the wall. “And that… that is straight out of the storybooks my mom read to me and my sister as a child. A maiden in disguise, brewing potions in a cauldron. A broom by her side. A witch.” She met Sybill’s gaze. “But I am not that.”

Sybill held her gaze, unwavering. “You may not know what you are, but I do. You are indeed a witch, Elain Archeron. But you’re not just any witch… you’re so much more than that.”

Elain scoffed. “I am no such thing. Witches are either born into it or made through practice. I am neither—my parents are humans and I’ve done nothing to become one. I was just a human who turned high fae by the cauldron.”

Sybill cocked her head. “You missed the part where the cauldron favoured you and made you a seer.” Sybill sighed. “Seer abilities are possessed by witches, dear.” 

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

"The Cauldron favoured you, it probably tasted the witch blood running through your veins and decided to bless you with foresight which is understandable, considering that it is the greatest and most precious witch ability there is."

Elain groaned in frustration. “I don’t want to listen to this anymore.”

Sybill merely shrugged. “You might not, but it seems Nuala and Cerridwen do.”

The twins exchanged a sheepish glance, their curiosity evident despite their attempts to mask it. Their guilty smiles gave them away.

With a sigh, Sybill sank into a chair, crossing her legs as she swept a hand through the air in a grand, almost theatrical gesture. “The tale of the three infamous mortal sisters—turned High Fae and forever altering the course of Prythian. What do you think?”

Elain remained silent.

Sybill’s tore her gaze from Elain toward the kitchen, to the teacups resting on the table. Without a word, she lifted a hand, and with a mere flick of her fingers, four teacups floated toward her, settling gently onto the table. A snap of her fingers, and the cups filled themselves with steaming tea. She then turned to Elain and the twins, who looked utterly fascinated.

“Sit down, my children.”

The twins took their seats, lifting their cups with wide-eyed fascination, as if still in awe of the magic Sybill had displayed.

Elain remained standing, arms crossed, torn between leaving and indulging her growing curiosity. It was nonsense—every bit of it—but Sybil had piqued her interest. Besides, what harm was there in listening?

With a quiet sigh, she finally sank into the chair, fingers curling around the warm teacup as she brought it to her lips.

“You sisters are forces unlike anything this world has ever seen.” Sybill mused, stirring her tea absentmindedly. “One sister, the High Lady, carries the power of all seven courts. The other possessed powers of the very cauldron itself. And you…”

“A rambling seer who can’t even sleep because visions haunt her at night—what a force to be reckoned with,” Elain huffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

Sybill laughed sharply. “That’s only because you haven’t mastered your abilities yet. Imagine the day you do. Oh, dear—you could move the world itself, pull its people like puppets on strings wrapped around your fingers.”

Elain grimaced at the ridiculous thought,  “That’s not possible. I’m just a seer.”

Sybill smirked. “Seers hold knowledge no one else does—and there is no power greater than that.”

Elain took a sip from her tea. “Even so, this seer ability of mine is meant to help my friends and this world for the greater good, not for selfish gain. There is nothing I wish to gain.”

Sybill smiled. “Well of course! That is precisely why the cauldron blessed you with that precious gift.”

Elain arched her brow. “What do you mean?”

“This gift is different from others. It holds a heavy burden to those who possess them. It requires absolute piety.”

“Piety?”

“Yes, seers were the most pious of the witches.  They spend most of their time performing their rituals to get stronger foresights and keep them grounded.”

“What do you mean by grounded?”

“Keeping them anchored to the world, sometimes the strongest seers could see the past, present and future all at once. It is said that they are spiritually closer to the gods and have drifted far away from reality. These rituals prevent them from losing sanity.”

“Do you know any seers?”

“Yes, centuries ago. Seers are as precious as they are a liability. They would be the first one to either get destroyed.”

Elain gulped.

Sybill smirked. “Don’t worry child. That was centuries ago. Seers are already wiped out of this world. Atleast, the weak ones remains”

“Am I a weak seer?”

“That’s for you to find out. Though I doubt that the cauldron would make you a weak one.”

“I will have to find out about what kind of seer I am then. But I’m still not buying the whole witch thing, okay?”

Sybil shrugged. “Of course. But sooner or later, you’ll realize you’re something different —something more. Which leads to the conclusion that you, my dear, are a witch.

Different. More. Witch.

Was that the truth about herself? About her sisters? 

Elain glanced out the window, willing herself not to dwell on Sybil’s words. It was nonsense—surely it was. Yet the thought lingered, threading through her mind like an unwelcome whisper.

The shifting shadows cast by the flowers told her it was nearly afternoon. She pushed the thought aside and rose abruptly from her seat.

“If that’s all, we should probably head back.” Elain’s gaze flicked to the twins before shifting back to Sybill, ready to take her leave.

“Oh, before you go,” Sybil said, rummaging through her pocket. A moment later, she pulled out a small glass vial and handed it to her.

Elain turned it over in her palm, inspecting the shimmering liquid inside. “What’s this for?”

“It helps with the vision. Mix it with any drink. Drink when you feel the need.”

Elain hesitated before slipping the vial into her pocket. “Alright then… thank you, Sybill.”

Elain stepped out of Sybill’s cottage, walking rather fast. The wooden door creaking shut behind her as the scent of herbs and wildflowers faded into the crisp afternoon air. Nuala and Cerridwen followed close behind, their steps light on the moss-covered path leading away from cottage. They whispered to each other, probably about what happened earlier before catching up with Elain, taking both her sides as they walked together.

For a long moment, none of them spoke, the wind rustling through the trees filling the silence. Elain toyed with the vial in her pocket, feeling the cool glass against her fingers.

“Well,” Nuala finally said, casting Elain a sideways glance. “That was… enlightening.”

Cerridwen hummed in agreement. “She certainly has strong opinions about you.”

Elain let out a slow breath, her gaze fixed on the winding trail ahead. “She thinks I’m a witch.” The words felt strange on her tongue, as if speaking them aloud would somehow make them true.

“Is it so impossible?” Nuala asked gently. “You’re different, Elain. You always have been. So are your sisters.”

Elain shook her head. “Different, maybe. But not a witch.”

Cerridwen crossed her arms. “What if Sybill’s right? Perhaps it’s worth considering.”

Elain sighed, glancing down at the path. “I don’t know what to think. And I certainly don’t know what to believe.”

The twins exchanged a look before Nuala spoke again. “Then we keep searching for answers.”

Elain nodded, though uncertainty still clung to her. The vial in her pocket felt heavier than before, as if the weight of Sybill’s words had seeped into the glass itself.

And yet, despite her doubts, she knew one thing for certain—she would find out the truth. One way or another.

***

Azriel had spent the night watching over Elain, waiting for a vision that never came. Only when the first light of dawn filtered through the curtains did he realize how much time had passed. With a quiet sigh, he glanced over his shoulder to find Nuala and Cerridwen still standing by the wall, their ever-watchful gazes flickering between him and Elain’s sleeping form.

He pushed himself to his feet, stretching out the stiffness in his limbs. “That’s it for tonight,” he murmured. “I’ll come over after lunch.”

The twins nodded. Azriel hesitated for a fraction of a second, casting one last glance at Elain—at the soft rise and fall of her breaths, the way the morning light kissed her hair—before he turned and left her room and the Town House and winnowed back to the House of Wind. He returned to his room, intending to reclaim the sleep he’d lost.

And in his dreams, he saw wings.

Vast, shimmering wings of light that were not his own. It is unlike the membranous bat-like Illyrian wings nor the bird-like soft feather wings of seraphims. It was as if the wings were crafted, enchanted by magic. The wings trailed behind a dust of sparkling light as he flew close behind this person with weird yet ethereal wings. It is not until he caught up beside that he realized the wings belonged to a female with golden-brown hair that seemed to glow as it captured the light of her wings. And as the female turned her head towards him, he saw the unbridled joy plastered on her face. Somehow, the wings belonged to Elain Archeron. Somehow, Elain Archeron had wings. In the dream, they were both laughing as they soared through the night sky, their laughter echoing like wind chimes in the dark. Their wings cutting through the endless stretch of clouds.

But the longer they flew together, he noticed her wings flickered—once, twice—then rapidly before vanishing entirely. And in that terrible moment, he was frozen as he helplessly watched her plummeting downwards like a shooting star, swallowed by the abyss below. He let out a scream that tore the silent night sky like a blade and shot up from his dream.

His breath came fast, uneven, as the fading remnants of the dream clung to him like a ghost. Elain—her wings—vanishing into nothing. The terror of watching her fall, unable to reach her, still coiled tight in his chest.

He ran a hand down his face, exhaling slowly. Just a strange dream.

Azriel gathered his breath, forcing the lingering unease to the back of his mind, and pushed himself out of bed. He glanced towards the clock on his wall and sighed, rubbing his face.There was no time to dwell on dreams. He had training to oversee.

By the time he reached the training ring, the Valkyries were already gathered, their gazes turning toward him as he arrived. Nesta stood among them, arms crossed, her expression cool but expectant. Gwyn and Emerie straightened as he approached, the crisp morning air humming with anticipation.

He pushed the dream aside and focused. Azriel led them through their drills, his voice steady, his movements precise. The hours passed in a blur of steel and sweat, of blades clashing and bodies moving in perfect rhythm. 

By midday, the training session came to an end. Cassian clapped a heavy hand on his shoulder as they walked toward the dining room, where lunch was already set out on the table thanks to the house.

"You're quiet today," Cassian observed, narrowing his eyes as they both took a seat.

Azriel only shook his head. "Just tired."

Nesta, already seated at the table, arched her brow. “How did it go last night with Elain?”

Azriel shook his head. “She didn’t have a vision.”

Nesta hummed. “I suppose that’s a good thing. The lesser she got them, the better. I can only imagine how suffocating it is to get those visions.” Her expression was distant. “I still remember those nights—the nightmares. The flames swallowing me whole in my sleep.”

Cassian’s hand found her thigh, his thumb brushing soothing circles. “Thank the Mother you’re past that. Now you’re just losing sleep because we can’t stop fucki—”

“Don’t start, Cass,” Nesta cut in, shooting him a sharp look. She felt his hands go closer to her inner thigh. “Not here.”

Cassian only grinned. “What do you mean, not here ? This was your second favorite spot besides the bed.”

Azriel choked on his food, to be reminded that these two have had sex on this table, maybe on the chair he sat on, suddenly ruined his appetite

Nesta chuckled. “Poor Az.”

Cassian smirked at that. “Heh, it’s not like he didn't already know.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Knowing is one thing. Remembering it while we’re eating is another.”

Azriel nodded, deadpan. “Be considerate, brother. Imagine us sitting together for dinner at the River House and Rhys casually announces how he fucked Feyre on the dining table.”

Cassian recoiled, his face twisting in disgust. “I’d puke”

Nesta scoffed. “Exactly.”

Cassian huffed but wisely kept his mouth shut as he reached for a plate of roasted chicken, piling generous portions onto his plate. Nesta followed suit, scooping mashed potatoes onto hers before passing the bowl to Azriel.

Azriel took it with a quiet thanks, still trying to erase the mental image Cassian had planted in his mind. He focused on his food instead, cutting into his meat with precise movements, hoping his brother would keep the conversation proper and wouldn’t veer back into the not–so–appropriate topic.

Nesta sipped her wine, eyeing Cassian as he practically inhaled his food. “Slow down, you brute. No one’s going to steal your meal.”

Cassian frowned. “You say that, but last week you stole my last chicken wings right off my plate.”

Nesta smirked. “Survival of the fittest.”

Azriel shook his head, but amusement tugged at the corners of his lips as he reached for a piece of bread. The three of them ate in a comfortable silence for a while, the only sounds filling the room being the occasional clink of silverware against plates and the crackle of the fire in the hearth. Cassian and Nesta started to bicker over training schedules. Azriel let their voices wash over him, grounding himself in the familiarity of it.

And yet—somewhere in the back of his mind—the memory of his dream lingered. The image of Elain, soaring through the sky, her hair streaming behind her like molten gold. He had dreamt of her before, but it was never a bizarre one like this.

When he finished eating, he pushed his plate aside and stood. “I’m heading back to the Town House to check on Elain.”

Cassian shot him a smirk, but Nesta only gave a small nod, watching him as he winnowed away.

When Azriel appeared inside the Town House, the scent of freshly brewed tea and honey hit him. He stepped into the dining room to find Elain seated at the table, a delicate porcelain cup nestled between her fingers as she chatted with Nuala and Cerridwen.There was a sparkle in her eyes as she laughed softly at something the twins had said. The moment she looked up and met his gaze, Azriel felt it—that familiar stutter in his chest.

“Hi,” Elain greeted, a sheepish smile tugging at her lips. “I hope you managed to get some rest today.

Azriel allowed a small smile. “I did.”

Elain tucked a loose curl behind her ear, her fingers lingering there for a moment. “You were supposed to help me with my visions. You stayed up all night… and it was for nothing. I’m sorry for wasting your time.” She looked at him apologetically 

Azriel frowned. “You didn’t waste my time.”

She let out a quiet sigh. “Still, I feel bad.” Her fingers traced the rim of her cup before she straightened as if remembering something, then she glanced between the twins. Their subtle nods of encouragement gave her the push she needed.

“Uh… by the way,” she continued, shifting her focus back to Azriel. “I was just talking with them about visiting the library at the House of Wind. Maybe digging up information on seers could help me understand myself—my ability better.”

His head tilted slightly, studying her and the twins. A slow nod, a flicker of approval in his hazel eyes. “That’s a good idea. There may be old texts that could help.” He hesitated before adding, almost reluctantly, “I can help you look. If you’d like.” 

Elain blinked, momentarily caught off guard by the offer, before a soft smile curved her lips. “I wouldn’t turn down help.”

Azriel smiled at the answer and stepped closer towards her.

Elain rose from her seat, smoothing her hands over her skirts. “Should we go now?”

“Yes,” he murmured, taking another step toward her.

She was only inches away now, the warmth of her presence brushing against him. He caught the faint, intoxicating scent of her— jasmine, the sweetness of honey, something distinctly Elain. His fingers curled into fists at his sides before he relaxed and put his arm around her waist

Instead, he said, “Hold onto me.”

Elain’s hands pressed lightly against his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic. Even through the layers, Azriel felt the heat of her touch, the way it sank into him like an ember smoldering beneath his skin.

With a steady breath, he summoned his power.

The world blurred, wind roaring past them as the ground vanished beneath their feet. He felt Elain gasp, her grip tightening as she pressed herself closer to him. Instinctively, his arm locked tighter around her waist, securing her against him as they winnowed.

Moments later, they landed at the entrance of the House of Wind’s grand library.

Azriel steadied her as she found her footing, his arm still wrapped around her waist. He could feel the quick, uneven rhythm of her heartbeat, the way her breath hitched before she slowly stepped away. Reluctantly, he let her go.

“It’s been a while since you came here,” Azriel murmured. “Nesta didn’t know you’d be visiting. Do you want to see her first?”

Elain shook her head. “It’s fine. We’ll finish our task first, then I’ll go meet her.”

Azriel nodded, though he couldn’t help the flicker of relief that passed through him. Nesta wouldn’t be joining them, which meant it would be just the two of them this time, and without the twins watching over them and reporting any of their interactions to Rhys. Just him and Elain, tucked away in the quiet sanctuary of the library. 

Azriel tried—but failed—to keep the smile from tugging at his lips. 

He dared a glance at Elain, who seemed just as flustered. A soft flush dusted her cheeks, whether from the winnowing earlier or anticipation for what’s to come, he wasn’t sure. But there was something different about the way she looked at him now—like she, too, was aware of the fact that they would be alone. 

A rare moment, just the two of them.

Elain tucked a stray curl behind her ear, her voice quieter when she finally spoke. “Shall we?”

Azriel nodded, but instead of moving, he let the silence stretch just a breath longer, savoring the way she met his gaze—hesitant, expectant, laced with something unspoken before leading her inside the library.

Chapter Text

Azriel and Elain walked through the library, their steps muffled against the polished red stone floor. The shelves carved directly into the mountain, spiraled upward, vanishing into the dim heights of the cavernous space. Golden lights flickered along the walls, casting soft glows across the ancient tomes stacked high on every level.

Elain’s gaze wandered in quiet awe before settling on a female seated at a desk, nearly concealed by the towering columns of books surrounding her. The soft glow of the lights barely touched her face, veiled beneath a pale hood adorned with a delicate crown of limpid blue stones.

As they stopped before her desk, the female looked up. Her eyes flickered between them before an enchanted pen lifted and began writing on a piece of parchment.

Welcome, shadowsinger. Is this the middle Archeron sister with you?

Azriel cleared his throat. “Yes, this is Elain Archeron.” He turned slightly to face her. “Elain, this is Clotho, the high priestess in this library.”

Elain smiled warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Clotho.” Then, curiosity flickered across her face. “How did you know who I am?”

Clotho’s pen glided smoothly across the parchment.

I gathered from the identical hair. But those eyes are different from your sisters’.

Elain’s smile deepened. “My sisters took after my mother’s eyes. I have my father’s.”

Don't tell your sisters, but I think you are the prettiest, and perhaps the loveliest.

Elain's cheeks warmed at the compliment, and before she could brush it off, Azriel smoothly interjected, "That she is, Clotho."

That only deepened her blush.

Clotho’s gaze flickered between them, her enchanted pen pausing for the briefest moment before a knowing smile tugged at her lips. She nodded, but the amusement in her eyes lingered.

Then, after a pause, her pen began to glide across the parchment once more.

I heard your father died in the war against Hybern. I'm sorry for your loss.

Elain offered a small, grim smile. "It's alright. We've learned to live with our loss. In some ways... I think his passing helped us let go of the past and look forward."

Clotho inclined her head in acknowledgment before the pen lifted once more.

What brings you both here?

Azriel answered. “Elain… she became a seer after being Made. She’s been plagued by visions in her sleep and it's been troubling her, so we were hoping to find information about seers—anything that might help her make sense of it.”

A pause.

And Clotho’s pen started to write on a new slip of parchment, setting it aside before writing on the earlier paper.

There is little written on seers. But I will see what I can find.

Clotho raised a hand, and an acolyte swiftly approached. She handed her the parchment, and the acolyte nodded before disappearing down one of the endless rows of bookshelves. Then Clotho’s pen began moving again.

I’ll lead you to a secluded reading area. Follow me.

Elain and Azriel fell into step behind her, their footsteps echoing softly against the stone. Elain tilted her head back as she took in the vast, spiraling levels of the library, watching as priestesses moved with quiet grace through the corridors, their robes whispering against the floor.

Azriel, watching her closely, murmured, “What do you think of this place?”

Elain exhaled softly, a small smile playing on her lips. “It’s beautiful,” she admitted. “And cozy, in its own way. It feels like a sanctuary—a safe haven for those who need it.” She glanced at him. “Nesta spent time here helping with the books, right?”

Azriel nodded. “She did. But the task was perhaps too… menial for her. It didn’t take long before she started causing trouble, and Clotho eventually had enough.”

A near-silent sigh came from the high priestess as if even the memory exhausted her.

Elain stifled a laugh, already imagining the countless ways her sister could ruffle even the calm and composed Clotho. “What exactly did she do?”

Azriel smirked. “She started training inside here.”

Elain’s brows shot up. “Training? Here in this library? But don’t you guys train at the ring?”

“Oh, we did,” Azriel said, amusement lacing his tone. “But I suppose it wasn’t enough for her. Or maybe she was just eager to perfect her movements—to wipe that smug look off Cassian’s face as soon as she could.”

Elain chuckled. “That sounds about right.” She shook her head fondly. “Honestly, sorting and shelving books would be too dull of a task for Nesta. It’s calming, but too repetitive. If she had to do a task, it would need to be something more… challenging. Something that actually kept her going.”

Azriel’s smirk deepened. “Exactly. Nesta is too restless for an acolyte life. She’d never last a week doing the same thing every day like them.” He gestured subtly to the quiet, disciplined priestesses around them. “Meanwhile, these priestesses have spent years here, dedicating themselves to this work.”

Elain hummed thoughtfully. “Honestly, Nesta and the word task in the same sentence is ridiculous.”

Azriel laughed.

She smiled at the sound of it before continuing, “Nesta doesn’t like being told what to do. Back in the village, she used to complain and throw a fit whenever Feyre asked her to chop wood. But she always did it once Feyre left to hunt.” Elain hesitated, then added, “I think she knows what needs to be done—she just resents people assuming she wouldn’t do it on her own without being told to do it.”

Azriel considered that, then nodded. “I think that’s the case.”

Elain continued. "Feyre and Nesta were always at each other’s throats, but they’re more alike than they realize. They share the same fire—wild, untamed. The spirits of true warriors, perhaps."

Azriel smiled for a fraction before huffing a quiet laugh as in imagining something quite amusing. "That’s why you’re different. I can't imagine if all three Archeron sisters have the same attitude and temper. The world would’ve fallen into chaos long ago."

Elain turned to look at him, raising a brow. "Like a buffer, you mean?"

Azriel smiled as he looked at her. "Yes. You remind me of Rhys, in a way. Back when we were younger, we were wild—the three of us were always itching for a fight. Cass and Rhys never missed a chance to gang up on me. Most times, it was just me and Cass going at it. But when things got out of hand, Rhys was the one who stepped in, calmed things down, and put an end to it."

Elain let out a mock pout. "Aw, poor Azriel, bullied by his brothers."

Azriel’s eyes widened before he quickly looked away, and Elain saw the tips of his ears turn red.

Elain chuckled at his reaction before turning her gaze forward. A comfortable silence settled between them as they followed Clotho deeper into the library, the scent of parchment and old ink wrapping around them like a familiar embrace.The quiet rustle of pages and the soft steps of priestesses moving between the towering shelves filled the space, a soothing symphony of knowledge and history.

Soon, they arrived at the secluded reading area, where a large table stood at the center, neatly arranged with stacks of parchment and pens set to the side. A cluster of reading lamps cast a warm, golden glow, their soft light pooling across the surface and illuminating the surrounding shelves, creating an inviting sanctuary of quiet study.

Clotho picked up a sheet of the paper on the table, and her enchanted pen glided across it.

The books will arrive shortly. Would you like some tea and treats while you wait?

Elain and Azriel exchanged a glance, a silent agreement passing between them before they turned back to Clotho.

“We wouldn’t turn down some treats. Thank you, Clotho,” Elain said, offering her a warm smile.

A priestess happened to approach their way, and Clotho subtly gestured for her to come closer. Once she did, Clotho raised her hand in a silent motion—fingers mimicking the act of drinking from a cup, then pinching the air as if picking up a small treat. The message was clear.

The priestess gave a quick nod of understanding before hurrying off to fulfill the request.

Clotho glanced between them, noting the way they sat shyly across from each other stealing glances here and then, the reading lamp casting a warm glow over their faces—highlighting the faint blush dusting their cheeks and the undeniable sparkle in their eyes.

A soft smile tugged at her lips before her enchanted pen moved across the paper.

Both of you look lovely together.

Elain and Azriel froze as they read the words. This time, neither dared to look at the other. Instead, their gazes darted anywhere but across the table, drowning in the sudden awkwardness.

From where Clotho sat, she could see Elain’s hands twisting and pulling the hem of her dress beneath the table with so much force that Clotho worried the poor fabric might tear. Then her gaze shifted to Azriel, watching as both his hands clenched and unclenched, as if resisting the urge to fidget to show reaction.

Clotho stifled a laugh, and her enchanted pen glided across the paper once more.

I wonder if it is fate that binds the three Illyrian warriors to you three sisters.

She paused, her head tilting slightly before continuing.

First, the High Lord brought his High Lady here. Then the General brought your sister Nesta here. And now… it is the two of you.

Elain’s face burned as if she had been set ablaze. She didn’t dare glance at Azriel, too afraid to see his reaction to those words. Instead, she latched onto the first excuse that might steer them away from this mortifying conversation.

“It’s different for me, Clotho,” she said quickly, forcing her voice to remain steady. “I… I have a mate, Who’s not Illyrian. He’s the youngest son of the High Lord of the Autumn court.”

Clotho’s head cocked slightly to the side.

You do not look like someone who is happily mated.

Elain swallowed. She should have expected that response. Should have known Clotho wouldn’t just drop the subject.

She exhaled softly. “Because I’m not happy with the arrangement,” she admitted. “I do not wish to be mated—especially not to someone I barely know, someone I have no desire to bond with.”

The words spilled from her before she could stop them, raw and real in a way she had never voiced before. Not out loud. Not where someone—where Azriel—could hear them.

But she still didn’t look at him. Couldn’t bring herself to see how he reacted to hearing the truth she had kept unspoken for so long.

Soon, the priestess from earlier returned carrying a tray with promised treats. She carefully set down two delicate cups of tea before placing the teapot at the center of the table. Then she placed a plate of neatly cut sandwiches alongside a bowl filled with an assortment of biscuits and fresh fruit.

Elain and Azriel inclined their heads in gratitude. “Thank you,” they murmured in unison, their voices soft in the hushed stillness of the library.

The priestess offered them a small, respectful nod before turning and gliding away, leaving them alone with Clotho once more.

 Clotho sighed and her pen started to write again.

I’ll leave you two to it. If you need anything, just call out to any priestess passing by.

Both Elain and Azriel nodded, offering her another word of thanks. They watched as she turned away, her robes flowing softly around her, before making her way back to her desk.

While they waited for the books to arrive, they sipped the served tea and ate the sandwiches.

Later, a priestess approached their table, pushing a trolley stacked with books. She came to a stop and offered a polite nod before speaking.

“These are all I could find,” the priestess said, setting the books down carefully. “I’ve marked the sections that mention seers. Most of them are fiction, though.”

Elain offered her a warm, appreciative smile. “That’s alright. Thank you so much for taking the time to find them.” Her eyes lingered on the priestess’ face before adding, “What’s your name?”

“Lilwen.” The priestess returned the smile. “I’ll be working on the shelves just over there.” She gestured to the towering bookshelves ahead. “Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Alright, Lilwen.”

With another respectful incline of her head, Lilwen turned and quietly made her way toward the shelves, slipping seamlessly into her task.

Azriel and Elain exchanged a brief glance before turning their attention to the stack of books before them. The tomes varied in size and age, some with worn leather bindings and others with crisp parchment pages, their edges gilded with the passage of time. The scent of aged ink and parchment curled around them, grounding them in the quiet sanctuary of the library.

“This one’s fiction,” Elain murmured, flipping through the parchment, her gaze scanning the faded ink.

Azriel, lost in thought, ran a finger along the book’s worn spine. “Could fictional stories about seers worth looking into?”

Elain shrugged. “Stories often hold pieces of truth. Maybe the writers based them on real events, weaving their own time’s knowledge of seers into the tales.” She glanced at him. “What they wrote—some of it, at least—could be real.”

Azriel cocked his head, considering her words.

Elain smiled. “We just have to figure out which parts could be true.” Then, tilting her head, she added, “Or maybe we should believe all of it—at least enough to consider the possibilities. Stories are laced with a sliver of truth all the time.”

Azriel’s lips quirked as he met her gaze. “Spoken like a wise little philosopher,” he mused, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Elain huffed a soft laugh. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Never said it wasn’t.” Azriel’s shadows curled at the edges of the table as he leaned back, eyes glinting. “I’ll follow your lead, little philosopher.”

Elain arched a brow. “Is it necessary to add ‘little’ to philosopher?”

Azriel smirked. “Yes. Because you’re not actually a philosopher—you just give off the vibes. Hence, little philosopher.”

She crossed her arms. “So if I became a real philosopher, what would you call me then? Big philosopher?”

“No,” he said smoothly. “I’d drop the ‘little’ and just call you a philosopher. If you want to be a big philosopher, you’ll have to become a renowned one first.” He shrugged playfully.

Elain chuckled, shaking her head. “That makes sense I suppose.”

Before Azriel could reply, Elain continued, “We should gather as much information as possible. For all we know, every piece of it could be important—anything might end up helping us.”

Azriel smiled at her determination and looked at the book she’s currently flipping over. “Let's see what we can find, little philosopher.”

Elain felt warmth creeping up her neck, her face heating for not one, but three reasons.

The first, of course, was the nickname— little philosopher . Though meant in jest, it still sent a pleasant flutter through her chest. And for a fleeting moment, she wished he would give her more nicknames, no matter how ordinary they might sound. Because, Elain realized, she would cherish anything he gave her—whether it was a teasing moniker, a quiet smile, or simply his presence. Elain wished she could get more moments of them like this, just the two of them together. 

The second was the way he spoke to her— teased her— so at ease, so unguarded. Azriel was playful at times especially when he was with Cassian and Mor. Sometimes he engaged in their banter, but Elain couldn’t help but feel as if this time, he was more carefree than he’s ever been. He looked softer. Lighter. Like, for once, he wasn’t carrying the weight and worries of the world on his shoulders.

And the third… Well. The way he was looking at her now—intense, unwavering, like he was committing every detail of her expression to memory—sent a shiver down her spine.

She cleared her throat, forcing herself to break the stare and focus on the book before her. With deliberate care, she flipped back to the marked pages, her fingers ghosting over the inked words as her eyes skimmed through. 

After a moment, she read the text, "Seers have long been regarded as valuable assets in times of war, their visions serving as glimpses into possible futures. Though their abilities are unpredictable, kings and commanders have sought their insight to prepare for coming battles, uncover enemy movements, and anticipate treachery before it occurs…” 

She sighed, not finishing the text. “I don’t want to read stories about how seers are used, I want to know how seers themselves use and navigate their foresights.”

Azriel huffed a laugh.

“What?” Elain’s head snapped up, her brows furrowing. She enjoyed Azriel’s teasing as there was a warmth to it, a quiet affection laced beneath the banter that made her feel seen in a way no one ever bothered to. But right now, it didn’t feel like teasing—it felt like judgment. Like he was picking apart everything she said, everything she did, and she couldn’t help but feel irritated by it.

Azriel shook his head, the corner of his lips twitching. “You were the one insisting earlier that we should dig up everything we could, that every bit of information might be important. And now you’re complaining.”

Her fingers tightened around the edges of the book. “There’s a difference between learning about seers and reading how they were used like tools of war.”

Azriel’s gaze lingered on her, unreadable, but the trace of amusement remained. “I’m just saying—it’s a quick shift,” he murmured.

Elain clenched her jaw and pointedly turned back to the book, flipping a page with more force than necessary. “Well, maybe I can be both optimistic and selective.”

Azriel’s voice was nothing but smooth amusement as he drawled, “Did I make my little philosopher mad?”

Elain froze for a fraction of a second. The nickname itself had already made her blush before, but this time… this time, he’d added something else. My little philosopher. His . The thought sent warmth curling through her, her heart stuttering in response. Not that she would argue—not when a part of her had always known that she belonged to him. Atleast, her heart does.

She sighed, resisting the ridiculous urge to reach across the table and slap a hand over his mouth to stop him from saying more things that might unsettle her again, that might pull her away from her focus and into him. But despite herself, she found her lips curving into a small, reluctant smile.

Azriel, ever observant, didn’t miss the shift. His brows lifted slightly. “It seems I’m right—you really do change moods rather quickly.”

Elain shrugged, eyes glinting with quiet challenge. “Only you seem to invoke that.”

Their gazes locked again, something unspoken lingering between them—something neither of them dared name. And then, at the same time, they both looked away as if nothing had happened at all.

Elain’s eyes flicked back to the text, her voice soft yet steady as she read aloud.

“The story of seers becoming valuable assets in kingdoms began when a king ordered a group of women accused of witchcraft—”

Elain froze at the mention of witchcraft, suddenly remembering Sybill’s words from earlier this morning.

 “Seers are abilities possessed by witches, dear.” 

"Honey, the Cauldron favoured you, it probably tasted the witch blood running through your veins and decided to bless you with foresight which is understandable, considering that it is the greatest and most precious witch ability there is."

“Elain, are you alright?” Azriel leaned forward closer to her, concern lacing his tone as he wondered why Elain suddenly stopped reading.

Elain shook herself from Sybill’s words.

“No, I’m fine. Let me continue the story.” She willed herself to focus once more to the text and then she read again. “It began when a king ordered a group of women accused of witchcraft to be executed. They were bound, their heads forced low before the executioner’s blade. But before the first swing could land, one among them—pale with fear but clear in voice—spoke of a vision she had seen. A warning. A disaster that would befall the kingdom.”

“The kingsmen who heard her words immediately went to inform their king about what happened.”

“Skeptical but intrigued, the king chose to delay the execution. If her vision came true, she would be spared. If not, she would meet the same fate as the others. Days passed, and then, as foretold, the disaster struck.”

“A storm of unnatural ferocity ravaged the land, decimating the army that had been poised for war. The seer’s words had not been a lie. She was spared. The other witches were not.”

“But the king was not satisfied. He demanded more visions—more glimpses into the future that could serve him. Yet the seer, trembling before his throne, confessed that she could not summon her gift at will. That her visions were not her own, but messages granted by the gods.”

“The king did not believe her. If she could not see the future when he commanded it, then surely others like her could. He demanded to know if she had children, sisters, or kin who bore the same gift. But the seer only shook her head. The gift was not inherited, not passed by blood. It was given only to those chosen by fate.”

“Frustrated, the king would have punished her—would have killed her—but he knew that her abilities were too valuable to waste. Instead, he gave her a choice: bring others like her to his kingdom, or die.”

“And so the hunt for seers began.”

“Under threat of death, the seer scoured the land with the king’s men, forced to take the others with the same gift to the king’s court. Those she found were taken, shackled in gold-lined chambers, their visions becoming weapons of war. The king, ever wary of deceit, warned them all: if even one of them dared to lie about a vision, he would slaughter them all and hunt down every witch in the land.”

Silence followed Elain’s words, thick and heavy between them. She exhaled slowly, fingers tracing the delicate ink on the page.

Azriel sat back, his expression unreadable, shadows whispering softly around him. “They were once witches who then became a tool of war for the kingdom.”

Elain nodded, swallowing. “A gift turned into a curse.”

Azriel seemed lost in thought before he added. “ Her visions were messages granted by the gods.” He considered it for a while. “Does that mean seers have connections with the gods? That they’re… messengers?”

Elain’s fingers stilled over the parchment. Messengers of the gods.

It pulled forth a memory of Sybill's voice words yet again.

“This gift is different from others. It holds a heavy burden to those who possess it. It requires absolute piety.”

Piety. Devotion. A connection to something greater.

Is that why Sybill said seers required piety? Because they were chosen to carry messages that are vital for the world?

Elain nodded slowly. “Maybe that’s the case.”

Azriel studied her. Then, with a tilt of his head, he asked, “If that’s true… does that make you a messenger of the gods?”

Elain hesitated, the weight of his question pressing against her chest. Messenger of the gods. It sounded far grander, far heavier than she had ever considered. As if the very gods entrusted her with these visions to do the right thing.

Her throat tightened. “Maybe that’s how my visions work. Maybe the gods send them for a reason… but why?”

Azriel’s gaze darkened, thoughtful. “Maybe the gods send visions to help us. To guide us through their messenger.” He pointed a finger at her.

Elain exhaled sharply. “And how do we know the gods are not sending false visions just to play with us like puppets on strings?”

Azriel’s voice was quiet, firm. “Because every vision has been proven true.”

Elain sighed, rubbing at her temple. “Let’s just… put this aside for now.” She closed the book and set it aside before picking up the next book from the stack. Flipping to the marked pages, her eyes skimmed the faded ink.

She murmured the chapter title aloud. “When Visions Are Not Absolute.”

Azriel leaned in slightly, glancing at the passage. “Meaning?”

Elain’s fingers ghosted over the parchment. “That visions aren’t always telling the whole story.”

She scanned further, then read aloud:

“A seer once warned a king of his brother’s treachery—that he would attempt to assassinate him and seize the throne. The king acted swiftly, thwarting his brother’s plan and sentencing him to death. But the vision had only shown a fragment of the truth. Days later, the king was slain—not by the condemned brother, but by another he had trusted.”

Elain frowned. “The seer wasn’t wrong. The king was in danger. But the vision only revealed one part of the threat. The full picture was incomplete.”

Azriel exhaled sharply. “Which means taking a vision at face value can still lead to ruin.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

She flipped to another section, eyes narrowing as she read.

“Seers have long sat beside kings, their visions used as irrefutable evidence in matters of judgment and justice.”

“One such seer, renowned for her unerring foresight, once bore witness to a vision—one that revealed a man driving a dagger into another’s heart, his hands stained with blood as the victim crumpled at his feet.”

“The king, upon hearing the seer’s testimony, did not hesitate. Murder , he decreed. 

“The accused man begged for mercy, insisting he had only done what was necessary, but the king would not hear him. The seer has seen your crime with her own eyes. ”

“The execution was swift.”

“Yet, days later, the seer was granted another vision.”

“This time, she saw the moment before the killing. She saw the supposed victim drawing his own blade first, stepping out from the shadows to strike. She saw the accused man—his expression one of shock, of desperation—fighting back, surviving only by sheer instinct.”

“The truth was stark and undeniable: the man had not committed cold-blooded murder. He had acted in self-defense.”

“The seer, heart hammering in her chest, rushed to the king. I was wrong, your majesty. she confessed. I did not see the full truth .”

“Then she explained the whole story.”

“The king’s face darkened. And what use is a vision if it does not tell the whole story? ”

“Silence fell upon the court.”

“That day, the king issued a decree—one that would forever alter the way visions were used in his kingdom. No foresight shall be taken as absolute. No judgment passed upon half a truth.”

“Though it is not the seer’s fault for the incident, the weight of it hung heavy in the seer’s soul.”

Elain sighed, and closed the book.

Azriel let out a low hum. “So it tells us to be wary of the visions and not taking them into consideration too quickly.”

Elain met his gaze. “Exactly. We can’t take visions as absolute truth. They only show fragments—pieces of a puzzle, not the whole picture.”

Azriel studied her, shadows coiling thoughtfully around his fingers. “And yet, kings and warlords have always clung to them as if they were law.”

Elain nodded. “Because they want certainty. And visions, no matter how incomplete, feel like certainty.”

She ran a finger along the edge of the page. “But if we rely too much on them, if we don’t question or interpret them properly…”

Azriel finished the thought for her, his voice quiet. “We might make the wrong choices anyway.”

Elain let out a heavy exhale, sinking deeper into her seat. “Reading about this makes me want to personally ask the gods to take this gift back. I’m dreading it.”

Azriel let out a soft chuckle, the corners of his lips twitching upward. “Don’t worry. You won’t be abducted by kings and forced into servitude as their all-seeing tool.” His voice dipped into something teasing. “And if the same thing happens here—if your visions lead to some grand political turmoil—I’m fairly certain Rhys wouldn’t execute you.”

Elain huffed a laugh, deciding to play along. “Maybe not. But what if he wanted to punish me?”

Azriel’s smile turned sharper. “Then he’ll have to go through me first.” He leaned back slightly, but his hazel eyes stayed locked onto hers. “Though I imagine the High Lady herself would talk some sense into him before it ever came to that.”

Elain was certain that her eyes held the hope that Azriel meant what he said.

Azriel held her gaze, his expression softening. “Don’t worry, Elain. No one will blame you if something like that ever happens.” His voice was quiet but firm. “You’re not responsible for what the visions reveal. You only deliver the message—it’s up to the rest of us to decide what to do with it.”

Elain felt at ease hearing his words. “You’re right.”

Elain closed the book with a soft thud and set it aside, her gaze drifting to the remaining stack. With a quiet sigh, she reached for the next one. “Let’s finish this.”

Azriel nodded, already picking up another book from the stack.

The reading area settled into silence, broken only by the rustle of pages turning. They read in quiet concentration, absorbing every word until they finally reached the last page of their respective books.

Elain was the first to speak. “This one was about a seer who manipulated an entire kingdom.” She frowned slightly, her fingers tracing the spine of the book. “She started as an advisor to the king, gaining his trust with her visions. But she wanted more than just influence—she wanted power. She fed him false prophecies, orchestrated disasters only she could predict, and turned the court against itself. When she finally seized the throne for herself, she performed rituals to strengthen her abilities… but it drove her mad.” Elain hesitated before finishing, “In the end, she died alone, consumed by the very power she tried to control.”

It reminded her of what Sybill said, "You could move the world itself, pull its people like puppets on strings wrapped around your fingers."

“The book I read was about the fall of seers.” Azriel interrupted her thought.

Elain’s brows furrowed. “The fall?”

Azriel nodded. “In ancient times, every kingdom had its own seers—advisors who swore loyalty to their rulers. But during wars, when rival kingdoms conquered each other, they would take the enemy’s seers captive. Those seers, feeding their captive with false visions, led the enemy’s kingdom into ruin.” Azriel’s voice darkened. “The king, in his fury, ordered every seer in his lands to be executed—no different from witches being burned at the stake.”

Elain’s fingers curled slightly against the book’s cover as a chill ran down her spine.

Azriel finished, “Since then, seers were no longer trusted. Kingdoms stopped using them. Their numbers dwindled, hunted and erased from history.”

Again, that was what Sybill told her this morning, "Seers are already wiped out of this world. At least, the weak ones remain."

Azriel closed his book with a thoughtful hum, setting it aside before reaching for another from the dwindling stack. He flipped to the marked section, scanning the title before murmuring, “This one is about the different kinds of seers.”

“Ah finally, let’s get straight to the facts.” Elain shifted in her seat.

Azriel nodded, his eyes flicking over the text. “It categorizes seers based on the visions they receive. Some see the future, while others glimpse the past. Some can see both.”

“Some can only see their own fate, not others. While some can see the destinies of those around them, and not their own.” He turned the page. 

“Some seers need specific conditions to trigger their visions—like rituals, dreams, physical contact or simply being in a trance.”

Elain leaned in, listening intently.

Azriel skimmed further through the text. “Some seers use certain herbs to enter a trance.”

Elain’s eyes widened at that. Her mind instantly flickered to the vial Sybill had given her earlier.

Her hand slipped into her pocket, fingers brushing over the cool glass of the small bottle. She traced its shape, wondering—could this really help her? Could it truly bring forth a vision?

“The herbs are always the easier route,” Azriel continued, unaware of her sudden distraction. “The results are only glimpses of the future or past, not as impressive as visions one woukd get from a dream or performing rituals.”

Azriel turned the page, his brow furrowing as he continued reading. “The next one is about how visions manifest. It says there are different forms—some seers receive them at random, others through specific triggers.”

Elain tilted her head. “Triggers?”

Azriel nodded. “Some seers need to be in a deep trance or perform a ritual to invoke a vision. There are even accounts of seers who require physical contact—touching an object or person to glimpse the past or future.” He scanned further down the page. “And then there are seers who don’t see at all. Some hear whispers of the future, some feel emotions tied to an event before it happens. Some experience visions like a flood of knowledge—just knowing something with absolute certainty without ever truly seeing it.”

“That’s like intuition, but somehow they know their intuition is right.” Elain exhaled slowly, absorbing the weight of it all. “So getting visions are not always like watching a scene unfold.”

“No,” Azriel confirmed.  “The book also says that the strongest seers don’t just receive visions—they learn to seek them.” He continued.

Elain’s breath hitched. “Seek?”

Azriel’s hazel eyes met hers. “They don’t wait for a vision to come. They reach for it.

Elain leaned in slightly. “By performing rituals?”

“Yes,” Azriel confirmed, flipping through the pages. “But there are different kinds of rituals. There is the grounding—a ritual meant to keep them tethered to this world, preventing them from losing themselves to their visions.”

Elain thought about what Sybill had shared about grounding which is a ritual for “...keeping them anchored to the world, sometimes the strongest seers could see the past, present and future all at once.

“Another kind of ritual includes Bloodbinding —the act of drinking innocent blood—or Sacrificial Communion , where offerings are made to strengthen their connection to the gods, increasing their affinity for receiving visions.”

The ritual to seek visions is called the Invocation—some call it Veil-Peering because seers can pass beyond the barrier of our present reality, allowing them to catch glimpses beyond the "veil" and peer into the sacred realm of time and divinity.

“I take it that’s the strongest of the seers?”

Azriel nodded.

“And how do they perform this…veil-peering?”

“It’s not stated exactly how, but…it involves a form of deep meditation… a way to quiet the mind and reach beyond the physical world.” Azriel’s fingers brushed over the inked words as he continued reading. “Some sources describe it as a trance-like state, where the seer detaches from their surroundings, allowing their consciousness to drift beyond the present. Others claim it requires chanting, controlled breathing, or even the use of sacred symbols to guide their mind into the unseen.”

Azriel continued. “But it’s not always successful. Some never receive anything at all, and others… lose themselves in the process because they try too much.”

Elain swallowed. “Like the mad seer in the book I read earlier.”

Azriel nodded, his expression unreadable. “The book says that the most powerful seers are often the most fragile, their minds constantly teetering between realms, their sense of reality fraying with every vision received.’”

“It is said that they are spiritually closer to the gods and have drifted far away from reality. These rituals prevent them from losing sanity.” Sybill had said.

"Do these seers always end up losing their minds? Aren’t there any who are strong enough to keep their sanity intact?"

Azriel frowned, flipping through the pages in search of an answer. His focus was sharp—until a booming voice shattered the library’s quiet.

"Az! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!"

Elain nearly jumped, her heart skipping a beat at the sudden interruption. Cassian. Of course.

A chorus of fierce reprimanding “Shush!”s erupted from all corners and levels of the library in response.

“Oops, sorry, everyone!” Cassian called back—still far too loud to be considered an apology.

Elain and Azriel both looked toward the source of the commotion. Across the library, near Clotho’s desk, Cassian stood waving enthusiastically, completely unfazed by the disapproving glares of the priestesses aimed his way.

Clotho merely shook her head, her shoulders rising and falling in what looked like a resigned sigh, before she settled back into her seat, pointedly ignoring him.

Elain pressed a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. Azriel merely shook his head, though the small smirk tugging at his lips betrayed his amusement.

Elain and Azriel watched as Cassian hurried toward the reading area where they sat. When he finally reached them, he plopped down beside Azriel on the couch, stretching his legs out with a sigh.

“I thought you were at the Town House with Elain,” he said, before his gaze landed on the plate in front of them. “Wow these sandwiches look good.”

Without waiting for an invitation, he grabbed one and took a hearty bite, chewing thoughtfully. Elain and Azriel exchanged a knowing glance before both smiled, turning back to Cassian as he continued.

“Mmh. Tastes as good as it looks. Az, pour me some tea, will you?”

Azriel rolled his eyes but reached for the teapot, filling Cassian’s cup. Cassian downed it in one go with a satisfied sigh.

“Alright, where was I? Oh, right. I went to the Town House looking for you,” He pointed at Azriel. “But you weren’t there. Nuala and Cerridwen said you and Elain had come to the library. So here we are—what the hell are you two doing here?”

Elain set down the book in her lap. “We were researching seers. I thought it might help.”

Cassian nodded thoughtfully. “And? Find anything useful?”

Elain shrugged. “Hopefully.”

Azriel’s voice was calm but edged with curiosity. “Why were you looking for me?”

Cassian leaned back. “Rhys wants to see you.”

Elain didn’t miss the way Azriel tensed. “Why?” he asked.

Cassian shrugged. “No idea. But he’s waiting in his office. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my wonderful mate is waiting upstairs.” He patted Azriel’s shoulder before pushing to his feet.

Just as he turned to leave, he halted, glancing back as if something had just occurred to him. “Oh—Elain, since you’re here, why don’t you stay the night? It’s been a while since you’ve visited. Nesta would love to see you.”

Elain considered for a moment before nodding. “Of course. I’ll head up to the House once I’m done with this.”

Cassian grinned. “Great. I’ll let Nesta know.” With that, he turned and strode off.

Azriel’s gaze shifted to Elain, hesitation flickering in his hazel eyes. “I should go.” His voice was quiet, almost reluctant.

Elain nodded and offered a grateful smile. “Thanks for helping me today.”

Azriel shook his head and murmured. “I don’t think I helped much.”

She hesitated before reaching out, her fingers brushing over his hand where it rested on the table. He tensed—almost startled at the contact—his eyes wide. But he didn’t pull away. 

She caressed his beautiful scarred hand, relishing the feel of his skin against hers. “Nonsense,” she murmured, her lips curving into a genuine smile. “I couldn’t have asked for a better research partner.”

Azriel’s breath hitched slightly. A faint flush crept over his sharp cheekbones, and his free hand curled into a fist as if steadying himself. He swallowed hard before managing a stiff nod. “O-okay, no problem.”

Elain let her fingers slip away, though not without reluctance. Azriel pushed to his feet a little too abruptly, his wings shifting slightly behind him. “Goodbye,” he muttered, turning swiftly on his heel.

He didn’t look back as he walked away.

Elain sat still, letting the moment settle, letting herself process the sudden boldness that had taken hold of her. She had touched him—caressed his hand. A small, fleeting gesture, yet it had sent a shiver of electricity between them. Though a flicker of embarrassment warmed her cheeks, she found that she didn’t regret it. Not at all. And seeing Azriel’s reaction—how he had tensed, how his breath had caught, how he had all but fled—made her forget her embarrassment altogether.

She sighed, shaking her head, and turned her attention back to the remaining stack of books. Only three left.

As she looked around her surroundings, her gaze landed on the priestess from earlier—Lilwen—who had returned to the same shelf she had been organizing before, now carrying another armful of books.

Elain pushed to her feet and made her way over.

“Lilwen,” she said softly, drawing the priestess’s attention. “Can you help me find some books about witches?”

Chapter Text

Azriel stepped into Rhys's office, the weight of the past lingered in the air. His brother had ordered him to stay away from Elain after catching them almost kissing that night. And now, how ironic it was that he had just spent hours with her before coming here again. If Rhys had seen them today—the teasing smiles, the way she had touched his hand so casually, tracing her delicate fingers over his scars… He could still feel the ghost of her touch. It had flustered him so much that he’d left so abruptly.

He shook his head, forcing himself back to the present, erasing the faint smile that had dared to form.

The high lord's voice broke the silence. “Cass said Elain didn’t have any visions last night.”

Azriel nodded.

Rhys leaned back in his chair, studying him. “Did you stay in her room the whole night, then?”

Azriel stiffened. “Yes. I had to make sure I didn’t miss it if she had one.” His hands curled into fists behind his back. “The twins were there the whole time. I didn’t do anything stupid.”

Rhys exhaled, rubbing his temple. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Az—”

Azriel cut him off, his voice quieter but laced with frustration. “Then why does it feel like you don’t? Is this an interrogation to see how well I behaved?” 

Rhys threw his hands in the air. “Sorry if it seemed so. I just want to know about Elain’s progress. Now sit down.”

Azriel exhaled, unclenching his fists before taking his seat. “Elain suggested that we go to the library to research seers, so we spent time there reading and gathering information which could help understand her visions.”

Rhys nodded, though there was something guarded in his expression, a quiet scrutiny that told Azriel his brother didn’t trust Azriel entirely.

“So, did you find anything useful?” Rhys asked, his violet gaze steady.

Azriel shrugged. “Somewhat. There wasn’t much on seers—most of the books were fiction. But before I left, we found one that detailed different types of seers and the visions they receive. We also came across some of the rituals they used to invoke and control their visions.”

Rhys nodded. “So what do you plan to do with that information?”

Azriel exhaled, his jaw tightening. “Some of those rituals involved bloodletting and practices that seemed more in line with old magic than anything practical. They’re outdated. Dangerous. I don’t know if they’d even work.” His voice dropped lower. “And it might be too much for Elain.”

Rhys arched a brow. “You don’t think she can handle it?”

Azriel’s fingers curled into his palms. “I think Elain was made into a seer for a reason, and she’s more than capable of handling her visions without resorting to something that would break her. Those rituals were for the desperate, the manic. They drove seers to madness, turned them into husks of themselves.” His voice hardened. “Would you want that for Elain?”

Rhys studied him for a long moment, then sighed. “Then how do you intend to help her? How can she control it?”

Azriel’s mind flickered back to the books they had read together, the quiet moments of research in the library. He recalled the passage about herbs—how certain plants could invoke visions.

“Well,” Azriel said carefully, “there was mention of herbs that seers used to bring on their visions. If there are herbs to induce them, there might be some that could help her regulate them. We could ask Madja if such remedies exist.”

Rhys shook his head. “I think you’re forgetting something, Az. I want you to help her control her visions, not suppress them.”

Azriel frowned. “I want that as much as you do. But right now, my concern is Elain losing sleep to them. I saw the fatigue in her eyes—” His voice was quieter now. “Even if she doesn’t realize it herself, she’s exhausted. Probably because she’s used to it. And she shouldn’t be. We don’t know how much she has silently suffered at night.”

Rhys’s lips curved distastefully. “Elain isn’t your concern.”

Azriel’s teeth clenched. “What are you implying?”

Rhys sighed. “I don’t doubt you care for her. We all do. But I’ll remind you again that she has a mate. A bond the Cauldron forged. You know what that means. And you know what it would mean if you keep interfering.”

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides. “Interfering?” he snarled. “I was helping her. And I’m helping her because you and the others agreed to it. I was the one who could slip into her mind, getting her back to wake up when even you and Feyre couldn’t. I’m the only one who could help her right now. Don’t you dare make it seem like I’m trying to gain something from doing exactly what you asked me to do.”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, his violet gaze steady, assessing. “Just don’t make a move on her. If you do—or make her choose before she’s ready—you’re not just dealing with Lucien. You’re jeopardizing everything. The fragile ties we have with him. With the Autumn Court. With whatever allies and valuable information he has for us.”

 Before Azriel could reply, Rhys added, “And Lucien is a good, honorable male. It’s not fair to him that while he’s out there serving as emissary for this court, his mate is being screwed by—”

Azriel laughed, cold and sharp, his shadows darkening the room like a storm rolling in. “I am deeply sorry if I am not honorable enough for Elain,” he said, voice dripping with venom. “Don’t think I don’t already know that.”

Rhys frowned, but his tone remained steady. “That’s not what I said. You are honorable, Az. You’re a good male. Lets not change that by not thinking straight.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened, his breathing slow and controlled, but his rage crackled in the air like a drawn bowstring.

Not thinking straight? Rhys thought he wanted Elain because he wasn’t thinking straight? 

He wanted to shake his brother. To tell him that wanting Elain is the reason he couldn’t think straight. Couldn’t even think properly.

Rhys continued, softer now, but still firm. “I care about you. I care about Elain. I don’t want either of you suffering because of poor choices and lack of thinking. I’m just reminding you not to make a mistake.”

“This is a mistake.” Azriel had said to Elain.

And yet…if it was a mistake, why did it feel impossible to stop? Why did her touch still burn on his skin?

Rhys watched him carefully, as if reading every thought that flickered across his face. Then, his voice dropped lower. “You remember that I had to bear letting Feyre go to Tamlin, don’t you? Imagine what Lucien would feel if he found out you were with his mate.”

Azriel’s throat bobbed, but he held Rhys’ stare. Then, quietly, he said, “What about what I feel?”

Rhys’ expression didn’t change, but something in his eyes shifted. “You can’t tell me straight in the eye, that somehow you have genuine feelings for Elain when you’re all about Mor.”

Azriel shook his head, shadows curling at his shoulders. “Right. As far as you and everyone else are concerned, I’m still just about Mor.”

Rhys went silent, sensing the slight tone of sadness in Azriel’s voice.

Azriel scoffed. “You think I don’t know what everyone thinks of me? That I’ve spent centuries longing after someone who never wanted me?” His shadows whispered restlessly around him. “You think I don’t know how foolish that makes me? But you’re wrong if you think Elain is some replacement.”

Rhys studied him, considering. Then he said, carefully, “Then what is she?”

Azriel opened his mouth. Shut it.

Because he didn’t have an answer. Or maybe he did—but he couldn’t say it.

Rhys nodded slowly, his expression unreadable. “That’s what I thought.” His voice was quieter now, almost tired. “Don’t let your unresolved feelings for Mor taint Elain. Like I said, if you need a distraction, find someone else. Not her. Save her from your mess before you pull her into it.”

Taint.

Taint.

Taint.

The word echoed in his mind, relentless. That same word had stopped him a hundred times before. Had clawed at him whenever he got too close, whenever he teetered on the edge of saying to hell with it all and taking Elain for himself.

Rhys feared that Azriel would taint Elain.

If only he knew that Azriel feared it too.

It wasn’t Lucien who held him back, who kept him from making his intentions clear. No, the real reason had always been his own unworthiness. That quiet, insidious voice that reminded him—again and again—that he was nothing but shadows and bloodstained hands. That he didn’t deserve to call her his, didn’t deserve to be hers.

Lucien, the bond, the politics of it all—those were just excuses. Secondary to the truth that had shackled him long before Elain Archeron ever stepped into his life.

Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides. Helpless—that’s what he felt. Trapped between what he knew and what he wanted. What did Rhys know about his feelings? About the war inside him?

How could he explain that when he closed his eyes, the only face he saw was Elain’s? That she haunted every waking thought?

It had been different with Mor.

Mor taunted him with her presence, but he could still sit beside her, could still exist in the same space without feeling like he was unraveling. Could still stomach being around her, even knowing she would never want him.

But with Elain?

He couldn’t.

He couldn’t stand or sit near her, couldn’t look at her too long without feeling like something inside him might snap. She taunted him in both her presence and her absence.

No—she was never truly absent.

Even when she wasn’t there, she lingered. In the back of his mind. In the phantom warmth of her touch. In the echo of her voice.

If he met her gaze for just a second, her eyes would haunt him for days.

Just a glimpse of her was enough to consume him.

It was too much.

Too much, and yet never enough.

And yet, he never even had her in the first place. Probably never would.

And so he avoided her, kept his distance, because if she was already too much from afar…If he let himself near…If he decided to just screw everything and have her?

No.

It didn’t matter.

Because no matter how much distance he tried to put between them, she would always be there. She would always taunt him. And he couldn’t escape her. 

Rhys’ voice softened just slightly. “You’ve spent your whole life putting duty first. Don’t let this be the one time you don’t.”

Azriel didn’t trust himself to speak. His mind reeled, his heart an uneven rhythm in his chest. He had spent years burying what he wanted. What he longed for. And yet, today—Elain’s fingers on his scarred hands, her teasing words, the way she smiled at him—it had felt dangerously close to something he couldn’t ignore.

But Rhys was right.

He would taint Elain. 

Lucien wouldn’t.

Elain could have so much more than he could offer.

What could he even offer her?

Lucien could offer her so much more.

Who knows if she’ll one day realize that Lucien is the better male?  The male who would never suffocate her with his darkness. She wouldn’t notice him ever again, she woulld avert her gaze not because she was shy but because she no longer likes him.

And that truth settled in his chest like a blade.

“I understand,” was all Azriel finally said.

Rhys studied him for a long moment before his gaze softened. “I know It’s been a very long time with Mor, maybe it’s time-”

“No. There’s nothing I want to do with Mor.”

Rhys arched a brow. But Azriel made no move to explain what he meant by that. Let the high lord thinks what he wants. 

“I get it. I’ll sort my mind and won’t drag Elain into my mess.” Azriel said.

Rhys considered that, nodding slowly. “Good. About what we discussed earlier, tomorrow go speak to Madja. See if there’s anything that can help her  But,” he added, his tone dipping into something firmer, “don’t let her rely on it too much. I don’t want her dulling this ability instead of mastering it.”

When the high lord didn't find a sign of arguement, he added. “The bottom line is that she needs rest. If she can’t control the visions yet, she at least needs something to keep them from overwhelming her. Only then she would be ready to properly master her ability.

Azriel nodded. “Understood.”

He turned to leave, eager to be done with this conversation, but Rhys’s voice stopped him at the door.

“And Az?”

He glanced back.

“I’m sorry if I offended you. But war is looming, I don’t want any more complications. We’ll talk more about this when Koschei is defeated and prythian is truly safe from any danger.”

Azriel answered once again. “Understood.” before leaving the office.

******

Elain shut the last book with a quiet thud.

Not that she had actually read it. Her eyes had grown too heavy, the words blurring together until they barely made sense. She should have stopped the moment she felt herself drifting, but she’d pushed through—only to realize she couldn’t recall a single thing she’d read. A waste of time.

She sighed, rubbing at her eyes. At least Azriel wasn’t here to see her struggling to stay awake, her head bobbing as she fought off sleep. He’d probably find it ridiculous.

Glancing around, she blinked in surprise. The library was empty.

Even Clotho’s usual spot in her desk was vacant. Has she really been here that long?

Nesta was probably waiting for her at the House. She needed to go now.

Elain gathered the books, hesitating. She couldn’t just leave them scattered across the table, but she was too tired to return them properly. Maybe she could leave them on Clotho’s desk instead.

She got to her feet, searching for the trolley Lilwen had used earlier. Once she found it, she carefully stacked the borrowed books onto it and wheeled them toward Clotho’s desk.

As Elain reached Clotho’s desk, she parked the trolley beside it, stacking the books neatly. Just as she turned toward the stairs leading up to the House, a bell chimed.

She barely paid it any mind—until the seventh chime rang out.

Elain froze.

A pull. A whisper of something just out of reach. It was not a sound, not a voice, but a knowing. A revelation. It beckoned her, called her somewhere else.

Before she could fully register it, her feet moved of their own accord, steering her away from the stairs that led up to the House and toward another stairwell just a few steps away. She barely hesitated as she opened the door and descended.

Soft singing drifted up from below, an ethereal, lulling melody. It sent a shiver through her. Her steps quickened.

At the bottom of the stairs, she halted.

A cavernous chamber stretched before her, carved deep into the mountain. The underground river that flowed beneath the House had shaped the walls, smoothing the red stone into something polished, almost glass-like. Priestesses, cloaked in pale blue robes, filled the space. There was no altar, only a natural stone pillar rising from the ground, its top flattened into something like a podium.

Elain’s eyes roamed over the gathered figures. The priestesses had risen from their seats, their voices weaving together in sacred harmony. And at the front, among a few others, stood Gwyn.

Even from where Elain stood, she could tell—Gwyn’s voice shone the brightest, threading through the chorus without disrupting it.

Then, a priestess with long, white hair stepped forward. The singing softened as she lifted her hands and began chanting prayers to the Mother.

Elain’s breath hitched.

And a vision slammed into her.

She saw a temple, ancient and weathered by time. The light of dawn filled the space. Priestesses moved in perfect unison, their bodies flowing through deliberate, ritualistic motions. It was not a dance—it was something older, something sacred. Among them, she saw Gwyn, her face serene, her voice echoing through the vast, candlelit space.

Then the vision shifted.

Elain was lying in bed. She could feel the softness of the sheets beneath her, the quiet hum of the night surrounding her. But then—her body went weightless.

She was floating.

She could see herself—her own sleeping form, motionless on the bed as she hovered above it, untethered.

A gasp tore from her lips, and just like that, the vision shattered.

Elain stumbled, gripping the nearest surface to steady herself. Her heart pounded as she blinked rapidly, trying to shake the sensation of drifting, of being somewhere else entirely.

What in the Cauldron was that?

Was this a message from the Mother?

The vision had shifted so abruptly—from the priestesses, moving in sacred unison, to her own body, lying still in bed before she drifted free of it. A severing. A separation.

Elain swallowed hard. What was the Mother trying to tell her?

If it even was the Mother.

The thought slithered through her, cold and unsettling. Who was giving her these visions? And why?

A headache threatened to bloom at her temples. She shook her head, forcing herself to push the questions aside. Not now. She was tired, drained. She needed to rest, to eat dinner with Nesta, to pretend—if only for a little while—that she was just Elain, not whatever strange force these visions seemed to be shaping her into.

So she turned away from the cavern, her steps steady as she made her way back through the library and up the stairs to the House.

As she reached the doors, she took a breath, gave a small nod—then they swung open.

“Of course, it’s you,” Nesta drawled from the entryway, arms crossed but a grin tugging at her lips. “No one knocks when they enter this house except you.”

Elain let out a soft laugh and stepped forward, wrapping her arms around her sister. “I missed you.”

Nesta hummed, hugging her tighter. She didn’t need to say it—Elain could feel the truth in the way her sister held her.

When they pulled apart, Nesta studied her more closely, her sharp eyes narrowing. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

Elain hesitated, then forced a sheepish smile. “Well… I was reading in the library, but I got so sleepy I started dozing off. When I woke up, the place was empty, and I felt all hazy coming up here.”

She didn’t mention the carved chamber deep below. Didn’t mention the vision.

Nesta nodded. “The priestesses are having their services right now.” Then she smirked. “You must’ve felt like a lost puppy, finding everyone gone.”

Elain chuckled and looped her arm through Nesta’s. “Well, this lost puppy is starving now. Why don’t you give her a nice dinner?”

Nesta grinned. “No problem.”

They made their way to the dining table, and as soon as Nesta clapped her hands, the table filled with steaming dishes. Elain smiled at the magic of the House—something about it reminded her of Sybil and her shop.

Then, just as she was about to reach for a plate, movement from the hallway caught her eye.

Cassian strolled in, a towel slung low around his hips, water still glistening on his skin.

Elain jolted, slapping a hand over her eyes. “Cassian!” she shrieked.

Cassian startled at her reaction, then laughed. “Oh, its you. I thought it was Az.” He smirked. “I’ll get dressed then. Unless you’d rather have dinner with me like this?”

“No way!” Elain blurted, her face burning. Nesta outright cackled.

“Don’t tease her, Cass,” Nesta said, still grinning. “She’s starving, and if you keep annoying her, she just might bite your ass off.”

Cassian’s brows lifted, smirk deepening. “Nah, you’re the only one permitted to bite my ass, Nes.”

Nesta rolled her eyes, though a faint flush dusted her cheeks as Cassian chuckled and sauntered off to their room.

Elain cleared her throat. “Is he gone?” she asked, still covering her eyes.

Nesta scoffed, amused. “Yes, yes. You can look now.”

Elain cautiously lowered her hand, only for Nesta to pinch her arm playfully. She gasped, swatting at her sister.

“Why are you suddenly acting like a prude?” Nesta teased. “You’ve seen half-naked males before. You’ve seen the whole anatomy with Graysen.”

Elain’s breath caught. Her eyes widened slightly.

She had never shared much of her love life with Nesta—especially not about sex.

The truth was, she had never actually seen Graysen naked. He had been a proud, honorable man, and he had made it clear that certain things had to wait until marriage. So, when they were together, he had asked her to close her eyes.

She had trusted him. Had obeyed. She had been scared at first, but he had guided her through it, had told her she was good, that she pleased him. And when she’d dared to peek, to try and steal a glimpse of him, she had met his eyes—and he had punished her for it.

It was thrilling. It had made her eager for the day they would be married, for when she could see him fully, could do it over and over again.

But then she had become Fae. And he had looked at her like she was something monstrous. Had hated every fiber of her being.

As if human Elain Archeron had died the moment she was Made.

But she hadn’t. She was still herself. No matter what body she now inhabited, she was still the same girl who had dreamed of love, of peace, of happiness.

“Do you seriously mean to tell me you haven’t slept with anyone since Graysen?” Nesta asked, casually digging into her food.

Elain shook her head. “No. I was too hung up on him, and then, well—suddenly, I had a mate thrown at me, remember?”

Nesta chuckled. “Yeah, but that’s no excuse to keep waiting.”

Elain sighed. Nesta truly reminded her of Sybil sometimes.

“I’m not waiting for anything. I only ever wanted Graysen,” she said, shaking her head. “If there were another male I actually wanted, I would’ve made a move.”

A lie. A bold-faced, glaring lie.

Because there was someone else—a certain shadowsinger whose presence alone set her heart racing.

Nesta only hummed, as if she sensed the lie but chose not to point it. “Well, I just realized something—you’ve never been with a Fae male. If you thought Graysen was good, you haven’t had the real thing.” She smirked.

Elain nearly choked on air. “Nesta.”

Before she could say more, a familiar voice interrupted.

“Why do I feel like you two are talking about something inappropriate?” Cassian strolled into the dining room, dropping a kiss onto Nesta’s cheek before plopping down beside her.

Nesta smirked at Elain. “Because we were. And we were just about to get into the details.”

Elain groaned, exasperated. “I do not wish to hear it. Not now, not here, not ever.”

Cassian and Nesta both laughed, thoroughly entertained by her discomfort.

“Hey, Elain, why don’t you come with us to the training ring tomorrow?” Cassian suggested. “You should see your sister kicking some ass.”

Nesta smirked. “Yeah—your ass.”

Cassian grinned. “Oh? Then I won’t go easy on you.”

“Then don’t,” she shot back, eyes gleaming.

Elain watched their banter with amusement before turning to Cassian. “Among the Valkyries you’ve trained, who’s the best?”

Cassian didn’t hesitate. “If you ask me, I’d say Nesta. No question.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “He’s biased.”

Cassian shook his head. “I didn’t answer as your mate—I answered as a general. You’re the strongest in the ring alongside Emerie. Gwyn might be the most skillful with a sword right now, but you’re not far behind her. But none of that matters if you lack strategy, instincts, and the ability to command—which you don’t. You have something most warriors don’t—a natural instinct for leadership, a mind that sees the bigger picture.” His hazel eyes gleamed with admiration. “No one leads formations better than you, Nes. You were born for this—to be a leader of warriors, just like me.”

Nesta’s expression softened, affection shining in her gaze.

His grin turned cocky as he added, “It’s no wonder that we’re mates. Give it time, and you might just reach my level—if not surpass me.”

His mate snorted, but there was no hiding the flicker of pride in her eyes. 

The dinner, carried on with laughter and playful banter lingering in the air, and after they finished, Elain excused herself and made her way to her old room. Azriel still wasn’t back.

She sat on her bed, absentmindedly tracing patterns on the blanket as her thoughts drifted back to the vision she had earlier. The priestesses in the temple, their hauntingly beautiful performance. And then—her own body, lying still as she drifted away from it.

She shivered. It had felt so real. Too real.

But what did it mean? Why had she seen the priestesses first? And why had the vision shifted to… that?

A vision meant it was bound to happen, right?

Her breath caught as she recalled one last detail—the bed. It was the very one she was sitting on now.

Elain needed answers. Perhaps Gwyn could help her understand why those two visions had come to her. But for now, she could only try to make sense of them herself.

Lying on her bed, she shifted slightly and felt something press against her hip. The vial. She pulled it out, turning it over in her fingers. Sybill had told her it could help with her visions. One of the books she had read with Azriel had also mentioned seers using herbs to enhance their sight. Maybe more visions would give her the missing pieces to this puzzle.

Determined, she rose from the bed and made her way to the kitchen. As she passed Nesta and Cassian’s room, muffled groans and breathless laughter seeped through the door. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She hurried past, shaking her head, remembering the earplugs she had gifted Azriel. Hopefully, they served him well every night he slept here.

Once in the kitchen, she poured a glass of water and added a few drops from the vial, watching as the liquid swirled briefly before settling. She hesitated. Was there something she needed to do before drinking? Perhaps a wish, a plea.

Elain closed her eyes, whispering softly, “Oh Mother, I was given two confusing visions today, and I want to understand what you are trying to show me. Please, guide me.”

Then, she drank.

The taste was faintly bitter, with an earthy undertone, but as it slid down her throat, a strange warmth bloomed in her chest, curling through her veins like creeping vines. The edges of her awareness blurred, the world around her tilting ever so slightly.

A slow, creeping haze settled over her mind, thick and languid, as if she were being wrapped in layers of heavy silk. Her limbs felt distant, weightless. Her thoughts turned sluggish, dissolving like ink in water.

She barely made it back to her bed, sinking onto the mattress with slow, measured breaths. The exhaustion was not natural—it was deep, pulling her under like an unseen current.

The last thing she registered was the dim glow of candlelight dancing on the ceiling before the haze consumed her entirely, dragging her into the depths of sleep.

Darkness surrounded her—not the heavy, suffocating kind, but an open, endless void stretching in every direction. It wasn’t frightening. It was familiar.

She felt herself drifting, her limbs weightless, as if submerged in deep water without resistance. Yet, she could still feel her body somewhere—solid, warm, resting. But she was no longer inside it.

She turned, though there was no effort, no movement. And there she was.

Lying on the bed, her face peaceful in sleep, golden-brown hair fanned out across the pillow. Her chest rose and fell in rhythmic breaths, completely unaware.

Elain’s breath hitched—though there was no air to breathe. She reached out instinctively, fingers hovering just above her own sleeping form. But her hand—if it could even be called that—passed through like mist. 

No, not mist.

Light.

She had become light.

She was out of her body in some shining humanoid form.

A soft, glowing form, shifting and weightless, free from the weight of flesh and bone. She did not glow in the way fire did, bright and scorching, but like a gentle star—a warm pulse of energy, illuminating the space around her.

She was floating. No, not floating—she was just there. She felt no gravity, no resistance, just the sensation of being unbound. Yet she remained tethered, in some way, to the body still lying in the bed below.

Her room was unchanged. The bed, the desk, the flowers by the window. Everything was as it had been before she closed her eyes. And yet, everything was different.

Rippling energy surrounded her. Auras shimmered off every object, waves of unseen forces moving through the air. The walls breathed, faint pulses of warmth and life thrumming in them. The bed she had been lying on radiated traces of her own essence, as if it had absorbed her presence over time. The floor, the bookshelves, even the very air had a signature of energy she had never been able to see before.

A strange, eerie calm settled over her. Should she feel fear? Panic? But none came. 

A pulse echoed in the air around her. Something beyond the walls. Beyond the physical. A force both familiar and foreign, calling her.

She turned toward the source. Beyond the edges of her vision, where darkness should have been, there was something else. Something waiting.

A path she couldn’t see, but felt.

And she stepped forward.  

The pull guided her through the house, up the stairs. She did not need to open doors or push past barriers; she simply moved, her form gliding without resistance. The shadows in the hall seemed to stir as she passed, responding to her presence in a way she did not yet understand.

She floated, weightless and silent, drawn toward the darkness that called to her. The house was unchanged, yet every object shimmered with a faint aura. As she ascended the stairs, the pull grew stronger. She reached the top, stepping through the threshold as if air itself parted for her.

she reached the open balcony overlooking the training ring. There, beneath the moonlight, was Azriel.

He was training, but not with the usual precision and calm that defined him. His movements were sharp, edged with frustration. His wings flared slightly with every strike, muscles tensed as if barely restraining something beneath the surface. His shadows swirled around him, agitated, moving like storm-tossed waves rather than their usual whispering caress.

Elain drifted closer. She could feel his emotions radiating from him—anger, restraint, something deeper, something he refused to name. The air around him pulsed with his energy, a sharp contrast to the stillness of the night.

She tried to call his name. "Azriel."

But no sound left her lips. Instead, her voice seemed to ripple outward, a vibration that the shadows caught.

They went still.

As if in shock.

Then, as if realizing something all at once, they swirled suddenly, racing toward Azriel’s ears, brushing against him in a frantic whisper.

He froze mid-strike, his blade lowering slightly as his brows furrowed. "Elain?" he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with disbelief. 

The shadows, as if sensing their master’s skepticism, untangled from him and rushed toward her. Elain stiffened as they wrapped around her glowing form, curling like tendrils of darkness drawn to her presence, weaving through her light. They wrapped her in a careful embrace, as if to confirm that she was truly there, or if she was truly Elain.

How did they know it was her?

Azriel’s expression shifted. He took a step forward, watching his shadows stretch toward an empty spot in the air, swarming desperately.

A shiver ran through her. “This has never happened before,” she tried to say. The words slipping from her lips like a distant breeze.

She wasn’t sure if the shadows could hear her, but she hoped they could. Hoped they would pass her words to Azriel so he could help her make sense of this.

“I drank water with the herb,” she murmured. “And now I’m… out of my own body.”

The shadows rippled, as if considering her words. Their movements were unreadable—neither aggressive nor gentle, simply aware.

Before she could say more, they coiled around her wrists.

She gasped. The sensation wasn’t painful, wasn’t cold, but it pulled—not with force, but with certainty. Like a guiding hand, leading her somewhere.

Back toward the stairs, it seemed. Back down, toward the house. Her form drifted involuntarily, dragged by the inky tendrils of darkness. As she moved, she heard Azriel inhale sharply.

"What the hell—?"

His boots hit the ground heavily as he followed.

Following his shadows.

The shadows led her back to her room, slipping through the closed door as if it were nothing but air. Elain followed, though she barely felt the motion, barely understood how she moved at all in this form.

Inside, the dim glow of the nightlamp cast flickering shadows across the walls. And there—on the bed—was her.

Her body lay still, undisturbed, her breathing deep and steady. If she hadn’t known better, she would have thought she was simply asleep. But the shadows knew. They hovered over her body, curling and slithering like inky tendrils of smoke. They swarmed her form, pressing in, as if searching for something—an explanation, an answer to how this was possible.

Elain shuddered. It was strange, watching them inspect her, feeling their presence both around her true body and curling against the shape she was now.

Then, abruptly, the shadows withdrew. They slithered away from the bed, slipping back through the door with practiced ease. Elain turned, just in time to see them reach Azriel.

He was standing outside her door, still shirtless from training, chest rising and falling as though he’d just run a mile. His wings were flared slightly, his jaw tight, his eyes narrowed. The way he stared at his shadows, at the way they slithered and curled around him in agitation, made it clear—he had felt something. And now, his shadows were whispering to him.

His shadows had never acted like this before.

The hallway was silent. No voices, no sound beyond the distant hush of Velaris at night. 

Azriel’s eyes flicked toward the door, then back to the writhing mass of darkness around him. His voice was quiet, wary.

“What do you mean, she’s out of her body?”

Strangely enough, Elain realized she was hearing his inner voice. The words hadn’t passed his lips, yet they rang clear in her mind.

How is that possible?

She had no idea.

Everything about this felt surreal, like a fever dream she had no hope of waking from.

The shadows pulsed, as if in frustration.

Azriel let out a slow breath, his gaze darkening. “That’s impossible.”

A sharp swirl of movement—his shadows curled tighter, almost… arguing.

His shadows hissed in response, slipping through the door again, circling Elain’s body as if to prove their point.

Then they returned to him, whispering once more.

Elain didn’t know what they were saying, but she felt it—the insistence in the air, the way they seemed desperate for him to see.

Azriel let out a slow, distressed breath. “What the hell is going on?”

Then his footsteps came forward, steady but hesitant, following the shadows as they guided him to her room.

He pushed the door open and froze.

Elain watched as his sharp gaze landed on her sleeping form, his expression unreadable. He stepped inside, moving toward the bed—right toward her glowing form.

But he didn’t see her.

He walked through her form, oblivious to the way her presence flickered in response.

The shadows swirled around him again, whispering frantically.

Azriel groaned—frustrated, confused. But Elain heard it not with her ears, but in his mind.

"What do you mean, I just walked past her? She’s there in bed, sleeping."

The shadows rippled with agitation, darting back toward Elain before swirling around Azriel’s shoulders again. They whispered, their voices an eerie murmur only he could hear.

Elain couldn’t make out their words this time, but she could feel the intensity of their message. Desperate. Urgent.

Azriel exhaled sharply. “You’re not making any damn sense,” he spat in his mind, rubbing his temples. His wings flared slightly before tucking back in, a restless habit.

The shadows hesitated, then wrapped around her wrists again.

Elain’s glowing form pulsed faintly. “Tell him,” she urged, her voice softer than a breath. “Tell him it’s me.”

The shadows coiled tighter, then drifted toward Azriel once more, brushing against his ear like a secret. His entire body went still.

Slowly, his head turned, eyes narrowing as if he was seeing something just out of reach.

“Elain?” His voice was low, wary.

Her breath caught. He couldn’t see her. But maybe some part of him felt her.

“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m here.”

The shadows surged at her words, twining around her, as if pushing her presence toward him.

Azriel sucked in a sharp breath. “What the hell is happening?”

Azriel walked toward the bed, stopping beside it. Elain watched as his throat bobbed, his jaw tightening as he inspected her sleeping form. The rise and fall of her chest was steady. She looked normal—peaceful, even.

He exhaled sharply and shook his head. “She’s fine,” he murmured, more to himself than to the shadows.

The tension in his shoulders eased slightly, but the shadows remained restless, twisting around him like tendrils of smoke. Their movements turned urgent, insistently flickering between him and where Elain stood—where her glowing self hovered, unseen.

Azriel turned away. “Let’s get out of here. You’re not making any sense,” he said, rubbing his face. “We’ll wake her up.”

The shadows resisted, curling toward the bed again.

Azriel stiffened. “Enough,” he commanded in his mind, directed to his shadows. “Now—or stay here all you want.”

The shadows stilled at his reprimand. Then, reluctantly, they withdrew, slinking back toward his shoulders like chastised hounds. Without another word, Azriel quietly slipped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

Silence fell.

Elain stared at the door, her glowing form motionless, disbelief crashing over her.

He’d left.

He hadn’t seen her.

But his shadows had. They had tried to get their master to see her—but he couldn’t. And he’d walked away.

She then turned toward the bed, toward her body lying there so still, as if none of this was happening. As if she hadn’t just stepped out of herself into something impossible.

Elain hesitated, then reached out, trying to touch her own arm.

Her fingers passed through like mist.

Her breath—if she even still had one—hitched.

She was alone.

And she had no idea how to get back.

Chapter Text

The night was quiet now. The sounds of the city beyond the House had dulled into silence, save for the occasional rustle of wind against stone. Somewhere, a clock ticked past midnight.

Azriel sat on the edge of his bed, shirt discarded, sweat clinging to his skin after another sleepless night of training. The anger hadn’t left him. The frustration still seethed beneath his skin, tangled in the mess of shadows curling restlessly around him. He’d tried sparring it out. He’d tried flying before coming back into his room. Nothing worked.

It was her.

She was in his thoughts, clinging like dew in the early hours of dawn—delicate, persistent, impossible to ignore. 

He tried—truly tried—to focus on what might’ve been wrong with Elain, why his shadows had dragged him to her door with such desperation. But his thoughts betrayed him. They always did. 

And like every godsdamned night, the ache bloomed inside him. Slow and consuming.

His hand drifted lower, hesitating only for a moment before slipping past the waistband of his pants. His jaw clenched, lips parted with a quiet exhale. He gritted his teeth against the groan that built in his throat, images of her back in her room, sound asleep, surging in his mind. Her lovely, peaceful face. Her slightly flushed cheeks. The steady rise and fall of her perfect chest. The curve of her waist beneath her nightdress. The memory of her scent, sweet like a garden blooming at dusk.

His damn shadows had led him there, right towards her damned door as if they knew she was his weakness. As if they enjoyed taunting him with the knowledge.

Whatever had happened earlier had only left him more on edge. Restless. Because if there was one thing Azriel hated, it was not knowing. And this—this was the first time his shadows had ever behaved like that. Unruly. Insistent. As if trying to show him something. As if Elain was the answer to a riddle he hadn’t even been allowed to ask.

But she’d only been sleeping.

Perfectly still. Perfectly untouched.

And yet, his shadows had alarmed him as if she was in danger. 

Azriel exhaled sharply through his nose, pinching the bridge of it as if that might will away the persistent throb behind his eyes. 

It felt like everyone was messing with him lately—Rhys, and now his damned shadows.

Whatever had happened earlier… he wasn’t ready to unravel it. And certainly not ready to confront what it meant that his shadows had gone behind his back, acting with a will that was not quite his own. Or the way they had tried to drag him, stubbornly, to Elain.

And gods, Rhys.

He had only agreed with what Rhys said just to get away—just to escape the conversation before he said something he couldn’t take back. Rhys had a point—Azriel knew that. Knew that whatever this… thing was between him and Elain, it wasn’t simple. It was wrong . But Rhys didn’t understand. 

Because Rhys had made his decision long ago. He’d chosen what was best for his Court, for his people. And Azriel—Azriel was always expected to do the same. Even if it meant setting himself on fire to keep everyone else warm.

His gaze shifted toward the small jar of headache powder resting on his nightstand. A soft smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

The memory surfaced with startling clarity—Elain in the library, flushed with frustration, her delicate features marred by the ghost of a scowl. She looked… alive . More than the quiet grace she usually wore like armor. 

Something had shifted between them in the library. She’d been more expressive with him than usual—her annoyance was brief, sharp, but strangely endearing. It had caught him off guard, how unguarded she’d been. As if, for a moment, she’d let down one of the many veils she so carefully wore around others. He couldn’t remember ever seeing Elain react like that with her sisters—not with that flicker of irritation, the subtle narrowing of her eyes, the way she’d snapped her book a little too forcefully. Who else could draw that out of her? Who else could make Elain Archeron—gentle, soft-spoken Elain—actually annoyed ?

And gods help him, he’d liked it. Not because she’d been upset with him, but because it meant she was letting him see more of her. Not the perfect image others expected, but something real. Something raw. Something hers .

It had been over something small—gods, he couldn’t even remember what he’d said. Only that he had said it because he wanted to see that spark in her. Because everything she did had become fascinating to him in a way that felt dangerous.

He’d teased her without meaning to, found himself reacting instinctively to every flicker of her attention. She was endlessly intriguing,  finding himself reacting to her in ways he hadn’t expected.

He could still remember the way her fingers had tightened on the edge of her book, how she flipped a page with just a bit too much force. And then, just as quickly, how her irritation had melted away into amusement or warmth or quiet curiosity. She was mercurial like that. A shifting spectrum of softness and steel.

He had once thought of her as a rose—elegant, fragrant, poised. But now… now he realized that wasn’t quite right. Elain Archeron was a labyrinth of petals and thorns. Something that only revealed itself layer by layer, moment by moment. And he—he wanted to know all of her. Every piece. Every shadowed corner. Elain at her truest core.

Azriel sighed and leaned back into the pillows, gaze dragging across the ceiling.

The ache that curled deep in his stomach returned. It wasn’t just lust—not anymore. It was want in its purest, most maddening form. A yearning for something he couldn’t touch, couldn’t name. And it had her name wrapped all around it. Once again, he let his thoughts drown in her—Elain’s voice, her smile, the spark in her eyes when she challenged him. The imagined feel of her fingers tangled in his hair, the weight of her body pressed to his. The way her name might sound on her lips if she ever asked for him.

He tried not to think about the fact that Elain was still asleep in her room—just a few steps away. Tried not to dwell on how easy it would be to knock on her door, to fall to his knees before her and offer up every piece of himself. To beg for the one thing he had craved more than peace, more than clarity: her.

Because Elain Archeron was peace. She was clarity. His peace. His clarity. And he was so certain now—he would never truly know either unless he had her.

But he couldn’t. Fate, it seemed, had dealt him another cruel hand. One that left him standing just outside the light he wanted to bask in, condemned to burn quietly in the dark.

Was it truly his fate to ache for something he could never touch?

Azriel winced, forcing the thought away. That was why he avoided thinking beyond the comfort of his fantasies—because the moment he did, the ache turned brutal. Sharp.

So instead, he let himself remember her skin—the soft cream of it, the way it had looked bathed in sunlight that morning in the library. Smooth, warm, beckoning. A temptation he never stood a chance against.

He groaned, low and rough. Pleasure pulsed through him, steady and consuming. So consuming that he didn’t notice—didn’t care —as one of his shadows detached. Subtly at first, like a breath of smoke slipping through a crack. Then another. And another.

His shadows, ever-present and loyal, began to slip through the cracks in the walls like smoke. One by one. First subtly, like a breath escaping. Then more, drifting with purpose— away .

Until the rest of his shadows that had always cocooned him thinned, unraveled—spilling into the air, slipping through the doorway, the floorboards. Drawn elsewhere. 

He didn’t stop them.

Didn’t even care. Not in the moment, not when his body was still shuddering, his thoughts still filled with her.

And so the Spymaster lay in his bed, still lost in his pleasures, uncaring that the extension of his magic—his companions—were leaving him, trailing outside his room.

*********

Elain stood still in her glowing form. She found out that she could float easily in this form, untethered and weightless. She had jumped once, making her float in the air. It took her a while to finally land back on her feet.

She had tried countless times now to slip back inside her physical body. But every time she pressed toward her body, it just passed through. Her soul, or whatever she had become right now, just hovered above her body, no matter how many times she willed herself to sink into her body.

She slumped onto the floor, arms curling tightly around herself, as if she could keep her glowing form from unraveling entirely.

For a moment, the thought flitted through her mind—maybe she should go outside again, try to make Azriel notice her. Though she had no idea how. A part of her even considered Nesta—maybe, since they were both Made, since they both had been touched by the Cauldron, her sister could somehow see her.

But then Elain cringed at the memory of the unmistakable banging sounds she’d heard coming from Nesta and Cassian’s room earlier. Cauldron drown her again. No, she’d rather be stuck in this ghostly form forever than walk in on that.

She sighed, head tipping back against the wall. Could she just… float to the River House? Maybe Feyre or Rhys could sense her presence. Maybe someone there could help. But a sinking feeling in her chest told her they wouldn’t. Not like this.

Then, her thoughts drifted to Lucien. His golden eye.

He’d once mentioned it before he went on his mission to find Vassa—how it could see through glamours, through illusions. 

Would he be able to see her like this? A flicker of hope sparked, but it was quickly snuffed out by something bitter and sharp in her gut. Of all the people in the world, did it really have to be him?

No. She didn’t want it to be him. Not when Azriel couldn’t even feel her presence. If Lucien—her supposed mate she was actively ignoring—was the only one who could see her like this, then the Cauldron truly had a twisted sense of humor. Or cruelty.

Elain dropped her face into her hands, her shoulders trembling. She didn’t sob. There were no tears in this form. Just that gnawing ache of hopelessness tightening around her chest like a vice. She didn’t know what she was waiting for—someone to find her, maybe. Something to make this make sense. Anything that could offer her the smallest flicker of hope.

And then—she felt it.

A shift in the air.

A hum of familiar energy.

The shadows.

They were back.

A familiar shiver crawling down what used to be her spine.

They came again for her. Whispering tendrils of shadow now slipped through the cracks beneath her door, pooling into the room like living smoke. Azriel’s shadows came back for her.

They circled her glowing form once, twice—curious and watchful. Elain didn’t speak at first. Didn’t dare. She only watched as they now swarmed her unmoving form with almost reverent silence. One of them brushed a curl from her brow. Another hovered near her chest, like it was listening to the rhythm of her heartbeat.

Elain opened her mouth—if she still had one. “You came back for me.”

The shadows stilled, then slowly turned to her, shifting like black silk on water. One of them curled toward her cheek. She felt it—not on her skin, but deeper. Like a soft thought brushing against her thoughts.

“You left him,” she whispered.

But moments later, the shadows left her and slithered back towards what she suspected would be Azriel’s room. Curiosity tugged at her like an undertow. Maybe Azriel was in need of help? That is why they came back to her? It’s not like she could help him in this form. She couldn’t even help herself. But she just followed the shadows.

But when she slipped through his door, what she found instead could stole the breath from her lungs if she was still in her physical form.

Azriel.

Vulnerable in a way she had never seen. Not even in her dreams.

He lay sprawled in his sheets, bare-chested, the moonlight catching the sheen of sweat on his skin. His head tilted back against the pillow, mouth parted, eyes closed—lost. One hand clutched the edge of the bedding in a tight, white-knuckled grip. The other moved slowly beneath the waistband of his pants, the rise and fall of his chest ragged, desperate.

She froze.

She felt it—fluster rising like heat through whatever this glowing form of hers was. Her essence pulsed with something sharp and dizzying. Embarrassment. Intrusion. Curiosity. Desire.

Mother above.

She shouldn’t be seeing this. She knew that. Every instinct in her screamed to look away, to leave. To do something other than linger where no one should linger.

But she couldn’t move. Couldn’t tear herself away from the way he looked when no one was watching. The softness in his expression. The quiet sounds he made. And the way his shadows—those loyal, whispering things—clung to the corners of the room, almost still, as if they too knew this was something private. Sacred.

Azriel groaned, turning his head slightly to the side, lips parted again. His hips shifted beneath the sheet, the tension in his body winding tighter, tighter—

Elain fled from the scene.

Drifted through the door like a startled breeze, her form flickering wildly as emotion surged through her. She didn’t stop until she found herself outside, near the staircase, a glowing blur hovering just above the floor.

Her glowing hands curled at her sides, trembling. Not from shame—not really. From the weight of it all. From the deep, thunderous ache that spread through her, echoing in places she hadn’t known could feel.  

Still reeling, Elain hovered near the wall and pressed her glowing palm against the surface—solid, even in this form. She felt distant, untethered. Her heart—her true one, beating in the body still asleep upstairs—called for her. But she wasn’t ready to return. Not yet.

Not until she calmed the flurry of feeling inside her.

She had no idea what fantasies he was pleasuring himself to.

More importantly—who he was thinking of.

Gods, she wanted it to be her. She wanted Azriel to want her.

If only she were in her physical form right now, she would’ve stormed into his room without hesitation. Would’ve looked him in the eye and told him to take her however he wanted. Or maybe… maybe she would’ve taken him the way she wanted—slow, aching, desperate.

The thought made her pulse flicker, her glowing form brightening just slightly.

But she could only watch from the edges of the dark, bodiless and burning with want.

His shadows slithered back against her, they wrapped gently around her form like long-lost pets coming home, curling and pulsing like heartbeats. She didn’t understand it—why they sought her, why they brought her here to witness this . Maybe they didn’t mean for her to see what he was doing either. Or perhaps they were lonely since their master is...preoccupied.

But the moment felt too raw, too intimate. Her form flickered, a pulse of warmth as shame and wonder collided in her core. 

She had no idea why the shadows led her here.

No, she actually knew. She needed them to alert Azriel.

But Azriel is…distracted.

Elain’s glow flickered, soft and uncertain, as a blush bloomed beneath her spectral skin—if such a thing were even possible in this strange, glowing state. Her chest constricted with something caught between disbelief and flustered heat, the sensation curling through her like smoke as the image of Azriel pleasuring himself still vivid in her mind.

The shadows nearby twitched, swaying as if in amusement, like they were laughing with her—or at her. As though they had known what they were leading her into all along.

She narrowed her eyes at them. “Does your master do that often?” she asked, voice barely more than a whisper of light.

The shadows shimmered, offering no answer, only a teasing ripple that danced around her ankles like mischievous silk.

Elain let out a short breath—half a chuckle, half a sigh. “You little tease.”

And yet… she couldn’t bring herself to be angry. Not truly. Not when her thoughts were now filled with the image of Azriel—unguarded, honest in a way words could never make him. Not when his shadows, in their own strange way, had given her a glimpse of the truth he kept so carefully hidden.

Her glow dimmed slightly, contemplative now. She had lingered long enough. Long enough to feel too much.

She turned, her gaze drifting up toward the ceiling. Somewhere above, her body lay untouched by all of this, still and breathing and unaware. She needed to go back. She had to go back.

“All right, little fellas,” Elain murmured with a wry smile. “I need to head back. I can’t stay like this forever.” She paused, her glow pulsing faintly before adding, “Your master would get distressed if he finds out I can’t wake up from my sleep.”

The shadows twitched, swirling with what could only be described as amusement—soft laughter in motion, skittering through the air like smoke on a breeze.

The gentle warmth of the hallway faded as Elain began to rise, pulling herself up with shaky resolve. Her glowing form flickered faintly with every step, like a candle in a breeze. The shadows trailed close behind her, silent and persistent.

But before she could reach the safety of her room, the shadows veered off—coiling around her wrist again, tugging her in another direction.

Toward Nesta and Cassian’s room.

No.

Her glow sputtered slightly. "No, no, no. We are not going there!"

The shadows pulled insistently, ignoring her flustered protests.

"They’re definitely occupied!" she whispered fiercely. "Let’s not interrupt them, please—" Her voice pitched into a plea as the shadows dragged her closer.

Elain swore under her breath. If Nesta could see her in this form, that would be useful. But barging in while her sister and Cassian were likely tangled in each other? That would be a horror she might never recover from.

“I’m begging you,” she hissed to the shadows. “Spare some shame for me atleast!”

The shadows only skittered in what she swore was amusement, like they were enjoying this far too much.

But when they reached the door, it became clear—Nesta couldn’t see her. Couldn’t sense her. She was far too… occupied. The sounds alone made Elain’s glowing form bristle.

The shadows, however, were relentless.

“No,” Elain whispered. “Don’t you dare—”

Too late.

With a playful surge, they gave one strong push.

She shrieked.

She was flung through the door and landed straight on the bed— their bed—where Nesta and Cassian were currently very busy. Elain scrambled back with a strangled gasp, clutching her glowing form as if she could disappear even further inside herself.

Cassian grunted something unintelligible. Nesta laughed. Neither of them even flinched .

They hadn’t noticed a thing.

Elain bolted—practically phased through the wall in her rush—before Cassian decided to flip Nesta again or gods knew what else . Her form trembled as she reached the hall, shadows swarming after her, twitching like they were absolutely delighted with themselves.

She stopped just outside her room and whipped around to face them, cheeks blazing despite the fact that she didn’t even have proper blood flow in this form.

Her voice was sharp. “We are not doing that again.”

The shadows stilled, sensing the pure command in her voice.

“I mean it,” she said, hands planted on her hips. “We are going back to my room. No one can help me but myself. ” She paused, then jabbed a glowing finger at the wispy mass. “ And I'll appreciate your help— if you’d just stop teasing me!”

The shadows coiled back slightly, contrite. Or pretending to be. One twirled sheepishly around her wrist, almost apologetically. 

Elain sighed, her anger bleeding into exasperation. “And here I thought my family taunts me the worst, ” she muttered as she turned back toward her room.

The shadows followed, quieter this time. More supportive than mischievous.

And as Elain walked, still flickering like a starlit ghost, she murmured to them softly, “We’re going to figure this out. Together. No more detours. No more sisters’ bedrooms. Just… help me find my way back.”

The shadows shimmered like ink catching light. As if in agreement.

And so, they returned to her room—this time, without protest.

When they reached her room, she stared at her sleeping form again.

“I don’t know how to go back,” she admitted somberly after a pause. Her voice wavered like fog, unanchored.

The shadows circled her again, slower this time. Thoughtful. They brushed against her as if testing her edges—finding where she began and ended.

Then they drifted toward her body.

She followed.

They paused over her chest. Then one slid to her forehead. Then another to her belly. Anchoring points.

“You want me to… what?” she asked softly. “Lie down?”

No answer. But the shadows hovered, waiting.

Elain lowered herself toward the bed. Her soul, or whatever remained of it, passed through her own body. It felt… wrong. Mismatched. Like trying to slip into a dress sewn for someone else. She hovered there, uncertain, until—

Thrum.

The feeling of her body called to her, faint but real. Like a thread pulling from deep within her chest. She closed her eyes.

And breathed.

Or tried to.

She focused. Listened. Felt.

Tuned herself—her thoughts, her soul—to the rhythm of her heartbeat. She tried to remember the feeling of her lungs, her limbs. The weight of her own skin. She didn’t force it. She just… let herself sink. Let herself align.

One heartbeat.

Then another.

She willed herself to get back.

Back to her body.

Back to reality.

But when she hovered above her sleeping form, nothing happened.

She stared down at herself—the body she’d always known, the physical shell of her mind and soul—expecting to slip inside like water into a familiar vessel.

Nothing.

She reached. Willed.

Still… nothing.

She tried again. And again. Hours passed—maybe minutes, maybe eternities. She couldn’t tell anymore. But nothing changed.

Elain drifted restlessly, her glowing form pacing the room like a restless spirit. If she could cry in this strange state, she would have been sobbing by now. It wasn’t amusing anymore—wasn’t mysterious or magical. It was lonely. Unsettling. She didn’t want to be stuck like this forever, half-existent, tethered only by Azriel’s shadows—the only things that seemed to acknowledge her.

“I just want to go back,” she whispered, voice trembling though no breath left her lips. “Please…”

Sensing her distress, the shadows approached gently, like wisps of dark silk. They swirled around her hands, brushing against her fingers before giving a small, insistent tug.

She blinked. “Where are we going now?” She cast a glance at the sleeping body on the bed—her body. “I should try getting back… back inside.”

But the shadows tugged again, firmer this time.

“Wait—” she started, but it was too late.

They pulled her through the door, through the quiet hall, and up the stairs. Her form passed soundlessly over stone, through walls and around corners, until—

The training ring.

Elain’s glowing form hovered just at the edge of it. She frowned, her voice faint but bewildered. “Why are you bringing me here?”

The shadows didn’t so much as twitch. They hovered around her, watching. Waiting.

Elain sat on a flat rock, her glowing form pulsing faintly, flickering like a candle about to go out. She was too overwhelmed to speak again, so the shadows did what they always did when Azriel needed grounding—tendrils of shadow coiled gently around her wrists and waist, a comforting touch like a whispered promise. 

And then—with a whoosh of windless motion—they lifted her into the air.

Elain gasped.

Her form flickered wildly as panic surged. She flailed for a moment, arms outstretched as if she might fall despite having no weight at all.

"Wait—no, no, no—" she whispered, heart lurching as the ground vanished beneath her, as the night swallowed her glowing silhouette. But the shadows wrapped tighter, steadier, cradling her like trusted hands. They didn’t rush. They soothed .

Their presence told her she wasn’t alone. That they had her. That she could let go.

And slowly, the panic eased.

The wind brushed gently past her. And when she opened her eyes fully, she realized they were soaring.

Up, higher and higher above and further from the House of Wind.  

The whole of Velaris stretched below her like a living painting. The City of Starlight glittered in soft blues and golds—like a canvas of dreams—wreathed in the glow of lanterns and moonlight. The Sidra wound through it all like a silver-blue ribbon, calm and endless. 

Elain’s fear dissolved into awe. Her glowing form shimmered more brightly, soft trails of light left in her wake like stardust—soft, twinkling, ethereal. She looked like a wisp of a star drifting on the wind. The shadows carried her gently, letting her float and drift, twirling her once in midair like she was dancing with the sky itself.

And moments later, she laughed —quiet and breathless, a sound full of wonder.

She was soaring through the skies of Velaris—no Illyrian wings, no tether to the earth, and in this glowing form, no one could see her.

She should’ve felt terrified.

But instead, she felt free.

Weightless. Untouchable.

She felt special . Like a secret the stars themselves kept.

She felt powerful —not because anyone gave her that power, but because it had always been hers. Hidden. Waiting.

She let her arms fall open at her sides and closed her eyes, trusting the shadows to carry her.

And for the first time that night, Elain breathed—imagined it, at least. Her essence slowed. Her thoughts grew clearer.

Peace didn’t come in the form of answers. But it came in a lull. In a stillness that wrapped around her like a cloak.

The shadows had given her that. Had helped her remember how it felt to feel.

Soon, her companions  dipped lower, gliding past the rooftops and balconies of Velaris, weaving through the cool night air like ribbons of smoke. Below them, the streets buzzed with life—laughter spilling from open windows, music humming from taverns and cafés, golden lights glowing like stars captured in glass.

And then she heard it.

The unmistakable thrum of music—deep, steady, pulsing through the cobblestones like a heartbeat.

The shadows slowed near a familiar row of buildings, where the crowd was thickest

Elain tilted her head, her glowing brows lifting. A smile pulled at her lips.

“You brought me to Rita’s?” she asked, amused.

The shadows skittered and coiled playfully, clearly proud of themselves. Of course they brought her to one of Azriel’s favourite places.

She laughed softly, the sound like a chime in the dark. “Of course you did.”

The shadows tugged her forward, through the walls, and suddenly she was surrounded by lights and movement. Bodies danced and laughed and drank. The bass of the music hummed through the floor, but no one noticed her—their forms occasionally passed through hers, like walking through smoke.

She watched, blinking.

And then, something shifted beside her.

The shadows surged and reformed, growing and twisting until a man stood beside her. He was made of darkness and wind, with a vague, familiar silhouette. Broad shoulders. Tousled hair. Winged shadows flickering behind him. His face was only half-formed, like a dream remembered upon waking—but it was enough.

Azriel. Or, at least, the idea of him.

Elain blinked again, astonished—then laughed.

“You’re unbelievable,” she whispered. 

The shadowy Azriel extended a hand. She hesitated… and then took it.

They danced. Slowly at first, then with more freedom. It wasn’t the kind of dancing one did at Rita’s—it was gentler, intimate. They floated through the crowd, light and air, laughing in their silent bubble. When others passed through them, Elain gasped at the strange sensation, but didn’t stop. She twirled, glowing more brightly now, like she was made of starlight itself.

The music swelled around them, a heartbeat of sound that carried them through the haze of lights and laughter. The shadowy figure's hand remained firm but gentle in hers, his presence both a comfort and a mystery. He didn’t speak—didn’t need to. Every step they took across the dance floor was a conversation, every movement a murmur of unspoken words.

Elain let herself be guided, let herself move without thinking. The crowd blurred around them—real and not. None of the revelers could see them, not truly. But for a moment, Elain didn’t feel invisible. Not with the way this shadowy Azriel held her, not with the way his shape leaned in close, his cheek brushing hers like a whispered promise.

When her laugh escaped her lips again, it was lighter than before. More alive.

She didn’t care that this wasn’t real. That it was only a dream shaped of darkness and magic and longing. In this moment, it was enough.

They spun together, and her glow brightened with each turn, leaving a trail of faint light in their wake—like a comet across the stars.

Elain sighed as the music softened.

Her steps slowed. Her body leaned into the comforting presence of the shadow. She rested her cheek against his chest—his not-chest—and closed her eyes. She wasn’t whole, not yet. But in this moment, she wasn’t unraveling either.

They continued dancing, just the shadows and her—gliding, twirling, floating like a dream. She forgot her shame. Forgot the helplessness. Forgot the ache of being unseen.

When she finally drew back, the shadow lifted a hand to her face. The touch left no warmth, no weight—only a quiet calm, a soothing stillness that settled within her.

She looked up at him—at the shape of him—and her smile softened. “I feel better now. Thank you.”

Then she leaned in and kissed his cheek, or where his cheek would be. A soft glow flared in response. The shadowy figure smiled—his half-formed face softening in a way that mirrored the real Azriel’s rare grins—and then leaned forward, brushing a ghost of a kiss against her temple before dissolving back into his usual misty form, the illusion fading like a dream upon waking.

Elain smiled, a flicker of amusement lighting her glowing features. “You’ve definitely learned a thing or two from your master about comforting a woman.”

The shadows swirled around her once more, playful now, as if pleased with themselves.

And Elain… Elain felt something inside her finally ease. The tightness in her chest loosened. The ache in her heart quieted. 

Sybill had once told herself to let loose . Maybe that was what she needed. Sometimes, when the mind was too tight—when the world pressed too close— the answer was to let go . To loosen the grip. That being weightless, even for a little while, could allow the mind to settle. 

“Still water reflects the truth best.” Elain murmured.

Elain smiled, a quiet, luminous thing—like she had just discovered the key to a long-forgotten lock. The way back. The way home.

“I think I can do it this time,” she whispered. “Let’s go back.”

The shadows responded instantly, curling gently around her wrists, her waist, cradling her back protectively. Then, without hesitation, they lifted her into the sky once more—swift and sure  through the city, beneath the quiet moon. Back across the Sidra. Back through the open window of her room.

Upon entering her room, they sat her back at her feet.

The room was still. Quiet. Peaceful.

Then she took a breath—and looked back at her physical body.

“Still water,” she had said, “reflects the truth best.”

Maybe that’s all she needed.

To let go. To trust the fall. To stop fighting it so hard.

That surrendering, even for a moment, was how one remembered who they really were.

At their very core.

The tremor in her energy had stilled. Her glow softened, dimming. The buzzing edge of panic had dulled into quiet resolve and certainty.

Elain imagined the breath, how it would fill her lungs. How her chest would rise. How it felt to stretch her fingers, blink her eyes. She imagined her heartbeat. Her skin. The weight of her hair.

She imagined being herself.

Slowly, the energy in her began to sync. The vibrations of her glowing form slowed to match the subtle rhythm of her sleeping body.

And then, what felt like the soft closing of a door—

She was back.

The weight returned. The gravity. The quiet discomfort of a body long left still.

Elain gasped, eyes flying open as her heart thudded in her chest. Sweat clung to her brow. Her limbs were heavy. Her mouth dry.

But she was home.

Her chest rose and fell with real breath. The air felt heavier now, realer. The mattress beneath her wasn’t just something she hovered over—it held her again.

Then she thought of Azriel.

She glanced toward the quiet corner where the shadows lingered like loyal sentries. “Are you going to tell your master what happened?” she asked softly.

The shadows stirred but offered no clear answer. A subtle flick of movement, like a shrug. As if they didn’t expect him to believe them even if they tried.

Elain smiled, lips curving with amusement. “So this is our secret?”

The shadows swirled, playful now, like smoke caught in a dancing breeze.

She let out a quiet chuckle. “Then we’ll figure whatever the hell is wrong with me, together, little friends.”

Her fingers pressed lightly to her chest, still trembling, still reeling—but steady now. “Thank you for helping me tonight,” she whispered.

One of the shadows dipped low in the corner of the room, graceful as a curtsy.

Elain laughed under her breath, watching as it slithered silently away, returning to its master.

She exhaled slowly, settling deeper beneath the covers. She had secrets now. Secrets Azriel didn’t know.

She intended to keep it—for now—tucked safely between her and Azriel’s loyal companions, until their master finally figured it out himself: what had been happening behind his back, the truth that had been dancing just beneath his nose.

That night, Elain drifted into sleep with a soul unburdened. Her thoughts flowed like a still river, her heart like a garden at peace—undisturbed, untouched.

And unlike the night before, she didn’t need Azriel’s lullaby to guide her into rest.

She had only needed to find calm within herself.

Within her mind.

Within her heart.

Within her very soul.

Chapter Text

Elain was standing in the center of a dark cavern, her expression hollow, her eyes wide with terror. The silence in the cave was so complete it seemed sacred. Or cursed.

Then she screamed.

A raw, soul-breaking cry that shattered the stillness like glass. Her knees buckled, slamming to the cold ground. Her eyes shut tight, as if she were trying to contain something vast and terrible within herself. And then the earth responded.

The rocks beneath her trembled, cracked. The rocks above  groaned and split. Magic—wild, ancient, and angry—poured from her in invisible waves, rattling the very bones of the cave. Dust filled the air, choking him even within the dream. Stones, jagged and heavy, broke free overhead, tumbling toward her with deadly intent.

Azriel tried to move. Gods, he tried. His muscles screamed, his mind raged—but he was paralyzed, nailed to the floor by some unseen force. A silent scream clawed its way up his throat as he watched helplessly.

The rocks fell.

And then she was gone—buried under the stones.

The shadowsinger stilled. His eyes widened in horror.

Only silence remained.

Until the dream shifted again.

He saw Elain again.

She was now at the edge of a lake, its waters black and glistening like ink under a bloodred moon. The air here was colder, thicker—saturated with dread. But Elain no longer knelt.

She floated above the ground, weightless as shadows. Her hair whipped around her face, caught in an invisible wind. Her hands clutched at her head, fingers digging into her skull like she was trying to tear something out from within. Her mouth opened in another scream—not of pain, but of pure, inhuman agony. A scream that split the air, made the water ripple and the trees writhe.

Her eyes were wide open.

And they glowed—bright, unearthly, a searing luminescent light that pulsed with something not of this world.

Azriel reached out then—one final, desperate attempt to touch her, to pull her back from whatever realm of torment she’d been cast into—

But the world around him fractured again.

The lake, the air, the shadows—everything shattered like glass, and in its place came the others.

Rhysand. Feyre. Nesta. Lucien. Everyone.

All of them stood in a circle around him, their faces cast in sickly gray light, expressions carved from stone.

Their voices layered over one another, indistinguishable from whispers and roars, a chorus of judgment that echoed in the hollow space between heartbeats.

"You let this happen." They said as one, eyes like cold coals, burning with betrayal.

“She’s gone mad.”

“She’s not herself anymore.”

“She’s unstoppable.”

"You shouldn’t be with her. Now look what’s become of her."

"She would’ve been better off with Lucien. None of this would’ve happened."

“You should’ve stayed away from her.”

The words struck him like blades—each syllable a wound. Their faces blurred, twisted into something monstrous, and still they spoke, condemning him with truths he’d buried deep.

Azriel bolted upright in bed, chest heaving like he’d surfaced from drowning.

He pressed trembling palms into his eyes, as if he could scorch the image of her broken body from his vision. But it was still there—behind his lids, behind his ribs. Her scream. Her stillness. The glow in her eyes.

He has no idea what happened in the dream. 

Or maybe he did.

He recalled what he and Elain discovered during their research, about the mad seers. Those who lost their minds because the visions were too much to handle.

What if the dream would one day come true? That one day Elain could lose her mind in an attempt to explore her ability? What if she peered too far and lost herself in the process? 

He couldn’t bear the thought.

Couldn’t bear to lose her.

No. Elain shouldn’t lose herself like that.

Elain did not deserve to suffer like that.

And especially not because of him.

Everyone—even Rhys—had placed their faith in him to guide Elain through the storm of her visions. But what if he wasn’t her anchor, but the tide pulling her under? What if, in trying to help her, he became the reason she shattered? What if he was leading her not to clarity, but to her ruin?

Azriel scoffed at the thought—what could possibly go so horribly wrong with helping her control her visions? Unless... there were darker forces at play. It was said that such visions might be messages from gods—but what if they weren’t? What if something older, something malevolent, was using Elain as a vessel? Twisting her sight, luring her toward danger. What if they were using her to lead all of them to ruin?

He shuddered, the thought sinking heavily in his chest.

Elain got her visions from the Cauldron. It couldn’t be that the Cauldron was toying with her…

He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. It felt like the Cauldron had a personal grudge against him. Maybe even with Elain.

First, it made Lucien Elain’s mate—Lucien, not him. Not the male who had wanted her in a way he’d never wanted anyone else, not even Mor.

And now, if those visions were its next cruel game—if they consumed her, controlled her, corrupted her–

He swore he’d tear the visions from her mind himself. No matter what it took, he’d make sure she never had to suffer through them again.

But then the shadowsinger let out a bitter laugh, low and harsh. Who was he fooling?

What could he possibly do if, one day, Elain lost control of her powers completely? If no one—no High Lord, no healer, no warrior—could reach her… except her mate?

What if, in drawing her closer, in letting himself want her, he’d driven the final wedge between Elain and the only person who might be able to save her?

What if he was the cause of her ruin?

Maybe Rhys had been right all along. Maybe this—this slow, aching distance—was the only mercy he could offer.

He didn’t need his high lord to tell him that there would be too much damage if he and Elain end up together. Beron would be furious to find out that his son’s mate chose the night court's spymaster. He would claim that he seduced Elain away and made it an excuse to initiate war. 

Maybe he should stay away from Elain.

Maybe this was what it meant to protect her.

After all, that's all he's good for—loving females that he couldn't have, pining and watching over them for years. He’d done it with Mor for five hundred years. What was another five hundred spent aching for Elain?

It would break him—shatter him—to one day watch her fall for Lucien. To see her smile the way she did in his dreams, but for someone else. To watch her finally accept the bond… and know it was never meant to be him.

He smiled sadly at the thought, his shadows curling around him in an attempt to cheer up their master. After brooding in silence, Azriel pushed off the wall, jaw tight with purpose.  

He’d go to Madja after training. He’d have her prepare the tonic—something strong enough to suppress the visions, to ease her mind into rest especially at night. She needed sleep. She needed peace. She didn’t need him standing in front of her useless while the visions consumed her one day.

The shadowsinger glanced at the time—nearly training hour. With a low groan, he shoved down the storm in his chest, stepped out of his room, and made his way up the stairs toward the training ring.

By the time he reached the training ring, the others were already gathered. Shadows curled tighter around him than usual, feeding on his turmoil. He didn’t offer a greeting.

He didn’t say anything. 

Not to Cassian who looked at him funny.

Not to Nesta who narrowed her eyes, assessing him like a hawk. 

Not to Gwyn when she raised an eyebrow at him in silent greeting.

His shadows didn’t even slink from his shoulders—they hovered close and tight, as if sensing the war inside him.

He was grateful enough that no one dared to say a word to him right now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

That morning, Elain woke later than usual. For once, her sleep had been long, dreamless, and uninterrupted. Peaceful. It settled over her like a soft veil, and she let herself linger in the quiet warmth of her bed before finally rising.

The morning sun filtered gently through the windows of the House of Wind as Elain made her way to the training ring, her steps soft against the stone floor. The scent of mountain air and the distant clash of blades greeted her before she stepped outside. The ring was already alive with motion—Nesta, Gwyn, Emerie, and others were mid-session, sparring. Azriel stood right there–shirtless–shadows curling somehow furiously around his shoulders as he stood beside Cassian, watching the valkyries spar.

Elain paused at the edge, her hands clasped in front of her, before finding her usual spot on the sun-warmed rock. She sat, watching them, but something felt... off. Her gaze flickered to Nesta, and for a moment, faint tendrils of silver danced around her. No, it was not her flames. It was the energy of it. Aura, perhaps. Her eyes seemed to pick up strange flickers—subtle trails of light swirling faintly around objects, and even people. Like how she saw things back when she was in her glowing form, outside her body. It wasn’t overwhelming, just enough to make her blink and question whether her sight was playing tricks on her.

But when Nesta noticed her gaze, her greetings pulled her back to the present.

“Elain,” Nesta called, lowering her blade as she approached her. “You slept well?”

Elain nodded with a soft smile. “Yes. Better than I have in a while.”

Nesta grinned, nudging her with an elbow. “See? Maybe staying under the same roof as me is exactly what you need.”

Elain laughed. “Well, of course. Knowing my dear sister is just a few doors away, ready to leap into action and abandon her late-night lovefest to rescue me? Utterly comforting.”

Nesta snorted. “Did you snoop on us?”

Elain flushed, waving her hands. “No! I was just heading to the kitchen for a drink and—you were too loud. Honestly, it’s impressive.”

Cassian who just arrived at the spot burst out laughing from behind Nesta.

Azriel had just wandered close enough to hear the exchange, and said dryly, “I’ve told them a million times already that the entire house can hear them.”

Elain chuckled, and the sound seemed to unravel something in the shadowsinger. His shoulders eased, the tense line of his spine loosening, and the shadows that had been writhing restlessly around him now swirled in gentle waves. But she didn’t miss the way the others reacted.

Nesta’s eyes widened slightly, while Cassian’s mouth fell open, his nostrils flaring as if he’d just witnessed something unthinkable. The couple exchanged glances, their gazes flicking between Elain and Azriel as though trying to piece together how the brooding male’s mood had shifted so drastically.

But neither of them dared to say a word.

Elain chose to ignore it. With a playful glint in her eyes, she stepped closer to Azriel, rising onto her toes to cup a hand around his ear. Her voice was soft, teasing. “Did the earplugs I gave you help?”

Azriel went rigid, the tips of his ears turning scarlet as her breath brushed his skin. “Y-yes,” he stammered. “It’s very helpful.”

Elain clasped her hands together with a satisfied smile. “That's good. I’m glad.”

Nesta and Cassian exchanged stunned, disbelieving glances, as if they couldn't quite trust what they were seeing.

“What the hell are you two talking about?” Cassian asked, narrowing his eyes.

Azriel and Elain shrugged in unison, both feigning wide-eyed innocence.

Cassian snorted.

After a few moments of silence, Azriel stepped closer, his brows drawing together with quiet concern. “Did you have any visions?”

She shook her head. “No.”

There was a pause—subtle, but lingering. He tilted his head, voice quieter now. “Was there anything... troubling you last night?”

Elain’s heart skipped, but her face remained smooth. “No,” she lied smoothly.

Because he didn’t know. His shadows hadn’t told him what had happened. That they’d carried her weightless into the sky. Danced with her in starlight. Guide her home. Helped her return back inside her body.

It seemed they had chosen not to tell their master yet.

Elain let out a soft laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. Her gaze met Gwyn’s just long enough to be polite, then drifted back to the shadowsinger—only to find his expression flickering with mild annoyance, his eyes briefly cutting to Gwyn.

Elain shook her head. “No, thank you,” she said gently. “I’ll just watch from here.”

“El would rather bake me ten apple pies than pick up a sword,” Cassian teased, slinging his blade over his shoulder.

Elain stifled a giggle. “You’re not wrong. I’ll bake as many pies as you want—just keep those swords far away from me.”

Cassian clapped his hands together, voice loud and mischievous. “Alright, back to training! Let’s impress our lovely guest today—I’ve got pies to earn!”

Laughter rippled through the group as they returned to their places. All except one.

The shadowsinger remained where he stood, his dark gaze fixed on Elain, shadows coiling gently around his shoulders.

Azriel took a few steps closer, stopping just short of the rock she sat on. “Did you really sleep well last night?”

Elain raised a brow. “Yes. Is that so hard to believe?”

He gave a half shrug. “Just…making sure.”

Her eyes flicked to the shadows drifting around him—restless, as if echoing something unspoken.

Az followed her gaze. A moment passed before he asked quietly, “Did my shadows come to your room last night?”

Elain stilled. Her hands twisted slightly in her lap, betraying her effort to remain composed. “No, I don’t think so… I didn’t notice anything.”

He didn’t answer right away. His brow furrowed, as if sensing something off in her tone. Like he was listening beyond her words.

“You’re sure?” he asked, his voice softer now. Searching.

Elain held his gaze for a heartbeat too long, her throat tight. “Yes,” she said eventually. “I’m sure.”

But she wasn’t. Not entirely. And judging by the flicker in Azriel’s eyes…neither was he.

“I’m fine,” she replied, the truth a quiet hum behind her words. Let him believe it.

He didn’t say what he clearly wanted to. She saw the thought cross his eyes before he swallowed it. 

She watched him stare at the ground, shadows shifting faintly at his shoulders. When he finally looked up to meet her gaze, his jaw tightened—just barely—before he turned away and quietly rejoined the others.

Elain exhaled a breath she didn't realize she was holding and settled back on the rock as she watched them reassemble in the training ring, blades flashing continue lingering in the air.

Elain turned her gaze elsewhere, purposefully avoiding the direction of one Illyrian male in particular.

But it didn’t help.

Every time her eyes dared stray to him, she found Azriel shirtless and gleaming with sweat, shadows coiling at his feet as he moved like a dark flame. Her mind betrayed her—remembering too clearly the image of him in his bed last night, vulnerable and unguarded, hands buried under sheets. The way his head had tilted back, his breath ragged. 

Since returning to her body, nothing had felt the same. She felt off, as if she were seeing herself through the wrong lens, hearing sounds a second too late. Even the sun felt too bright. The ground too loud. 

The edges of her soul still felt frayed, as if part of her hadn’t quite returned from last night. Her limbs were grounded, but her mind drifted, tugged by invisible threads.

Azriel stood at the edge of the ring, dark hair tousled by the wind. He was fixing someone’s blade swinging and he may or may not steal a glance at her a few times. But then, his eyes flicked toward her.

She quickly looked away.

He turned just as fast—but not fast enough. His jaw tightened. His wings shifted. Restless.

After training wrapped, Nesta crossed back to her, wiping her brow. “Are you heading back to the Town House?”

Elain nodded thoughtfully. “I probably should.”

Nesta smirked. “How about one more night here?”

Elain rolled her eyes softly. “Fine.”

“Come on, then,” Nesta said, looping her arm through Cassian’s as they headed inside.

“I’ll be there in a minute,” Elain called after her.

As the others moved toward the house, Elain turned on her heel and made her way toward Gwyn.

She could feel it—Azriel’s stare following her, quiet and intense. She didn’t need to look to know. He was probably wondering why she was walking towards Gwyn,  wondering what she’s up to. 

As Elain stopped right beside the redheaded priestess, who was deep in conversation with a few other Valkyries—likely her fellow priestesses—she hesitated. The training ring buzzed around her with the clang of blades and the bark of Cassian’s orders, but this small pocket of space felt separate, quieter.

She lingered for a breath too long before clearing her throat softly.

Gwyn turned, brows lifting, and tilted her head in that curious, warm way that made Elain feel suddenly exposed. As if the priestess could see right through her, could unravel the knots she tried so hard to keep tied tight.

“Elain?” Gwyn asked, voice mild but surprised.

Elain’s gaze flicked to the sky—Azriel was already a dark speck in the distance, wings stretching wide as he soared beyond the House. The tension in her chest eased, just barely.

She turned her attention back to Gwyn. “Can I—ask you something?” 

“Of course.” Gwyn stepped away from her friends with an easy smile, hands resting lightly on her hips. “About what?”

Elain’s fingers brushed the edge of her tunic, eyes briefly darting to the ground before meeting the priestess’ eyes. “I… had a vision, with you in it.” She hesitated. “I want to talk to you about it.”

Gwyn straightened slightly, her smile fading into something more attentive. “What did you see?”

“You were at a temple. With others—priestesses.  At dawn, I think. . You were performing… something. A movement. Repeating it slowly, over and over.” Her brows knitted faintly. “It felt… ancient.”

Gwyn blinked, then offered a small, knowing smile. “We do that every morning back at Sangravah. It’s an old ritual—more of a moving meditation than a prayer. A way to wake the body and center the mind. It helps us feel… lighter. Freer. Like we’re not dragging yesterday’s weight into today.”

She studied Elain carefully, her teal eyes perceptive in a way that made Elain subtly shift her stance. “Why do you ask?”

Elain hesitated, eyes briefly darting toward the training ring before settling back on Gwyn. “I thought… maybe it could help me,” she said quietly. “When I get pulled into my visions, I lose sense of everything. I thought that vision was given to me for a reason. Maybe if I learned to anchor myself, I might be able to control them. That’s what… Azriel and I have been trying to figure it out.”

A faint crease appeared between Gwyn’s brows. “Did something happen last night?”

Elain shook her head. “No, really. Why do you ask?” she added, brows furrowing. She understood Azriel’s concern—his shadows had acted strangely enough to draw him to her door—but Nesta had looked at her with the same quiet alarm this morning. And now Gwyn too?

Gwyn shrugged one shoulder. “Azriel seemed off this morning. He looked angry and restless. If I had to guess, I’d say it has something to do with you.”

Elain’s eyes widened, color rising to her cheeks. “And what does that have anything to do with me?”

Gwyn raised a brow, a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “You tell me. You stayed the night here and he’s the one helping you with your visions.”

Elain sighed, her gaze dropping to the patch of grass between them. “I’m fine. Maybe he’s just… tired.”

Gwyn let out a soft huff of amusement. “Azriel always looks tired. But this morning? He was kinda terrifying. None of us dared to even greet him. His shadows were all over the place—tense. Swarming.”

Elain crossed her arms, hugging herself. “Why don’t you ask him what’s wrong, then?”

Gwyn let out a light laugh, though there was a flicker of curiosity behind it. “Me?” She tilted her head. “I’m not the one who can ask him questions like that without getting a death stare—and a cold one-word answer.”

Elain shook her head and cleared her throat, the words stiff on her tongue. “Let’s not talk about him or any other person. So, back to the ritual. Would you… mind showing me how you do it?”

Gwyn blinked in surprise. “The morning ritual?”

Elain gave a tight nod. “Just… the movements. If there's anything you chant while doing them, I’d like to hear that too.”

A smile flickered across Gwyn’s face—gentler this time, less teasing. “Of course.” She took a step back and motioned Elain to give her space. “It’s simple, really. We do it slowly. It’s about presence more than precision.”

She moved with graceful fluidity—arms lifting in a controlled arc as she inhaled, then drawing them in, hands pressed at her chest as she exhaled. A sweep of her leg, a bow of her spine, a circle of her arms above her head like she was gathering something unseen. Elain watched, still and silent, absorbing every motion.

Gwyn shifted her weight slowly to one foot, the other gliding behind her as her arms unfurled wide—like wings opening to the wind. She breathed deep, spine elongating, chin tilting up as if greeting the sky itself. Then, with a slow, grounded turn, she brought her hands down in a flowing wave, fingers brushing air with reverence, like blessing the space around her.

Each movement was a tether to the present—anchored in breath and body, yet somehow freeing. When Gwyn knelt, palms touching the earth before rising again with a deep inhale, it felt like a quiet prayer. Like the earth was lending her strength with every touch, the sky accepting every release.

By the time she drew to stillness, her hands once again at her heart, her breath even and calm, Elain realized she had been holding her own breath—entranced, and perhaps… soothed.

“There’s no formal chant,” Gwyn added quietly as she flowed into the next pose. “But sometimes we hum. Or whisper to ourselves what we want to release. Or what we hope to receive.”

The redhead slowed to a stop, then straightened. “It helps us feel grounded.”

“You think… it could help me with my visions?” she asked.

Gwyn nodded. “Maybe.” Then it looked like an idea popped inside her mind. “By the way, we Valkyries have something we call mind-stilling. It’s how we stay calm in chaos. How we take control of our own thoughts so they don’t take control of us.”

Elain looked down, murmuring, “Sometimes it feels like my mind doesn’t belong to me at all. Like I’m just… yanked out of myself.”

“Then maybe mind-stilling could help,” Gwyn said gently. “And if it doesn’t, at least it’ll help you find your ground again.”

Elain swallowed hard. she wondered. Could it help her stay rooted when her spirit slipped free? Could it anchor her when the visions pulled too hard?

But maybe, just maybe, she could try—if it meant regaining even a sliver of control.

A thoughtful silence stretched between them before Gwyn added. “The technique isn’t magic—it’s discipline. But it can make a difference. It helps you stay present. Helps you not get swept away by your thoughts. Or your fears.”

Elain hesitated, then reached out to lightly touch the priestess’s hand, smiling appreciatively at her.

“Thank you,” Elain murmured, her fingers brushing over Gwyn’s knuckles.

But the moment her skin met Gwyn’s, the world tilted.

Gwyn’s face blurred. The warmth of sunlight flickered, dimmed.

And Elain was no longer standing in the ring.

No, she was…inside the library. 

It wasn’t Gwyn in front of her anymore.

It was Azriel—his scarred fingers brushing over something as he stood in front of Clotho’s desk. The high priestess assessed him. 

His fingers were brushing against…a necklace. The necklace he gifted her last solstice. Her necklace. The golden chain unmistakably glinting under the lights. Then he put the necklace back into its box before releasing a heavy breath and slid it across Clotho’s desk.

“If you see Gwyn, would you give this to her?” Azriel asked, voice low, face carefully blank.

Elain froze, her breath catching in her throat as she stared at the object in his hand. He was giving it to Gwyn? After she had returned it to him because he pulled away from the kiss? A sharp pang bloomed in her chest.

How dare he-

The vision shifted again, like a film skipping forward—colors bleeding together, sound warping at the edges of silence.

Then it sharpened.

Azriel stood in the moonlight.

He was smiling—softly, like the rare kind of smile Elain had only seen once or twice in passing. Not the polite one. Not the warrior’s mask. But something… unguarded.

And he was looking at Gwyn.

She stood in front of him in a simple, flowing white dress, her copper hair loose and shimmering in the moonlight. Her bare feet were half-buried in soft moss, and she was laughing at something—light and genuine and utterly unburdened.

Azriel was still.

Still in a way that made Elain’s heart stutter in her chest.

He reached out slowly, reverently, his scarred fingers brushing a strand of Gwyn’s hair behind her ear. His hand lingered on her cheek, cradling her face like she was made of something fragile and divine.

And Gwyn…

She leaned into the touch, smiling up at him like he hung the stars just for her.

Azriel’s wings curved slightly behind him, shadows curling softly at his feet—but not frenzied, not wild. They were calm. Settled.

Eyes full of wonder, lips parted slightly in awe, like he couldn’t believe she was real.

He looked bewitched.

And in that stillness, in that aching silence—Elain could feel it.

Something unnatural humming beneath the surface.

Like a thread of magic twining between them.

And yet, Azriel didn’t seem to notice.

He looked at Gwyn as if she were the answer to a question he hadn’t known he’d been asking his whole life—like he’d finally found what he’d been searching for in all his years of darkness.

And Elain—

Elain felt her heart fracture.

Because threads between a male and a female only ever meant one thing.

Mates.

The shards of her heart seemed to sink, heavy and cold, dragging her down into a quiet, aching abyss.

Then, through the suffocating stillness, a voice called to her—low and distant, muffled as if carried through water.

Then again, louder. More urgent.

“Elain—Elain!”

Gwyn’s voice. Panicked.

Elain’s body jolted as if yanked by invisible strings. Her breath caught, her chest heaving once, twice. Her limbs felt heavy, like she’d sunk deep into the earth and only now clawed her way out.

She blinked.

The sunlight had shifted. The wind whispered across the training ring. And Gwyn’s face—frightened—filled her view.

“Elain,” Gwyn whispered, her hands gripping Elain’s shoulders, shaking her gently. “Please. Say something—”

Elain’s lips parted.

“I—I’m here,” she rasped, voice raw like she hadn’t spoken in years. “I’m—”

She stared straight at the wide teal eyes, the last image of Azriel touching Gwyn’s face still seared into her vision like an afterimage from staring too long at the sun.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, dazed.

But she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for.

For scaring Gwyn?

For seeing something she wasn’t meant to?

For the ache splintering through her chest?

Gwyn exhaled shakily, pulling back only a fraction. “It was like you… vanished,” she said hoarsely. “Your body was here, but your eyes—Elain, you were gone.”

Elain clutched her knees to her chest, her whole body trembling.

And in the distance, she swore she could still hear Azriel’s laugh—not the real one. The one from her vision.

The one meant for someone else.

She turned before Gwyn could say more, before that bright concern in her teal eyes could pierce any deeper.

She forced herself to look at the priestess—but not at her hand. Not at her face. Not at her neck.

She didn’t dare to see if Gwyn had in fact received the necklace from Clotho. She wondered if Azriel and Gwyn had bonded since then. 

She felt her eyes grew hotter. She closed her eyes but few tears fell down her cheeks. Then her shoulders trembled as she sobbed. 

Gwyn was already gripping her shoulders, concern knitting her brow. “Elain? Should I call-”

Elain shook her head. “I just need to go back to my room.”

She turned and left before Gwyn could say another word.

But even as she walked away, she could feel it pressing down on her chest—the weight of that vision. The look on Azriel’s face. The warmth in Gwyn’s smile.

And then came the painful, terrible thought—
Maybe Azriel had already chosen Gwyn over her.

Or maybe he hadn’t.

But did it matter?

Azriel and Gwyn were mates. 

A thread exists between them.

A mating bond.

Just like the one she unfortunately had with Lucien.

The bond hadn’t snapped into place between them yet—but it would. Sooner or later.
And when it did, there would be nothing Elain could do. No words to change fate, no plea to unmake what the Cauldron or the Mother had decided.

Gwyn is his mate. 

A priestess who had faced such horrors and assault, survived it. Who rose from the ashes of her pain and now stood tall, unyielding. Now a reborn valkyrie. Of course someone like that would be Azriel’s mate.

She would have his love. His heart. His compassion. His undying loyalty.  His gentleness. His kindness. His everything.

He would give his everything for her. Just as Rhys and Cassian would give everything to her sisters—their mates.

And Elain… Elain would be left to watch it all unfold—while she continued to keep her distance from the male fate had chosen for her, and quietly unraveled in solitude.

In that moment, loneliness wrapped around her like a shroud, heavier than it had ever been.
Her heart stilled—as if it simply couldn’t bear to beat in a world where the only male it longed for belonged to someone else.

Chapter Text

Azriel waited in silence as Madja worked at her table, her hands moving with steady precision as she crushed herbs and measured tinctures. The room smelled of earth and roots, calming in a way that tugged at something frayed inside him.

He’d come to Madja because Elain needed something—anything—that could help her sleep through the night, free from the torment of visions. Whatever had happened the night before, whatever his shadows had tried to show him —the way they had circled her sleeping form with an almost anxious restlessness—told him enough. Even if she had appeared peaceful in sleep, something wasn’t right.

Maybe she hadn’t been sleeping at all.

Maybe she had lied when she said she didn’t have a vision.

But why hadn’t she told him?

Azriel had seen her at the training ring that morning. Seen the way she moved—unsteady, distracted. How her brows stayed furrowed, a constant crease of confusion and wariness etched between them. How she kept rubbing her forehead, like she was trying to scrub something from her mind. How she had shaken her head more than once, as if denying something only she could see.

If she had seen something yesterday—something that disturbed her—why wouldn’t she share it with him?

But that was a concern for another time. Right now, his only focus was helping Elain find rest and peace at night.

He had explained to Madja about Elain’s visions, how they don’t come just when she’s awake like before but clawed into her sleep too, disturbing her sleep. And then he told her about their discovery at the library, about how seers of old had used herbs to summon visions and maybe there was something to quiet them too. To hush the storm in Elain’s mind, just for the night.

“There is such herb,” Madja had said. “Rare. Used not only by seers, but by those whose minds had been invaded—by daemati, by cruel magic, by grief so loud it echoes through dreams. It doesn’t erase the gift. Just… allows the mind to rest.”

“She doesn’t want to lose her visions,” Azriel had said quickly. “And neither does Rhys. We just want to prevent her from getting visions at the wrong times, especially when she sleeps.”

Madja gave a thoughtful nod. “One vial, then. We’ll see how she responds. If it works, it may allow her to receive visions only when her mind is truly awake—when she’s ready.”

So Azriel had agreed. And now he stood in the quiet of Madja’s apothecary, arms crossed, watching the old healer work as his thoughts drifted to Elain again.

The clink of glass and the shift of Madja’s voice brought him back.

“It’s quite a sedative,” she said, holding up a small vial of amber liquid. “Her mind should shut down the moment she drinks it. Hopefully, it gives her the rest she needs.”

Azriel nodded slowly, accepting the vial in his gloved hand. “I hope so,” he murmured. “Elain has suffered enough.”

Madja looked at him for a beat too long, her weathered eyes seeming to see right through him. Then her lips twitched, just barely.

Azriel narrowed his eyes. “What?”

She shook her head with a faint smile. “Nothing. I remembered the last time when Elain came to me. When she asked if I could make something to help with your headaches.”

Azriel let out a small, warm breath—almost a laugh, almost a sigh. “It was very thoughtful of her,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.

“Did the headache powder help? Do you want me to make more?” Madja asked.

Azriel’s lips pressed into a thin line. “No. I don’t need it anymore. I’m fine.”

A lie. He hadn’t used it—not even once. But he didn’t tell Madja that just looking at the vial, thinking of the one who had given it to him, had been enough to quiet the ache in his head—and the heaviness in his chest.

Madja nodded before adding, “She said she’d noticed you rubbing your temples all the time. Said you wouldn’t ask for it yourself. So she thought that maybe a headache powder would be a good enough solstice present for you.”

A quiet hum settled between them, the weight of the memory washing over him.

He hadn’t expected the gift. A small glass bottle of powder. He’d stared at it like it was something foreign. Not because it was strange, but because no one had ever thought to give him something like that. Something he actually needed. Everyone around him gave him flashy daggers, new leathers, any weapons—things befitting the spymaster, the warrior. Things they assumed he would want because they never looked beyond the surface.

But Elain had.

She had seen the way he rubbed his temples when the pain spiked—how he went quiet, how his shadows curled tighter around him. She had seen him, really seen him, and instead of looking away, she’d done something about it.

It had meant more than she could have known.

Because no one—not even his family—had ever bothered to look at him close enough. Not in that way. They’d all seen it, perhaps, but they’d never reached out. Not like she had. Elain hadn't just noticed his pain—she’d cared enough to ease it.

That moment had changed everything.

He began to see her more closely after that. The thoughtfulness behind her gentle silence. The strength stitched into her quiet presence. The beauty in the way she moved through the world, soft but unwavering.

Elain, with her garden-dirt hands and bright, luminous soul. Sweet and sharp. Gentle and strong.

It was as if something in him had shifted. As if a veil had been lifted from his eyes—his mind, his heart. He began to notice her more: the way her laughter made the air feel lighter, the way she leaned in when she spoke, as if she were always offering a piece of herself. He had slowly—quietly—let go of the ache he’d once carried for Mor.

There had been a time when he looked at Mor with yearning. But now… now his eyes found Elain.

He didn’t even glance at Mor the way he used to. Just a friend, nothing more.

Because something deeper had taken root.

He began to crave Elain. To seek her out with nothing more than an excuse. A passing word, a look shared across the room. He relished every touch—every accidental brush of fingers, every moment she stood too close. Even her silence felt meaningful.

And soon, just sitting beside her had become dangerous. Too much. Too close to something he feared wanting too deeply.

Because wanting her—loving her—meant risking everything.

She was worth the risk. Gods, she always had been.

Even when logic begged him to pull back.
Even when the world around them whispered that she belonged to someone else.
Even when every step toward her felt like stepping closer to the edge.

But then—

The dream returned. That cursed, gutting dream.

Elain, broken. Crying. Screaming in agony.

It hadn’t been a vision, he was no seer. But it must've been a sign, mixed with his own fear, his own doubt, twisting everything he wanted into a cruel warning.

If he dared to be with her—

If he dared to be selfish for once—

He wouldn’t be her salvation. He’d be her ruination.

The breath left him in one heavy exhale.
Azriel’s shoulders sagged, every inch of him weighed down by the war inside his chest.
Wanting her. Needing her. Fearing what it would cost.

He was pulled back from his pitiful thoughts by Madja’s light tone. “And now you come to me, asking to make a vial for her too,” Madja said with a small smile. Then she added, “It’s a very sweet thing—to care for each other like that.”

Azriel felt heat rise to his cheeks. He quickly looked away and muttered, “It’s my job. I was asked to… help Elain with her visions. It involves her wellbeing.”

Madja tilted her head. “So you’re only doing this because it’s your duty?”

Azriel let out a slow sigh. “Of course I care for her. She’s—she’s family.”

“Family, or something more?”

Azriel barely suppressed a groan. “What are you implying?”

“Do you remember the day we found out she’s a seer? You were the one who figured it out,” Madja said quietly. “If Lucien Vanserra wasn’t her mate, I would’ve thought you were.”

Azriel stiffened at the mention of the red-haired fae.

“I may not know you deeply,” Madja went on, “but I’ve seen enough over the years. You don’t go this far for anyone unless it means something. The last time you did... it was Mor. And I remember that day. You brought her to me—broken, assaulted—and I saw the fury in you.” She shook her head. “You would’ve burned the world down for her.”

Azriel swallowed hard, wanting to disappear into the shadows. Madja had seen right through him then. And now, maybe, again.

Seeing Azriel struck silent, Madja offered a knowing smile and added, “Call it the instincts of an old female, but I can’t help feeling there’s more between you two than you let on. You and Elain, I mean. It seems as if both of you are always trying to heal the other.”

Madja placed the vial gently into Azriel’s palm. “Same as your headache powder—just tell her to mix it into any drink. Take it right before sleep.”

Azriel nodded, his fingers curling around the vial. “Thank you, Madja.”

She inclined her head. “For what it’s worth, I hope this helps her finally get some rest.”

With one last nod, Azriel turned and took to the skies.

But he didn’t land atop the training ring as he normally would. Instead, he touched down near the library entrance at the lowest level of the House of Wind. He chose to take the stairs up—hoping the slow climb would calm his nerves, give him time to collect his thoughts, to rehearse the words he needed to say to Elain in his mind.

But before he could ascend the first step, a familiar voice called out behind him.

“Azriel!”

It was Gwyn.

“Yes?” He turned to face her.

“I talked to Elain a few hours ago, and then something happened—”

A sharp ring echoed in Azriel’s head. His voice came out low and cold. “What happened to her?”

Gwyn swallowed hard. “She looked like she was having a vision. It started when she touched my hands.”

“Why would she touch your hands?” The question sounded absurd, even to him—but he needed every detail.

“She was thanking me—for helping her.” 

“What did you help her with?”

Gwyn’s brows drew together in irritation. “Maybe if you didn’t keep cutting me off, I could explain.”

Azriel clenched his fists, forcing himself to stay calm. “Just tell me if she’s all right. The details can wait.”

“I asked if she was okay, but she brushed me off. Said she needed to go to her room.” Gwyn paused. “I think she’s still there. She looked like she needed space… maybe to process whatever she saw.”

Azriel nodded slowly, tension still coiled in his shoulders. “What exactly did she talk to you about?”

“She said it was a vision she had yesterday,” Gwyn explained. “She saw me and the other priestesses in it—back at Sangravah, doing our morning ritual. She thought maybe the vision meant something, like she was supposed to learn the movements. She asked if I could show her, in case it could help her control her visions or something like that.”

Azriel’s brows pulled together. He’d asked Elain just yesterday if she’d had any new visions—and she’d lied. Why? Why hadn’t she told him? Did she not trust him?

“Anyway,” Gwyn added gently, “she looked really shaken afterward. Startled and… disturbed. You should check on her.”

Azriel gave a silent nod, then turned and began climbing the stairs—each step heavier than the last—as he made his way to Elain’s room.

~~~~~~~

Elain leaned against the bedpost, her body heavy with exhaustion, her mind still reeling from the vision she’d seen hours ago. Her tears had long since dried, leaving her eyes sore and puffy. She didn’t bother looking in the mirror—she didn’t need to. She already knew her face would reflect the hollow ache inside her.

She had been curled up in her room for hours, lost in her thoughts. She couldn’t think about anything else. Not when the only male she had ever truly—

A firm knock interrupted her thoughts.

Probably Nesta, asking her to join for lunch.

“I’m not hungry,” she called out, voice hoarse. “I’ll come down for dinner.”

Silence followed.

Then, “It’s… Azriel. I want to talk to you, Elain. If you’re free to talk, that is.”

Her breath caught. Her heartbeat quickened.

Azriel?

What did he want? Was he here to ask again about her visions? About whether she’d slept last night? She wouldn’t blame him—his shadows had been restless, erratic. They had acted out of control, leading him to her room. Of course he’d be trying to piece things together.

But she wasn’t in the mood to indulge his questions.

Not after what she’d seen. Not after the bitter truth the vision had offered: Azriel wasn’t hers. He was Gwyn’s when he was supposed to be with her.

She shook her head. She had no right to feel that way. Azriel had never been hers to begin with.

By the Mother, she wanted him to be.

But it’s all a cruel joke.

She was still Lucien’s mate. Even if she didn't accept the fact. Nothing can be done to change it. No matter how much she wished things were different.

A frustrated sigh escaped her. She didn’t bother fixing her hair or straightening her wrinkled dress as she crossed the room and opened the door.

There he stood—Azriel. The glorious shadowsinger.

His wings were tucked neatly behind him, his hands clasped at his back. His gaze swept over her, narrowing slightly as it took in her disheveled state—her sullen face, the puffiness around her eyes, the red at the tip of her nose.

“Elain… were you crying?” Concern laced his tone.

“What do you think?”

The words escaped before she could stop them. Sharp. Unfiltered. Elain blinked, regretting them instantly. That was rude. But she wasn’t in the mood for conversation—least of all with him.

“I met Gwyn earlier,” Azriel began, his tone measured. 

At the name, Elain’s eyes fluttered shut. A sharp ringing filled her ears as irritation bloomed like a sudden flame in her chest. So they had been spending time together—just now, apparently. Perfect. Exactly what she needed after the revelation that they were mates .

Had they been growing closer all this time? Maybe their bond would snap into place even faster than Nesta and Cassian’s had. Good for them. Let everyone find their happy ending with their fated mates while she stood by, smiling while watching them, pretending she wasn’t unraveling inside.

Azriel must’ve sensed her shift. He stepped closer, concern etched into his features as he softly said her name.

“Elain—”

“I’m fine,” she interrupted, forcing a small breath through her nose. “Sorry… I was just sleeping and I’m a bit disoriented. Could you repeat what you said?”

 Azriel nodded slowly, his tone even. “She told me you had a vision when you touched her. What did you see?”

Elain shook her head, eyes dropping to the floor. “Nothing important.”

Azriel let out a sharp scoff. He stepped forward—and again—until he was nearly inside her room.

Elain’s brows drew together as she pressed a hand to his chest, halting him. “What are you doing?”

He looked down at her, shadows flickering into existence around him—dark and agitated, as if echoing his mood. “You’re keeping secrets from me.”

Her brow arched. “The vision’s not your concern. Just one of those strange ones again. If it had anything to do with Koschei, I’d tell you.”

“I don’t care if it’s strange—I want to know. Whatever it was, it shook you.”

Her heart skipped. “How would you know that?”

“Gwyn told me. She said you looked shaken after it happened. That won’t happen unless it means something.”

“It does mean something,” Elain said, her voice tight. “To me. Not to you. Not to anyone else.”

A lie.

The vision meant everything to Azriel. He was the only one among his brothers still un-mated, likely waiting all his five centuries of existence for the one the Cauldron chose for him. And now… she was keeping it from him. As if keeping the truth from him could somehow stop fate from running its course. As if it might delay whatever bond was forming between him and Gwyn.

Gods. How selfish could she be?

Azriel frowned, his voice low. “That doesn’t make sense.”

Elain shook her head from her thoughts. “What doesn’t?”

 “What matters to you matters to me .” His voice was firm, steady. “To us.”

She looked away. “It’s personal, Azriel. I can’t share it.”

Wonderful. She’d practically just told him that the revelation of him and Gwyn being mates was a personal matter to her . When it's none of her business. If anything, it's his right to know. His and Gwyn’s. But it didn’t matter. He didn’t know what she saw. Gwyn didn’t know either. No one would know what she chose to keep to herself.

Azriel groaned, low and frustrated. “You’re making me curious as fuck , Elain.”

Before she could reply, his arm moved—and instinctively, she braced herself, eyes fluttering shut, expecting the heat of his hand to land on her cheek or neck.

But instead… she heard the door click shut behind her.

Elain’s eyes snapped open, just in time to catch his hand still on the knob. Then she turned back toward him—and gasped.

His face hovered mere inches from hers, his hazel eyes locked onto hers—intense, searching, as if trying to uncover every secret she was desperate to hide.

Her breath caught as he leaned in, and once again, her eyes fluttered closed. A soft exhale ghosted against her ear, and she trembled.

“I know you like keeping secrets,” Azriel murmured, his voice like velvet edged with steel—quiet, but devastating. “But I wish you wouldn’t keep them from me . I want there to be no secrets between us.”

She didn’t dare open her eyes.

“Don’t you want to know what else I want?” he whispered.

“What else do you want?” she breathed, barely audible.

“I want to know everything about you,” he said, the words sinking deep beneath her skin. “Your visions. Your thoughts. Your fears. And your…” His fingers brushed her neck, settling over the fluttering pulse there, tracing it gently. “ …desire .” He whispered against her ear, and a shiver escaped her lips—soft, whiny, and far too close to a moan.

Then—

Thump.

His fist landed against the wall beside her head, the sound echoing like thunder in the small space. Elain flinched, not from fear—but from the jolt of want it sent through her.

And then came his laugh—low and rough.

“Sorry,” he said, breathless in her ear. “It’s just… the way you sounded? It’s driving me insane.”

“Well I-” Elain stopped her words as she heard a voice echoing down the hall.

“Elain?” Nesta called, her rushed footsteps drawing nearer.

In an instant, shadows swallowed them whole. Elain’s breath caught as the world dimmed, Azriel’s magic cloaking them in silence and shadow. She could feel his body, solid and close, hidden beside hers as Nesta stopped just beyond the door.

“I heard a loud thump from your room. Are you okay?”

Silence. Elain didn’t dare move.

Another knock. “You’re probably asleep,” Nesta muttered. “Always been a heavy sleeper.”

A pause. Then, quieter, to herself. “She probably knocked something over.”

Her footsteps retreated.

Only when Azriel’s shadows confirmed Nesta had gone did the darkness slip away. The hallway brightened again, and Elain found herself still pressed close to him, the door behind her, the shadowsinger in front of her—unmoving, unreadable.

She finally summoned the will to step away, even as part of her ached to stay exactly where she was. She placed distance between them, wrapping her arms around herself like armor.

“I’m sure you have more pressing matters than standing here trying to guess what I saw,” she said, her voice cool, controlled. “My answer is still the same. I’m not telling you what I saw when I touched Gwyn.”

Azriel didn’t respond right away. Then, quietly, “What about the vision before that? The one that made you seek Gwyn out in the first place?”

Elain hesitated. “That one… came to me right before I climbed the stairs. It was nearly seven. I heard the priestesses beginning their dusk service, and I—I just felt drawn to it. Somehow, I knew the path. I ended up at the cavern underground where they perform the services.”

She looked down at her hands, fingers twisting together. “That’s when I saw Gwyn in a vision. She was performing the morning rites. I know it’s random. But I know it means something important. That’s why I went to her. I needed to ask.”

Azriel’s voice was low. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I can handle it myself.”

“I know you can,” he said gently. “That’s not the point. I just wanted to be included.”

“I didn’t want to burden you,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “Especially when it’s something I thought I could manage alone. I would’ve told you eventually.”

A pause.

Azriel stepped forward—not too close this time—but enough that she felt the weight of his presence again.

“You’re not a burden, Elain. Not to me.”

She then saw him reach behind his back and pull something out—a small vial, which he now held in his open palm between them.

She blinked. “What’s that?”

“I stopped by Madja’s after training this morning,” he said, voice low but steady. “I asked if she could make something to help… suppress the visions. Just while you sleep. In case they keep disturbing you.”

Elain stared at the vial. A pale liquid shimmered inside.

“Oh,” she breathed, caught off guard.

He continued, “Remember what we read yesterday? About the herbs some seers use to induce visions? I figured—maybe there are herbs that do the opposite. Just temporarily. And Madja confirmed there are.”

Damn him.

Damn him for being so thoughtful. So careful with her edges, even when she wanted to scream at the world.

Her chest tightened, and before she could stop herself, a smile broke through—small, but real.

She took the vial from his hand, her fingers brushing his before pulling it close to examine it.
“I appreciate it,” she said quietly. “Truly. But… will you still help me with my visions?”

Azriel paused. The shadows that had lingered around his shoulders seemed to still.
He didn’t meet her eyes when he finally said, “That doesn’t matter right now. What matters is that you try this—see if it helps you sleep.”

“I know that,” she replied gently, “but you didn’t answer my question.”
A beat. “Will you still help me?”

He exhaled, slow and conflicted. “I don’t know.”

The words landed like a crack in glass.

“What do you mean you don’t know?”

Azriel's jaw tensed, his eyes flickering toward the shadows shifting faintly at his back. “I just… I don’t think I’m the right person to guide you through them.”

“What?” she asked, voice rising slightly. “Everyone thinks you are. I think you are. What makes you believe you’re not the right person to help me?”

He looked like he might answer—but something in his expression closed off, and the moment passed.

Elain’s voice dropped, cool and sharp. “Maybe I’m not the only one with secrets.”

Azriel’s gaze snapped back to hers. “I’m not keeping secrets from you.”

“Then why ?” she pushed. “Why won’t you help me anymore? Why give me this vial? Is it really just to help me sleep? What if it’s to stop the visions altogether—so you don’t have to deal with them anymore? Don’t have to deal with me anymore?”

His eyes widened slightly, the accusation landing deeper than she intended. “Elain—no. That’s not what this is about.”

“Isn’t it?” Her voice trembled now, with something brittle beneath it. “Because it feels a lot like you’re trying to avoid me. Again .”

“I’m not trying to avoid you.”

“Liar,” she hissed, voice low and sharp. The word cut through the space between them, and Azriel flinched—just barely, but she saw it.

“You’ve been pulling away for longer than I care to admit,” she went on, her heart pounding wildly inside her chest. “We used to spend time together. I cherished those moments. You were my friend. I enjoyed your company—”

“I couldn’t be your friend,” he interrupted, his voice hoarse.

Her laugh was bitter and brief. “And whatever the hell that means.”

She winced at her tone immediately after, at how unfiltered the words sounded. Nesta would’ve said it just like that. She was snapping, biting—and she hated how familiar it felt, how much of herself she didn’t recognize in this moment.

Maybe it was the pressure of everything—the visions, the secrets, him —but stars, she wished she could rewind just five seconds and breathe instead of lash out.

Elain drew in a slow breath, steadying herself before she spoke. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I didn’t mean to lash out.”

Azriel shook his head, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t be. It’s not every day someone gets to witness Elain Archeron losing her composure. I should be honored to be on the receiving end.”

His tone was light, teasing—but his eyes, still fixed on her, were anything but.

You should be mad at me,” she whispered. “I lashed out for no reason. You’ve been nothing but kind, and I—” her voice broke.

Then she let out a breathless laugh. “Gods, now I feel like crying.”

As if her body responded to the word, a tear slipped down her cheek. Then another. And another. A choked sound escaped her—half a sob, half a laugh—as her emotions finally caught up to her.

Azriel’s breath caught when he saw her tears, but before he could take a step toward her, Elain lifted a hand, stopping him.

“Don’t worry,” she said, brushing at her cheeks. “It’s probably just the hormones. I think my cycle is coming.”

The words hung awkwardly in the air, and she winced internally. Did she really have to say that? But it was true—hormones always did a number on her. Azriel only nodded, jaw tight, hands curled into fists at his sides.

She wiped the last of her tears, then took a steadying breath. “Anyway. Back to what we were talking about—about you avoiding me.”

“Elain,” he said, shaking his head, his voice low and rough. “I’m not avoiding you.”

“Then why did you start after that Solstice night?” she asked softly.

Azriel’s brow furrowed, the tension in his jaw tightening. There was a flicker of something raw in his eyes—pleading, helplessness, like he was trying to will her to understand. That avoiding her had been the last thing he’d wanted to do.

Elain stepped closer, her chin lifting to meet his averted gaze. “Why did you pull away from that kiss?”

He shut his eyes, as though her words physically hurt him. His head turned to the side, jaw clenching, and he said nothing.

“Is it because you suddenly remembered that my mate was upstairs and felt guilty about almost kissing me?” she asked, her voice quieter now, but no less pointed.

Azriel shook his head. “I don’t give a damn about him.”

“Then why ?” She pressed.

He dropped his gaze to the floor, jaw tight, as if wrestling with something he couldn’t quite bring himself to say.

Elain’s shoulders sagged. She folded her arms, rubbing her hands along them in a self-soothing gesture. “I was hurt,” she admitted. “You pulled away and said it was a mistake. I get it if you felt guilty. I really do. But you could’ve just explained that. Instead, you avoided me like I was the plague.”

Azriel bowed his head. “I’m sorry,” he said softly. “But Lucien could be good to you.”

Elain’s head snapped at his words. “Excuse me? So now you want me to be with Lucien?” she let out a frustrated scoff. “Then who would you be with? Gwyn?”

Azriel blinked. “Gwyn?”

“I don’t know,” Elain said, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “Maybe after that Solstice night, you found someone else. Or maybe you always had someone else. Maybe it’s a random Velaris citizen. Could be Gwyn.”

Azriel blinked, confused. “What are you talking about?”

Elain looked away, biting down the urge to say it. To tell him she’d seen it in her vision—the necklace he gifted to her—now belonged to Gwyn. But what would it change? He’d given it to Gwyn of his own will. That choice had already spoken louder than anything he could say now.

She exhaled softly. What was the point in confronting him? The damage was done. He’d grown closer to Gwyn, maybe even felt something real for her. Their bond would snap into place any moment now. And Elain—Elain would just have to accept that Azriel wasn’t meant for her.

So she looked back at him, forcing a brittle smile. “It doesn’t matter. You gave me this”—she held up the vial—“I’m sure I won’t have any more problems with my visions. And you… you won’t have to deal with me anymore.”

“Elain—”

But the door had already shut with a sharp finality, cutting him off mid-word.

Azriel stood there, unmoving, the echo of the slam ringing louder than anything she’d said—alone now, with only his shadows and thoughts for company.

~~~~~~~~

Nesta had knocked on Elain’s door, inviting her to dinner. Elain offered an easy excuse—that her cycle had started and the cramps were unbearable. Without protest, Nesta had simply asked the House to send dinner to her room.

Now, Elain lay curled on her bed, her back to the door, eyes fixed on the small vial resting on her nightstand. The one Azriel had given her. The one he’d gone out of his way to request from Madja, just so she could sleep without the burden of visions. She knew he cared. He always had. That’s what made her fall for him in the first place—his quiet, constant care.

But maybe that was all it ever was. Care. Not love.

He had given her the vial, yes. But when she asked if he’d still help with her visions… he’d hesitated. Evaded. She’d seen the answer in his silence. He didn’t want to stay close anymore. Not really.

He wasn’t going to fight for her. He never had.

All her hopes—that he might be the one, that fate could bend for them—felt like foolish dreams now. Silly, wistful thoughts whispered into her pillow before sleep. But he wasn’t meant for her.

Lucien was.

A sob broke loose from her chest. Elain pressed her face into the pillow, wrapping the blankets tighter around her as if they could shield her from a world that no longer made sense. As if they could hold her together when her heart was splintering.

~~~~~~~~~

Azriel didn’t come down for dinner either.

Cassian had knocked on his door, voice light with teasing, urging him to join them. Azriel had replied that he wasn’t hungry. That he needed to be alone. And Cassian, ever the understanding brother, had left him to his solitude.

Azriel lay stretched on his bed, shadows swirling in slow, mournful patterns. His gaze fixed on the small vial resting on his nightstand. The headache powder she gifted him two solstice ago. But tonight, the ache in his head was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

The encounter with Elain had cut deeper than he could admit. The hurt in her voice, in her eyes—it shattered something in him. He’d spent so long nursing his own pain, never once thinking about how his silence after Solstice had hurt her, too.

She had been glowing when he gave her the vial. A soft kind of hope in her expression. But the moment she asked if he’d still help with her visions, that glow faded. Her whole body seemed to dim. She thought he was abandoning her. She thought he wouldn’t care anymore.

She was disappointed in him. And then she cried. And then she was mad. And then she looked as if she'd given up on him. As if she finally realized that he’s not worth it anymore. 

A tear slipped down his cheek. Then another. Until his breath hitched and he turned into the pillow, letting the sobs come. His shadows swirled around him, trying to offer comfort, cloaking him like the truth he hadn’t dared to speak.

He had wanted to tell her the truth. That Rhys had forbidden him from getting close. That the kiss they’d shared wasn’t a mistake—but a line he was not allowed to cross.

But what good would that do?

He had obeyed. Like the loyal pet he was. Avoided her, just like he was told. He told himself it was to protect her, to protect them both. But in the end, it was cowardice. Because if he truly wanted to fight for her, he would’ve done so anyway.

Instead, he lay here in the dark, aching for the one person he wanted and couldn’t have.

The female his heart already called his own.

Chapter Text

That night, as usual, Elain had barely slept. 

Her sheets were tangled, her breath uneven. Another vision had seized her—violent and blinding. A part of her regretted not drinking the vial that Azriel had given her to sleep well through the night without any troubling visions.

She had been hyperventilating the entire time, gripped by an intensity that made her felt suffocated. In the vision, she saw blasting currents of white light, so bright it felt like it burned through her eyelids, even in sleep. It wasn’t just light—it was power. Ancient. Wild. Consuming.

It dragged on long enough for her to glimpse a red-haired female, darting and ducking beneath the deadly brilliance. Her figure flickered like a flame, moving with urgency, desperation. Elain’s vision followed her through what looked like a throne room made of glass, vast and echoing. Light slammed into the floor, shattering crystal tiles—but the female kept moving, teleporting in rapid bursts. Zigzagging. Leaping. Evading.

And then—

A shift.

The female blinked to a new location. Before her stood a gate, vast and humming with energy. Without hesitation, she threw herself into it.

That was when Elain shot upright in bed, a strangled gasp tearing from her lungs. Her hands trembled against the sheets, drenched in sweat, chest heaving. The echoes of the light still burned behind her eyes.

She didn’t know who the female was, or what the vision meant—but she knew, deep in her bones, that something was coming.

Something big.

Something that tore through worlds.

Elain shook her head. It’s probably just a nightmare—anxiety bleeding into her dreams. But it hadn’t felt like a nightmare. She sighed, knowing it was in fact another vision.

And it wasn’t related to Koschei.

Was this another threat? One Prythian hadn’t yet seen?

Elain let out a shaky breath and pressed her head into her hands. She sat in silence for a moment, thinking… then let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle.

“What is it with red-heads?” she muttered.

First, there were the visions of Vassa, the red-haired mortal queen cursed into a firebird. Then Lucien, her red-haired mate, cursed into a fox. Then Gwyn, the Valkyrie priestess who also happened to be red-haired.

And now… this mystery female.

Whoever she was, Elain knew one thing: she mattered . And if the Mother—or whatever power guided her visions—had sent this one now, it meant sooner or later, she would show herself either as a threat to Prythian or not. 

She should tell someone.

No— not just someone.

The High Lord and High Lady of the Night Court.

She decided that she’d go to the River House after lunch. Not only to share her vision to Rhys and Feyre, but also to visit her nephew. It had only been a few days since she’d last seen him but she missed the precious boy more than she cared to admit.

Elain then stood and pulled open the curtains.

Dawn.

Perfect.

She’d have breakfast, say goodbye to Nesta, then ask Cassian to fly her back to the Town House where the wraith twins waited for her return. There was so much she wanted to tell the —about her discovery at the library, her visions and her newfound ability which she planned to train in earnest.

She opened the window.

The morning breeze rushed in, cool and brisk. It carried the scent of mist and stone, and something else—something that made her thoughts drift to Sybill.

That woman was… odd. A florist and a gardener, yes. Harmless, perhaps. But a witch? Elain still wasn’t sure what to believe.

Sybill had called herself a witch once—and called Elain one too. She hadn’t seemed dangerous… just eccentric. Maybe part of some old cult or obscure belief system.

Yes, she’d worked enchantments into her flowers, her seeds. She also demonstrated lifting seeds and sorting the fine ones into the pouches and floating some teacups. It all seemed harmless. Besides, half the artists and crafters in Velaris also worked enchantments. Just that they probably didn’t call themselves witches. Some residents especially the shopkeepers in Velaris were just…whimsical. And she liked it.

Still, something tugged at the edge of Elain’s instincts.

Moments later, a knock sounded at the door.

“Elain. You okay? Let’s have breakfast,” Nesta called, her voice muffled but even.

Elain blinked, pulled from her thoughts. “Okay!” she replied, already moving toward the door.

She cast one last glance out the window, the wind still stirring the trees below, before stepping into the hallway.

~~~~~~

As planned, Cassian flew her back to the Town House after breakfast.

Azriel hadn’t joined them at the table. Cassian had mentioned casually that he wasn’t hungry and wanted to sleep in—which, honestly, was a relief.

Elain wasn’t ready to face the tension simmering between them—not with Nesta and Cassian there to notice every glance, every strained silence and then question them later.

So it is better for both of them to just avoid each other. As much as she hates it.

Maybe this is how her… situation with Azriel would always be like—
One step forward, three steps back, until eventually he and Gwyn fell in love and consumated the mating bond.

Brilliant.

"Why the long face, El?"

Elain turned to Cassian as they landed gently in front of the Town House, her hair tousled by the wind.

She sighed. "I wish I could tell you, Cass."

Cassian gave her a mock-offended look. "Why not? Is it top secret? I can keep a secret, you know."

Elain let out a soft chuckle, the tension in her chest loosening just a bit.
"You do realize you're possibly the least reliable person to tell a secret to?"

Cassian grinned. “Fineee. I suck at secret-keeping. But at least I made miss long face smile."

Her smile grew. "That's one of your charms. Nesta’s lucky to have you."

He flashed her a cocky grin. "Oh, she knows she is."

Just then, the wraith twins appeared through the Town House doors. Cassian stepped back as they rushed forward and wrapped Elain in a quiet, fierce embrace.

"I missed you two," she whispered, holding them close.

The twins didn’t speak—just nodded against her shoulders and held her tighter for a moment longer.

When they finally let go, Elain turned to Cassian. "Thanks for the flight."

He gave her a wink. "Anytime." Then he launched into the sky, wings flaring wide as he flew back toward the House of Wind.

The twins led her straight to the couch, their silent presence warm and grounding.

Elain didn’t waste time. The moment they were settled, she began recounting everything that had happened during her stay at the House of Wind.

It took nearly three hours—between her slow unraveling of events and answering the twins’ eager, inquisitive questions.

And when she was done with the facts, she told them the rest. The part she had been eager to let out of her chest.

Her heartbreak.

How she'd learned that Azriel and Gwyn might be mates.
How much it hurt.

Then she told them about her encounter with Azriel.

How it broke her when Azriel pulled away, saying that he won’t help her with her visions anymore.

The twins didn’t interrupt. They just listened, quiet and still, letting her pour it all out until the words ran dry.

After what felt like hours of tears, Elain sat up abruptly, wiping her face with the back of her sleeve. The twins blinked at her, eyes wide at the sudden shift in mood.

“I don’t want to cry anymore,” she said, voice steady now. “I don’t want to sit around being sad. I have new abilities to uncover. Answers to find. I’m not letting some male take up all the space in my head—and in my heart.”

But Azriel wasn’t just any male...

Still, she shoved that thought aside.

Nuala grinned. “That’s the spirit!”

“So, you want to try the… out-of-body thing now?” Cerridwen asked, her tone a touch more cautious.

Elain nodded.

“Don’t you think we should give it a name?” Nuala said, crossing her arms thoughtfully. “Since none of us really know what the hell it is. Calling it the “out-of-body” thing is tedious.”

Elain tilted her head. “Maybe there is already a term for it. What if Sybill knows?”

“She might know,” Cerridwen said. “If she really is a witch. And if you are too… then maybe this ability is part of that.”

“Or maybe,” Nuala said with a half-smile, “it’s just uniquely Elain Archeron’s.”

Elain chuckled at that. “Uniquely Elain Archeron’s? I like the sound of that.”

“I do believe that no one, not even witches can just... step out of their body like that. We never heard of such ability.“ Nuala added. “So let’s say Elain is the founder of this strange ability. What should we name it?” 

“What are you thinking?” Cerridwen asked, facing Elain.

“Projection,” Elain said without hesitation.

“Projection?” they echoed, in perfect unison.

She nodded. “I don’t know—it just rings true. Something in my—”

“Gut tells you that,” the twins finished together.

A heartbeat passed—and then the three of them burst out laughing.

“All right then,” Nuala said, breaking the laughter. “ Projection it is.”

“So,” Cerridwen leaned forward, “your theory is that your... consciousness can project out of your body if you practice the movements Gwyn taught you?”

“Exactly,” Elain replied. “And maybe the Valkyries’ mind-stilling techniques are the key to getting back into my body.”

Cerridwen nodded slowly. “Then that’s what you’ll try. Let’s just hope nothing goes wrong.”

Nuala shot her twin a look. “Oh, something will go wrong. I just know it.”

She grinned. “Let’s just hope it will then turn right— before we end up facing the High Lord’s wrath.”

Elain sighed. “Here goes nothing.”

She rose from the couch and stepped into the open space in the room. Slowly, deliberately, she began moving through the ritual Gwyn had taught her—the flowing, focused gestures of the Valkyrie rite. With every breath, she willed her consciousness to separate from her body.

When the final movement ended… nothing happened.

A beat of silence.

“Is that it?” Nuala asked, brows raised.

“Yeah… I think it’s not working,” Elain murmured, her shoulders slumping.

Cerridwen shook her head and stepped forward, placing a steadying hand on Elain’s arm. “Nonsense. Things like this take time. You can’t expect to just pop out of your body on the first try.”

“But I did the first time,” Elain said quietly.

Nuala made a tsking sound and waved a finger. “That was cheating. You drank the vial Sybill gave you. You can’t rely on shortcuts if you want real control. Do it yourself.”

Elain frowned—but she knew Nuala was right. If she wanted to master this, she had to do it on her own terms. No enchantments. No vials. Just her power—and her will.

“Fine,” she said, lifting her chin. “I’ll keep trying. I’m not stopping until I succeed.”

“That’s our girl.” Cerridwen smiled.

It had been nearly two hours. Still—nothing. Not so much as a flicker or a shift.

Elain slumped back on the couch with a groan, wiping sweat from her brow. The twins stood on either side, half-heartedly fanning her with their hands.

 “I give up.” Elain muttered.

‘Not a chance, our girl isn’t a quitter.” Nuala looked at Elain in disapproval.

“Don’t give up yet,” Cerridwen said firmly. “Why don’t we pause and think of another approach?”

“That's right,” Nuala added. “Besides, are we even sure this movement you keep repeating is what’s helping you project?”

Elain huffed, crossing her arms. “So you’re telling me I’ve been sweating and dancing around like an idiot for hours for nothing ?”

“No,” Cerridwen started, “maybe—”

“I knew I couldn’t do it without Sybill’s vial,” Elain snapped, slumping deeper into the cushions.

Cerridwen smacked her thigh, not hard, but sharp enough to make Elain jolt.

“Ow! What was that for?” she barked.

“I knew it,” Cerridwen said. “You were thinking about the vial this whole time. You’re not really trusting yourself.”

“That’s not true!” Elain protested—then sighed. “Okay… maybe I did think about it. Once. Or twice.”

Nuala snorted. “There it is. That’s the problem.”

Elain rubbed her temple. “I know I shouldn’t depend on it. But I don’t know how else to make it happen. No matter how many times I will it to happen—nothing happens.”

Cerridwen tilted her head. “I think we should think about what the vial actually did for you.”

“You mean… the magical herbs and whatever nasty stuff in the vial?” Nuala asked.

Cerridwen shook her head. “No—it’s not about what Sybill put in the vial. That doesn’t matter. What matters is what it did to Elain that allowed her to project.”

“In simpler terms,” Nuala said, voice dry, “what did Elain feel after she drank the thing?”

“Exactly,” Cerridwen said, shooting her a look.

“You could’ve just said that,” Nuala muttered, rolling her eyes.

“I could have,” Cerridwen replied, entirely unbothered.

Elain blinked, drawing her focus back. “Well… when I drank it, I felt drowsy. Then I fell asleep. Maybe it’s just a sleeping drug. It made my mind hazy and quiet.”

Nuala leaned in. “Elain, try to remember the last thing you felt before you projected.”

“How can I remember? I was asleep.” Elain replied ridiculously.

“You must’ve been aware right before it happened,” Cerridwen said. “Even just a flicker of consciousness. Try.”

Elain frowned, closing her eyes as she sank into thought. The twins sat in patient silence, watching as the middle Archeron sister disappeared into her memories.

Minutes passed.

Finally, Elain spoke.

“You’re right. I was conscious. I wasn’t dreaming. I remember… being inside the darkness. Like floating in a void. But I could feel my body.”

The twins leaned forward.

“Then I felt my limbs getting lighter,” Elain said slowly, eyes distant. “As if they were… unhooking from the weight of my skin. Then it was like I was being submerged in water. Everything went quiet. And then—I realized I’d projected out.”

“So the last thing you felt before it happened was the sensation of being underwater?” Cerridwen asked, thoughtful.

Nuala perked up. “Should we take you to the bathtub right now?”

Elain shot her a flat look. “Not funny.”

“I’m not joking,” Nuala said—though the glint in her eye said otherwise.

Elain shook her head, lips twitching. “Maybe I just need to recreate the sensation.”

Cerridwen nodded, her expression thoughtful. “Try combining the movements with that feeling—sink into it. Then, when the moment feels right, will yourself to project.”

Elain took a steady breath and nodded. “Got it.”

Elain stepped back into the open space, exhaling slowly as she centered herself. She closed her eyes and let silence wash over her. This time, she didn’t focus on the ritual alone—but on her consciousness, resting within her body. Not in her skin. Not in her breath. But somewhere deeper. 

It was like standing in a void—dark, vast, and still.
Her mind floated in that emptiness, aware of her limbs, her spine, her breath. Anchored.

She began to move.

Slow, fluid motions—each gesture carved through the air.

 With every step, every reach, something inside her shifted.

She felt it—not her body, but her presence —start to grow lighter.
As if the ties holding her to the physical world were slowly loosening.
A gentle pull. A drifting.

Her breath deepened. The dance continued. The void around her stretched wider.

Then it happened.
That feeling —the one she remembered.

The feeling of her entire being had slipped into a new medium.

And in that moment, as the last tether slipped—

She willed herself to project.

And she did.

The feeling was as if submerging inside calm water.

Her physical body collapsed in a silent swoon at the separation.

But before she could hit the floor, Nuala darted forward, catching her under the arms. Cerridwen caught her legs and steadied her. They eased her gently onto the couch.

“She did it,” Nuala whispered, wide-eyed.

Elain’s body lay perfectly still, her breathing soft and even—like she was simply asleep. However, her glowing consciousness drifted silently a few steps away, near where the twins stood watching her physical form.

There was no sound, no breath, no heartbeat—only a strange stillness as if time had slowed.

She floated quietly through the room, light as breath, her consciousness gliding just above the ground. Everything around her shimmered differently now—each object outlined with soft auras, energy pulsing gently at the edges.

She drifted toward the table and reached out, curious.
Her hand passed straight through the surface.

So… she could see, but not touch.
A silent observer. Like a ghost.

She turned toward the wall clock. The soft tick of its hand echoed louder in this form, clearer somehow. When she squinted—no, when she focused—her vision zoomed in effortlessly.

She could see everything inside: the delicate gears turning, the springs shifting in slow, perfect rhythm.

Elain blinked, startled.
How did I do that?

She had simply willed it—just thought about looking deeper, and her vision had obeyed.

Intrigued, she floated into the kitchen and tried again. Her eyes settled on a closed cabinet.
With the same quiet intention, she focused—
And the door might as well have been made of glass. She could see everything inside: stacks of plates, lined silverware, a chipped mug near the back.

Her lips parted in wonder.

It was like her vision had been enhanced—like she was seeing through the veil of the physical world into its hidden layers.

Then her attention caught on a metal spoon resting on the table.

She drifted closer, narrowing her focus.

At first, she just saw the smooth curve of silver—ordinary, unremarkable. But then, as she squinted and willed her vision to sharpen, the surface seemed to dissolve into something deeper.

She could see every particle inside it.
The intricate lattice of metallic atoms, tightly bound, vibrating faintly in place.

She stared, breathless in her incorporeal form.

Then, just as easily, she willed her sight to pull back.

And it did.

Her eyes widened. “That was... so cool,” she whispered.

She drifted silently back to where the twins sat, her formless self hovering nearby.

They were whispering to each other in hushed, urgent tones.

Nuala wrung her hands. “What if she’s not here? What if she got pulled into some other realm or—worse—what if her soul got ripped away and sent to the heavens or the Cauldron or—”

“She’s fine,” Cerridwen interrupted, though her voice was tight. “I mean… at least her physical body is still here. She looks fine.”

But even she didn’t sound convinced.

Elain’s heart—wherever it was in this state—ached for them.
If only she could speak , or touch, or write them a message. But she couldn’t even lift a pen in this form.

I’ve seen enough, she thought. I know what I can do now. It’s time to go back—before they worry more.

She stilled herself in the air, quieting every thought, every flicker of excitement or fear.

And then she tried to remember that night when Azriel’s shadows had helped her get back into her body.

“Still water,” she had said once, “reflects the truth best.”

Now, she understood.

In this form, she was submerged—adrift in something vast and silent, like the depths of a tranquil lake.
And to return… she needed to rise.
To draw closer to the surface.
To will the waters to still.

Only when the surface lay smooth—when the ripples had faded—could one see clearly.
See themselves.

Only then could she cross back—
Back into the body that waited for her.
Back into who she truly was.

The tremor in her energy began to settle.
Her inner glow, once edged with tension, softened into quiet resolve.
Calm. Steady. Certain.

She imagined the breath—how it would fill her lungs, stretch her ribs.
She pictured the twitch of her fingers, the blink of her eyes.
The rhythm of her heartbeat.
The familiar weight of her skin.
The gentle brush of her hair across her shoulders.

This glowing form… it was her consciousness. Her core.
And her body—motionless on the couch—was the void she needed to return to.
To make it back alive. Whole.

So she let herself rise from the depths.
She willed the calm surface to part, and in that stillness, she shifted .
Her awareness moved like light through water—slipping into a new medium.

She felt the difference.
Felt herself drift from that calm, watery space into the familiar, quiet darkness of her physical self.

The void welcomed her.
Dark. Vast. Still.

And yet—anchored.

Her mind floated once more within her body, aware now of her spine, her breath, her bones.
Home.

She imagined it again—
Her fingers.
Her eyes.
Her pulse.
Her skin.
Her breath.

She imagined being herself . Fully.

And slowly… gently… the rhythm of her projected form aligned with the pulse of her body—
as if two strings were being tuned to the same note.

And then—

 Like the soft closing of a door…

She was back.

Elain’s eyes fluttered open—

And both twins jumped in surprise.

“You’re back.” Nuala breathed, before throwing her arms around Elain in a tight, relieved hug. She held her close, as if needing to confirm she was truly there, truly awake.

“Y-yes,” Elain managed, her voice hoarse. “I’m glad I made it back.”

Cerridwen reached over and smacked her sister lightly on the shoulder. “Easy.”

Nuala loosened her grip but didn’t fully let go, as if afraid Elain might vanish again if she did.

Elain gave a soft chuckle, her voice still a little breathless. “I take it you missed me.”

Nuala snorted, but didn’t deny it.

Settling back against the cushions, Elain began to tell them everything— What she had seen while in her projected form.

Every shimmer of energy, every trace of magic in the air, every hidden gear behind the clock face, every particle she saw in the metal spoon.

The twins listened—wide-eyed, silent—realizing that Elain might possess a power far greater than they had thought.

~~~~~~~~~

After lunch with the twins, Elain had bid them farewell and decided to walk to the River House to visit her beloved nephew. She took her time, breathing in the crisp air, letting her thoughts drift.

On the way, she stopped by one of her favorite shops—the little toy store she always visited when picking up gifts for Nyx.

A smile tugged at her lips as she stepped inside, already picturing the sparkle in Nyx’s bright blue eyes whenever she handed him something new. Feyre had once told her not to trouble herself with gifts, but Elain had insisted it was her pleasure. Besides , she’d added with a smile, I used Rhys’s credit anyway. Rhys, to his credit, had only laughed.

“Ah, Miss Elain,” the shopkeeper greeted warmly. He was a kind fae male with a gentle voice. “It’s been a while since you stopped by.”

Elain returned the smile. “Yes, I’ve been busy these past few days. And it’s been a while since I saw my nephew—so I have to spoil him with something extra special this time.”

The shopkeeper beamed. “Well then, you're in luck. I’ve just received some new toys worthy of the High Lord’s newborn himself! I’ll be right back.”

As he disappeared into the back, Elain let her eyes wander across the shelves—stuffed animals, wooden dragons, little enchanted figurines that danced when you clapped.

She smiled quietly, imagining Nyx’s laughter. Imagining other babies playing with the same toys. A soft flutter stirred in her chest, the kind that always bloomed when she thought of little ones.

But then—

Her vision wavered.

The room seemed to shift, the edges of her sight bending as though the world were warping around her.
The energies in the air became unstable—rippling, twisting, like water beginning to boil.

A sharp pain slammed into her head.

Elain gasped, both hands flying to her temples just as the shopkeeper returned with a bundle of toys.

“Miss Elain?” he said, voice laced with panic. He dropped the toys onto the counter and rushed to her side. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” she managed through clenched teeth. “Just… a little headache.”

The shopkeeper frowned, unconvinced. “That didn’t look so little. Sit—please.” He pulled a chair beside her. “Should I get you some water?”

Elain shook her head as the pain began to ebb. Slowly, the dizzying energy around her settled. The world stilled.

She blinked, breathing through it. Everything looked… normal again.

“I’m alright now,” she said gently. “Really. Don’t worry.”

“You should see a healer, Miss Elain,” he said, still frowning.

“I will,” she promised, just to ease his concern. “Now… let’s see what treasures you’ve brought for me.”

The shopkeeper hesitated, then nodded and led her back to the counter, lifting the toys one by one with renewed anticipation.

~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel soared over Velaris, wings slicing through the crisp morning air. His stomach grumbled—he hadn’t eaten since yesterday.

He had skipped breakfast just to avoid seeing Elain at the table.

Sleep had been elusive too—restless thoughts gnawed at him. During training, he couldn't stop thinking about her, whether she's alright.

He needed to check on her.

She probably wouldn’t be thrilled by an unexpected visit, especially after their last exchange. Still… he had to know. Had she used the vial? Had it helped? Was she okay?

He sighed, shadows curling tighter around his shoulders.

But then, he caught a sudden flash of white light exploded several yards ahead, near the Sidra, illuminating someone’s front lawn like a silent, magical detonation.

Azriel’s instincts kicked in. He narrowed his eyes and dipped lower, watching as the light faded—
Revealing a female.

She had deep red-wine hair and wore torn, strange clothes that didn’t belong to any court he recognized. Her body was smeared with blood—fresh—and she struggled to rise from her knees.

His grip tightened around Truth-Teller as he landed silently behind her.

The moment his boots touched the ground, he pressed the dagger’s tip against her shoulder blade.

“Don’t fucking move.”

The female froze.

“Who are you?” he growled. “Where are you from? What the hell are you doing here?”

No answer.

She remained kneeling, breathing heavily, silent.

Frustrated, Azriel hissed and clamped his hand on her shoulder, hauling her upright. He twisted her to face him. Her features were dirt-smeared, strained—but she looked young. Worn. And desperate.

“I’ll ask again. Who are you?” he demanded.

She finally spoke—but the words were nonsense. A language he didn’t understand. Harsh syllables, fluid but unfamiliar.

His eyes narrowed. Magic? A curse? Or… from another realm?

His gaze dropped to a sheathed sword lying on the grass nearby. It hummed with a faint, strangely familiar energy. It felt as if the sword was calling to him. He picked it up, keeping his eyes on her.

The female stepped forward slightly, speaking again—her tone urgent now. Pleading.

Azriel couldn’t understand the language, but the desperation in her voice was unmistakable. Her body trembled, blood dripping down her torn sleeve.

He reached into his pocket, pulled out a blindfold, and held it up. With a firm gesture, he indicated he was going to place it on her.

To his surprise, she nodded.

Azriel wrapped the cloth around her eyes and tied it snugly. Then, gently but efficiently, he guided her hands to her knees and her back—positioning her for flight.

Without another word, he took off—carrying her through the skies toward the Town House.

When they landed on the front step, she stumbled. He caught her by the arm, but the moment they stepped inside, she tripped again—this time into a low table.

Exasperated, Azriel let out a sharp breath and hauled her over his shoulder. He carried her down the stairs and set her in a chair at the base level.

She spoke again—those strange, pleading words flowing from her lips.

Just then, the twins appeared at the top of the stairs, eyes wide.

Azriel didn’t waste time and approached them, leaving the red-head female talking alone.

“Where’s Elain?” he asked, voice low and tight.

“She went to the River House,” Nuala said. “To see Nyx.”

Azriel gave a curt nod.

It was a relief that Elain wasn’t here—but even that didn’t guarantee her safety.

Whatever is happening here, it felt like the first ripple of a much larger threat.

He needed to be certain she—and Nyx were protected.

“I need you both to go to the River House,” he said, voice like steel. “Stay with Elain and Nyx. Guard them. Feyre and Rhysand need to come here.”

The twins took a long, wary look at the injured female, taking in every detail. Then, without another word, they nodded and vanished through the front door.

~~~~~~~

Elain had just arrived at the River House when she spotted Rhysand stepping out the front door, his brows drawn tight.

“Elain? What are you doing here?” he asked, surprise lacing his tone.

“I wanted to visit Nyx…as usual,” she replied simply, offering a small smile.

Rhys’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I thought something happened at the Town House. The bell rang.”

The bell.
The one magically connected to every residence of the Inner Circle—only activated when something urgent demanded their attention.

“Oh… I’m afraid I was already on my way here when that happened,” Elain said quickly.

Rhys studied her for a heartbeat, then nodded. “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here. Watch over Nyx, alright? I need to fetch Feyre from her studio before heading over.”

“I will,” she promised.

He gave her a grateful nod, then vanished with a ripple of darkness and mist.

Elain frowned, unease curling in her chest. What had happened?

Her thoughts flicked back to the toy shop—
The sudden shift in energy.
The pounding in her head.
Was it connected to this?

She exhaled softly. Soon, she told herself. She’d ask what happened soon enough.

But for now…

She had a nephew to look after.

With that, Elain squared her shoulders and stepped into the house.

~~~~~~~~

“Bababa,” Nyx babbled as Elain played with him on the nursery floor. He gripped a sword-shaped plushie and clumsily swung it at hers, mimicking a duel.

Elain laughed, even as he cheated and bonked her square on the cheek repeatedly.

“Fine you win!” she giggled, rubbing her face.

Just then, swirls of shadows spilled across the floor near the doorway, making Nyx squeal in delight.

“Nuala? Cerridwen?” Elain sat up, startled.

Cerridwen stepped into the room, her expression calm but alert. “Azriel sent us. We’re here to watch over you and Nyx.”

“What happened at the Town House?” Elain asked immediately, her smile fading.

Nyx reached out toward Cerridwen, gurgling happily. She took him from Elain’s arms with ease.

Nuala spoke as she entered behind her twin. “Azriel brought someone there. A strange-looking female. We don’t know the details—he told us to come straight here.”

Elain’s eyes widened. Her thoughts raced back to the vision she’d had last night.

“Does she have red hair?” she asked quickly.

Both twins paused, then exchanged a glance. “How did you know?” they asked in unison.

Elain sighed, dread prickling at her spine.

“Because I saw her,” she said softly. “In my vision last night.”

Chapter Text

After what felt like hours of walking, they—Azriel, Nesta, and the stranger who called herself Bryce Quinlan—had finally decided to stop and rest.

Bryce had originally been kept in a cell beneath the mountain. Then she'd found the way into the escape tunnel—one Azriel had carved himself using his shadows. Nesta had been sent to watch over her, while Azriel remained hidden in his shadows as he watched over them. 

And now, they were following Bryce’s lead—deeper into the tunnel’s path with the glowing star on her chest. They had long lost track of day and night. Down in the endless stretch of tunnels, the stones  were never kissed by light, only ever swallowed by time.

Everything had happened too fast to fully process.

One moment, a flash of blinding light had torn open the skies over Velaris. The next, a bloodied female with red-wine hair and torn, foreign clothing had collapsed onto a lawn by the Sidra. She’d spoken in a language none of them recognized—fluid but completely alien.

It had been Amren who resolved the language barrier. After a brief detour to a peculiar flower shop, she’d returned with an enchanted silver bean. By swallowing it, Bryce could speak their tongue as though she'd always known it.

The female was from a different world entirely. She claimed that this world was her ancestor's original world—before they migrated to her current world. But her own world was now in chaos, caught in the grip of a brutal war. 

Azriel had seen glimpses of it through the Veritas orb— Machines that hurled fire. Long, black metal rods Bryce called guns . Massive floating vessels on the sea called Omega Boats. It was terror and devastation unlike anything Prythian had ever known.

If those kinds of weapons ever made it here… Azriel wasn’t sure even the combined might of the courts could stand against them.

So to stand against the war, Bryce had intended to travel to another realm called Hel to meet a prince who had once vowed to aid her in defeating the power-hungry Asteri that sought to consume everything.

She had called the Asteri as intergalactic parasites who had terrorised many other planets before hers. She claimed that the Asteri feeds on Firstlight which manifests from the citizen’s magic. Apparently, they had terrorised this world too but our ancestors managed to kick them out. And worse, the Asteri bore a long-standing grudge against this world. Azriel didn’t know what chilled him more—the terror that had laced Bryce's tone or the terror that was obvious in her eyes when she spoke to them about it.

But of everything she had revealed, one detail continued to gnaw at him.

Her sword.

It had recognized Truth-Teller, called to it as if it had longed to be reunited with it.  And when Bryce unsheathed her sword… Azriel’s dagger had responded.

He didn’t know what it meant yet. There could be some history which links the two weapons. But right now, he knew one thing for certain—

He needed to keep a close eye on her.

She might not be who she claimed to be. For all he knew, she could be part of a larger scheme. She could actually be what she told she was against. She could be the Asteri itself, pretending to be lost, wounded, desperate.

A Trojan horse.

The thought made Azriel’s grip tighten instinctively around Truth-Teller. His gaze sharpened, burning into the red-haired stranger as she tossed around in her sleep.

He didn’t look away. Not for a second.

Not until she suddenly cracked one eye open—

And caught him staring.

Startled, she jolted upright—only to smack the back of her head against the low-hanging stone above her.

“Shit,” she muttered, wincing as she clutched her skull.

“What is it?” Nesta peered down the tunnel to one side, then the other. Dripping darkness filled both directions, interrupted only by the silvery, watery glow of Bryce’s star through her shirt. A steady shine that hadn’t flared or dimmed. 

“Oh, nothing. Just your usual predator-in-the-night warrior, staring at me while I sleep.”  Bryce replied which amused the said predator-in-the-night warrior.

“You weren’t sleeping,” Azriel said. 

“How do you know?” Bryce countered, but her lips quirked upward.

 Nesta yawned, stretching her arms over her head and rolling her neck from side to side. 

“It’s his job to be vigilant.” She lowered her arms, frowning slightly at Azriel. “Were you really watching her sleep?” 

He glowered at that. He made sure to keep a close eye on her because she couldn’t be trusted, but when Nesta put it that way… “When you say it like that, it sounds… unsavory.” 

 “It’s creepy,” Bryce grumbled. 

“You are a stranger to us,” Nesta pointed out, “We’d be fools to take our attention off you for one second. Even while sleeping.” 

Azriel nodded in agreement.

Bryce crossed her legs, sighing. “Well, let’s not be strangers anymore,” she suggested.

Silence, and then Bryce asked, glancing between them. “How’d you two meet?” 

Azriel tensed at that, knowing that giving away the wrong information would cause trouble. But as he weighed his answer, Nesta answered shortly. “There was a war.” 

“Between who?” Bryce asked. 

“Between an evil Fae King and us.” Azriel answered.

 “You two, or, like… everyone?” Bryce asked and Azriel snorted at that.

Nesta gave her a withering look. “Yes, the King of Hybern declared war on just me and Azriel.” 

He snickered at that. “He sought to conquer our lands and the world at large. We didn’t intend to let him.”

Nesta added darkly. “Especially after he turned my sister and me from humans into High Fae.”

Azriel’s eyes flickered at the mention of Elain.

A dull ache settled in his chest.

He remembered it vividly—how miserable she had been. She had been the first one thrown into the Cauldron, and the scream that tore from her throat still haunted him. It hadn’t just been fear—it was of helplessness and despair.

She hadn’t chosen this life. Turned Fae against her will, bound to a male she didn’t want, 
abandoned by the man she once thought would marry her and was dumped because of what she'd become.

And then she got the visions—coming in cryptic riddles that no one understood. She suffered through them alone, while others thought she was just being ill or depressed.

She endured it all with that quiet yet strong resilience.

Azriel knew that if he had been in her place, if he had endured what she had— He wouldn’t have survived it.

Not the way she had.

He’d lose his damned mind.

Bryce’s voice cut through his thoughts, willing him to return to the conversation, “I’m guessing your side won?” She arched her brow.

“We defeated Hybern,” Azriel said quietly, his gaze drifting to Truth-Teller—still sheathed at his side. “Nesta beheaded the King of Hybern herself.” Thanks to Elain.

Bryce blinked. “Badass.” she breathed.

Azriel smirked at that. Nesta was badass, he wouldn’t disagree. But she wouldn’t have made it through without Elain. Perhaps none of them would be alive if it wasn't for Elain.

He remembered the moment he’d handed the blade to Elain. He’d meant it as a simple means of protection. A last resort.

But she had taken that dagger and driven it through the King of Hybern’s throat.

No one had expected it.

Not from her.

But in the end, it was Elain—lovely, gentle Elain—who had struck the final blow and ended the war.

Without her, they wouldn’t be here right now. None of them would.

He must’ve been deep in his thoughts when Bryce jerked her chin towards him. “You’ve got the broody look of someone with an awful mother, too. Care to share?”

Nesta snorted. “Az never talks about his mother, and neither will our friends, so I’m guessing she’s even worse.”

Azriel felt his heart tug sharply at that and snarled softly, “My mother is anything but awful.”

How dare she imply his mother was anything less than good?

His mother—gentle, kind, the only woman Azriel had ever loved without condition. The one whose soft hands and loving words had soothed the cracks in his soul. She was the one he turned to when he was at his lowest.

In a world that had shown him nothing but cruelty since a very young age, she was the only warmth he clung to.

Nesta tensed. “I was joking, Az. I didn’t even know-”

“I don’t want to discuss this,” Azriel cut her off coldly.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Two hours later, they were walking again. He had enjoyed the music that Bryce had played from her phone. Every music was different from the last but he enjoyed them all the same. Nesta had clapped her hands over her ears at the screaming, wailing death metal which made him chuckle.

But now they were silent again, walking past carving after carving etched onto the tunnel rocks. 

“You have a mate, right?” Bryce asked Nesta suddenly in which Nesta nods.

Then Bryce nodded to him. “Do you?”

“No,” He said quickly, flatly. 

“A partner or spouse?”

“No.”

His wings twitched—an involuntary flick of irritation. He hated those words. Mate. Partner. Spouse. Not that it mattered. He couldn’t imagine himself getting any of those because the one female he wanted was off-limits and likely does not bother with him anymore.

Bryce sighed. “Okay, then.”

 “You’re incurably nosy.” Was all he said to stop her from inquiring about his love life.

“I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve said about me.” Bryce winked at him. “Look, I just… I’m curious. Aren’t you?”

He didn’t answer but Nesta agreed. “Yes. We are.” 

Azriel only dismissed them by turning his head elsewhere.

They walked in silence again until Bryce cut the silence once again with her questions.

“Do you like it?” Bryce asked Nesta. “Being Fae?”

“I didn’t at first,” Nesta said plainly. “But now I do.” Nesta went on, “I’m stronger, faster. Harder to kill. I don’t see a downside to that.”

“And the near-immortal life span isn’t so bad, huh?” Bryce teased.

“I’m still adjusting to the idea of that,” Nesta said, eyes on the tunnel ahead. “That time is so… vast. The day-to-day versus the sprawl of centuries.” She slid her attention to him. “How do you deal with it?”

He thought of his family—how five centuries had passed with them, yet it all felt like mere days.

Because time meant little when every moment, whether full of laughter or hardship, was spent together.

They faced everything side by side, turning even the darkest days into something worth remembering, always finding a reason to look forward to the next.

And now, with the Archeron sisters becoming part of that family, with Rhys and Feyre having a new baby, Nesta and Cassian someday too...and Elain...

He found himself looking forward to what the next few centuries would bring with them.

So he answered, “Find people you love-they make the time pass quickly.” He caught Nesta’s eye, and said apologetically, “Especially if they’ll forgive your occasional snapping at them over things that aren’t their fault.”

He hadn’t meant to snap at Nesta. He knew it wasn’t her fault.

She didn’t know.

None of them did.

He had never spoken about his mother to them. Not because she didn’t matter—
But because she mattered too much.

Azriel had always been the kind of man who kept what he loved most quiet, protected.

Some things were too sacred to be shared. Too precious to be spoken aloud. His mother was a piece of himself that he wasn’t willing to share with anyone.

Something seemed to soften in Nesta’s eyes. Relief. She said quietly, tentatively, “Nothing to forgive, Az.”

He nodded in relief, offering a small smile.

Nesta nodded to Bryce’s pocket. “Could we hear some more of your music?”

He watched as Bryce fished out her phone again. “What do you want to hear?” She asked.

Hel swapped glances with Nesta.

Every song she’d shared with them so far had been distinct—rhythms layered with bold energy, strange instruments, and a pulsing sort of soul. Music that carried heat and weight, designed to pull you under like a tide.

He could imagine it—loud, intoxicating beats reverberating through those glowing, pleasure halls, the kind of music that made people lose themselves. Get drunk on sound, on movement, on freedom.

He didn’t remember the last time he’d set foot in a pleasure hall.

Didn’t see the point anymore.

Because even when he’d tried—when he’d let himself be dragged onto the dance floor by some random female, the image of a golden-brown-haired female with soft, deep brown eyes would always flash in his mind.

But he supposed that he could imagine it. Elain, dancing with him in the pleasure hall as they lose themselves in the music and feels.

He answered Bryce’s question a bit sheepishly, “The music you play at your pleasure halls.”

Bryce laughed. “Are you a club rat, Azriel?”

He glowered at her, earning a smirk from Nesta, but then Bryce tapped her phone and music spilled softly into the tunnel’s stillness—a fast, vibrant rhythm pulsing through the air.

Azriel found himself nodding along to the beat before he even realized it.

It was one of her favorite dance tunes, she’d said—and Azriel could easily agree to that. It was a wild, infectious blend of deep, throbbing rhythm and bright, unexpected bursts of sound that were distinctive yet blended so well together, creating the perfect harmony.

It surged and swayed, sharp in places, smooth in others—like the rush of wind through open skies of the illyrian mountains, or the pulse of life in velaris at night.

There was something bold and alive in it. Something that made his blood stir.

But soon the song ended and Bryce claimed that the battery—the power on her phone had drained.

No more music.

But the music seemed to linger, like a ghostly echo through the caves.

Azriel kept humming to himself. The rolling, wild melody of what Bryce claimed to be “Stone Mother” softly flowed off his lips, and he could have sworn even the shadows danced with his humming.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elain had returned once more to the House of Wind. It had been three days since Azriel and Nesta walked through the tunnel under the mountain with the red-haired stranger from Elain’s vision. Bryce Quinlan was her name, according to Rhys.

Rhys had deemed it safest for his family to stay close, at least for now. With Bryce’s arrival here from another world, no one knew what might come next—they needed to be ready. And until it did, they would remain close with each other. 

So now, Elain was back in her room—alone.

The twins might have accompanied her here, but they’d been reassigned to guard the River House in case of intruders.

Elain sighed, sinking onto the edge of her bed. While her family busied themselves with arguments and speculation—trying to figure out why Azriel and Nesta hadn’t returned yet or what exactly had happened with Bryce—she had been training. Alone. And surprisingly… She had made big progress.

Two nights ago, she’d spent hours practicing her projection—slipping in and out of her body again and again, from after dinner until dawn.

It had become effortless—like flipping a switch.

After she mastered her projection, she began to wonder if she could project without her physical body falling unconscious. Last night, she’d spent hours trying to answer that question. Testing every mental trick she could think of, trying to find the switch. But the result was always the same.

Every time she projected, her physical body stayed right there on the bed, unmoving and unaware. It frustrated her to no end. She didn’t know how to stay aware and awake in both forms.

She wished the twins were here to help her figure it out. But they weren’t here, so Elain had to figure it out herself.

However, despite the frustration, something had else had happened. Last night while she was practicing, she felt heavily disoriented whenever her projected form returned to her body. And then it turns out that she could still see what she had seen while projected with her physical sight.

Faint pulses of energy shimmered around the objects in her room—subtle, shifting auras that hadn’t been there before.

It was as if the ability was beginning to bleed into her body, fusing with her physical form. The more she projected, the more vivid the energy waves became. It was a wonderful revelation. But it came at a cost.

The pounding in her head had been nearly unbearable. Maybe it was her body—still adjusting, still learning to accept the weight of a power not meant to live fully in flesh.

Or maybe…

She was just simply exhausted which took a toll on her physical body. She had to admit she was sleep-deprived and had lost appetite to eat.

She couldn’t bring herself to care about the dark circles now shadowing her eyes. Her eyes had been droopy, her lashes felt too heavy. She looked like a depressed female who lost control of her life. But no, she was gaining control of her life, her powers.

She couldn’t care less about what she looked like anymore. Not when she had bigger things to worry about.

And with all the progress she’d made—both the intentional and the unexpected breakthroughs—Elain felt a growing sense of eagerness, a pull deep in her chest.

She needed to know what more she could do.
What else she was capable of. What other abilities were still hiding beneath her fingertips, in the back of her mind, waiting to be manifested.

Just then, a soft knock sounded at her door.

“Elain?”

Mor’s voice. Gentle—more so than usual. But not surprising. Elain had noticed it for the three days she had stayed here with her—the way Mor spoke to her so mindfully as if she feared Elain might crack beneath a wrong word.

She had continuously asked if Elain was okay. So had everyone else. They’d seen the dark circles under her eyes, the slump in her shoulders and posture that reminded them of her days when she first received her visions.

So whenever they asked if she's sick, Elain had simply shaken her head and muttered something about period cramps. It had been enough to earn sympathetic nods from the others.

Elain stood from her bed, quickly smoothing her hair and adjusting her dress before opening the door.

There stood Mor, radiant as ever, golden hair glowing in the hallway light.

“It’s lunch time!” Mor announced cheerfully, flashing a bright smile.

Elain saw it—the unmistakable pulse of energy shimmering around her.

It rippled through the air like waves across still water, subtle but undeniable, bending the light ever so slightly.

A quiet hum of power that her eyes couldn’t have seen days ago when she started projecting… but now, they did.

Elain smiled back and took her hand, linking their arms as they strolled toward the dining room.

“Are your cramps any better?” Mor asked casually.

“Yes. Don’t worry about it,” Elain replied with a soft smile.

“I told you, I could’ve helped. My belly massages are magical.”

“There’s no need, Mor. The oil you gave me already worked.” Except she hadn’t even opened the vial.

Mor shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t offer. I give the best massages, you know. Besides…” She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice. “I’m very good with my hands and fingers”

Elain flushed, blinking fast. “I’m sure you’re very skilled.”

Mor smirked, tucking a loose strand from Elain’s forehead. “You bet I am. You’re missing out, sweetpea.”

Thankfully, they reached the dining room before Elain could reply. The table was already set, platters steaming with food. Elain had once assumed only Nesta could order the House around like. But apparently, Cassian could too.

He’d discovered it not long ago and hadn’t shut up about it since.

The House, it seemed, recognized him as Nesta’s mate—and obeyed him accordingly. Cassian had never been prouder.

Elain and Mor took the two empty seats beside Cassian, completing the circle at the table. As Elain glanced up at everyone seated around her, the familiar waves of energy began to shimmer into view.

Pulses of light, colorless yet alive, radiated from each of them—subtle but constant. And when they sat together like this, their energies overlapped, blending and rippling in strange, unpredictable patterns. It made her feel overwhelmed and disoriented, feeling the ground beneath her was gently shifting too.

So she lowered her gaze to her plate, grounding herself in the solid, simple reality of food and silence.

“Where the hell are they? Are we even sure they’re alright?” Cassian asked, his voice edged with tension. He was, of course, talking about Nesta and Azriel.

Rhys, seated beside Feyre across the table, gave a calm nod. “I’m sure they’re fine. If they were in any real danger, I’d know. And you would too.”

Cassian didn’t reply. His hand only tightened around his fork—knuckles white.

It reminded Elain of the first time she’d met him. How she’d sat at the table beside him back at the village when they wanted to stay for the night before meeting the human queens.

She had gripped her own fork just as tightly then—fingers curled around it like it was a weapon she wouldn’t hesitate to use against them. A silent promise to protect what little they had left.

And now, she watched as Cassian held onto his own fear in the same way.

Elain sighed, her fingers, too tightened slightly around her fork. She was worried, too—about Nesta and Azriel. Everyone was, though no one dared say it aloud, likely for fear of worsening Cassian’s already fraying composure.

Elain had hoped that she might see something—anything. A vision to show her how they were faring with Bryce. She had wanted so badly to offer help and calm Cassian down. But she couldn’t get any vision by demand.

She still remembered what she had read in the library about veil-peering—an ancient, sacred form of seer magic. A dangerous one.

It was said to be the act of reaching beyond the veil of the present, peeking into realms of time and divinity to seek answers not meant for the weak minded. Veil-peering required deep meditation, an unwavering connection to the divine which often ended in madness.

Because the visions weren’t something a seer could simply call upon. They were gifts, bestowed by the gods when they saw fit. Not something to be hunted or demanded.

If a seer pushed too far—ventured beyond the veil for too long—they risked never finding their way back.

She had tried it two nights ago when Cassian was throwing a tantrum about Nesta still not getting back. She sat cross-legged inside her room, eyes closed, mind stilled, hoping something might reach out. Hoping she could unlock another trick, the same way she had learned to project.

But deep down, she knew this was different. Projection was a matter of technique. Focus. Control. Meanwhile, waiting for a vision to come was like speaking to a wall. There’s no guarantee of an answer. No sign there was even someone on the other side.

She sighed, shoulders sinking slightly. The weight of her own silence pressed down on her. She wanted to help—to offer something, anything of value. But so far, she had nothing.

No visions.
No answers.
Nothing useful.

A quiet doubt crept in.

Did Cassian think she was useless?
That, as a seer, she should have seen something—should have known where his mate was? Did the others think the same?

That her gift was wasted on her—someone unfit to wield it properly?

The thought made her slump further in her chair, appetite fading completely. She didn’t want to eat anymore.

She just wanted to retreat to her room. To curl up in bed and disappear. But then… she straightened.

No.

She couldn’t give up. Not now. She would try again. And to try, she needed strength. She had to eat. She reached for her fork—

And then the pain struck.

Sharp and sudden, like a blade driving into her skull. Elain gasped, both hands flying to her temples. The room swam. She’d felt this before—three days ago, in the toy shop. Voices rose around her, distant and panicked.

She vaguely saw Mor lean in close, Feyre suddenly at her side, kneeling. But their faces blurred, the world warping as though the very air was bending— Like heat rippling off stone. Like water just before it boiled.

Then—

Her eyes shot upward, breath ragged. The vision yanked her under.

She was in a cave.

And before her stood a blinding light, brilliant and pulsing. She squinted through the radiance and saw a red-haired female—

Bryce .

Standing in front of a glowing gate, a sword in one hand… and Truth-Teller in the other. Elain’s gaze darted to the side. Azriel and Nesta stood across from her—watching, waiting. 

“Please,” Azriel said, his gaze now on Bryce’s hands. On Truth-Teller. Something like panic filled his hazel eyes. Elain’s heart sank like a stone in her chest the moment she saw it.

Bryce only shook her head, dismissing Azriel’s plead as she backed toward the gate. Elain’s gaze then went to her sister. Nesta was staring right at the red-head. Raging silver fire flickered in her gaze.

“You’re as much of a monster as they are,” Nesta accused.

“Love will do that to you.” Bryce answered.

At that, silver flames roared for Bryce in a tidal wave, but Bryce was already leaping, sheathing the two blades as she moved. And then the light from Nesta’s silver flame winked out as the gate shut above Bryce, leaving Nesta and Azriel at the cavern.

Azriel sank to his knees, his hazel eyes blank at the realization that his dagger just got stolen. Not just any dagger. His most prized possession. The very dagger that he lent Elain during the war of Hybern. The dagger she had used to kill the king. 

The shadowsinger just stared at his open palms, clenching and unclenching them. Nesta stood just beside him, her face uncertain as if contemplating how to approach him, how to comfort someone whose most valued possession just got stolen.

“Az—” Nesta began, but Azriel cut her off with a bitter, hollow laugh. It was a cold laugh laced with a quiet, menacing fury that sent a chill through Elain—even though she wasn’t physically there. 

“She stole my fucking dagger,” he growled, voice low and ragged, the kind of rage that simmered just before a storm broke.

“I know,” Nesta said carefully. “Let’s just… go back and tell Rhys. Maybe he knows what to—”

“How would he know what to do?” Azriel snapped, turning sharply toward her. “Bryce is Fae from another world. She’s the only one who can world-walk. My dagger is gone. For good.”

His voice cracked on the last word. Elain felt her chest constricted, breath catching at the sound of his pain—his brokenness. Even in a vision, even across whatever veil separated them… It hurt. Because it was Azriel. And she had never heard him sound like that.

Azriel was silent for a few moments. Then, without warning, he turned to the stone wall where Bryce had vanished—and let his fury loose.

His fists slammed into the rock, over and over, each strike sharper, harder, more brutal than the last. A snarl tore from his throat as he rained punches into the wall, shadows writhing wildly around him.

The cavern groaned under the force. Dust spilled from above, and small chunks of stone rattled to the floor.

“Azriel, enough,” Nesta said—her voice gentler than usual, concern laced through it.

“I need this,” he growled. “Just leave me alone.” He didn’t stop his punching, It only gets harder.

“You’re going to bring this whole gods-damned mountain down on our heads!” Nesta snapped, stepping forward and grabbing at his arm.

But just as Azriel let out another punch—one laced with pure, seething rage—

The wall gave way.

Stone cracked and crashed to the ground, revealing a large, hollow opening beyond.

A hidden passage.

Nesta blinked. “Another secret tunnel?” she muttered under her breath.

Azriel didn’t answer. He stood there, chest heaving, blood smeared across his knuckles.

“Don’t bother with history bullshit again,” he bit out, shadows snapping at his heels.

“Fine,” Nesta shot back. “Then stay here and sulk. I’m going in.”

Without waiting for his reply, Nesta stepped into the newly revealed passageway, leaving Azriel behind in the dim, echoing cavern.

Elain’s vision shifted, following her sister’s movements as though tethered to her.

She watched as Nesta summoned her silver flames, blooming in her palms and casting sharp, flickering shadows along the tunnel walls.

Nesta moved forward slowly, cautiously, and brought her flaming hand close to the stone wall.

As the light from her flames touched it—markings began to emerge. Ancient carvings, etched deep into the rock. Symbols that glowed faintly beneath the silver fire, as if awakened by it but not bright enough to see clearly.  She brought one finger, tracing it on the carving and suddenly, they glowed like molten lava, illuminating the whole space. 

The first section of the carving revealed a mountain—its three peaks etched in sharp relief, with three stars shining above it. Atop the central peak sat a Cauldron, grand and ominous, radiating presence even in stone.

“The cauldron atop of the three sister peaks.” Nesta muttered under her breath.

Beside the mountain, a group of Fae stood with their arms lifted high, their bodies carved in elegant, flowing lines. Their posture radiated joy—a celebration of prosperity.

Surrounding them were carved symbols: waves for water, flames for fire, radiant lines for light. A depiction, perhaps, of the gifts they had once been blessed with—elements they commanded, powers they cherished. Their faces were turned skyward in reverence, expressions carved with awe and gratitude, as if they were offering thanks to the heavens themselves.

Then, stood a towering helmeted figure. His form loomed large, with beams of carved thunder lights flaring from behind him, one of divinity or holiness. A god, perhaps—the one the ancient Fae had worshipped.

Thurr , ” she heard Nesta murmur, her voice echoing softly in the silence.

Her finger drifted to the next figure—a female beside Thurr, standing tall with her chin raised and hands on her hips. Proud. Regal.

“Farya , ” Nesta whispered.

Then came a third figure—another male, also helmeted, but with curving horn-like shapes carved into the metal. His face twisted into a sly grin as he leaned toward Thurr, whispering into his ear.

“Lakos , ” Nesta said quietly, her finger pausing over his image.

The next carving showed Thurr raising a hand toward a female who stood by the Cauldron. 

“Could this female be…the Mother?” Nesta asked in which Elain was inclined to agree. She then looked at Lakos who stood right beside Thurr, smirking as if pleased with whatever Thurr said to the female.

In the next panel, things took a change. The Fae were no longer celebrating. Now, they ran in terror, hands clutched over their heads, mouths open in silent screams. Some fell to their knees. Others reached for something unseen.

Agony was etched into every line of the Fae’s carved forms—limbs twisted, mouths open in silent screams.

Beside them, grotesque creatures emerged—twisted, misshapen things with jagged limbs and gaping maws.

There were many of them, encircling the Fae like shadows creeping in unnoticed. Yet the Fae didn’t seem to see the creatures nor sense their presence. Their eyes were turned elsewhere, their expressions vacant, unaware of the horrors pressing in at their sides.

One carving showed a creature with its jaws clamped over a Fae’s head, swallowing it whole. Another depicted the beasts latching onto the Fae’s backs and chests, their tendrils sinking deep—draining them, corrupting them.

The once-proud beings now withered, their posture slumped, their bodies frail—overwhelmed by something they didn’t even know was there.

Then, the grotesque creatures now lay slaughtered, their twisted bodies piled in heaps. And atop that pile sat a massive man perched on what looked like a throne of corpses. The beast's corpses.

He had four massive arms, his posture both regal and relaxed. But it was his eyes that made Elain’s breath hitch, even from within the vision.

The pair of orbs were blazed from the molten fire of the carving—piercing, furious. And beneath them, another pair of smaller, unblinking eyes stared out, sharp and predatory. 

Elain leaned in through the vision, her curiosity battling the unease curling in her gut. Suddenly, she caught his mouth twisted into the faintest smirk. She flinched—actually flinched—staggering back a step in her mind’s eye.

But Nesta hadn’t reacted.

Hadn’t seen it.

Elain’s heart pounded. What was that?

Before she could process it, Nesta was already moving—walking toward the next panel. The image of that man’s–or beast’s smile still burned into her mind but she willed herself to set it aside for now and focus on the carvings. 

The following panel showed the earth littered with dead Fae, their bodies strewn like discarded dolls. And amidst them, the four-armed man stood—two hands on his hips, two arms crossed over his chest, looking bored and rich and cruel.

It wasn’t hard to tell what the carving meant. That beast was unmatched, undefeated.

Nesta stepped closer to the wall to study what came next— But the carvings abruptly ended. The stone ahead was blank.

As if the story had simply… stopped.

“That’s it? If this was a book, I’d burn it for ending like that. Guess I was wasting my time here.” Nesta sighed and turned to leave, but Elain—still tethered to the vision—felt something.

No... not yet.

Don’t go, Nesta. There’s more. Keep looking.

She spoke it into the silence, though she knew her sister couldn’t hear her anyway.

But then—

Nesta paused.

And turned back around.

She pressed forward, deeper into the tunnel. The air grew stiller. The silence heavier. After a few steps ahead, she finally saw a panel with three familiar figures carved into the stone.

And before Elain could even think the names—

“The Weaver. The Bone Carver. And Koschei.” Azriel’s voice cut through the silence.

Nesta jumped, whirling to face him.
“Gods—how long have you been there?”

Azriel’s expression was unreadable. “Since the first carving. You were so absorbed, you didn’t even notice.”

He pointed to a stone pedestal near the center of the widened chamber they now stood in. The tunnel had reached its end—an open, rounded space that echoed with quiet.

Atop the pedestal rested a small, dark object.

“An onyx box,” Nesta whispered. “Why is it familiar…”

Her eyes then widened slightly. “Wait—I remember now. Elain saw this. In one of her visions from before.”

“It had something to do with Koschei. It was his prized possession.” Azriel’s jaw tightened before he added, “And if that vision’s right, whatever’s in there… is meant to be found.”

Suddenly, Elain was yanked from the vision—as if the mere mention of the word found had snapped the tether holding her to it.

Her breath came in sharp, uneven gasps as she blinked back into reality. The world snapped into focus. The dining room. The faces around her. Everyone had risen from their seats, their expressions twisted with concern.

“You’re back!” Feyre breathed, her voice thick with relief as she rushed to Elain’s side.

Elain took a few steadying breaths, her chest rising and falling as she tried to ground herself. Her heart still pounded from the weight of what she’d seen. Only once the dizziness began to fade did she lift her eyes.

“I saw them,” she said, voice quiet but clear. “Nesta. Azriel. Bryce. And… a lot of other things.”

And with that, she began to recount everything— From the moment Bryce went through the portal leaving Nesta and Azriel in the cavern, to all the carvings in the tunnel and the onyx box atop the stone pedestal.

Every detail spilled out of her like a flood she could no longer hold back. And silence fell over the room as they listened intently to their seer

Chapter Text

Azriel and Nesta had returned to the House of Wind. Rhys and Mor had searched for them at the prison and winnowed them back. Both of them looked exhausted, their faces drawn with fatigue and something else Elain couldn’t read. They all ushered them to sit, urging them to eat and drink. As they settled in, Rhys informed them about the vision that Elain had about them earlier.

After a few sips of water and a long, tense silence later, Nesta began recounting everything that had happened over the past three days. Her voice low and steady as she laid it all out— from battling the Middengard Wyrm, to unlocking a door on a metal wall which had transported them directly to the Prison.There, Bryce had stepped into ancient wards—once the sacred site where the Harp was kept—and triggered a magical projection of her ancestor: Silene, daughter of Theia.

And from that moment, the truth unraveled. Nesta laid bare the unfiltered truth of Prythian’s history—truths long buried or twisted by time. She spoke of Bryce’s world, Midgard, its link to their own, and of the Prison, which had once been the Dusk Court, ruled by Theia herself after her rebellion and victory against the Daglan who had terrorized and ruled this planet in the first place.

Theia and Fionn, once allies, had risen together to defeat the Asteri. But Theia, consumed by vengeance, had conspired with Pelias and murdered Fionn. After the war, she sat upon her throne, wielding all four Dread Troves; the Harp, the Horn, the Mask, the Crown and two mighty blades—Gwydion and Truth-Teller.

Yet victory was not enough. Theia craved conquest beyond her realm. It was Pelias who uncovered ancient star maps from the Daglan, suggesting a new world ripe for domination. Using the Dread Troves, Theia opened a portal to Midgard—only to discover it was already populated. There, she encountered a different kind of Fae: shapeshifters with secondary animal forms, fierce and elemental in nature, loyal to Rigelus and the Asteri that ruled that realm.

Fearing defeat, Theia summoned help from Hel, and Aidas, Prince of Hel, answered her call, bringing allies from his domain to fight beside her. Soon, Silene was told by her Mother that Aidas was her Mother’s mate. A mate from a different realm entirely. Theia had promised her daughters that if they win the fight, she will atone for her sins and bring them to Hel to live with Aidas. No more war, no more conquest.

At this point, Azriel picked up the tale, his voice clipped and dark. Despite their alliances with Hel, Theia's forces were outmatched. Desperate, she commanded her daughters to sound the Horn and play the Harp—to return home. But before they fled, Theia used the Harp to split her light magic, bestowing part of it upon her daughters which Bryce had inherited from Helena’s line. Gwydion remained with Theia which she used to fight off Pelias who betrayed her only to die by his hand. Truth-Teller and the Harp were entrusted to Silene, while Helena carried the Horn. They opened the portal back to this world but only Silene made it through. Helena had stayed behind, sacrificing herself to buy time.

She then sealed the portal close, leaving her mother and sister behind. Silene returned to find the Dusk Court abandoned, the land feared and avoided. She wiped the memory of her people, erasing all knowledge of Theia, Pelias, and their crimes.

In atonement for her mother's legacy, Silene hunted down the monsters that still roamed their world—creatures from the age of the Daglan and the rebellion—and locked them within the Prison. She warded the place with powerful magic. She was also the one who made the carvings in the tunnel as archives of the truth that has happened.

Later, she married the High Lord of the Night Court, and when she bore him a child, she bound the wards of the Prison to his bloodline and passed all her knowledge to him. But somewhere across generations, those truths were forgotten, fading into myth and silence. And that was the end of the story

Nesta took a breath, then recounted what she and Azriel had faced at the secret chamber under the Prison. They had stumbled upon a sarcophagus buried deep underground—a Daglan who had been entombed fifteen thousand years ago by Theia as punishment. Her name was Vesperus, the Evening Star. But she was not yet dead, only slumbering.

Vesperus had begun draining the ancient power sealed beneath the Prison, slowly rebuilding her strength, preparing to break the shackles that bound her—and rise again. Bryce had fought Vesperus with Gwydion and Truth-Teller, and had come so close to killing her but it was Nesta, in the end, who dealt the killing blow with Ataraxia.

After the chaos, Bryce lashed out for killing the Asteri, demanding that she needed the female for answers. She then used her bloodline magic gifts to manipulate the stone and earth of the prison island and attack them, buying time for herself before vanishing through a portal using the power of the Horn inked behind her back and returning to her world—with both legendary blades in hand.

After Nesta had explained everything and answered some questions, the room had gone quiet. Their eyes turned to the onyx box resting at the center of the table—silent, inert, yet undeniably ominous. But none of them could see what Elain saw. With her sight, the box wasn’t still at all. It seethed . Swirling, angry ripples of energy churned around it—violent and volatile, like a storm trapped in stone. Every thread of power that pulsed from it felt malevolent, dark and ancient in a way that made her blood run cold.

The sensation struck her like a blow—her chest tightened, her heartbeat stumbling as though something unseen had wrapped icy fingers around her heart.

Whatever lay inside that box...

It wasn’t just dangerous.

It was evil .

She took a look at the faces around her. It seemed like no one else could feel it. 

“So… what are we going to do with this thing?” Cassian was the first to break the silence.

He stood beside Nesta, one arm wrapped tightly around her as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting her go again. Her cheek was pressed into his chest, eyes half-lidded in comfort—but she didn’t pull away.

Elain smiled faintly at the sight. But when her eyes drifted toward Azriel, she caught him quickly turning his gaze away from her.

Something in her chest pinched. She looked away too—back to the onyx box that still sat ominously on the table.

“I can feel something…” she said quietly. “Something evil in that box.”

Nesta looked at her, brows furrowed. “I don’t feel anything. How can you ?”

Elain froze for half a second. She had forgotten—no one knew the extent of her abilities, not beyond her visions. Not about how she could see energy. Feel it.

She forced a shrug, schooling her features into calm. “I don’t know. It’s just… a bad feeling.”

A half-truth.

Because the box wasn’t just giving her a bad feeling—It was screaming . Begging to be released and unleashed into the world. And no one else could hear its desperate pleas to be free.

Amren stepped forward, lifting the onyx box into her hands. She turned it over with a discerning eye.

“It looks like an ordinary box,” she said flatly.

She pressed her fingers along the edge, testing it—then attempted to pry it open.
Elain stiffened, panic flaring in her chest—

But nothing happened.

“It’s locked,” Amren announced, pointing to a narrow keyhole carved into the front. “We’ll need a key.”

“So… we just find the key and open it?” Cassian asked, his brows lifting.

“No,” Amren snapped. “We don’t open something like this blind. Not without knowing what we’re dealing with.”

“Whatever’s inside,” Mor added, stepping closer, “it has to be important to Koschei. Maybe it's the key to defeating him.”

Feyre crossed her arms, frowning. “But if it’s that important, why leave it behind like this? Why put it somewhere meant to be found?”

“Maybe he didn’t,” Azriel said. “Maybe he lost it long ago—before he was bound by the lake. And whoever found it just… left it there. Waiting for someone else to find the key and unlock it.”

“That’s a solid theory,” Rhys said, his voice steady. “But it’s still just that—a theory. We’ll need proof. And that means digging into the truth.”

His gaze shifted—landing directly on Elain.

She stiffened slightly, her heart beginning to pound. “What?” she asked, though she already had a guess.

“Try touching the box,” Rhys said gently. “Maybe it’ll trigger a vision.”

Elain blinked. It was as if he’d read her mind. Or maybe he had.

She gave a small nod and stepped forward, approaching Amren, who offered the box.

Elain took it in her hands. It felt rough, cold and ordinary, as Amren had said.

But the energy that rippled from it—furious, volatile, alive was hard to ignore. The angry swirls of darkness danced beneath her fingers. She traced her hands along the box’s surface, hoping—willing—a vision to come. But nothing stirred in the back of her mind. No vision came.

With a quiet sigh, she placed it back on the table. “Maybe I’ll get a vision about it soon,” she said softly. “Or maybe I won’t.”

She looked around the table, meeting every eye. “I’m sorry, but I can’t summon visions on command. They come when they want to. I’m still… trying to figure out if I can trigger it whenever I want.”

“So… you’re still training to control your visions with Azriel?” Feyre asked gently.

For a moment, Elain considered telling the truth—that she hadn’t been training with Azriel anymore. That she’d tried to figure it all out on her own. That maybe she didn’t need anyone’s help. But a quieter, more honest voice inside her whispered that she couldn’t do it all alone. That she needed someone. That she needed him .

She was tired of pretending. Tired of the push and pull, the distance between her and Azriel. 

So she lied.

“Yes. I’ve tried working on it while he was gone, but… there’s been no progress.” She forced a small smile. “Now that he’s back, he’ll help me again.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the slight widening of Azriel’s gaze—just a flicker, but enough to tell her he hadn’t expected her to say that.

Feyre nodded, satisfied. “That’s good then.”

Amren stood and said briskly, “We don’t know what Koschei is planning, but judging by how frequently Elain’s visions are coming… he might already be three steps ahead. We can’t afford to keep falling behind.”

“Oh please,” Mor drawled. “What could he possibly do now? Turn more innocent maidens into birdies? He also has no allies anymore. Briallyn’s dead.”

“Yeah,” Cassian added, “but Beron isn’t. And who knows what other allies Koschei’s roped in?”

“There haven’t been any recent reports on Beron,” Azriel said, his voice cool. “Either he’s covering his tracks well, or he’s no longer part of Koschei’s game. But my spies are still watching him.”

Feyre nodded thoughtfully. “Then our focus now is uncovering the truth about Koschei—and that box.” She glanced at Rhysand, silently confirming the course of action.

Rhys gave a firm nod. “Mor, Cassian, Amren—you three head down the library. Start there. If you don’t find anything, go to the Day Court and look for the archives.”

He turned to his mate with a faint smile. “And I want to pay a visit to the prison again. See if there’s anything else there. Will you come with me, Feyre darling?”

Feyre returned the smile. “Of course. I missed that lovely place.” Then her eyes shifted to Elain. “That leaves you and Azriel to resume vision training.”

Azriel gave a silent nod, his expression unreadable. Elain followed, her reply equally quiet.

“Hello?” Nesta raised a brow, lifting her hand. “What about me?”

Rhys smirked. “You deserve a day off after your stellar performance—you slayed the Wyrm and killed a Daglan.”

Cassian, still at her side, pulled her closer with a grin, murmuring something that sounded like a mix of admiration and mock complaint about her not joining him.

Nesta snorted, but when she looked back at Rhys, Elain didn’t miss the flicker of pride—and warmth—in her sister’s eyes. “I won’t refuse a well-earned rest. Thanks, oh-generous High Lord.”

Feyre nodded, satisfied. “If everything’s settled, let’s move.”

With that, the room began to empty as everyone went their separate ways, leaving only Elain, Azriel, and Nesta still standing in place.

Nesta turned to them, arms crossing. “I’m locking myself in my room. Don’t knock unless the world’s ending.” She paused, then softened slightly as she stepped toward Elain.

“Good luck with your vision training,” she said, placing a hand on Elain’s cheek and giving it a few light, fond taps.

Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned and strode off toward her room, her footsteps echoing behind her, leaving Elain with the shadowsinger.

“You look worn out,” Azriel said quietly. “Have you even slept? Didn’t you use the vial I gave you?”

Elain let out a soft sigh. “I didn’t. I didn’t want to miss any vision—anything about you or Nesta. I tried to summon one, but… nothing came. Cassian was so worried about Nesta. And you.”

Azriel tilted his head slightly, watching her. “How about you?” he asked. “Were you worried about me?”

Elain’s fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. “Of course I was.” She paused, then added softly, “I’m glad you’re back.”

A faint smile touched Azriel’s lips.

“I’m sorry about Truth-Teller,” Elain said gently. “I… I can’t imagine how that must feel.” Her gaze met his, full of sympathy.

His eyes softened, shadows curling lightly around his shoulders. “I just have to learn to live with it.”

“I don’t want to give you false hope,” she said slowly, “but… something in my gut tells me you’ll get your dagger back. Soon.”

Azriel raised a brow, intrigued. Then his smile deepened, and he leaned in just a little closer. “Is that the sweet Elain Archeron trying to ease my pain—or the powerful and all-knowing seer who knows more than she lets on?”

Elain laughed quietly. “Why can’t it be both?”

Azriel smiled before glancing at the couch behind them. “Let’s sit,” he said, offering his hand.

Elain took it without hesitation. He guided her to the couch, waited for her to sit, then settled beside her, just close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him.

He looked down, shadows curling tighter around his shoulders. “I just hope… whatever she needed my dagger for—it was worth it.”

Elain reached out, gently placing a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. His shadows dissipated instantly beneath her touch, as if her presence alone calmed them.

“Despite my precious dagger being stolen,” he began, offering a wry smile, “I did learn a lot from what I went through with Nesta and Bryce.”

Elain tilted her head, curious. “Like what?”

He met her eyes. “That the things we cherish can be taken from us anytime—and in ways we never see coming. So you have to make the most of the time you have with them before they’re taken from you.”

Elain’s breath caught.

Taken from you.
Did he mean her finally accepting the mating bond with Lucien? If only he knew that she is also preparing herself for the moment he’d finally choose Gwyn when he knows the truth.

Still, she nodded slowly. Perhaps he was right. They shouldn’t distance themselves just because of the inevitable truth. Not when the distance between them hurts. 

Azriel’s voice drew her back. “Bryce was… relentless,” he said, his tone shifting. “She kept trying to escape us—trying to get answers, find a way to save her planet... and her mate. I think she would’ve done anything to get back to him.”

He sighed. “As much as I hate that she took Truth-Teller, I can’t ignore the desperation behind it.” He paused, letting the silence stretch before meeting her gaze.

“It makes me wonder,” he murmured, voice low and raw, “if I’ll spend the rest of my life regretting the distance I kept from the one I cherish most.”

Elain’s eyes widened, the breath catching in her throat. Her lips parted slightly. That was a confession, right? He just told her that he cherished her…the most…

Azriel gave her a faint smile. “By the way, getting my dagger stolen seems worth it,” he said, his tone lighter. “Now that a certain someone is no longer mad at me.” He shot her a playful look.

Elain smiled, still recovering from his earlier confession. “That’s one way to look at it.” But then her expression shifted, her smile fading into something more vulnerable. “Azriel. I... I hate this push and pull between us.”

“I hate it too.” He agreed quickly.

“There’s so much I’ve wanted to tell you. I wanted to tell you everything. But I was afraid,” she admitted. “Afraid that if I leaned on you too much, and you pulled away again... I’d fall apart. It hurts, Azriel.”

Azriel moved before she could process that she was laying everything bare to him. His hands lifted to cradle her cheeks with a gentleness that made her heart stutter.

“I’m not pulling away again,” he said firmly. “No matter what happens. No matter who tells me to stay away—I won’t. Not from you.”

Elain’s brows furrowed. “Someone told you to stay away from me?”

Azriel hesitated, then sighed. “That night. The Solstice. When we almost kissed… Rhys saw us. He was at the stairs behind you. He spoke into my mind and ordered me into his office.”

She watched as he swallowed hard. “I swear I didn’t pull away because I wanted to, Elain. Please believe me. I didn’t want to. ”

Elain could hear the raw honesty in his voice, but it was his eyes that told her everything—the pain, the longing, the regret.

“So Rhys caught us,” she murmured. “And he told you to back off. Because I’m supposed to be devoted to Lucien, a male I never chose, never asked for. And I’m not allowed to be with someone else... even if that’s my choice?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. “Rhys doesn’t understand. He thinks I just wanted... someone. That you were convenient. But you’re not, Elain.” His thumb brushed across her cheekbone. “I don’t want anyone else. I only have eyes for you…and I care for you. Deeply. ”

Elain tried to silence the voice whispering in the back of her mind—the one that told her he wouldn’t look at her the same once he learned the truth. That once he knew Gwyn was his mate, he’d stop caring. That whatever this was between them, whatever they’d built, would crumble beneath the weight of a bond not shared with her.

She leaned into his touch, and it calmed down the storm that was brewing inside her mind. IHis touch was so reverent, so tender, it made her chest ache. Elain reached up and took his hand, guiding it down to her lips. She pressed a kiss into his palm, eyes fluttering closed.

“I care for you too, Azriel. Deeply,” she whispered, before resting her cheek in his hand, looking straight into his eyes.

She watched as his breathing grew uneven, his fingers trembling slightly against her skin.

“Don’t be like that,” he murmured.

Elain blinked up at him, lips curving. “Be like what?”

His voice dropped, almost hoarse. “Be too goddamned adorable.”

A soft laugh escaped her. She  gently set his hands on her lap, still covering it with both of hers.

Azriel leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. “You certainly know how to comfort a miserable male,” he murmured. “Whatever you’re doing to me... it’s working, honey.”

Elain’s eyes widened as a flush crept up her neck. “Did you just call me honey ?”

Azriel let out a low chuckle, his forehead brushing gently against the side of her face. The sound rumbled through her, warm and intimate, and the soft graze of his breath made her squirm in her seat at the ticklish sensation. She bit back a laugh, heat rising to her cheeks.

“Am I getting ahead of myself?” he teased, voice husky. “You do smell like the sweetest honey, Elain.”

Just as Elain opened her mouth to deliver a retort—half embarrassed, half flattered—footsteps echoed from the staircase. They both instantly straightened on the couch, trying to look entirely unbothered.

Nesta appeared at the bottom of the steps, eyeing them with a raised brow.

“How’s your training going?” she asked, clearly amused.

“I thought you were locking yourself in your room,” Azriel said, recovering first.

Nesta smirked. “Didn’t say I’d stay there and won’t come out. I just wanted to see if either of you are actually working.”

Elain quickly shook her head and lied.“We tried, but still nothing. My head’s still a little… off. So Azriel was just distracting me with talk about Bryce to help me refocus.”

“I see,” Nesta said slowly, though the gleam of suspicion in her eyes was impossible to miss. “Well, I came to see how you’re training. You’ve seen me in the ring—it’s only fair.”

“Oh… uhm, of course—” Elain started, flustered.

But Azriel cut in smoothly, “I’m afraid we can’t afford an audience during this kind of training.”

Nesta arched a brow. “Why not?”

“Because it requires intense mental focus,” he said evenly. “The kind that doesn’t work well when your sister is watching from the corner and silently judging.”

Nesta scoffed, clearly offended. “I don’t silently judge. I judge loudly. ”

Azriel snorted and gave her a flat look. “All the more reason.”

Nesta rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if you need ultimate focus, why train in the lounge of all places?”

Azriel’s shadows flickered. Then he gave a curt nod, conceding. “You’re right. We’ll move. I know a better spot.”

He stood and extended a hand to Elain, who took it without hesitation. As he helped her up, she cast a quick glance back at her sister. Nesta raised a brow, then shrugged and turned back toward the stairs. 

“That was…quite a way to handle that.” Elain murmured once Nesta was gone.

Azriel’s mouth twitched. “You’re welcome.”

~~~~~~~~

Azriel led her into a small room tucked away at the far end of the hall. Not entirely empty—there was a low table and a shelf pushed against the wall.

“This used to be an old meeting room,” he said, closing the door behind them with a soft click.

Elain glanced around, taking in the space. She stepped onto the thick carpet and lowered herself to the floor, crossing her legs beneath her skirts. Azriel followed, settling across from her. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

She bit her lip, clearly searching for the right words. Azriel simply watched her, a faint smile curving his lips.

He still couldn’t believe how things between them had shifted—how the space that once yawned wide and uncertain now felt like it had narrowed, drawing them closer again. Elain had said she hated the push and pull, and he had admitted he hated it too. It had taken a stranger from another world to knock the sense into him. To remind him of what mattered. That anything— anyone —could be taken away in a heartbeat.

Just like Truth-Teller had been stolen from him. That loss had been his wake-up call.

Never again would he choose distance. Not when she’s right in front of him, wanting to be close to him too.

Never again would he walk away from Elain Archeron.

He reached for her hands and took them gently in his, brushing a thumb over the back of her knuckles. “Let’s start with what’s been troubling me the most,” he said softly. 

“The night after we spent time in the library—my shadows went to you. What actually happened that night, Elain?” His voice was careful. Gentle. But beneath it was a quiet urgency, a need to understand.

Elain sighed softly, her fingers tightening slightly in his. “Do you remember what Gwyn told you about the vision I had? The one where I saw her at the Temple?”

Azriel nodded. “You asked her to teach you the morning ritual because you thought it would help with your vision. But…” He frowned. “It didn’t make much sense. How could it help?”

A faint smile touched Elain’s lips. “It wasn’t for the vision. Not exactly. It was for something else—another ability I discovered that night.”

Azriel raised a brow, but stayed silent, listening as she went on.

“That night… I had another vision. A strange one. I saw myself lying in bed. Then suddenly my soul—my consciousness—got out of my body. Drifting. It felt so real.” She paused, choosing her next words carefully. “I thought that I could do it.”

Azriel blinked, clearly trying to piece it together. “You think you can…leave your body?”

Elain nodded. “I don’t just think. I did .” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a small vial, holding it between them. “That night, before I went to sleep, I drank this. It’s a mix of herbs said to help with visions. But I suspected it might do more.”

His gaze sharpened. “Where did you get that?”

“A… friend. I’ll tell you about her later,” she said quickly. “Anyway, I drank it, and I fell asleep. And then it happened—my consciousness slipped out of my body. I was floating above myself, untethered.”

Azriel’s eyes widened. “And your body just…stayed there?”

She nodded. “Still. Breathing. Like nothing happened.”

Understanding flickered in his eyes. “That’s why my shadows were restless. They circled around your body and tried to tell me something was off.I had no idea what’s going on. But now it makes sense.”

Elain’s lips quirked. “I know. I saw the whole thing and I purposely didn’t tell you about it the next day when we met at the training ring.”

Azriel blinked. Then smirked. He reached over and pinched her cheek, teasing, “You’re just full of mischief and secrets, aren’t you?”

Elain laughed and swatted his hand away. “Fine. I won’t keep any more secrets from you.”

He smirked lazily. “Good girl.”

Her cheeks flushed at the praise, but she quickly sobered. “But… I don’t want anyone else to know. Not yet. Not until I have better control. It’s already hard enough with the visions I can’t control—if they knew about this too, I’d just feel…pressured. Watched.”

Azriel’s expression softened. “I understand. And I won’t tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with me.” His hand tightened around hers. “This is our secret now.”

Elain smiled—wide and radiant—and it nearly stole the breath from Azriel’s lungs.

He found himself frozen by it, struck by the quiet realization that he wanted to be the reason she smiled like that. Not just once, but often. And always directed at him.

“In that case,” she said, voice soft with mischief, “I suppose I could show you this secret now. But unfortunately… only your shadows will be able to see it. You’ll just need to hear what they have to say and believe it.”

Azriel blinked, his heart picking up its pace. Wary. Concerned. “Elain—”

But she was already closing her eyes. A heartbeat later, her body went slack in his arms, and Azriel caught her gently before she could slump fully to the floor. Her breathing was steady, peaceful—like sleep—but he knew better.

She was somewhere else.

His shadows stirred immediately, swirling out of the corners of the room and whispered.

She’s here.
She’s here.
She’s here.

They circled a seemingly empty space in the air. Was she there?

“Elain?” he asked, eyes darting to where the shadows gathered.

She’s coming closer.
She’s touching you.
She’s touching you.

Azriel stared at his arm. He felt nothing—but he believed them.

“It’s kind of frustrating,” he muttered. “That I can’t see or feel you.” He let out a soft huff.

Then, the Elain in his arms stirred. Her lashes fluttered open.

Azriel startled, nearly dropping her in surprise, before letting out a breathless laugh.

Elain smiled as she pulled back from his embrace to sit straight, her eyes twinkling with delight. “I know. But at least your shadows can see me. Nothing else can. Not even Nuala and Cerridwen.”

“Let me guess,” he said, raising a brow. “You trained this with them all this time?”

She nodded proudly. “We call this ability as projection. My consciousness can project out of my physical form. And now, I can go in and out of my body as easily as flipping a switch.”

Azriel stared at her, awe softening his features. He couldn’t help the quiet chuckle that escaped him.

“You’re incredible,” he said. “Truly.”

Elain’s smile faltered into something gentler. And under the warm glow of his praise, she looked almost shy.

But Azriel meant it. Every word.

“But it’s still not enough,” Elain murmured. “I’m trying to figure out how to project while still being conscious inside my body.”

Azriel arched his brow. “Is that even possible?”

Elain’s lips curled into a knowing smile. “I’m all about making the impossible possible, Azriel. Tell me—have you ever heard of anyone who can do what I just did?”

He blinked, before shaking his head.

“Exactly,” she said. “I want to see how far I can go. What else I’m capable of. The more impossible something seems, the more I want to prove it isn’t.” Her eyes glinted with fierce determination. “That I can do it.”

A rush of something fierce and warm flared in Azriel’s chest—astonishment, pride, affection. Without thinking, he reached for her, gripping her arms and pulling her gently into his lap. Elain let out a surprised laugh before gasping as his lips pressed a trail of kisses along her neck. She giggled, squirming against him, her hands braced on his chest.

“What a brilliant, maddeningly optimistic girl you are,” he murmured into her skin, voice low and reverent.

Elain’s smile softened, her laughter fading into something quieter. Something tender. “Only when I’m with someone who believes I can be.”

Azriel pressed his forehead to hers. “I don’t just believe it, Elain. I know you can.”

Elain melted into his embrace, her cheek resting against his shoulder as Azriel’s hand gently stroked her clothed stomach in slow, soothing circles.

“But how can I do it?” she whispered. “I’ve already tried. It won’t happen. I don’t know the trick to staying conscious.”

Azriel’s voice was quiet. “What’s your trick for projecting in the first place?”

“I settle into myself,” she murmured. “Become aware of my consciousness—like really feel it inside my body. Then I let it drift into the void. Once I’m deep enough, I move toward the surface… and shift. It’s like changing mediums. Like going from standing on land to submerging underwater.”

He nodded thoughtfully. “That’s different from my shadows. They’re not my mind. Not my soul. They’re just… extensions of my power.”

Silence stretched between them—soft, contemplative—until Elain’s head snapped up slightly, eyes narrowing as a thought formed.

“Wait…” she said slowly, her voice sharpening with excitement. “What if… in order to stay conscious in my body and project at the same time, I need to split my consciousness?”

Azriel tilted his head, listening.

“If I could divide my awareness,” she continued, “leave a part of myself anchored in my body, and send the other half out—then maybe the one that stays is still linked the one that wanders. Like… if projection is an extension of my magic, then why can’t I do what you do with your shadows? What if I could make my consciousness work the same way?”

Azriel’s eyes glinted with understanding, something sharp and focused locking into place. “That’s… a brilliant idea,” he said, voice low. “Dangerous. But brilliant.”

Azriel dipped his head, lips brushing her ear while dragging a knuckle across her clothed belly. “Be honest—did you put something in your tea every morning? That brain of yours is lethal, honey.”

That earned a beautiful, breathy laugh from her—the kind that made his shadows still, as if the world itself paused to listen.

Elain squirmed in his lap, her cheeks pink and glowing, eyes gleaming with mirth. “Flattery will get you everywhere, Shadowsinger,” she said, poking a finger at his chest.

Azriel's grin turned wicked and lazy. “Good. Because from now on, I intend to go everywhere with you, Elain. No matter where your projection form tries to run… it won’t escape me and my shadows.”

She tried to suppress her smile, biting her lip—but failed miserably. “You’re getting cocky.”

His grin widened. “I’ve always been cocky. You’re just finally getting a front-row seat.”

Elain laughed, light and free. “I like that.”

Azriel’s answering smile was softer, more intimate as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “And I like you.”

Her smile widened into something radiant. “I like you too, Azriel.” Then, with a teasing push to his chest, she slid out of his lap and settled back onto the carpet. She was still flush from his teasing and kisses. “Alright. You’re distracting me too much. Now, where were we? Right. I’ll try splitting my consciousness before projecting.”

Azriel nodded, his expression turning thoughtful. “Alright. Think of it like stretching a thread—part of you stays anchored in your body. The other... you let drift. Gently. Don’t tear it or snap it. Just... ease it apart, like you’re unraveling a ribbon.”

Elain tilted her head, considering his words. “So once I split consciousness…”

“You keep one part of that consciousness tethered—stay grounded in your senses. Think of your heartbeat. Your breath. Let those be your anchor while the other part of your consciousness projects out.”

She nodded slowly. “Got it.”

Azriel’s shadows stirred faintly around her as if anticipating her projection. “You’ve already done the impossible. You got this.”

She met his gaze and nodded. Then she closed her eyes.

He waited for something to happen. But minutes went by and still nothing happened. He wanted to break the silence but he didn’t want to sway Elain’s focus. She might be close and him interrupting her would only ruin things. So he continued to wait patiently until something happened.

Then, suddenly, Elain’s hand shot out and grasped his which made his eyes widened in shock. A sudden spark—a subtle pulse—ran through Azriel, like a thread of electricity weaving between them.

He blinked at the sight of her hands wrapped in his before looking up—and found her gaze locked on him. Then he noticed his shadows shifting, moving behind him. There, just behind his back, a glowing form hovered, shimmering softly in the low light. His shadows curled protectively around it, as if recognizing something precious.

She did it.
She did it.
She did it.

Azriel’s breath hitched. Disbelief still tangled in his chest, his voice barely more than a whisper, “You did it.”

He turned back to her, eyes wide with awe. “But… how can I suddenly see that?”

Elain blinked, equally stunned. “You do? Well, I don’t know… I thought I needed a physical anchor to split my consciousness and stay conscious in my own body. Maybe with you being my anchor, it created a connection between us which allowed you to see my projected form?”

“Perhaps” he said softly, “but what matters is you did it. The answers can come later.”

Without hesitation, Azriel pulled her close, until she was pressed right against him, her body fitting perfectly on his lap. The warmth between them bloomed.

Elain smiled, breathless as she hooked her arms around his neck. “I can’t believe I did it… thanks to you.”

“You give me credit for doing nothing.” He looked at her, his gaze softened. Truly, everything that Elain had accomplished was because of herself. 

She shook her head slightly. “Don’t be ridiculous, you helped . Just being here with me means more than you could possibly know.” 

A slow, knowing smile curved his lips. “Then I’ll continue to stay by your side.”

Their eyes locked, the space between them charged with something deeper, something urgent. Azriel’s hand cupped her cheek gently, thumb brushing along her skin.

Then, with a hunger that nearly consumed every inch of his restraint, Azriel leaned in and captured her sweet lips with his own. The kiss was fierce and tender all at once—like a storm barely held in check, colliding into calm. His lips moved against hers with a desperate reverence, an intensity that spoke of everything unspoken: the awe of her, the relief and raw desire of finally touching something he denied for too long—and a promise that this was only the beginning.

Elain’s fingers wove into his hair, tugging him closer, and he groaned into her mouth at the feeling of her pressed so wholly against him. He was lost in the heat of their first shared breath, the first taste of her.

She tasted like something warm and wild—sunlit honey laced with blooming jasmine, soft and intoxicating, yet edged with something untamed. He could drown in it, in her, and never once wish to come up for air.

She was everything he craved. Everything he’d ever denied himself. And from this moment forward, he knew he would be hopelessly, endlessly obsessed—with the way she fit perfectly against him, the shape and curve of her sweet, plump lips against his and the way she tasted, like it was the last thing he would ever want to taste before dying.

When they finally pulled apart, the world seemed to still—time folding in on itself as if holding its breath for what had just ignited between them. Their eyes locked, dark and luminous, fierce yet tender, like two stars finally aligned after eons apart.

In that moment, Azriel’s heart spoke a silent, irrevocable vow. This is hers. All of him is hers. Every fragment of his soul, every shadow and light within him, belonged to her now.

He traced the curve of her cheek with his thumb, feeling the steady warmth beneath his touch. Then he rested his forehead against hers, his eyes locked onto hers intensely as he whispered just a shy away from her lips, “From this moment on, nothing—no one, no force, no fate—can keep me from you.”

He held her gaze, watching as her eyes shone with a radiant light reflected from the faelights above them—like the first golden rays of sunrise breaking through the darkest night. In that warm, brilliant glow, he saw everything worth fighting for. He would fight against everything just to ensure the light in her eyes never dimmed again. He vowed to not only to protect that light, but to be the reason it shone brighter than ever before.

Chapter Text

Elain sat quietly at the dining table, only half-listening to Nesta who was sharing new suggestions for Valkyrie training. Her gaze was on her sister, but her mind was far from the conversation—drifting back to what had happened earlier in the old meeting room. Their secret spot, according to Azriel.

The memory rushed in, warm and vivid. They had been tangled up on the carpeted floor, lips pressed together in a desperate, breathless rhythm while their hands roamed each other’s body. She could still feel the ghost of Azriel’s fingers sliding beneath her dress, still feeling the way her skin had come alive beneath his touch.

A flush crept up her neck. She dared a glance across the table—and found him already watching her. Her breath hitched as his hazel eyes darkened the moment their gazes locked, the heat in them unmistakable. He didn’t smile, didn’t say a word. He just held her stare with a look that said he remembered every second of it, too.

She dropped her gaze to her plate, heart pounding harder than it had any right to.

They had made out for what felt like hours before finally remembering why they were there in the first place—to train her projection.

Elain had recovered from the daze of their passionate session and projected again with the technique she’d begun to refine. It was the same projection technique, but before shifting her consciousness out of her body, she first focused on dividing it—anchoring part of it within herself, and the other ready to slip free. And to do that, she needed a tether. She had reached for Azriel’s hand, intertwining it with hers. He said there was a pulse—sharp and powerful—like lightning, running through his hand at the contact. 

Azriel had admitted that after training the projection with her, something felt different with his shadows. They had begun to feel denser. As if something within them had shifted, mixed with something new. 

Elain had immediately apologized, worried her projection had somehow messed him up by interfering with his magic. But he had silenced her with a kiss—slow, lingering, and filled with quiet reassurance. Then he’d whispered against her lips, telling her it was all right. That whatever this was, they’d figure it out together.

And if anything, he said, he liked mysteries—especially when he got to unravel them with his favorite person. That had made Elain smile in a way she hadn’t in a long time. A real smile. The kind that warmed her from the inside out.

"Az, do you agree?" Nesta asked, her gaze snapping to the Shadowsinger—pulling Elain from her wandering thoughts.

Azriel nodded once. “I think it’s a good idea. You and Cass can try it tomorrow. Just make sure the others master it properly.”

“Me and Cass only?” Nesta lifted a brow. “What about you?”

“I’m not joining tomorrow. Or anytime soon,” he said evenly. “I need to focus on training Elain.”

Elain’s heart gave a little lurch. He was serious about training her. She tried not to smile.

“Oh. Right,” Nesta replied, her tone unreadable. “But that leaves Cass as the only instructor.”

“You’re more than capable, Nesta,” Azriel said calmly. “You, Emerie, and Gwyn are all ready. You can divide the others into small groups and teach them. Cass will watch and guide.”

Cassian nodded. “We can do that. And about you not joining the training anymore, I think Mor can step in to replace you after she’s back from the Day court. The priestesses would love to see her again.” 

Azriel narrowed his eyes at his brother. “Remind me again why you didn’t go to the Day Court with Mor and Amren?”

Nesta smirked before Cassian could answer. “They said he was useless in the library. After a few pages, he put his head on the table and fell asleep. That was after he devoured all the confectionery they’d set out for them.”

Elain laughed, Azriel joining in with a low chuckle, while Cassian scowled playfully and reached over to pinch Nesta’s cheek. 

Cassian’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “For the record, I am not entirely useless. I actually did some work—wrote down everything Mor and Amren discovered and already sent it off to Rhys.”

Azriel raised a brow. “So you can be helpful.”

Cassian ignored the jab and leaned forward. “And now, I’m going to tell you what they found.”

The three of them leaned in, the playful mood shifting into anticipation.

“The ancient Fae worshipped the Mother,” Cassian began, his voice steady. “They believed she poured the cauldron, the source of life in this world—bestower of peace, guidance, prosperity, and all things good. For a long time, the High Fae thrived under her worship. Their power was vast, elemental, and deeply tied to the land.”

“Nothing’s new then,” Nesta said flatly.

Cassian shook his head, clearly not in agreement. “Not everyone back then worshipped the Mother though. Not everyone was satisfied with what they had. Some grew greedy—hungry for more power than even the Mother could grant. They turned to forbidden gods which called themselves death-gods. And in return, those death gods granted them abilities unlike any elemental magic—dark, destructive, unnatural.”

Elain and Azriel exchanged a glance as Cassian continued.

“When the rest of the High Fae discovered this betrayal, war broke out. They accused those worshipping the death gods of turning their backs on the Mother—of corrupting the sacred balance of power. But it wasn’t just High Fae who sought out the death gods. The lesser Fae did, too.”

His jaw clenched slightly. “They were born without magic. Treated as inferior by the High Fae. And when the death gods promised them protection and power, they accepted without hesitation. For that, many were hunted down and executed alongside the traitorous High Fae.”

Nesta’s expression tightened, but she said nothing.

“The death gods foresaw retaliation. So before the war truly turned against them, Koschei—the strongest of them—cursed the land. Not with armies or storms… but with a disease. One no ordinary eye could see, and no magic could cure. An invisible rot that crept through the world for years.”

Cassian leaned back slightly, the weight of it hanging in the room.

“They called it the Djinn. Evil spirits made from twisted magic and negative energy, living spirits of corruption. They infected Fae, driving them to madness, to ruin. Only those born with the sight could see them. But even then, they were powerless to stop it.”

Eyes turned to Elain at that but she was too caught up at the story.

“Until,” he said, voice quieter now, “a group of people who were not just granted with the sight but also the ability to cure the disease emerged. Some called them sorcerers, some called them exorcists. They are the ones who could both see and fight the Djinn. They managed to push back the curse. Later, one of them tricked the death gods into confinement.”

He glanced around the table before dropping the words like a stone into still water. “History may be repeating itself. The evil wasn’t destroyed—only locked away, waiting for the day it would be released and seek their revenge.”

A chill slid down Elain’s spine at Cassian’s words. “Wait… Is this the one carved into the prison tunnel walls? The monstrous creatures that mauled the Fae… and their leader—the one with four arms, sitting atop a throne made of corpses?” Her voice was quiet, but it carried.

Cassian nodded gravely. “Yes. We think it might be the same.”

Nesta cut in before she could continue with her next question.“What about Thurr, Farya, and Lakos? They were depicted in those carvings too—beside the Mother and the Cauldron. Are they mentioned anywhere?”

Cassian shook his head, frustrated. “No. Not a single mention of them.”

Elain frowned. “All of this confirms one thing—Koschei is powerful enough to curse an entire land. But still… there’s nothing about the onyx box.”

Azriel gave her a short nod. “Let’s hope Mor and Amren come back with something soon. We need answers—and fast. Because if Koschei really is preparing to unleash this curse again, we won’t stand a chance unless we strike him down first.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After dinner, Nesta and Cassian had retired to their room. Before they left, they’d asked what Elain and Azriel planned to do with the rest of the evening. Elain had simply said they’d be training again.

She made her way to the lounge room, Azriel trailing behind her in silence. The onyx box still sat at the center of the table like a sleeping beast.

Without turning around, she said quietly, “Another thing you should know is… I’ve gained another ability after I mastered my projection.”

Azriel’s attention sharpened instantly. He watched her as she approached the box.

“I can see things others can’t,” she continued, her eyes fixed on the box. “You only see a box. But I see tendrils of energy swirling violently around it—like they’re screaming to be freed. There’s something evil inside it, Azriel.”

His brows drew together. “How is it possible that you can see such things?”

Elain only smiled at his confused tone and explained softly. “In my projected form, I can see everything. Literally everything. Energy. Hidden things. Even small particles when I zoom in. The more I project, the more it bled into this form—my physical eyes.”

She watched as Azriel became still, his eyes assessing the box. His shadows whispered at his shoulders, unsettled, as if they too felt something wrong with it.

Elain stared at the swirling tendrils of energy curling off the onyx box. They seemed to pulse with intent—whispering to her, beckoning. Daring her to come closer. To touch. To do something about it.

She took a step toward the table, drawn by a pull she couldn’t explain. Her fingers reached out, brushing through the unseen coils of power that danced around the box.

A sharp jolt shot up her fingers and she gasped.

Before she could process the sensation, strong hands clamped around her shoulders and yanked her back.

“What’s wrong?” Azriel demanded, his voice low, sharp. His shadows erupted like a storm, lashing toward the box as if they were assessing something dangerous.

Elain shook her head quickly, trying to slow her pounding heart. “I… I just felt something. But don’t worry, Azriel. It’s okay.”

He didn’t look convinced, but let her go.

She stepped forward again, slower this time. Her fingers hovered just above the box. Once more, she could feel it—the energy curling toward her touch, responding.

Then, on instinct, she raised her hand.

The box rose with it.

Elain's breath caught in her throat. It hovered in the air, suspended by nothing but her will. In a panic, she dropped her hand—and the box dropped with a loud thud back onto the table.

She stumbled back a step, eyes wide.

Azriel was already moving closer, his shadows swirling protectively around her again.

“Elain,” he said, his voice tight, “what was that?”

She could only shake her head, breath catching. “I don’t know...”

Was this… another ability?

Her eyes flicked to the other objects in the room. Everything shimmered—faint ripples of energy curling around them, visible only to her. Curious, she lifted her hand toward a cushion resting on the sofa. Focused. Willed it to rise.

And it did .

The cushion floated easily into the air, following the subtle, deliberate movements of her fingers. Left. Right. Up. Down. It moved like a leaf in the wind.

She turned to Azriel, who stood still—his mouth slightly open.

“I think this is a new ability of mine.”  She said excitedly.

Azriel stepped toward her, his eyes gleaming with something between awe and calculation. “Is that all you can do?”

Elain’s brow lifted in offense. “Excuse me?”

He blinked, then let out a low laugh. “I mean—” He closed the distance between them until their bodies almost touched. “—I don’t think that’s all you can do.”

He bent down slightly to match her height, his breath brushing her cheek as he gently took her hand and guided it back toward the cushion.

His voice lowered near her ear. “What do you feel right now?”

Her eyes widened. “I feel hot now that you’re pressing against me. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Azriel laughed, low and soft, the sound skimming her skin. “Tempting. But I meant about the cushion.”

Huffing a breath, she moved her fingers again, directing the cushion to float lazily in a circle. But…she felt nothing. “I don’t feel anything,” she admitted quietly.

Azriel nodded slowly. “Then maybe it’s not about feeling. Maybe it’s about will and control.” His thumb brushed across her knuckles. “This could be the start of something far bigger than you think, honey.”

Her heart thudded. Not out of fear, but anticipation.

“Try playing around with the cushion,” Azriel suggested.

So she did.

Elain moved her fingers left, then right again, dragging the cushion across the air. It obeyed with ease.

She felt Azriel shake his head behind her. “You already did that. Try something new.”

Elain nodded, chewing her bottom lip. She turned her attention back to the cushion and imagined it… stretching.

She mirrored the thought with her fingers—and the cushion obeyed. The fabric pulled taut, elongating until it was nearly twice its length.

She grinned. Azriel mirrored it.

Until, with a soft riiiip , the cushion tore apart and feathers burst out, scattering like snow.

Both of them gasped.

Then, to her surprise, he smirked, mischief glinting in his eyes. “Loosen up a little, honey.”

With a flick of his fingers, his shadows gathered the scattered feathers into a swirling mass, then launched them toward Elain in a soft, feathered assault.

She yelped as she barely dodged it. “You—!”

Another flurry of feathers cut her off, smacking her in the face.

“Azriel!” she gasped, part frustrated, part laughing.

“Play with me,” he said with a grin wider than she’d ever seen, his expression unguarded, light. “Use your powers.”

That look—carefree and shining—was enough to make her heart stutter. She returned his smile, radiant and bright.

“I’m trying!” she huffed, lifting her hands. A few feathers floated into the air, but compared to the perfectly compressed feather-sphere his shadows had created, it looked pitiful. “This isn’t fair. I just discovered this power today!”

Azriel chuckled, voice teasing. “Then learn faster, honey. Beat me up.”

He hurled another cloud of feathers her way, and she instinctively threw her arms up to shield herself—but the feathers slammed into an invisible ripple of energy just before her skin.

She blinked. “Did you see that?”

Azriel’s brows lifted in interest. “Looks like my girl got her own defenses now.”

Before she could reply, he was already preparing for his next attack.

“Take this!” he shouted playfully, sending another burst her way.

Elain dodged this one, her movements fluid—thanks, no doubt, to the reflexes honed by training with the twins.

“Alright, shadow boy,” she called, gathering the feathers again with a wave of her hand. “It’s my turn now!”

She willed them forward, but they moved sluggishly. Azriel laughed, effortlessly sidestepping them.

Frustrated, Elain narrowed her eyes and focused this time. The feathers launched again, sharper, faster. Azriel’s smile faltered just a touch before his shadows reacted, yanking him out of their path in time.

“You and your shadows,” Elain muttered, arms crossed.

“You and your unpredictable powers,” he shot back.

Grinning, she compressed the remaining feathers into tight balls, sprinted toward him, and hurled them one after another. “Take this!”

Azriel darted through the room, laughing as he dodged each one. “Too slow!”

They ran in circles like children let loose, laughter echoing through the house, feathers flying like a storm of snow.

By the time they collapsed, breathless and spent, the entire lounge looked like a pillow factory had exploded. Feathers clung to every surface—curtains, lamps, vases, even the corners of picture frames.

Elain looked around, wide-eyed with horror. “Oh gods, what have we done?”

Azriel, still grinning, leaned back on his hands and said, “Worth it. You look so adorable right now—with feathers stuck in your hair like a halo.” 

“Azriel,” she said exasperated, turning to him. “This is a big mess!”

He only laughed, utterly unbothered. “It’s not like we blew the roof off. It’s just feathers.”

“Yes, yes. Just feathers. Except its feathers everywhere ,” she emphasized, gesturing frantically at the chaos.

She watched as he stepped closer towards her. She thought that he might have wanted to say something. But he only reached up to gently pluck the feathers from her hair. His fingers threaded through the soft strands, collecting more as he went, brushing them away with careful strokes. Then he leaned in, his touch grazing her cheeks, her brows, her lashes as he brushed away the debris clinging to them. His touch was soft and slow as if not just to fix her face but to memorize every part of it.

His fingers trailed down her neck, plucking a few stray feathers from her collarbone. Before she could say a word, his lips brushed the spot which caused her to gasp. He pressed warm, open-mouthed kisses there, slow and reverent, the wet sound of them making her knees go weak. Breathy sounds escaped from her lips as his kisses wandered—up, down, lingering—before finally finding her mouth in a deep, unhurried kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.

When they finally parted, Elain tried to gather herself which took a while. Her face was flushed red as she smiled at Azriel, telling him that she loved that. But soon, as she glanced around the feather-strewn room, she remembered the mess. “We need to clean this up,” she said, still breathless.

“Yes, you should.” he murmured, his fingers still lazily caressing her neck.

She narrowed her eyes and craned her head to meet his. “Me? You’re the one who started this!”

He chuckled low in his throat. “And you’re the one who sent feathers flying like a damn storm, sweetheart.”

She tried—gods, she tried not to let the endearment fluster her, but the flicker in her eyes gave her away. His smile only deepened at the sight, clearly enjoying her reaction far too much

But then she shot him a glare, remembering the mess they made which was entirely his fault to begin with.

“Relax, honey,” he said softly, trying to soothe her worries. “You’ve got magic now. Try using it to clean up the mess.”

Elain blinked. Oh… right. Perhaps she could do that.

She turned to the mess, the piles of feather on the ground. They floated easily into the air. But she wanted all of the feathers scattered around the house to float, not just the ones on the ground.

So she took a good look around the house before closing her eyes, raising both hands, and thought about assembling all the scattered feathers. She then felt the sensations of the energy surrounding the feathers as if waiting for her command. Once she willed them to float, the feathers responded at once, rising and swirling gently above the floor like a soft storm all over the house.

She brought her hands closer together, willing the feathers to reform and compress. Her gaze shifted to the torn fabric scattered nearby. With one hand still holding the cluster of feathers suspended, she reached toward the few thorn cloth. They lifted.

Then, slowly, she guided the pieces back together—visualizing the stitching knitting closed, the fabric sealing itself around the feathers once more. The air shimmered with soft, golden pulses of energy only she could see.

A breath later, the cushion was whole again.

“I did it,” she whispered. She then turned toward Azriel, eyes bright with pride as she repeated her words. “ I did it. As easy as breathing.” 

Azriel stared at her with awe glowing in his hazel eyes. Without a word, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms.

“Yes you did. That’s wonderful, honey,” he murmured against her hair, pride thick in his voice.

Elain smiled into Azriel’s arms, then craned her neck to look up at him. “You’re going to be so busy, Azriel. Like you said, this is just the beginning. More will come. You’ll just have to keep up… and train me.” 

Azriel grinned. “It would be my pleasure.”

Elain glanced at the couch in front of them. On a whim, she thrust out her hand—and the couch flew back in such speed, causing it to slam against the wall with a harsh thud .

Azriel laughed, eyes bright with amusement. “You could take down a whole wave of enemies with that force.”

“Only if you train me well.” She grinned.

He raised a brow. “If you insist. But…I don’t think we can do this indoors anymore, honey. Nesta loves this house. Would be a shame if you blew it up with your new fancy power.”

Elain laughed, but her mind already wandered. She couldn’t train at the ring—that belonged to the Valkyries. There wasn’t enough space at the Town House, and no way would she risk her garden. Then she immediately remembered— Sybill’s cottage . The clearing in the forest where she’d been training with the twins.

“I know a spot,” she said.

“Where?”

She reached into the pocket of her dress and pulled out a small vial. The one Sybill had given her. “Remember this?”

Azriel nodded. “The one that helped you project in the first place.”

“I told you my friend gave this to me. Her name is Sybill. She owns a flower shop in the city. She plants her flowers and herbs at her cottage.There’s a forest behind it with a clearing…big enough to train. I’ve been using it with Nuala and Cerridwen.” She explained.

“That’s a nice spot. Remote, quiet, far from anyone who could get hurt if you decide to throw trees instead of cushions.” Azriel said playfully.

She laughed. “Exactly.”

Azriel offered his hand again, a soft gleam in his eyes. “Then we’ll start training there tomorrow morning.”

She smiled, though a part of her still doubted the idea of going back to Sybill’s cottage. Not after Sybill had casually claimed herself as a witch…and accused Elain of being one too. She wondered what Azriel would think of the female. She figured a little warning wouldn’t hurt.

“About Sybill…” Elain began cautiously. “I met her two years ago when I stopped by her shop to buy some seeds. She was surprisingly friendly…in a snarky way. I liked her—and her flowers, of course. The twins and I started helping her at the shop. Then, one day, she invited us to her cottage. We’ve been visiting almost every day since.”

Azriel smiled softly. “I see.”

Elain chewed her bottom lip. “But before I bring you there and meet her, I should probably warn you. She’s a bit… odd.”

His brow rose slightly. “What do you mean?”

“Well… about a week ago, she called herself a witch. And then she said I’m one too.”

Azriel immediately frowned. “Why would she say that?”

“She knows I was Made,” Elain explained. “She knew about me being thrown into the Cauldron and became a seer. She said seers are part of a witch’s abilities. That I might possess witch blood in me.”

Azriel shook his head slowly. “There’s no such thing, honey. Witches are dangerous creatures.  They are evil and twisted because they were consumed by their greed and hunger for more magic. And most importantly, they are deformed and don’t look like us at all.”

Elain sighed. “Sybill’s not like that. She’s not evil or twisted or deformed in the slightest. She grows plants and uses enchantments to help with her garden. She also imbues her magic into her seeds to grow magical plants. That’s all.”

Azriel considered that, then nodded. “Then there’s nothing to worry about. Eccentric or not, she’s just a normal Velaris citizen.” He smiled and tucked a loose curl behind her ear which made her heart flutter.

“I just thought I should say something first, in case she starts calling you something barbaric too,” Elain muttered under her breath. 

Azriel huffed a soft laugh. “If she does, I’ll just play along.”

Elain smiled, her nerves eased by his calm. ”Alright then. We’ll go there right after breakfast tomorrow."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Azriel hadn’t slept that well in years.

Not since the war. Not since long before the Solstice. Maybe not since his childhood—before shadows had become his only companions in the dark.

But last night, he’d slept like a male who had finally breathed after holding it in for too long.

This morning, he’d woken with the strangest lightness in his chest. And all he could think of was seeing her again.

He didn’t bother hiding the small smile tugging at his mouth as he dressed and made his way down to breakfast. Nesta and Cassian were already seated, deep in some casual argument over training. Elain walked in moments later, looking like a sunrise in soft blue, her hair braided simply over one shoulder.

His chest tightened.

She met his gaze once, and something unspoken passed between them. A shared memory of last night’s warmth, of whispered promises and lips brushing against skin before they retreat to their rooms. He still remember how her cheeks pinked just slightly as she told him how happy she was and couldn’t wait for tomorrow. 

After breakfast, he flew them to the Town House. Neither of them said much during the flight—it wasn’t a silence of discomfort, but one of comfort. Of contentment.

Later, they landed gracefully in front of the house. Azriel’s shadows danced quietly at his back, sensing his cautiousness as they approached the door. After he knock the door, he was met with Nuala and Cerridwen’s suprised looks. Nuala’s eyes flicked from their joined hands to his face, then back again. Cerridwen blinked once, slowly. Azriel could practically hear the unspoken questions buzzing in their heads.He didn’t miss the look the twins gave them as soon as they entered.

Then, just as expected, they dragged Elain away from him with dramatic flair and whispered urgency. He caught her giving him a sheepish smile over her shoulder before she disappeared around the corner with them.

Azriel let out a quiet laugh and leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Let them interrogate her. He could wait. He had all the time in the world to spend with Elain now.

Soon after a flurry of hushed whispers and giggles from the twins behind closed doors, they practically shoved Elain back to his side, looking far too smug for their own good.

“It’s good to see you two finally together,” Cerridwen said sweetly.

Elain groaned and smacked her arm. “We’re not together.”

Yet, Azriel noted in his mind. His shadows shifted with something like agreement, like hope.

“She cried so hard after you two fought,” Nuala chimed in with no mercy, “and when you started avoiding her, she—”

Elain didn’t even let her finish. She pinched Nuala’s arm hard, earning a dramatic yelp and an exaggerated scowl.

Azriel, standing still as stone, couldn’t help the way his chest tightened at that. She cried?

He’d known their silence had cut deep—had hated himself for it—but hearing it from someone else, knowing Elain had felt that ache as deeply as he had…

It made him want to hold her again. To tell her all over that he wasn’t going anywhere this time.

But instead, he smirked slightly, eyes on Elain as she turned pink under his gaze.

“She cried?” he asked casually, voice low and teasing—just enough to make her flush even more.

“Shut up,” Elain muttered.

And yet, she didn’t step away from him. His hand brushed lightly against hers, just enough for her fingers to brush back.

“Aw you guys are so adorable.” Nuala said with a mocking awe.

He watched as Elain pulled back from him with an adorable–annoyed look she threw at Nuala. “Forget it. Let’s go now,” Elain huffed, spinning on her heel and marching ahead.

He fell into step beside her, hands tucked into his pockets as the twins trailed behind, their hushed whispers and stifled giggles not subtle in the least.

“They seem to enjoy teasing you,” he murmured, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

Elain let out a sigh, the kind that said she was used to it but still exasperated. “Yes. Far too much.”

He glanced at her sideways, voice softening. “I’m glad they were there for you. Especially when you were... hurting.”

Her pace slowed for a beat. Then she smiled—small, but warm. “Me too. I love them dearly.”

“We heard youuu,” the twins sing-songed in unison from behind, their grins practically audible.

Azriel chuckled beside her, and Elain shook her head, but her smile lingered.

After few minutes, they had past the western edge of Velaris, where the city's shimmer gave way to a quiet stretch of open land. The world softened here—rolling meadows brushed by the wind, the golden-green sea of grass punctuated with swathes of wildflowers that nodded gently under the rising sun. A narrow creek wove lazily through the fields, its soft gurgle mingling with the morning birdsong.

He followed Elain as they landed at the edge of the woods. And then he saw it.

Nestled between two flowering trees, half-hidden beneath the embrace of ivy and climbing roses, stood a cottage. Old and weathered, but not worn. Rather, it looked loved—kept alive by careful hands and a quiet kind of magic. Trellises bloomed with cascading petals, and a greenhouse to the side shimmered with moisture on the glass, delicate blooms basking in the filtered light. Bundles of herbs hung drying near a small open-air shed. The scent of crushed lavender, mint, and something older—earthier—hung faintly in the air.

Azriel stood still, taking it in. His shadows curled close, quiet. They were still as if the land itself had lulled them into peace.

He hadn’t expected this. This sanctuary outside Velaris, tucked between forest and field, where the air felt cleaner and the tension he didn’t know he’d been carrying loosened slightly in his shoulders.

Elain looked over at him and smiled, as if sensing the shift in him. “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

"It is. No wonder you came her often." He said with a smile, his eyes still fixed on the cottage glowing softly in the morning light.

They stopped in front of the door. Elain knocked and it opened instantly—but no one stood behind it.

“Enchantments,” He murmured.

Then a voice rang out from within. “Come in.”

Elain smiled and gestured for him to follow. He did, with his shadows slinking along the hallway like loyal scouts.

They stepped in, following the source of the sound of crushing and grinding against stone. There, Azriel was met with a female of dark curls and warmly tanned skin who sat at the table, grinding herbs with a mortar and pestle. The scent of crushed rosemary and lavender thickened the air. She then looked up.

Onyx eyes met his hazel ones. They stared at each other, silent, assessing.

There was some kind of oddness in her gaze.  He sensed old, quiet power, like roots that ran deep into the earth. But he sensed no threat, no malice. His stance eased a fraction.

“I see you finally brought the Shadowsinger,” Sybill said dryly. “Are you going to interrogate me now?”

He replied flatly. “Is there something I should dig out of you?”

A slow smile curled her lips. “Elain must’ve told you I’m a witch.”

“I don’t think you know what a real witch is.” He retorted.

“Or maybe you don’t.” She said with annoyance lacing her tone.

Before he could respond, Elain interjected gently, “Sybill, I don’t believe you’re a witch. Or that I am. Can we… not talk about that today?”

Sybill’s narrowed eyes softened slightly. She gave a half-shrug. “Fine. No one believes an old hag's words anyway.”

Her gaze swept over the four of them, then fixed back on Elain. “So? Why bring the Shadowsinger here?”

Elain bit her lip. “He’s training me. I thought we could use the forest clearing.”

Sybill nodded. “I see. What about your visions? Did the vial help?”

Elain nodded and he could read from the slight tightening on her face that she was about to—“After I drank it… I got a vision.”—lie. The vial hadn’t triggered a vision. it had unlocked her projection ability. 

“How many times did you drink it?” Sybill asked her again.

“Only once. I only added a few drops of it into my drink.”

Sybill rolled her eyes. “You should’ve finished the vial. If you want stronger visions, you need more of it.” She pushed a small tray across the table, a few vials glinting in the light. “Take these.”

Azriel stepped forward, inspecting the bottles with a frown. “How do you know they work on seers?”

Sybill sighed, as if she was used to being questioned. “Because I was taught by my mother. And she was taught by hers. We’ve passed down every herbal remedy, every binding root and blooming truthleaf for generations. We know how to stir the right things—for anyone. Especially ones like her.”

He nodded slowly. “I see.”

And still, he said nothing about the faint current of something old pulsing beneath the surface of this cottage. Something watching. Waiting. But he shook his head, reminding himself that it was probably just the harmless enchantments and spells woven into it

But for now, he’d let Elain lead. And if that something ever revealed itself, he’d be ready.

“You haven’t visited me in a week,” Sybill said, not bothering to hide the note of hurt in her voice. “I was starting to think you’d forgotten me. You’re the only friend I have in this whole city, mind you.”

Cerridwen scoffed from behind Elain. “That’s a lie and you know it. Half the citizens of Velaris know who you are.”

Sybill waved a hand. “Only the ones who care about flowers and herbs. It’s unfortunate that the ones I consider as friends now avoid me just because I said I’m a witch.”

His eyes narrowed slightly, but he said nothing.

Sybill turned to him with a sly smile. “Speaking of odd things—imagine my surprise when the High Lord’s second-in-command showed up at my shop asking for something to help with a language barrier. That’s not something you come by every day. I wonder what has happened.”

His face remained unreadable. “We can’t disclose anything about that.”

Sybill shrugged, clearly unbothered. “Didn’t think you would. Secrets cling to you like your shadows.”

Before the conversation could spiral further, Elain stepped forward. “If there’s nothing else, we should go and start training now.”

Sybill gave her a knowing look, then nodded. “Go on then, do your thing. Just don’t make too much of a mess in my forest.”

Chapter Text

After a few minutes of walking through the quiet forest, Azriel found himself trailing behind Elain, her steps light and sure as if she knew every root and stone beneath her boots. The trees gradually thinned, revealing a wide clearing soaked in golden sunlight. A small pond shimmered at the edge, its surface catching the breeze in gentle ripples. Wildflowers fringed the water, bright and delicate against the mossy floor. The air smelled of earthy, blooming things, and Elain.

Azriel let out a breath, taking it all in.

This place didn’t feel like Velaris. It felt older. Sacred and untouched. 

“So this is where you’ve been training?” he asked quietly.

Elain nodded, glancing back at him with a small smile. “Yeah. We’d come here almost every morning. Training and picking some herbs and plants Sybill asked. Then we’d help Sybill at the shop. Sometimes we stayed at her cottage until dusk.”

He could see it now. In the steadiness of her voice. The comfort in her movements. This clearing was more than a place to practice. It was a sanctuary. A place of growth. A place she hadn’t shared with anyone—but now she shared it with him.

His gaze flicked to the twin wraiths behind them. “What exactly did you two teach her during training?”

The twins exchanged a glance. Then said, in perfect harmony, “Everything you taught us.”

Azriel stopped walking. He raised a brow, shadows curling in curiosity. “Everything? Already?”

Nuala chuckled. “She’s fast. We’ve been doing this with her for almost a year.”

A year.

Azriel blinked. That was longer than Nesta had been training with the Valkyries. He never knew that she had any interest in combat—anything beyond gardens and baking. 

He turned to her again. Really looked. And felt something shift inside his chest.

She met his eyes, her smile now tinged with something softer. “It just started off small,” she said. “I was curious, watching them move so fluidly. I wanted to move like them, and then maybe learn a few other things. To feel a bit stronger and in control. But then… I started wanting to truly train and I did.”

“She didn’t want anyone to know she’d been training. Said she was shy and thought everyone would laugh at her,” Nuala said, earning a sharp look from Elain—one she promptly ignored with a mischievous grin.

Azriel’s expression softened as he turned fully to Elain. “You could’ve told me you were interested in training,” he said gently. “I would’ve helped you.”

Elain shook her head, avoiding his gaze. “I didn’t train to be a warrior. I didn’t train with a sword. I’m not strong enough for real combat. I mostly practiced defense and stealth. It wasn’t anything like what Nesta or Feyre can do.” Her voice was a murmur.

But Azriel smiled, warm and steady. “That doesn’t make you any less.” He took a step closer. “Defense and stealth? That’s the foundation of what I do every day.”

She blinked at that. “Really?”

“You’re stronger than you think, Elain,” he added. “And smart enough to know what kind of strength suits you best.” He smiled then. “Show me what you can do.”

Elain gave him a small, shy smile and lifted her chin and walked her way to the center of the clearing. The twins shared a glance then followed her. Azriel stood at his spot, crossing his arms, his shadows slithering along the forest floor like they too were eager to see what she was capable of.

“I have powers now,” Elain said with a grin, turning to face the twins. “Give me all you got.”

“Oh, we already planned to,” Nuala said cockily, a glint of anticipation lighting her eyes.

For a heartbeat, silence. The wind stirred the grass around their feet as they stood in a loose triangle, measuring each other. Then—

Cerridwen struck first.

She moved fast—a dagger flashing in the dappled sunlight as she lunged straight for Elain’s shoulder. Azriel stepped forward on instinct, but Elain was already in motion, sidestepping with practiced grace, her braid whipping behind her. Elain flung up a hand, and the dagger slammed into an invisible barrier—energy rippling outward in shimmering waves as it absorbed the strike and sent Cerridwen staggering back from the impact.

But Cerridwen didn’t lose her footing and pivoted smoothly, aiming low this time, a swipe meant for Elain’s thigh but once again met with Elain’s energy barrier.

“So this is your new ability, huh?” Cerridwen said, smiling with real thrill.

“Yeah,” Elain replied, her voice calm. “And that’s not all.”

She threw out her other hand—and a pulse of force shot forward like a blast of wind towards Cerridwen. She was hurled back, her feet leaving the ground before she hit the grass with a grunt and a laugh.

“Damn it,” she groaned, sitting up and brushing dirt from her hair. “That’s not bad.”

Nuala was already moving. A blur of motion as she appeared behind Elain, arm sweeping low to knock her off balance. Elain ducked—not perfectly, but enough to roll forward and avoid the hit. She turned with her hand outstretched and flicked her fingers—Nuala’s feet were swept from beneath her as if the ground itself had rebelled.

Azriel watched her every move, noting every flaw.

Her movement wasn’t perfect—yet. But her instincts were sharp, and her reflexes were almost fluid. What was flawless, however, was her control of her surroundings—each step deliberate, every motion seamlessly integrated with the space around her, as if the world itself bent to her rhythm.

Nuala was already back on her feet, charging again, blade raised in a swift, relentless arc. But Elain didn’t flinch. She turned sharply, hands snapping up—bare hands—to catch the dagger between her palms. No magic this time. Just sheer, practiced skill. The steel pressed against her skin, trembling from the force behind it, but her grip was unyielding. Her form wavered for the briefest moment, a fleeting imperfection, before she  twisted—fluid, calculated—and drove a brutal kick into Nuala’s side, sending her stumbling backward, off balance once more.

He crossed his arms, shadows curling tight around his shoulders as he watched Elain flick her wrist and send Nuala’s blade spinning from her hand and drop onto the ground a few feet away.

Nuala immediately vanished in a blur of smoke the moment her blade left her hand, materializing right where it had landed. But before her fingers could even graze the hilt, Elain flung her hand toward it—and the dagger flew straight to her instead, smacking cleanly into her palm with a soft thud of impact.

“Can I say that’s cheating?” Nuala muttered from the grass, brushing a leaf from her braid.

Elain only chuckled, her cheeks pink, chest rising and falling with each breath. There was a hum of energy still flickering across her fingers like static. “Maybe you can strike me down together this time.”

She tossed the dagger back to Nuala, the blade spinning perfectly through the air. Nuala caught it without a word, and the twins exchanged a look. Azriel knew that look—it meant trouble.

The twins lunged forward together, this time in coordinated chaos.

Cerridwen came high, fast and direct, two blades gleaming in both hands as she slashed in a V-shape toward Elain’s shoulders. Nuala, ever the shadow, blurred low behind her—already sliding across the grass toward Elain’s legs, ready to sweep her feet from under her.

Azriel tensed. But Elain moved.

She dropped low under Cerridwen’s slash, one arm up as if casting a shield. Power rippled in a dome over her shoulder and forced Cerridwen to veer wide. At the same moment, she slammed her other hand to the ground—and a pulse of force exploded outward like a shockwave. Nuala was thrown back a few feet, landing on her back with a surprised grunt, but she was already flipping up again, her eyes meeting her twin’s for a split second as she gave a look that only both of them understood.

Azriel watched as Nuala and Cerridwen moved like the wraiths they truly were—darting forward only to vanish into swirling smoke, reappearing elsewhere before Elain could strike back. Their attacks came fast, relentless, each hit landing before they dissolved into smoke, only to materialize again at another angle. The twins worked in perfect harmony, overwhelming her through sheer unpredictability.

But Elain didn’t falter. She pivoted sharply, her movements fluid, instinctive—almost as if she sensed where they would appear next, as if she had learned their rhythm. Yet, when her fists connected, they often passed straight through, meeting nothing but empty air. The twins had already anticipated her strikes too, their bodies flickering into smoke at the exact moment of impact, denying her any real hit.

It was their greatest advantage. A tactic meant to wear their opponent down, catching them off guard, striking in a cycle of illusions and solid attacks—just as Azriel had trained them.  It was similar to how he used his shadowsinger abilities in combat. Elain’s movements had begun to slow, exhaustion creeping into her limbs, her attacks turning slightly sluggish. She was struggling to land a decisive blow while dodging the unpredictable strikes that came at her from all directions.

Then Azriel saw it—the shift in her stance, in her expression. The moment she realized it. That she was tired. That she needed to finish this.

Her eyes locked onto the twins, measuring them. Calculating.

This time, when her fist swung, she didn’t simply strike. She summoned the energy in her bones, channeled it straight into her muscles. Lightning-fast, she drove her blow forward—this time, not into illusion. Not into smoke.

Into flesh and bone.

The impact sent both twins flying back, crashing into the ground with a forceful thud. The air itself pulsed with the sheer power of the hit, vibrating like a war drum.

But Cerridwen spun on her heel and lunged again—fast, ruthless, her twin blades flashing like shards of moonlight. Elain didn’t raise a shield this time. She sidestepped, fluid and effortless, slipping into the energy around her like it was a tide only she could sense. Cerridwen kept raining down attacks, each strike precise, relentless. But Elain moved with a dancer’s grace, weaving through the storm of steel as if the wind itself bent to her will.

A grin pulled at Azriel’s mouth.

She was holding her own. Against two trained spies. Two shadows who could vanish in a blink. Elain, with her golden-brown braid and soft voice, was dancing among them like she belonged there. Like she was born to move like this.

And maybe, Azriel thought, she was.

But while the two were fighting each other, Azriel saw the glint of Nuala’s dagger slicing through the chaos, aimed straight for Elain from the opposite direction.

Azriel tensed, ready to intervene—But Elain sensed what was coming and merely lifted her hand, fingers splayed like she was plucking invisible threads, and the dagger veered off course midair, deflecting harmlessly into the trees.

A heartbeat later, Elain flicked her wrist and summoned the dagger back to her. The blade soared through the air, slapping neatly into her palm. Then she attacked.

She then dashed forward towards Nuala—not with brute force, but with a glide so smooth and swift it blurred, like the air itself bent to her will. Power rippled from her like heat shimmer, pulsing beneath her skin. Her fist struck Nuala in the chest—and it wasn’t just a punch. It was a burst of force so brutal that the twin flew backward and slammed into the same tree where her twin’s dagger had been lodged earlier.

Cerridwen was already on her, having closed the distance with the speed of smoke. But Elain didn’t flinch. She pivoted with sharp grace, elbow driving back—and Azriel saw it: the glow along her spine, the flicker of energy that shot down her arm and exploded on contact with Cerridwen's stomach. She flew back as if a battering ram had hit her, landing with a startled grunt and skidding through the grass.

But Elain wasn’t done.

She took a single breath, stilled, then spun, catching Cerridwen’s dropped dagger in mid-air. She held both blades now, her hair tangled around her face, her chest heaving.

Power crackled at her fingertips—raw, brilliant energy that pulsed like lightning beneath her skin. Not magic in the traditional sense, but something more primal. It moved like a current through her, sharp and focused, pure physical force rendered malleable by her will alone.

Azriel’s breath caught as the energy snaked from her fingers into the twin daggers she held. A pulse of light shimmered over the blades—like they’d been awakened.

Then Elain flicked her wrists.

The daggers launched through the air like twin bolts of light, aimed straight for the twins standing on opposite ends of the clearing.

Cerridwen and Nuala barely had time to react—only managed sharp gasps before the blades halted, frozen just inches from their faces.

The air went still.

The twins were still frozen, eyes wide, breaths uneven, stunned as they stared at the sharp blades still hovering just inches from their faces.

For a long, tense moment, nothing moved—just the sound of their rapid breathing filling the space.

Then Elain let out a slow, satisfied exhale. “I won, losers,” she teased, her voice light but laced with unmistakable triumph.

With a flick of her wrist, both daggers obeyed her call, slicing cleanly through the air before settling back into her palms.

The clearing had now fallen into a breathless silence. The twins, still dazed but now grinning like maniacs, stared at her from the grass. The hit had been hard. Stronger than they'd expected. 

Azriel stood frozen, his breath caught halfway in his chest.

Elain was glowing, shimmering in her power—but unlike the darkness that rippled from Feyre like his own shadows nor the blazing silver flames that roared from Nesta. Her powers glowed with something quieter, deeper. He had a guess that her power was some form of energy she could summon from within or the energy that exists in her surroundings. Perhaps both. The power she wielded was unlike any magic he’s seen. It had given her speed. Strength. Precision. Making her untouchable and unstoppable as long as she remains in control in her domain.

In that moment, he wished the others could see her. To witness what she had become. Because Elain Archeron wasn’t the delicate, fragile flower everyone had assumed she was. She had thorns—barbed, sharp, and growing more lethal by the day. She was a blade—but sharpened in secret. And he’d only just glimpsed the gleam of her edge. She was a force to be reckoned with.

She had been doing this—becoming this—on her own. Quietly. Patiently. Without a need for recognition or praise. She’d carved out a path in secret, not to impress anyone or prove herself, but because she wanted it for herself. 

And Azriel, standing there watching her with pride burning in his eyes. Gods, he wanted to kiss her again.

He strode forward, approaching Elain who was still catching her breath, twin daggers now glinting in her grip. She was good, but she can do better. He reminded himself of the slight mistakes and flaws during her fight. Her stance was slightly off. She was balanced, yes, but not rooted. 

He came to a stop before her, tilting his head, offering her a proud smile. “You were incredible, Elain. But not yet perfect. Your footing," 

Elain adjusted immediately, shifting her weight between her heels and the toes in her shoes. But Azriel shook his head.

"Not exactly," he murmured, stepping closer. His hand ghosted over her lower back, pressing gently. "You need to ground yourself—not just to stand, but to move. Otherwise, your balance will falter mid-strike."

Elain nodded once, absorbing the correction without complaint. She rolled her shoulders, breathing deep, and Azriel watched as she settled into a stance that felt more like an extension of herself.

"Good," he said, his head turned to the twins. "Now—again."

Cerridwen wasted no time. She lunged with a blur of smoke, she lunged towards Elain fast, her fist drawn to land a hit on her.

Azriel watched as Elain twisted out of range, but her movements were sharper, more deliberate. This time, Elain didn't just dodge. She flowed. Her forearms snapped up, quick and brutal, as shimmering shields materialized in an instant. Cerridwen’s fist slammed against them, but Elain didn’t waver. Another strike came—a sharp, calculated blow aimed elsewhere—but she caught that too, deflecting with practiced ease.

Then she retaliated.

Elain sent a hit straight for Cerridwen, but the wraith was quick, dissolving into smoke before the blow could land. And just as the mist dissipated, Nuala surged forward, joining the fight while Cerridwen shifted to the side, observing.

Azriel studied her strikes. She had control over her powers and her footing now which was impressive but the angle of her strikes needs improvement.

"Stop," Azriel ordered just as Elain drove her fist into Nuala’s ribs.

Elain froze mid-motion, her chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. Nuala stepped back while Cerridwen lingered nearby, watching.

Azriel strode forward, gaze locked onto Elain, analyzing every inch of her stance, her form. Then he let out a quiet exhale, shaking his head slightly.

"You're losing power in the follow-through," he murmured. He stepped beside her, close enough that she could feel the quiet authority in his presence. "Your elbow—it's angled too high."

He reached out, his fingers brushing lightly against the inside of her forearm, adjusting the angle. "Here. You need to keep it tighter to your body." His hand slid lower, pressing gently at her wrist. "And your grip—too rigid. Flexibility matters just as much as force. Fluidity not only matters when dodging attacks but also when attacking."

Elain shifted instinctively, adjusting to his touch, absorbing his corrections without hesitation. She rolled her shoulders, testing the angle of her arms.

 Azriel studied her, then crouched slightly, tapping her stance. "Now what did you just learn about footing, hm?” His palm ghosted over her hip, nudging her weight slightly more onto the balls of her feet. "Don’t lose your footing. This way, when you strike, you won’t lose momentum. You’ll move with the hit, not just deliver it."

Elain nodded once, absorbing his words like they were instructions she'd always been waiting for.

Azriel held her gaze. "Try again."

Elain exhaled through her nose, adjusting her stance—elbow tucked tighter, fist angled with exact precision, grip loosened just enough for fluidity. Her weight shifted seamlessly, grounding her exactly as Azriel had guided.

Then she moved.

Fast. Calculated.

She pivoted with sharp efficiency, twisting into the strike, her fist snapping forward. Nuala—caught off guard—barely had time to register before the impact landed with devastating force.

The hit sent her stumbling back, harder than before. Her breath hitched—this time, there was no quick recovery, no effortless rebound. 

Azriel’s lips curled slightly. A smirk, proud of the result. "That’s better."

Then he saw Elain pulling out a dagger. “How about my dagger handling?”

Azriel nodded, arms folding over his chest. “Strike me with it.”

She hesitated, just for a breath. She knew he was faster, stronger—more experienced than anyone including the twins. But he watched as she swallowed down the nerves, adjusted her stance, and moved.

Azriel watched as she spun, the dagger slicing through the air toward him. He merely dodged, his voice cut in—calm, instructive.

“Loosen your grip.”

He stepped behind her in a fluid motion, close enough that she could feel the warmth of his presence at her back. His hands didn’t press or restrain, only touching gently—guiding without interfering.

Elain immediately adjusted, relaxing her fingers just enough to obey.

"Daggers aren’t swords," Azriel murmured. "You need flexibility in your wrist. If you hold too tightly, you fight against the weapon instead of moving with it."

She exhaled through her nose, flicking her wrist again—this time, letting go of the rigidity in her hold. And the difference was instant.

The blade became an extension of her movement, cutting through the air effortlessly, as if it were bound to her will. The motion was smooth, precise.

Azriel observed her carefully, analyzing every shift of her body. “Good. But you’re still leading too much with your shoulder—daggers rely on speed and finesse, not brute force. Remember, fighting with daggers is different from fighting with your bare hands.”

His hand brushed lightly along the inside of her elbow, adjusting the angle as he demonstrated the movement. “Here—your strike should follow through like this. Quick. Controlled. Don’t overextend, or you’ll leave yourself open.”

Elain mimicked his motion, testing the flow, adjusting to the new stance.

Azriel’s smirk deepened as he watched her correct herself.

She fought smoother now.The fire she had possessed from her earlier fight with the twins was still there—but now, it was tempered, sharpened into something more precise and lethal.

“Again,” he commanded, stepping back.

Elain didn’t hesitate this time. She lunged forward, the dagger slicing through the air with precision. Azriel dodged effortlessly, his movements fluid and calculated.

“Keep going,” he urged, his voice steady. “Don’t stop until you catch me.”

She gritted her teeth, determination flaring in her chest. Strike after strike, she attacked, each movement sharper, more refined. But he was always a step ahead, evading her with an ease that only fueled her resolve.

Minutes passed, sweat beading on her brow as she pushed herself harder. And then, just as she thought she might finally land a hit, he vanished.

Smoke curled in the space where he had stood, dissipating into the air like a wisp of shadow. He watched her freeze, her breath hitching as she scanned the room, her senses on high alert.

“I was so close.” She panted. “Azriel?” She called, her voice steady despite the racing of her heart.

A low chuckle escaped him as he circled Elain in his shadows. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once, wrapping around her like a cloak. He saw her tighten her grip on the daggers, her eyes narrowing as she assessed her surroundings.

And then he was there, materializing out of the shadows behind her. She spun, her blade arcing toward him, but he was already gone, dissolving into smoke once more.

It was a game of cat and mouse except he was the mouse who was merely playing around with his supposed predator. He could see the determination in her eyes. She was determined to catch him and get this over with.

She steadied her breathing, ready to strike at any moment as she focused on the faintest shifts in the air and energy around her. 

When he appeared again, she was ready. Her dagger struck out to where he would appear. Her dagger was lunged towards Azriel’s throat but he caught the blade with his hands, his grip firm but careful. A slow smile spread across his face, pride gleaming in his eyes.

He watched as she allowed herself a small smile, her chest heaving as she caught her breath. She had done it—she had caught him.

And he was so damn proud of her.

“Well done,” he said, his voice low and approving. If it weren’t for the twins being there, he would have hugged and swirled her around the air to show her how proud he truly was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The training had continued until the sun climbed high, its golden rays casting sharp shadows across the clearing. The heat pressed down on them, marking the inevitable arrival of midday.

They took a brief respite beneath the shade of three sprawling trees, their breaths still steadying, muscles aching in the way that signified good work. After a few moments, their grumbling stomachs had pushed themselves up and began the walk back to Sybill’s cottage, the scent of fresh herbs and simmering spices drifting toward them as they approached.

Sybill had been busy—lunch was already prepared, a spread of warm, home-cooked dishes laid across the worn wooden table. They wasted no time, eating hungrily, the meal a welcome reward after the morning’s relentless exertion.

“The shop will be closed for a while,” she announced while they were eating. “Because apparently, I have no help anymore.”

Nuala snorted into her drink. “You’re acting like we ran the place for you.”

“You might as well have,” Sybill throws her hands up in exasperation. Then, with a dramatic sigh, she added, “I’m exhausted. You three used to be excellent  help—until you abandoned me with useless Raffe.”

Elain frowned. “It’s been a while since we last met him. Please tell me he’s doing well.”

Sybill only waved a dismissive hand. “ The boy’s gone, finally couldn’t take it anymore. Packed up his things and left just two days ago.”

Cerridwen sighed, shaking her head. “Poor boy. I told him to grow a spine.”

Elain shot her a sharp look before turning to Sybill. “He loved working there. I don’t understand why you’re always so harsh on him.”

Sybill merely shrugged, unbothered. “He just annoys me.” She clicked her tongue, as if the matter was entirely trivial. “Still, he misses you three—especially you, Elain. You coddled him too much, and when you stopped coming to the shop, it’s as if the foolish boy stopped functioning altogether.”

Azriel tensed, his fork hovering mid-air. Sybill’s words sank in. A strange, unwelcome sensation crawled under his skin. He didn’t like the sound of that. Didn’t like whatever attachment this male had formed toward her. And certainly not Elain’s soft spot towards him.

His sharp gaze flicked to Elain, unyielding. “Who’s Raffe?”

Elain blinked at him, caught off guard by the edge in his voice. But before she could answer, Sybill—always one to stir trouble—interjected.

“My very hardworking, yet sluggish, clumsy, insufferably annoying shop assistant,” she answered, swirling her drink, eyes gleaming with mischief. “And, apparently, Elain’s biggest fan.”

Azriel’s jaw tightened. Fan?

As if summoned by the bait, Nuala leaned in, grinning. “Oh, he adored Elain,” she chimed in.

Elain groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Don’t start—”

But they were already going at it.

“He followed her everywhere,” Nuala continued, fully enjoying this, eyes darting between Azriel’s tensed shoulders and Elain’s flushed cheeks. “Always hovering, asking her opinion on every flower and packet arrangement, wanting her validation as if she’s the boss, not Sybill.”

Sybill snorted at that.

Cerridwen nodded eagerly. “He wouldn’t stop talking about how gentle she was with him, how kind and patient. Said she was the only person who actually understood him and never judged him.”

Elain let out a strangled sound and reached for her drink, perhaps hoping to drown herself in it.

“One time, Elain coddled him when he was stressed, helped reorganize the shop when he got overwhelmed after Sybill’s relentless scolding, and took over after he messed up,” Nuala mused, twirling her spoon idly between her fingers. “After that, he started making mistakes on purpose—just to get her attention.”

Sybill shook her head. “That pathetic fool willingly sat through my wrath just for the chance to have Elain coddle him.”

Elain groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Can we not ?”

Nuala ignored Elain’s protests, pressing on. “But sometimes, he pushed himself way past his limits—just to earn Elain’s praise,” she laughed, shaking her head.

Sybill rolled her eyes. “As if she’s the one paying his salary, not me.”

“There’s this one time,” Nuala added, eyes glinting with amusement. “He asked her to spend time with him at the bar and stroll through the streets together if he did his task well. She agreed, thinking it was just all friendly.” She smirked. “But we knew damn well he was date-tripping her.”

Elain groaned, burying her face in her hands.

Azriel, however, was not having it.

Coddling. Praising, Dating.

He had gone utterly still and was glaring at his plate, his grip tightening around his fork—like he was imagining sinking it into something.

He forced himself to take a slow breath, masking the irritation curling deep in his chest. His voice was deceptively calm when he finally muttered, “Well, I’m glad he’s gone now.”

Sybill sighed, waving a dismissive hand. “Enough about that boy. Not that his absence affects me in the slightest.”

She leaned back in her chair, stretching slightly before adding, “I’m closing the shop for two weeks. I have a meeting with some old friends—plant scholars, botanists, the usual crowd. A proper discourse on rare flora, plus a little excursion to gather specimens.” She smirked. “So, I’ll be gone for a while. You lot can use the cottage while I’m away—just don’t do anything stupid inside here.”

Azriel crossed his arms, a flicker of suspicion in his gaze. “Didn’t take you for someone with a lot of friends.”

Sybill scoffed, offended. “Says the one who actually doesn’t have any.”

Azriel gritted his teeth. “I do have friends.”

Sybill arched a brow. “Well, excluding your family, I don’t think so. Unless, of course, your many lovers over the centuries count as friends too.”

Azriel growled, tension rippling through his shoulders. “How did you know that?”

Sybill smirked, eyes gleaming with mischief. “It’s all gossip. Besides, the whole city knows there’s something between you and… what’s her name again? Oh, right—the Morrigan.” Sybill drawled, her smirk downright wicked. “Though, from the way it looks, it’s rather one-sided on your part. She’s your family, your friend, but you always wanted to fuck her from the start, didn’t you? Poor thing, you got friend-zoned—just like Elain did with Raffe. Except—” she tilted her head mockingly, “you’re even more pathetic. Couldn’t take a hint for centuries, could you?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched. A low growl rumbled in his throat, barely restrained.

“Sybill, enough,” Elain demanded firmly.

But Sybill just laughed, thoroughly enjoying his reaction. “Judging by that strong reaction, I’m inclined to believe—”

“You’re inclined to believe nothing ,” Azriel cut her off, his tone sharp, final.

Sybill shrugged, utterly unfazed. “Everyone who loves plants and flowers is a friend of mine. I bond with them over passion and growth. You, however—do you bond with your captives in the dungeons? What, over your vile nature?”

Azriel stood so fast the chair scraped against the wooden floor, but before he could move toward her, Elain’s hand wrapped around his wrist, grounding him in place.

“Azriel,” she said softly, but firmly. “She’s only messing with you. Don’t let her get under your skin.”

Sybill grinned, clearly delighted. “Illyrian brutes. Just ruffle their feathers a bit and they lash out. So sensitive .”

Elain shot her a warning look. “Enough, Sybill.”

Sybill rolled her eyes, then glanced at the group. “So? Are you heading back to the townhouse now?”

Elain shook her head. “Not yet. I still want to train a little more before going back.”

The twins nodded in agreement.

Azriel, arms crossed, spoke casually, “We will.”

Elain frowned, turning to him. “Aren’t you busy?”

Azriel’s mouth twitched slightly, a hint of amusement still there despite the tension earlier. “No. Who else is going to train you? The twins are good but wouldn’t you want to learn from the best?”

The twins rolled their eyes, but didn’t argue.

Elain chuckled. “Okay, but I plan to train until dusk before going back.”

Azriel nodded in agreement, “Then we’d better get going,” he said, his tone flat.

He was eager to leave this cottage—and its infuriating hostess. His patience had already worn thin, and lingering any longer would only invite more of Sybill’s sharp-edged remarks.

But before they could leave, Sybill gestured toward the vials she had set aside earlier that morning. “If you’re training your foresight,” she said, “drink the vial. Since I don’t know any other seers these days, I have an abundance of truth leaf in stock to make those for you.”

Elain nodded. “I will. Thanks, Sybill.” 

Azriel glanced back at Sybill, and for a fleeting moment, he caught a glint of malice gleaming in her onyx eyes as she watched him. Calculated, sharp—like she had meant to get under his skin, and was satisfied with the result. 

But he shook his head, dismissing the thought. She had indeed ruffled his feathers earlier and now he’s thinking badly of her. He reminded himself that she’s Elain’s friend and he shouldn’t have beef with her. 

Without another word, he turned and followed as Elain and the twins stepped through the backdoor, disappearing into the forest once more.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elain walked in silence, her fingers absently grazing the tree barks as she and the others walked towards the clearing. Her mind was still caught in the sharp edges of Sybill’s words.

Azriel had many lovers.

It shouldn’t have mattered. Shouldn’t have caused the strange, twisting sensation in her chest. She and Azriel weren’t…anything.

And yet.

She thought about Mor.

Feyre had told her, once, in quiet conversation, about the way Azriel had been hung up on her for centuries. How, despite everything, despite Mor never returning his affections, he had held onto the hopes of her finally accepting him—accepting what they could have been. He had thought she was his mate.

Elain swallowed hard.

But she knew better now. Knew that Azriel’s mate was potentially someone else. Gwyn.

The thought made something deep inside her curl inward.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. It shouldn’t bother her this much.

But still, there was doubt. A flicker of insecurity creeping in. Mor, Gwyn, and many other lovers. It was all too much.

Elain barely noticed Azriel watching her until his voice cut through the haze. “Elain, are you alright?”

She blinked, snapping out of her thoughts. He must have sensed the shift in her—read something in her expression. She forced a small smile, shaking her head lightly.

“Yeah, just a bit tired.”

Azriel stopped walking altogether, eyes scanning her face with quiet scrutiny.

“If you’re tired, we can go back,” he offered. “There’s no rush, Elain. Don’t force yourself.”

Elain hesitated, then shook her head firmly. “No, actually… I can’t be tired.”

Azriel tilted his head slightly, questioning.

Elain exhaled and continued, “When I trained earlier, I realized I can manipulate the energy around me. It gives me strength, speed… but when I absorb it, it also gives me stamina to keep pushing.”

Azriel studied her for a long moment—then simply nodded. “Alright, then. If there’s anything troubling you, just tell me. Let’s keep going.”

And just like that, she set her thoughts aside. Focused forward.

Because whatever doubt lingered in her chest—whatever uncertainty gnawed at the edges—she refused to let it rule her.

They continued walking in silence until they reached the clearing, Nuala grinned, practically bounced with excitement.

“Elain, your powers were extraordinary. I bet there’s much more to uncover,” she said eagerly.

Cerridwen crossed her arms, nodding. “You can manipulate energy and objects around you, summon shields to protect yourself, blast energy to attack others—what else?”

Nuala’s eyes gleamed. “Perhaps you could fly!”

Elain blinked. Fly? She and the twins exchanged incredulous glances, but Nuala only shrugged, undeterred.

“I mean, think about it,” she continued. “You send people flying with those energy bursts. What if you redirected that force into yourself?”

Elain let out a skeptical laugh. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?” Nuala mused. “You won’t know until you try.”

Azriel, standing nearby, watched closely but said nothing.

Elain sighed. Fine , she’ll give it a try despite how ridiculous the thought that she could fly seemed.

She took a deep breath, stretching out her fingers, searching—not just for the power beneath her skin, but for the energy around her. She could feel it, pulsing like currents in the air, shifting like unseen threads waiting to be woven together.

The air around her responded. It rippled, bending to her will, gathering beneath her palms like a force waiting to be unleashed. And then—

Elain pushed from the ground. The next moment, the ground no longer touched her.

She was hovering, just slightly. The energy cocooned her like invisible hands lifting her upward, weightless. She gasped, instinctively flinching, but the power held.

Nuala squeaked in excitement. “I told you!”

Elain adjusted, tilting herself slightly, testing her control over the force keeping her aloft. Slowly, she pushed harder.

And just like that, she lifted higher.

It wasn’t the flapping of wings or the uncontrolled burst of momentum—it was smooth, controlled.

Elain floated several feet above the ground, wind teasing her braid, before she willed herself back down.

Her boots landed softly, and she exhaled, stunned.

Azriel, who had been watching intently, interest gleamed in his hazel eyes. “You’re manipulating the energy around you,” he murmured. “Impressive.”

Elain took a steadying breath, chest rising and falling. “Now, what else can I do?”

Cerridwen smirked. “Well, if you can fly, maybe you can winnow too.”

Elain stiffened. Winnowing—disappearing from one place and reappearing in another—was something only the most powerful few could do.

Elain frowned slightly. “I doubt it. I thought only High Lords and a select few could winnow?”

Azriel considered it for a moment, analyzing the logic behind the possibility. “It’s possible for you,” he finally said. “If you can manipulate the force around you, you might be able to manipulate space as well.”

Then, with a teasing glint in his gaze, he added, “I thought you were always up for the impossible, honey.”

Elain’s breath hitched, her thoughts stalling. He just called her honey in front of Nuala and Cerridwen. She wanted to bury herself under the ground. She dared a look towards the twins. She watched as their mouths parted in surprise, eyes darting between her and Azriel, stunned. Then—slowly—they swallowed their grins and pulled back, whispering among themselves like conspirators.

Elain felt the heat creep up her neck, settling in her cheeks. 

She cleared her throat, struggling for normalcy. “I—I guess we could consider it.”

Azriel stiffened slightly, realizing his slip. His posture shifted, as if debating whether to acknowledge it or brush past it entirely. He opted for the latter.

“Of course,” he said, voice even, composed—except for the faint color at the tips of his ears. “But that’s something we’ll train for later.”

Elain willed herself to push aside the flustered energy curling in her chest.

For now, she focused on what she could control.

She stretched out her hands again—not to herself this time, but to the world around her.

And the earth answered.

The stones beneath her trembled, then lifted—rising from the ground like summoned warriors, hovering in the air at her command.

Then, with nothing more than a flick of her wrist, they crumbled to dust.

Ash drifted through the air, disappearing into nothing.

Elain stared at her hands.

Nuala smiled and crossed her arms. “We get it, you can do everything with that power.”

Elain rolled her eyes at that with a smile on her lips.

“I’m curious about what you can see right now,” Cerridwen murmured, eyes gleaming with intrigue. “Can you really see all the energy around you? Around us?”

Elain nodded. “Yes, I can. And not just energy. I can see everything.”

She turned to the pond, letting her gaze settle under it. Focusing—zooming in.

Her eyes widened.

“I can see everything in that pond. Every fish, every plant inside it.”

Cerridwen’s breath hitched slightly. “You can really see everything, then.”

Nuala watched Elain closely, considering something. Then, with a smirk, she mused, “I bet you can even see in complete darkness.”

Elain blinked, caught off guard. “In complete darkness?”

Nuala’s smirk deepened. “Yeah like… this. ”

Before Elain could react, Nuala dissolved into a wisp of shadow—reforming behind her in an instant, pressing her palms lightly over Elain’s eyes.

Elain laughed, shaking her head. “What are you doing?”

Nuala asked, half-joking, half-serious,  “Can you still see?”

“Of course not. You covered my eyes—how am I supposed to see anything?”

Azriel’s voice cut through the air. “I think I know what Nuala is trying to prove.”

“What?” Elain and Cerridwen asked in sync. 

Azriel folded his arms. “It’s not with your eyes that you’re seeing everything. It was initially your projected form which could see those things, the form which had connection to energy. That form is within you. So even if your physical sight is blocked, you should still be able to see what’s around you.” His gaze flicked to Nuala. “That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it?”

Nuala grinned, “Exactly.” She then finally released Elain’s eyes.

And before Elain could dwell on it, Azriel was already walking towards her while reaching into his pocket. A strip of black fabric slid between his fingers.

He stopped behind her, securing the blindfold over her eyes.

Elain stiffened. “What—”

Azriel’s voice was calm yet firm as he whispered into her ear. “We know you can see even with your eyes closed. Now prove it, sweetheart.”

She swallowed as he tested the tightness of the blindfold before letting go. She turned her head around, but the world had already dissolved into the pure blackness of the blindfold.

Then—she sensed movement.

The shift in air, the subtle ripple of energy, the force shifting toward her—silent, but present. Instinctively, she moved, twisting her body. But the reaction was slow. Too late.

A blunt force struck her ribs, knocking her off balance.

“Elain, focus ,” Azriel’s voice cut through the dark.

She exhaled sharply, pushing past the initial uncertainty. She tried to summon her sight to surface. But just then—she sensed another attack.

She knew it, but not with her sight.The blindfold was still in place, her eyes useless. She simply sensed her surroundings, the subtle shift of energy from afar that slowly became stronger towards her. 

Now she wasn’t second guessing, wasn’t reacting late—she was anticipating it.

She dogged, but another attack came—silent, precise. But it still couldn’t escape her senses. A sharp strike aimed at her shoulder.

This time—Elain caught it.

She dodged effortlessly, twisting with perfect accuracy.

Cerridwen let out a low whistle. “Oh, she’s got it.”

But for a moment, Elain just stood at her spot silently.

“Elain?” Azriel’s voice asked with concern.

“Wait—I think I can see.” Her voice rang through the clearing. She had willed her sight to come forward, but not to project. Just to resurface and help her see in this state. A flood of energy rushed through her, crackling against her skin like lightning. 

“I can see now.” She said and lunged towards her opponent at the speed of light.

Nuala barely had time to react before Elain’s fists came at her, swift and relentless. She twisted, dissolving into smoke just as Elain’s strike would have landed.

Then she reappeared at a different site. But the second she materialized, she froze—mid-air, suspended.

Nuala’s breath hitched. “What—?”

Elain only smirked, arms outstretched, fingers curled as if holding invisible strings.

“Gotcha,” she murmured, amusement laced in her voice.

Nuala struggled, but couldn’t move a muscle. She was caught. Elain had her locked in place with nothing but pure force.

Elain turned her head toward the others, her fingers still curled in control, suspending Nuala mid-air while her other hand reached for the blindfold, lifting it slightly  just enough to poke one eye out and meet their gazes.

The first thing she saw was Azriel’s reaction.

She watched as he stared at her like she was a ghost—like she was something unreal, something impossible.

She saw the way his lips parted, the faint hitch in his breath. His jaw slackened slightly, as if he wasn’t sure whether to speak or simply keep staring, caught between disbelief and something like awe.

Cerridwen broke the silence first, voice barely above a whisper. “Elain—your brown eyes are not so brown anymore. They are glowing…blazing.”

“Like amber. Like the freaking sun,” Azriel muttered, his tone quiet, almost reverent.

“Really?” she mused, tilling her head towards Nuala and loosened her grip on her, letting her feet fall lightly back to the ground. Once she settled on the ground, Elain asked her, “What do you think?”

Nuala gasped once she took a good look, taking a step back. “What happened to your eyes?”

Elain’s eyes widened slightly at that, but as she turned and took in their stunned expressions—the sheer awe lingering in their gazes—a slow smirk tugged at her lips. She couldn’t care less about what her eyes currently looked like. All she knew is that she was enjoying this very much.

Her voice rang through the clearing, laced with amusement and quiet pride,“If my eyes unsettle you guys that much,” she mused, “I’ll keep this on.” She secured the blindfold back over her eyes.

Then, as her feet steadied against the earth once more, she felt the energy still thrumming beneath her skin, under her, above her and all around her.

The world settled around her, sharp and clear, yet humming with possibility and anticipation.

She lifted her chin.

“This is just the beginning.”

Chapter Text

“Sybill should be back today, right?” Nuala asked as the three of them strolled along the Sidra, heading toward Sybill’s cottage.

“I have a feeling Azriel is silently wishing she’d extend her trip,” Cerridwen mused, earning a chuckle from Nuala and Elain.

The first and last encounter between Azriel and Sybill had been intense . Elain could only imagine what would unfold when they’d meet again.

Nothing much had happened over the past two weeks—except for Bryce opening a gate in Nesta’s room and pleading to borrow the Mask to use for the war on her planet. Nesta had agreed, and in turn, Bryce had thrown her own parents into Nesta’s room, as compensation, to prove how serious she was.

But Rhys had not taken that well.

Nesta had earned an intense scolding from him afterward, though Elain hadn’t been there to witness it. She’d only heard bits of the story from Nesta.

But, if there was a silver lining, it was that Nesta had bonded with Bryce’s parents, Amber and Randall. Especially Amber, Bryce’s mother, who had taken a liking to Nesta.

Elain swore that when Nesta spoke about Amber, there was a certain longing in her gaze—something raw, something deeply buried. It made her heart ache. Nesta and Elain had never known a true mother’s love. Neither had Feyre.

It must have been nice having to experience that, even just for a moment.

Soon after, Bryce had reopened the portal to their world and returned the Mask and Truth-Teller, keeping her promise. But she hadn’t come back alone.

She brought her mate named Hunt with her too. She had been scolded by her parents for her reckless decisions, but they were obviously proud of their daughter. And Nesta had said that judging from it, their parents had been used to such behaviour from their daughter.

Surprisingly, Bryce hadn’t just returned what she’d borrowed. She also gifted Gwydion—Truth-Teller’s twin blade to Nesta. She said that Nesta’s back was inked with the eight-pointed star for a reason and that she might need the blade for whatever comes next. Maybe time will tell.

"Are we practicing your winnowing again today?” Cerridwen asked.

Elain sighed, absentmindedly rolling her shoulders.

She had just mastered winnowing yesterday—had successfully winnowed all the way to the human lands, something she hadn't imagined doing so soon. For days, she had trained, starting with short distances in the clearing, gradually escalating to longer leaps through space.

It was impressive. Undeniably so.

Azriel had told her that winnowing is not the same for everyone. Sometimes it depends on their own unique ability, much like his shadow winnowing. Elain discovered that winnowing was far from a painless leap from one place to another. Each time Elain winnowed herself, she felt herself becoming one with the raw, flickering energy that existed around her. Each burst of raw energy came with the searing sting of countless needles piercing her mind. Then she felt like her very essence of existence disassembled  before finding herself instantly appearing in another location she had willed herself to appear, unravelling from the threads of energy.

So no, she very much disliked winnowing.

Flying, though?

Flying was freeing . Not at all as frightening as she thought.

She still remembered the first time she met Azriel. She had taken a good look at his wings and asked whether he could truly fly.

“Can you truly fly?”

“Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.”

“That’s very beautiful. Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“It is sometimes. If you are caught in a storm, if the current drops away. But we are trained so thoroughly that the fear is gone before we’re out of swaddling.” 

She smiled at the memory. She had asked him that and now she could fly like gim too, though without illyrian wings that is. They—she truly had gone far from the woman she was back at the village.

She had spent nights soaring beneath the sky full of stars with Azriel. She enjoyed the thrill, still remembered how exhilarating it felt even after landing back on the ground, the crisp wind against her skin, the world stretching endlessly below.

While flying, she suddenly got an idea, figured it would amuse Azriel, and had crafted an illusion—wings of shimmering, golden light at her back, radiant and feathered like something out of a dream.

Azriel had blinked, stunned.

She had expected a smirk, a teasing comment about her theatrics. But he had only stared.

When she asked why, he simply said, "It’s very beautiful, sweetheart."

She wasn’t convinced. She wanted to know what was really on his mind.

So after she insisted, he finally admitted.  "I remember you having this wing…in a dream."

It was then Elain’s turn to stare at him in disbelief, but then she teased him, saying that maybe he was a seer like her. That maybe he could glimpse the future in his sleep. He had only chuckled and embraced her form tightly while they were still airborne, tickling her in his arms while she giggled. 

“I think we can do something more with your energy manipulation.” Nuala said.

Elain nodded at that. Over the past two weeks, she had been experimenting with her energy manipulation with the twins and Azriel. She had learned to weave illusions from the dancing, ever-shifting light that surrounded her. Her command and control over her power had also deepened noticeably. She had mastered the art of broadening her energy shields until they took on the form of solid walls. Nuala and Cerridwen had thrown rocks at her walls, and the rocks halted at the impact, just like hitting on a solid wall. Then she had experimented with her energy wall and turns out she can make walls that could either make the rocks thrown at it to ricochet with doubled force, or disintegrate utterly.

Her energy blasts, too, had grown stronger, sending her targets hurtling far backwards. She could also summon concentrated bursts of scorching light, capable of burning through any obstacle in its path.

With every day of training, Elain realized that her power wasn’t confined to one form. Energy, in all its manifestations—be it light, force, or something deeper—was as boundless as her imagination, waiting to be shaped into whatever she envisioned.

And she was far from done.

She was so lost in her own thoughts that she barely registered arriving at the clearing—until she saw Azriel waiting there. No matter how many times she’d trained with him or shared countless adventures, she still felt a familiar shyness around him. It wasn’t discomfort. It's just that he always looked so damn attractive, always making her heart race every time she glanced in his direction.

​​She sighed, recalling what had happened for the past two weeks. She had thought that with all the time they could spend training together, they could have more. That they could do whatever they want together now that they are away from everyone including Rhys.

But Azriel had reminded her that Rhys still has his eyes here—Nuala and Cerridwen.No matter how much she called the twins her friends, they were still Rhys’s spies. And when Rhys would ask them about her and Azriel, they'd report everything—straight, unfiltered, no sugarcoating. No room for secrets, twists or bias. They’ll tell the whole truth.

Elain had wanted to argue, to insist that the twins could be trusted, that they wouldn't sell them out. But doubt slipped into the cracks of her conviction, curling at the edges of her thoughts. Perhaps he’s right. 

So they continued to steal kisses in fleeting, private moments whenever the twins stepped away, whenever it's just the two of them. And yet, despite the way Azriel looked at her, despite the way his touch lingered, they hadn’t crossed the last threshold.

A whisper at the back of her mind told her why—something she refused to entertain.

The mating bond with Gwyn.

Maybe it was the thing that kept pulling him away from her without him realizing it. Maybe it was so hard for them to be together the way they both wanted because fate had drawn a line between them—an invisible veil preventing them from truly being one.

She hated the thought.

She had to remind herself that the mating bond between him and Gwyn wasn’t real yet. And she didn’t even know how mating bonds truly worked—whether they were fate’s design or something that could be resisted.

So she shoved the thought aside as she walked closer towards Azriel. Just as she was about to greet him, Nuala broke the quiet with a teasing question.

"Does anyone remember Newton Isaac?"

Cerridwen raised her brows. "What about him?"

"Do you recall what his deal was?" Nuala pressed.

"He discovered gravity," replied Cerridwen simply.

"Exactly," Nuala continued, and looked at Elain. "Something tells me that you can manipulate gravity too, since gravity is a form of energy."

Elain frowned, shaking her head slightly. "Gravity isn’t exactly energy—as in, gravitational force is. Every object has potential energy and… well, it's more complex than that.”

Azriel crossed his arms, looking at Elain with amusement glinting in his hazel eyes. “You’re one smart girl.”

Elain blushed. “Its just what I remember reading at school.”

“Right, whatever, alright?” Nuala rolled her eyes. “But think about it,” she continued.  “You can lift things against gravity with your energy. Doesn’t that mean you’re, in a way, tampering with gravity itself?”

Cerridwen nodded thoughtfully. “So…If Elain can defy gravity by channeling energy into lifting objects, then maybe she can reverse it? Is that what you’re getting at?”

Nuala nodded eagerly. “Exactly. Maybe Elain could strengthen the gravitational pull in a certain area, pinning objects or anyone firm to the ground.”

Azriel smiled despite himself. “What did you eat to get creative every day?”

Nuala laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. But before she could fire back, Cerridwen chimed in, “She’s a literal bookworm. She read weird stuff and might be latching onto those book pages. That’s the secret behind all that creativity.”

Elain and Azriel burst into laughter, while Nuala rolled her eyes and snorted playfully at her twin’s jab. “I don’t read weird stuff.”

Elain's laughter ebbed into thoughtful silence. “So now I should try—” she began, but her words were cut short by a sudden, unsettling shift in the air.

“Elain?” the three of them chorused, voices laced with concern.

But her gaze was already fixed on the dense forest beyond the clearing. She felt the subtle surge of energy—a faint ripple coursing through the fabric of the clearing—and whispered, “I think something’s coming.”

In an instant, each of them dropped into a combat-ready stance, eyes sweeping the undergrowth for any sign of danger. Azriel’s shadows immediately spread out in a silent, sinuous ripple along the forest floor, each dark tendril scouting ahead.

Suddenly, the brittle rustle of disturbed leaves broke the tense silence. From the edge of the foliage emerged a rugged figure.Sybill. Her eyes were alight with urgency as she sprinted towards them. Clutched in her arms was an unconscious child.

Take this child." Sybill thrust the slender girl—barely fourteen—into Elain's arms.

"Who is she? What happened?" Azriel demanded, but before any answer could come, Sybill's voice grew soft: "Take her inside..." And then she collapsed, slipping into unconsciousness at their feet.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later, Sybill slowly awakened after Azriel had carried her into the cottage and gently laid her on a worn couch. Her eyes fluttered open. "Where am I?" she murmured.

"Inside your cottage," Azriel replied simply.

For an instant, Sybill seemed dazed. Then, alarm spiked in her eyes. "Where's the child?" she asked urgently.

"She's sleeping—in the next room," Elain answered calmly, her tone reassuring.

A sigh escaped her lips, but the questions still hung in the heavy air. Nuala, always the inquisitor, pressed further, "So, what exactly happened?"

Sybill exhaled slowly. With a graceful flick of her wrist, she summoned a glass from the kitchen. In a small act of magic, it filled with clear water on its own. She took a measured sip before continuing, "We were fleeing from a deranged cult intent on sacrificing the child for some ritual."

They exchanged troubled looks. "A cult? Where?" Nuala asked.

"Somewhere in the Dawn Court," Sybill replied, her tone laden with sorrow. "A week ago, my friends and I had been foraging in the forest near the mountain’s edge searching for herbs. That's when we spotted temple-like buildings. We heard the cries of a child and saw them drag the poor child to the temple’s dais. Of course, a female's soft heart couldn't handle such a pitiful sound so we just had to save it. I mean, the child.” She sighed heavily.

"And then?" Nuala pressed. "You weren't caught, were you?"

Sybill’s voice turned bitter. "We managed to escape, but not everyone made it out. Some of my friends were killed. Those cultists are sadists, they killed them like it was nothing. My friends sacrificed themselves to buy me time to escape with the child.”

A somber silence settled over them as the weight of Sybill's words sank in.

Sybill fixed Azriel with a steely gaze. “What if they managed to come all the way here?”

Azriel’s eyes flashed with cold resolve. “I’ve already dispatched a few of my spies to search for them. They’ll handle it.”

At that moment, the girl appeared—a girl with raven-black hair and dark blue eyes. Her facial structure and eye shape looks similar to Amren's. Perhaps she hailed from a place similar to the body Amren had picked for herself. The girl approached hesitantly, clutching her arms around herself, her gaze fixed to the ground as her small frame trembled with fear.

“Thank you for saving me,” the girl whispered, looking directly at Sybill.

The four of them watched her warily, as if afraid any sudden movement might startle her. But Sybill only extended a gentle hand, beckoning her closer.

And slowly, hesitantly, she stepped forward.

“I’m glad you’re safe, sweetpea,” Sybill murmured, her voice laced with quiet reassurance. “Are you alright now?”

The girl gave a small nod.

Silence lingered between them before Elain knelt in front of her, meeting her gaze with warmth. “Hello,” she said softly. “My name is Elain. What’s yours?”

A hint of a smile flickered across the girl’s face, fleeting but there. “My name is Amanai.”

Elain’s lips curved gently. “That’s a beautiful name, Amanai.” She reached for the girl's trembling hands, clasping them lightly between her own. “Please don’t be afraid anymore. You’re safe here. We’ll protect you.”

Amanai’s chin wobbled, and her eyes grew glossy with unshed tears. “I didn’t want to be sacrificed,” she whispered, voice barely above a breath.

From the corner of her eye, Elain saw the way Azriel’s fists clenched at his sides, but he said nothing.

Amanai’s own hands tightened, curling into fists as if grasping at the weight of her memories. “I am the plasma vessel,” she continued, voice thick with emotion. “My bloodline has carried the vessel for centuries. I was born knowing that…I was going to be sacrificed to Velius.”

Her breath hitched, but she pressed on.

“I was scared. I didn’t want to be one. I wanted to live. But I never told my parents. They’d punish me.”

Her blue eyes darkened, haunted. “That day, when I almost died...” She turned, eyes brimming with gratitude as she looked at Sybill. “She and the others had saved me. The gods heard my prayers.” She whispered, voice trembling with emotions.

Elain’s voice was gentle, but firm. “Can I ask who Velius is?”

Amanai hesitated before answering. “He is the keeper of the veils in this world. He has lived for a couple of millennia. He is immortal thanks to the plasma vessels that sustained him every five hundred years.” She swallowed. “But now, without a new vessel to transfer into… I don’t know what will happen.”

Elain and the others exchanged uneasy glances, frowns carving into their expressions.

“What veil is he keeping?” Cerridwen pressed.

Amanai’s eyes darkened. “The veil that absorbs the dark, evil spirits—neutralizing them before they can spread and become djinns.” 

Elain’s breath hitched. Djinn.

She turned sharply to Azriel. “I think we’ve heard that name before.”

Azriel’s eyes flickered with recognition—widening ever so slightly. “Cassian mentioned them. Said that they are evil spirits born from twisted magic and negative energy. They infect Fae, ruining and warping them into something unrecognizable.”

Amanai nodded, gaze darkening. “They don’t just infect Fae. They infect everything. Humans, high and lesser Fae alike… even inanimate objects.”

The weight of her words settled like stone in the air.

Nuala’s voice was hushed. “How do you know that?”

Amanai merely shrugged. “They say it’s part of our forgotten history. It was too long ago.”

Nuala sighed, folding her arms. “Or it could be the ramblings of some zealots.”

Elain didn’t look so convinced. Deep down, she had a feeling—an unsettling, persistent certainty—that this wasn’t just some fabricated myth, a story crafted for the lore and faith of a religious cult.

No, this was something that had been buried, forgotten, waiting to be revealed for the world to see. 

Then a sudden, eerie sensation crawled over her skin.  Old and unsettling, like a whisper of something unseen. She remembered the feeling. 

The onyx box.

That same heavy, suffocating weight had settled against her chest, thick with an unspoken warning. The energy around the box didn’t just hum. It raged, rippling violently as if fighting the very air. The box contained something that refused to be caged.

And whatever was inside it…It didn’t want to stay contained. It was relentless. Begging to be unleashed.

And now, hearing about the djinn has made the same unease slithered back into her bones 

“It could be,” Azriel agreed with Nuala, his voice measured. “This cult might be worshipping this Velius. The sacrifice of a plasma vessel is probably their ritual.”

Amanai shook her head. “We—they don’t worship Velius. He is a sorcerer, just like the rest of them millennia ago. He became immortal because he needed to watch over the veils.”

Cerridwen, who had been silent until now, finally spoke, her voice thoughtful. “What exactly is a sorcerer?”

Amanai glanced at her. “A sorcerer is someone who fights the djinn and heals anyone infected by them.”

Cerridwen’s brows furrowed. “So… you’re saying the Fae in the temple are sorcerers?”

Amanai nodded. “That’s what they claimed to be.. But since there are no djinn left, no one has ever seen them actually fight.”

Nuala tilted her head. “Then what do they do?”

“They train everyday.” Amanai said with a slight shrug. “They study, they practice, they live like normal Fae… just with a different belief.”

Elain’s breath hitched, realization dawning in her eyes. “Cassian mentioned this too. Sorcerers were gifted with the ability to see djinn. And they could fight them and cure the infection they spread.”

Before Elain could ask Amanai anything else, she saw Azriel’s shadows curled near his ear, a silent whisper carried through the darkness. He turned his head sharply toward the door, his expression shifting.

“My spies have news,” he announced. “I’ll be right back.”

Without another word, he strode toward the door, disappearing into the outside air.

Elain turned back to Amanai, wanting to ease any worries she might still have by offering a reassuring smile. “So, you lived in the Dawn Court?”

Amanai nodded.

“Have you ever visited other courts before?”

She purses her lips in distaste, a small shake of her head. “No. My family never let us leave. They were too afraid of something happening to us.”

Elain hummed in understanding. “I see. Well then—welcome to the Night Court.”

Amanai blinked. “Wait… we’re in the Night Court?”

Elain chuckled. “Yes, you are. You’ve traveled farther than you realize.”

Amanai’s expression shifted into something hesitant, uncertain. “Isn’t the Night Court… scary? They say the people here are monsters. Vile. Evil.”

Elain smiled, shaking her head. “That’s exactly what our High Lord wants the rest of the world to believe.” She gestured toward the door. “Out there—Velaris—is the most beautiful city in the world. We calll it the City of Starlight.”

Amanai’s eyes widened, awe flickering across her face. “That sounds… incredible.”

Elain smiled softly. “It is. I can show you the streets, the Sidra River, and the night sky—it’s always glittering with stars. You’ll love it.”

Amanai gasped. “So… this place really isn’t as terrifying as everyone says?”

Elain held out a hand to her, waiting. “Come see for yourself.”

The girl hesitated for only a moment before taking her hand, letting Elain lead her outside. The moment they stepped into the sunlight, the scent of fresh flowers enveloped them. The wild blooms stretched far and wide, shining golden under the peak of the sun.

Amanai gasped. “It’s beautiful! Can I touch them?”

Elain laughed. “You can. But only the wildflowers. The garden over there? That’s Sybill’s precious babies. If you step into it, she might cook you as lunch.”

Amanai laughed, eyes gleaming with amusement. Then she wandered toward the flowers, fascination lighting up her face.

Elain smiled, watching Amanai take in the beauty of the wildflowers. But when she turned, her gaze drifted a few feet away where Azriel stood with two Illyrians, his spies.

She lingered on him for a moment, lost in thought, until she felt a sudden poke at her side.

Elain blinked, turning to find Amanai grinning at her, mischief sparking in her blue eyes.

“Are you with that winged guy?” Amanai asked, amusement laced in her tone.

Heat rushed to Elain’s cheeks. “No! We’re just… friends.”

Amanai rolled her eyes. “Liar. I saw the way he looked at you. There’s something between you two.”

Elain huffed a breath but instead of giving herself away, she shifted the conversation. “What about you? Do you have a special someone?”

The light in Amanai’s gaze flickered, dimming. “No,” she murmured. “My parents wouldn’t allow it. I couldn’t have attachments. I was meant to be a sacrifice, remember? If I ever got attached to someone, I wouldn’t want to go through with it. That’s why they didn’t even let me make friends.”

Elain’s chest tightened with sorrow. Slowly, she reached for Amanai’s hand, squeezing it gently. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered. “But don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of friends here. You already have one. Me.”

Amanai’s breath hitched, her eyes welled with tears and then—like a dam bursting—the tears spilled down her cheeks in silent streams before turning into quiet, aching sobs.

Elain pulled her into her arms without hesitation, holding her close, whispering soft reassurances, her hand rubbing soothing circles along Amanai’s back.

Letting her know that after all the loneliness, the fear—she was no longer alone.

They stayed in each other's arms for a few moments before movement caught Elain’s eye—a shifting shadow stretching across the grass.

Azriel.

“Elain, can I talk to you?” he asked, his voice carrying an awkward edge, likely sensing the weight of the moment, the vulnerability of Amanai still cradled in Elain’s arms.

Amanai pulled back, wiping at her damp cheeks with a small smile. “I’m gonna go inside. Thank you, Elain… I needed that.”

Elain squeezed her hand before letting go, watching her retreat into the cottage. Then she turned to Azriel.

“Was I interrupting?” he asked, guilt flickering across his face.

“No, don’t worry.”

Azriel exhaled slightly, relieved. But his tone shifted, firm and serious. “They found two of them. Already inside the Night Court.” His jaw tightened. “I have to go.”

Elain straightened. “I’m coming with you.”

Azriel frowned, lips pressing together. “I don’t think—”

“Please?” She tilted her head, eyes wide, lips pouted—a calculated expression, one she knew he could never resist. “You said I was ready.”

Azriel chuckled softly, shaking his head as he glanced around, then leaned in. His hands framed her face, fingers warm against her skin  before taking her lips in his. When he pulled back, his thumbs traced along her cheeks.

“I can never say no to you,” he murmured. “Alright. We’ll go.”

Elain smiled, triumphant. But then she frowned. “So we’ll leave Amanai here?”

Azriel nodded. “The two Illyrians will guard this place. Nuala and Cerridwen will, too. If there's any sign of danger, one of them will fly Amanai somewhere safe.”

Elain tilted her head. “And Sybill?”

Azriel sighed. “Right. Her too.”

Elain shook her head, amused. “Oh, Azriel. You truly don’t like her, huh?”

Azriel crossed his arms, a slight pout forming at his lips. Elain bet he didn’t even realize he was doing it. Or maybe he did.

“She knows a lot. And she mocks me. And—” He scowled. “I just don’t like her vibe at all.”

Elain laughed at his begrudging admission.

Azriel smirked, and in one swift move, his fingers found her sides, tickling her.

Elain yelped, laughter spilling from her lips as she tried to twist away, but he didn’t relent until her face was flushed, breath uneven from giggling. When he finally stopped, he leaned in again, pressing a soft kiss to her cheek.

And then—they smelt the scent of freshly cooked food drifted from the cottage, warm and rich.

“Damn, that smells good,” he muttered, “I’m starved.”

Elain chuckled, slipping her hand into his. “Then let’s go back inside and eat.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After finishing lunch, Azriel left his two trusted men at Sybill’s cottage while he and Elain stepped out into the daylight.

His spies had given him the location—there were two of the sorcerers near the border of Velaris.

The moment Elain winnowed them there, they spotted two High Fae speaking to each other. When they sensed his and Elain’s presence, they instantly turned, weapons drawn, their gazes sharp and assessing.

The first was a male, dressed simply in a neatly tailored white shirt. His short, straight black hair framing a bored expression. In his grip, a curved blade gleamed, its razor-sharp edge catching the light.

Beside him stood a female clad in a similar neat shirt but in black. Her black-greenish hair tied in a ponytail. She wielded a long, staff-like polearm, its top adorned with a wicked curved blade.

Azriel raised a brow—he had never seen weapons like these before.

“Who are you?” The male asked, his tone laced with indifference.

Azriel flared his wings. “I’m the Spymaster of the Night Court. I should be the one asking that question—since you’re in our territory.”

The male’s lips curled into a sudden smile. “Oh! Our bad. We’re sorcerers from the Dawn Court.”

The female, however, didn’t react with the same ease. Her glare remained sharp, unyielding.

“We don’t have time for this,” she snapped. “We’re searching for someone important.”

Azriel’s expression remained unreadable. “The raven-haired girl with blue eyes?”

Their eyes widened just for a fraction before the female’s scowl deepened.

“Yes. Now tell me where she is.”

Elain, calm but firm, stepped forward. “What are you going to do with her?”

The female’s expression darkened, irritation flashing in her gaze. “None of your business.”

Azriel took a step closer, his stance shifting. And in response, the male instinctively moved in front of the female, blocking his path.

Elain’s eyes remained steady, unwavering. “Too bad. Only we know where the girl is. Unless you cooperate with us, you won’t get a thing.”

The female sorcerer smirked, amusement flashing in her sharp eyes. “Cooperate? Well then—we’ll just force the answers out of you.”

And then, in the same breath, they lunged.

The male swung his curved blade in a deadly arc toward Azriel, the steel singing through the air.

Azriel met the strike head-on—his own blade clashing against it with a resounding crack. Shadows erupted from his form, slithering across the ground like living tendrils, reaching for his opponent’s legs to pull him off balance.

But the sorcerer was quick. Too quick. He leaped back, twisting mid-air, his blade spinning toward Azriel’s wing.

Azriel shifted, narrowly dodging the strike before retaliating with a downward slash aimed for the sorcerer’s chest. The male barely blocked in time, steel grinding against steel in a shower of sparks.

Meanwhile, the female sorcerer drove forward, her polearm slicing toward Elain’s torso.

Elain side-stepped gracefully and with a flick of her wrist, energy exploded from her palm.

A golden force slammed into the sorcerer’s ribs, sending her skidding back ten feet across the ground. But she didn’t go down.

Instead, she planted her staff deep into the earth, using it to propel herself forward—a blur of movement—her weapon slashing in a tight, controlled arc toward Elain’s shoulder.

Elain ducked, dropping low, before slamming her energy-laced fist into the earth.

The ground shook beneath them.

A wave of shimmering power erupted, racing toward the sorcerer in a sweeping force.

She barely jumped in time, landing lightly on her feet, eyes narrowing. “Not bad.”

Elain straightened, energy crackling between her fingers, power humming just beneath her skin. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

"Oh I've seen plenty." The female sorcerer grinned.

Azriel, still locked in combat, caught the words—but didn’t break focus.

Because his opponent was relentless.

The male twisted behind him, blade flashing—Azriel blocked the attack, but the force of it sent a jarring shock up his arm.

The sorcerer’s speed was unnatural.

Azriel growled low, wings snapping wide, sending a burst of shadow outward—darkness swallowing the battlefield, obscuring vision for a fraction of a second. Enough time to strike.

Azriel’s blade sliced toward the sorcerer’s throat—but the sorcerer was faster. Steel clashed as the male twisted at the last second, deflecting Azriel’s strike with a sharp, precise parry. Not just strength, but skill.

Azriel barely had time to react before the sorcerer lunged forward again, his movements fluid, unpredictable, as if adapting in real time. The way he shifted—the way his blade sang through the air—was unlike anything Azriel had seen. Azriel thought he was already a great fighter but seeing how this guy moved so fluidly made him want to learn whatever fighting technique it was. 

But Azriel was no stranger to fluidity either.

He wove through the attack, shadows snapping at the sorcerer’s limbs, attempting to bind him, slow him down. But the sorcerer tore through them, his blade cutting through the darkness like it was nothing.

Azriel narrowed his eyes. He glanced to the other end and watched as Elain struggled to defend herself againts the female's relentless attacks.

The female sorcerer was ferocious, her polearm spinning like a deadly storm, each strike aimed to slice, pierce, and finish the fight fast.

Elain had no weapon—she didn’t need one.

She danced between the attacks, weaving, twisting, her movements sharp yet fluid. Energy crackled in the air around her, golden energy pulsing, rippling outward in precise bursts, meant to disrupt the sorcerer’s rhythm.

But the sorcerer didn’t stumble.

Instead, she spun her blade in a rapid, lethal arc, the steel slicing through the air with vicious precision, cutting straight through Elain’s energy.

Elain’s eyes widened, momentarily caught off guard.

She hadn't expected that. Hadn't anticipated how easily the sorcerer could cleave through power itself.

And the sorcerer took full advantage.

She struck, the blade of her polearm slicing toward Elain’s ribs.

Elain barely managed to dodge, an energy wave bursting outward from her palm, catching the sorcerer mid-motion, sending her skidding back.

Both parties paused, each catching their breath, standing amidst the shattered battlefield.

The female sorcerer frowned, gaze darting between Azriel and Elain, as if finally noticing the true extent of their abilities.

Shadows curled at Azriel’s feet—living, shifting, waiting for his command.

Elain’s powers radiated, bending the very forces of nature around her.

The female sorcerer’s jaw tightened.

“Shadow technique and Limitless technique,” she murmured, realization sharp in her voice. "Impossible.”

Beside her, the male sorcerer’s eyes flickered with surprise—widening slightly as realization struck him.

“You’re right…” he said slowly. “They really are.”

The female turned to him, a flicker of calculation crossing her face.

“Should we bring them to the temple?”

A beat of silence.

Then the male nodded, his grip tightening around his weapon.

“We’ll take them there,” he confirmed, his tone firm. “Along with Amanai.”

And then, without hesitation, they lunged again.

The battle raged. Azriel moved like a ghost, his blade flashing through the sorcerer’s defenses, shadows aiming to immobilize but the sorcerer fought like a storm, his own skill pushing past every attempt.

Elain threw blast after blast, each energy surge shaping into blades of golden light, trying to pierce her opponent’s defenses. The sorcerer countered with her polearm, spinning it through the air, deflecting, adapting.

But then, Elain shifted her stance—and suddenly, the very air seemed to crush down on them.

Gravity.

A force unseen but unrelenting pressed into the two sorcerers, dragging them down, forcing their knees to buckle, their movements to slow.

The ground groaned beneath them.

They struggled, but they couldn’t move.

"I can't move!" The female groaned.

"Me neither."

"If only I can reach my–"

Elain held out her hands towards their weapons and in a blink, they flew into her hands.

Azriel then didn’t waste a second.

He stepped forward, raised his hand and brought his knuckles down onto both their heads.

A sharp, precise strike.

Their bodies slumped, unconscious.

Elain exhaled, letting the energy around her dissolve.

Azriel glanced at her, a pleased smile flickering over his lips.

“That was an entertaining fight.” he mused, surveying the unconscious enemies. “I’ve never seen anyone move like them. They interesting opponents, I have to admit.”

Elain huffed a laugh. “Glad you enjoyed the fight. I was almost certain that I'm going to get split in half by the female’s blade. ”

Azriel laughed before he reached for her hand, squeezing it once before turning back to the fallen sorcerers. “You were exceptional just now, sweetheart. 

He watched as Elain beamed at his praise but then she said in a quiet murmur. “They commented on our powers. Called yours the shadow technique and mine the limitless technique. Do they know something about us that we don’t? The truth about our abilities?”

Azriel’s gaze darkened, shadows curling subtly at his shoulders “I don’t know,” he admitted, voice low. "We’ll have to find out.”

Elain turned her attention back to the unconscious sorcerers, unease gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. Then she looked at Azriel again, tilting her head.

“So… what’s the plan now, boss?”

Azriel’s eyes flickered with amusement, a smirk tugging at his lips at her choice of words. “We’ll take them to the dungeon,” he said, his tone carrying an edge of finality. “We have a lot of questions to ask.”

Elain blinked, as if suddenly realizing that the dungeons was his true domain. The torturing. The interrogations. The punishments.

For a moment, Azriel expected her to hesitate, to recoil at the reminder of what Azriel truly is.

But to his surprise—she didn’t.

Instead, she simply nodded, her expression steady.

“Let’s tie them up before they wake,” she murmured, kneeling down beside one of the sorcerers. A slow, wicked smile spread across her lips. “I can’t wait to squeeze everthing out of them.”

Azriel blinked at her before letting out a  chuckle. Elain was always full of surprises.

Every time Azriel thought he had her figured out—thought he knew how she’d react—she did something entirely different.

He had spent two years observing her, thinking of her, believing he knew her best. But the truth was, Elain Archeron was far more than he had ever imagined.

He watched as Elain expertly tied the sorcerers using her powers, her brows furrowed as she tested the tightness. He couldn’t help but smirk.

Perhaps Elain Archeron—soft-spoken, gentle ad kind Elain—wasn't so different from him after all. Perhaps she was cold and ruthless in her own right.

And Azriel found himself liking that realization far more than he should.

Chapter Text

The dungeon beneath the mountain reeked of rot and blood. Water dripped from cracks in the stone ceiling, echoing through the silence like a slow, relentless clock. The walls were damp, scarred by centuries of agony, and the cold was the kind that seeped into bone and memory. Chains rattled with every shift, and the only light came from a flickering torch nestled in an iron sconce—casting long shadows that danced over the two prisoners kneeling on the jagged floor.

Azriel stood motionless beside Elain, his arms crossed, wings tucked but twitching faintly with the restlessness of his rage. Shadows coiled at his feet like hunting hounds.

“Let’s try this again,” he said, voice disturbingly calm. “Who are you?”

The female sorcerer-now prisoner with her long black-green hair damp with sweat and grime—lifted her chin, blood crusted on her split lip. Despite her bound wrists and the iron collar around her throat, she was still poised, her voice steady. “We already told you. Sorcerers from the Dawn Court. What more do you want, shadow boy?”

Azriel’s eyes narrowed, and his shadows hissed in response. “I wouldn’t care who you are or what your business is.  But when we found out that two armed soldiers were trespassing in the Night Court, attacking our people unprovoked— that makes it our problem.”

The female’s smile curled wider, crueler. “Oh did we cause some trouble here, shadow boy?”

Elain stepped forward, arms crossed, her expression giving nothing away. “Amanai,” she said. “You were hunting for her. You were going to sacrifice her even when she screamed, unwilling to be sacrificed.”

That wiped the grin from the her face.

Azriel’s fists clenched, his voice a growl. “Why can’t you sacrifice someone else from your cult who’s actually willing?”

“Because she is the one required.” the woman spat, straining against her bindings. “You don’t understand—without her, this world will be doomed.”

“So we’ve heard,” Elain said, her voice a low, furious whisper. “We know about the Djinn. About Velius. About why you need to sacrifice Amanai.”

The male prisoner—calmer, but pale—glanced at his companion, then looked up. “You know...?”

Azriel raised a brow. “We know enough. But why should we believe a word of it?”

The male spoke quickly now, desperation creeping in. “Because it’s the truth. Velius needs a new vessel. Without a new plasma vessel, the veils will fall. The Djinns will overrun the world.”

The female prisoner cut in before Azriel could speak, venom dripping from her voice. “Let me make one thing clear to you, shadow boy. We’re not a cult.” Her tone curled with disdain. “We’re sorcerers. Not some deluded zealots or mindless foot soldiers. We’ve been protecting the veils and holding the Djinns back for centuries. We are sworn to that purpose, sworn to it with blood and bone.”

Azriel’s shadows coiled tighter at his boots, alive with threat. His voice dropped to a dangerous tone. “Then explain why no one else—not even the other High Lords—knows about any of this.”

The woman barked a hollow laugh. “Why should they? You’re all too busy playing your little war games, fighting for scraps of land and power like spoiled children, enslaving and killing weak humans and lesser fae for sport. Not to mention your precious whore of a High Lo—"

A scream tore through the chamber as Truth-Teller struck her right thigh.

She jerked, gasping and soon enough she let out a ragged laugh. “That's all you’ve got?” she hissed, lips curling. “I’ve survived worse.”

Azriel tilted his head, not bothered in the slightest by her defiance. His grip didn’t loosen on the dagger glinting red in the torchlight. He simply lifted it again, eyes scanning for the next place to carve truth from flesh.

“Enough!” the male prisoner blurted, voice cracking with panic. “I’ll tell you everything. Just—please. Don’t hurt her again.”

Azriel’s attention slid to the male, slow and assessing. “Good,” he said, voice like ice cracking across a lake. “At least one of you knows how to cooperate.”

He crouched low, the dagger still idling in his hand. “Now. Tell us why the other High Lords and the rest of the world were never told of this.”

The male looked down. “The knowledge is hidden by necessity. Panic would tear the courts apart. The Dawn Court has kept this a secret for generations.”

“Why them?” Elain asked, her brow furrowing. “Why the Dawn Court?”

The man hesitated. “We sorcerers do exist everywhere else—but in Prythian, the Order resides within the Dawn Court.”

Azriel’s voice went sharp. “Does your own High Lord know about this? 

A beat passed. Then the male prisoner gave a slow, solemn nod. “As the ruler of our land… yes. Thesan oversees the sacrifices. Keeps the Order hidden. He’s shielded us through every war Prythian’s ever faced.”

Silence thickened, pressing like smoke in the dungeon’s stale air.

Then Azriel moved—slow and deliberate—until he crouched before the male, their eyes level, the faelights throwing harsh shadows across his face.

“So,” Azriel said, voice like steel sliding from a sheath, “Thesan has been protecting you zealots in secret and letting you sacrifice innocents.”

The male scoffed, jaw clenched. “It’s not as dramatic as you make it sound. The sacrifice only happens once every five hundred years—”

“Once is enough,” Azriel snapped, shadows curling tighter.

“Anyway,” Elain cut in coolly, folding her arms. “Aren’t you the least bit curious how we knew about the Djinn? About Velius?”

The female rolled her eyes. “Let me guess. Amanai. That girl hardly shuts up.”

Elain’s lips curved. “She did tell us, yes. But we also found records here—in the Night Court library.” She shrugged. “So I suppose this whole Djinn thing isn’t quite as secret as you thought.”

The male sorcerer’s head snapped toward her, eyes wide with disbelief. “That’s impossible. There shouldn’t be anything about the Djinns outside of Helion’s archive—”

“Stop,” the female snarled, turning sharply toward him. Her voice cracked like a whip. “You’re giving it away, idiot.”

Elain just hummed. “No need to worry. We already went into Helion’s archives and got our hands on some very precious scrolls.”

The female’s mouth tightened, her body tense. Azriel only nodded, his shadows curled tighter.

A week ago, Mor and Amren had sent word about finally gaining access to Helion’s archives. According to their letter, they had combed through the sealed collections, gathering every scrap of information they could find. Afterwards, Amren departed briefly for the Summer Court to visit Varian, while Mor made her way to the Winter Court to see Viviane. They were due to return to Velaris by tomorrow. And when they did,  hopefully they'd bring all the answers they need.

The male gasped. “No way. No one should get their hands on it…Helion swore to us he’d never—”

Elain’s smile deepened, far too pleased. “So Helion does know about this. Too bad he’s more on our side.”

From the corner of her eye, she caught Azriel smirking at her. And just like that, her heart fluttered.

“Impossible,” the female spat, chains clinking as she leaned forward. “How did you Night Court freaks even get your hands on those scrolls?”

Elain smiled.“We have our ways.” She didn’t elaborate further, but the letter written by Mor had been clear. She mentioned that Helion in fact had needed...persuading. Some promises were made, ones Mor said were better left unexplained.

The female just stared at her intensely before a slight smirk formed on her thin lips as she scanned Elain from head to toe “You’re a pretty little thing. Did you whore yourself to Helion? I bet he made you work for it.”

Elain face blushed. “No I’m—”

“Ha!” She exclaimed, cutting Elain’s words off. “I see what you truly are.” She tilted her head toward her male companion, eyes narrowing with a knowing sneer. “Are you going to force yourself onto him next? Is that how you get people to talk when blades don’t work on us?” What a true Night Court Whor—”

She didn’t get to finish the word as a sickening crack echoed through the chamber. Azriel’s fist connected with her jaw—hard. The force of it snapped her head to the side, blood spraying across the stone. She crumpled to one knee with a strangled hiss, her breath rattling between clenched teeth.

The male sorcerer snapped the moment he saw his companion slam into the stone wall. With a guttural roar, he lunged forward, muscles bulging against restraint—and with a sharp, metallic snap , the shackles around his wrists shattered like brittle bone.

Azriel’s blade was in his hand before Elain could draw breath.

“Kneel. Back. Down.”

The words weren’t shouted. They were delivered in a cold and intimidating tone that sent shivers to Elain’s skin. The male froze mid-lunge with trembling shoulders and ragged breath. His eyes was blazed with fury… but he sank slowly, reluctantly, back to his knees.

Elain watched Azriel pull fresh iron restraints from the rack beside the wall. These were heavier. The clicks of the new shackles locking into place echoed in the chamber like a countdown. Double-binded now, the male sorcerer glared up from behind his messy hair, chest heaving.

Azriel only stepped back, expression unreadable, blade still dripping blood in his left hand, his fist clenched in the other.

“Try that again,” he said softly, “and I’ll see how many pieces you can break into before you stop twitching.”

He then glanced at the female who’s still hissing in pain.

“You insult her again,” Azriel growled, shadows writhing around him like a storm barely contained, “And I’ll be tempted to tear your little Order out of the shadows it hides in and hunt down every last one of you.”

Azriel’s eyes gleamed like gold as he kept his gaze on her. “I’d start by killing you where you kneel right now.”

Elain’s heart quickened at Azriel’s threat. She decided to break the tension, “I wasn’t the one who retrieved the scrolls from Helion's archive,” she said mildly. “But it doesn’t matter who or how they did it. Blame Helion for giving them up so easily.”

The female prisoner let out a ragged breath, wiping the blood from her mouth with a sneer. “I knew that motherfucker couldn't be trusted. Pathetic excuse of a high lord.” She spits blood onto the floor before continuing. “Whoever you sent to retrieve the scrolls knows exactly how to get the bastard down.”

Elain half-expected Azriel to strike the female again for insulting Mor, but he only growled. “Enough.”

The male prisoner exhaled, the weight of desperation heavy in his eyes. “Look, just hand the girl to us and we swear you’ll never see us again.”

Elain’s expression darkened. “We’re not giving you a child to butcher.”

The female prisoner gave a weary shake of her head. “You think we enjoy this? That we want to offer her up?” Her voice cracked with something bitter. “This world isn’t all starlight and roses, girl. Sometimes the innocent have to bleed so the rest can keep breathing.”

“Who, exactly, are you keeping breathing?” Azriel asked, his tone cold as he took a step forward. “Where were you five centuries ago, when millions of humans died in the first war? Where were you when Amarantha started her reign of terror? Where were you when Hybern rose and again, tore us apart?”

He stared them down, shadows licking at his heels.

“Tell me—who are you really protecting?”

The female’s lips pressed into a tight line, her voice low, almost bitter. “We hated it. Sitting in silence while the world tore apart again and again when we could’ve offered assistance. But disobedience meant exile… or worse.

A pause.

She glanced away, the weight of something unspoken lingering in her eyes. “Some of us wanted to fight. But it wasn’t up to us. Thesan and the Order strictly forbade it.”

Azriel let out a snort. “Just admit it—you’re a coward. My…”

He hesitated as his eyes flicked to Elain, his expression filled with uncertainty for the first time.

“…my friend,” he finished, voice low as he looked at her. “My friend here killed the King of Hybern—with this. ”

He lifted Truth-Teller, the blade still dripping with fresh blood. 

The male prisoner’s eyes went wide. “You’re… the High Lady’s sister. Nesta Archeron?”

Before Elain could speak, Azriel cut in. “She’s her sister, yes. But not Nesta. She is Elain Archeron—the middle sister. And she’s the one who rammed this blade into the King of Hybern’s throat. Nesta only beheaded him afterward—he was already dying when Elain struck him.”

The male slowly nodded. “I see.”

The female raised a skeptical brow, eyes dragging over Elain. “You used a dagger? In a war? And killed him with that?” Her tone sat on the edge between mockery and awe.

“She wasn’t a warrior,” Azriel replied before Elain could. “She wasn’t even supposed to be there. She was miles away from the war. But that day, I won’t be using Truth-Teller, so I gave it to her in case she needed something to arm herself with.”

His gaze darkened. “But when the King of Hybern was about to murder her sister Nesta, she stepped into that clearing—and drove this blade straight into his throat from behind.”

The female stared at Elain for a beat longer. Then let out a dry, reluctant smirk. “Badass.”

The male tilted his head, brows drawing together. “You weren’t a warrior before? But why not? You fought incredibly earlier. Your powers…”

Elain gave a small shake of her head. “Not back then. I only began training a year ago. My powers… they’ve only recently started to surface.”

The two prisoners exchanged a glance—quick, unreadable—before the female’s gaze settled back on Elain.

“You don’t even know what you are, do you?” she said quietly. “What kind of power runs through your veins.”

Azriel stepped in, arms crossed, voice cool and firm. “Since you clearly know something we don’t, then start talking. Now.”

Elain raised her hands slightly. “Before that—since you already know my name—it’s only fair you tell us yours.”

The woman sighed, as if the formality bored her. “Rin Kurogane. Kurogane Clan. He’s Ryou Takamine. Says he has distant blood ties to the old Shirogane line.”

Ryou offered a toothy grin despite the dried blood and bruises, nodding with surprising eagerness—almost as if he hadn’t just endured torture.

Rin turned her attention to Azriel, her voice tinged with curiosity. “You’re the Night Court’s spymaster, right? What do they call you… Shadowdancer?”

Azriel lifted an unimpressed brow. “Shadowsinger.”

“Ah, yes. That’s the one.” Rin smirked. “Listen to shadows talk, talking back to shadows…But that’s just the surface, isn’t it? The foundation of the shadow technique. You’ve barely scratched what shadow technique you could truly do.”

Rin caught the flicker of curiosity in Azriel’s gaze, but she only shook her head. “No one in the Kurogane Clan has inherited the shadow technique in over few centuries. It’s as if the Mother herself stripped it from our bloodline as punishment.”

She glanced at Ryou. “Just like the Limitless technique was lost to the Shirogane clan.”

Her voice lowered, heavy with old bitterness. “We suspect Shadowsingers—like you—carry only a fragment of what the full shadow technique once was. But as for the Limitless… there hasn’t been a trace of it since the last wielder died in the duel.”

Elain leaned forward. “What duel?”

Ryou answered, his tone solemn. “The battle between Kurogane and Shirogane clan. Each clan was led by a fae wielding one of the two techniques. The Kurogane leader struck the Shirogane leader, killing him—but the power unleashed by the Shirogane was too great. He died days later, devoured by the very shadows he once commanded.”

Rin exhaled slowly. “That was millennia ago. Since then, both techniques were believed extinct. So imagine our shock when we came face to face with two fae wielding them again.”

Elain’s eyes widened. “So… the Shadowsinger ability is just a fraction of the shadow technique. But what about the Limitless?”

Rin met her gaze. “There are Shadowsingers scattered across the world, rare but known. But no one has ever displayed the Limitless technique or even a fraction of it.”

Elain frowned. “You said it was the Mother’s punishment?”

Ryou gave a solemn nod. “Yes. She entrusted both clans with safeguarding our people and preparing for the day the Djinn returned. Instead, we turned on each other. That war shattered everything. It’s said she stripped our gifts from us… and now, only the worthy are blessed. Not clans. Not bloodlines. Only the worthy individuals.”

Elain caught Azriel’s gaze and turned to face him. No words passed between them—only a heat she could feel in her skin. She looked away quickly, cheeks flushed, and cleared her throat before glancing back at Ryou.

“So, you worship the Mother too?” Elain asked softly.

Ryou inclined his head. “Yes. We are her entrusted peacekeepers.”

Elain’s brow furrowed. “You lived in temples. You prayed to Her. And yet… you’re sorcerers, not priests or priestesses?”

At that, Rin scoffed—sharp and unamused. “Don’t insult us with that comparison. The priesthood is rotted through. Spies, traitors, pretenders hiding behind titles. Some may serve Her, but many chase nothing but status and political power.”

Ryou nodded in quiet agreement. “And they are ordinary fae. Not like us. We were born and blessed with the Sight.”

Elain tilted her head. “The Sight… to see the Djinns?”

They both nodded.

Azriel’s gaze sharpened as it turned to Rin. “But how do you know you can see the Djinns—if you’ve never actually seen one?”

Rin said nothing. It was Ryou who answered, his voice lower now. “Because Djinns aren’t the only things we can see.”

A flicker of unease passed between Elain and Azriel. Their voices came as one. “What else do you see?”

Ryou hesitated. His glance shifted to Rin, whose eyes remained locked on the cold stone floor. Her silence stretched, heavy and unmoving. He watched her a moment longer, the concern etched clearly across his bruised face before he turned his gaze back at them.

“We can see the negative energies flow from every living thing and watch them getting absorbed into the veils.” Ryou said quietly.

Elain’s head snapped toward Azriel. “Cassian mentioned about negative energies, didn’t he?”

Azriel nodded. “Yes. He said that the negative energy would turn into Djinns…” He turned to Ryou. “Does everyone produce it?”

“Everyone with a soul,” Ryou confirmed. “Fae, humans alike. Except…”

He tilted his head toward Elain.

Elain blinked. “Except me?”

Ryou nodded slowly. “Everyone radiates it to some degree. Especially those two right now.” He flicked his chin toward Rin and Azriel.

Elain’s brow furrowed. “But not me... why?”

Ryou offered a helpless shrug. “We don’t know. We’ve never met someone who produces none .”

Azriel looked at Elain, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Can you see it? The energy?”

Elain turned back to Ryou. “What does it look like to you?”

“Like red fire,” he said. “Wild. Angry. It coils around the body like it’s trying to escape.”

She shook her head. “I see energy—but never flames. Not red. It’s... different. Softer. Shifting, but never burning.”

“Then that’s not negative energy,” Ryou said simply.

Elain’s voice dropped to a murmur. “So I can’t see it. I don’t produce it. I thought I could see everything…”

She was still trying to process it when Azriel asked, “So the veils absorb the negative energy? They draw it in before it turns… into Djinns?”

Ryou nodded solemnly. “Yes. That’s what they’re meant to do.”

Elain pointed a finger to him and Rin. “So you sorcerers were entrusted to guard the veils and Velius to ensure the Djinn would never take form in this world again.”

Ryou’s smile bloomed wide, eyes crinkling with genuine delight. “Exactly!”

Elain couldn’t help but smile back—his expression was disarmingly earnest, and for a moment, it softened everything.

But from the corner of her eye, she caught Azriel frowning. He glanced at Ryou, shadows stirring faintly at his shoulders.

“Stop smiling,” Azriel said, the words quiet but edged.

Ryou blinked, startled. His grin faltered, then slowly faded as he settled into a more neutral expression—confused, but obedient.

A brief silence settled before Rin finally broke it, her voice sharp despite her earlier quiet.

“I heard you recruited the two death gods for the battle at Hybern,” she said, her gaze shifting to Azriel. “And they died, didn’t they?”

Azriel nodded once. “Yes.”

Rin scoffed. “Then that leaves only Koschei. But trust me… he won’t fall so easily.”

Elain turned to Ryou. “Koschei created the Djinns, didn’t he? With his powers?”

Ryou and Rin both nodded.

“If we kill him,” she continued, “will the Djinns disappear too?”

Rin gave a slow nod. “That’s what we believe. Koschei cursed the lands—twisted raw human emotions into monsters. If he dies, maybe the corruption dies with him. No negative energy. No Djinn.”

“Then we need to kill Koschei. Quickly.” Elain’s voice was steady with resolve.

Rin scoffed. “If it were that easy. We searched for his immortality box for decades. Never found it.”

“We did,” Elain said.

Ryou and Rin both snapped to attention. “You what ?” Ryou asked. “Where?”

“In a carved chamber beneath the Prison,” Elain answered.

Rin’s brows knit. “So that’s where it was hiding… We scoured continents, never thinking to look there. Not that we could’ve entered it anyway.”

“But the box is locked,” Elain added.

Rin nodded grimly. “You need the key to open it and then destroy whatever is inside.”

“Do you know where the key is?” Azriel asked.

“We don’t,” Ryou admitted. “It’s called The Wandering Key for a reason. It never stays in one place. We hunted it too, but came up with nothing. Maybe your luck will be better.”

Elain glanced at Azriel. “We’ll find it.”

Azriel nodded. “What exactly is inside the box?”

Rin shrugged. “No one knows for sure. Theories say he bound his soul to a relic—jewelry, a cow’s heart, a piece of bone. Doesn’t matter what it is. You strike it with a Made weapon, and Koschei will lose his immortality so we can kill him.”

“We will,” Elain assured.

Rin gave a thin smile. “I admire your spirit. But I don’t think you can find it quickly. The veils are weakening.  And once they fall—”

“We won’t let the Djinn return,” Elain said firmly.

“Then end Koschei before the veils collapse. Because if the Djinn returns fully formed…” Rin’s voice turned cold. “None of you are ready. It won’t be a war you can see. It’ll be one that devours from within.”

Azriel let out a quiet breath, his grip warm as he gently took Elain’s hand.

“That’s enough for today,” he said, calm but resolute. Then, turning to the prisoners, his voice cooled. “You’ve cooperated. You’ll eat better than the other prisoners tonight. Consider it a reward… not a habit.”

Ryou’s face lit up. “Really? Thank you!”

Rin shot him a glare. “Don’t wag your tail so fast. They could still poison us.”

Azriel smirked faintly but said nothing. As he led Elain to the door to leave, she paused, glancing over her shoulder.

“There’s one more thing I need to know. Do you… know anything about witches?”

Both Ryou and Rin frowned.

“You mean the deformed creatures tossed into the Middle because they are too dangerous and crazy?” Rin asked.

“And disgusting?” Ryou added.

“No not that one…. I mean,” Elain said slowly, “if there are Djinns… and sorcerers… could there be witches too?”

They exchanged a glance.

Elain sighed. “Never mind.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Elain and Azriel returned to Sybill’s cottage after their interrogation with Rin and Ryou. Dusk had already settled, and hunger gnawed at them—though the mouthwatering scent of dinner wafting through the door was a welcome reward.

Inside, the twins were helping Sybill set the table. Amanai was already seated, gripping her spoon and fork with anticipation.

“We’re back,” Elain called out.

Amanai’s eyes lit up. “Sit next to me, Elain! I’ve got so much to tell you.”

Nuala smirked from across the room. “Of course she does.”

Elain chuckled as she made her way to the table, Azriel close behind. She ruffled Amanai’s dark hair affectionately. “What did you get up to while we were gone?”

“We went to Sybill’s shop,” Amanai said brightly, “and she let me help!”

Elain laughed, turning to Sybill. “Of course she did.”

Sybill snorted. “Surprisingly enough, she was more useful than Raffe ever managed to be.”

Everyone settled into their seats, the clatter of cutlery and soft hum of conversation filling the cozy dining space. Amanai wasted no time launching into her story, recounting the day with wild hand gestures and shining eyes.

“I helped arrange bouquets at Sybill’s shop!” she said proudly, mouth full of stew. “She let me name them. One was blue and yellow, and I called it Sunstorm!”

Elain laughed softly, listening as Amanai rattled off more flower names—some inventive, some nonsensical—all while shoveling food into her mouth with childlike urgency.

But as the warmth of the room wrapped around them and her belly filled, Amanai’s energy began to wilt. Her words slurred at the edges, eyes blinking slower with each sentence.

Elain watched her with gentle amusement. The little girl fought valiantly to finish her story—until her head bobbed once, twice, then thunked lightly against Elain’s arm.

She chuckled, brushing a strand of hair from Amanai’s face. “Someone forgot to mention how tired they were today. Let’s get Sybill’s best shopkeeper into bed.”

From the corner of her eye, she caught Azriel smiling. It was soft, almost fond—so rare that it made something flutter quietly in her chest.

Still holding onto the warmth of that moment, Elain rose and gently guided Amanai from the table, her small fingers laced trustingly in hers. 

Once they reached her room, Elain tucked Amanai gently beneath the sheets. “I’m glad you enjoyed today.”

The girl smiled sleepily up at her. “I love it here. It’s beautiful and exciting. Everyone’s so kind and fun. I get to help at the shop... and next I want to explore the streets with you.”

Elain smiled, brushing a strand of hair from Amanai’s face. “We will.”

Amanai’s grin widened, soft and hopeful. “Promise?”

Something tugged deep in Elain’s chest at the way she asked. “Promise,” she murmured.

Amanai’s eyes fluttered shut, her breathing evening out as she drifted into sleep. Elain remained by her side, watching until the stillness settled.

She exhaled quietly, her heart heavy with reflection.

Fourteen. Amanai was fourteen—the same age Feyre had been when she first stepped into the frozen woods, bow in hand, hunger clinging to their bones like a second skin.

Guilt edged into her thoughts like frost. How had she let her little sister go alone? Cold, in danger, carrying the weight Elain had never tried to ease. She had stayed in that crumbling house, sewing and sweeping, day after day, while Feyre faced the wild.

Elain had never offered to help in the woods.

She had simply let her go.

She looked back at Amanai, now fast asleep, and silently vowed to protect her—the way she should have protected her own little sister years ago. With that promise lodged deep in her chest, Elain rose, gently closed the door, and made her way back to the dining table.

“Is she asleep already?” Cerridwen asked.

Elain nodded, settling into her seat beside Azriel. “She said she can’t wait to help at the shop again tomorrow.”

Sybill tapped her nails impatiently against the wooden tabletop. “So how did it go in the dungeon?”

Azriel leaned back, voice cool and measured. “It went well. We got everything we needed.”

Sybill crossed her arms. “What’s next? Will you be paying the temple a visit?”

Elain shook her head. “Not yet. They don’t know we’ve captured two of their sorcerers—I’d rather keep it that way.”

Azriel gave a nod of agreement. “Koschei is the priority. We must take him down first.”

“I thought he was immortal?” Sybill asked, narrowing her eyes.

“We found the box that anchors his immortality,” Elain said. “But it’s locked. We need to find the key.”

“Any idea where it is?” Nuala asked.

Elain shook her head. “No. But I plan to start searching. Tonight.”

Sybill raised a brow. “Have you mastered your seer abilities?”

Elain shook her head. “I tried to seek visions but I still cannot receive anything.”

“Then drink the vial I made you,” Sybill said without missing a beat.

Elain glanced at Azriel, then at the twins. She sighed. “Fine.”

Sybill’s smile stretched, triumphant and pleased. With a flick of her wrist, the plates, glasses, and silverware lifted from the table and floated smoothly through the air, clinking gently as they nestled into the sink. She rose to her feet and clapped her hands once.

“Well then,” she said, voice brimming with purpose. “Let’s get started.”

She ushered them out of the dining space and into the front room—worn wooden floorboards, plush cushions by the hearth, shelves lined with strange vials and dried herbs. 

“Elain, dear, sit there on the floor. At the center. The rest of you, give her room.”

Elain glanced at Azriel as she stepped forward, then knelt on the warm rug beneath her, tucking her legs beneath her as the others settled into quieter spots around her.

Sybill vanished into the back of the cottage, her footsteps light and swift. Moments later, she returned with a cluster of thick candles, a rolled parchment that looked like a map of the known world, two smaller scrolls, and—of course—her precious vial.

With care, she set the candles around Elain in a loose circle and unfurled the map in front of her. Elain frowned, eyeing the setup.

“Is all this really necessary?”

Sybill raised a brow, her tone bone-dry as she lit the first candle. “It sets the mood. No self-respecting witch peers beyond the veil without proper ambiance.”

Elain arched a skeptical brow. “And how would you know about veil-peering?”

She’d read about the practice in the library with Azriel—how powerful seers didn’t just wait for visions to come, but reached beyond the realms of reality and time to seek answers. She’d tried it herself while Azriel and Nesta were away with Bryce but nothing happened.

Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe Sybill’s vial with the particular herbs that could induce that trance-like state would make the difference.

Sybill smirked, amused. “My dear, I know everything. Especially when it comes to witch abilities.”

Elain let out a quiet sigh. Not this again . “You mean seers. I don’t believe foresight is exclusive to witches.”

Sybill shrugged, utterly unbothered. “Maybe not now. But during the old times, it was. Seers were witches. But their numbers dwindled until the witches were wiped out entirely. So you being a seer proves that you’re a witch.”

Azriel’s voice was low and sharp, each word edged with warning. “She is no such thing.” He sat just a few paces from Elain, shadows curling faintly at his back.

Sybill rolled her eyes dramatically. “Please. You know nothing, bat.”

She waved a dismissive hand, as if Azriel’s protective growl were nothing more than background noise.

Elain gave another sigh, not wanting to argue further. “Let’s just carry on.”

“What you are going to do isn't veil-peering, dear. We’ll just have to hope your seer ability is strong enough. Only then would you get a vision from only drinking the vial.” Sybill explained simply.

Elain nodded and watched as Sybill lit the remaining candles, one by one, the flickering flames casting golden ripples across the wooden floorboards. With a flick of her wrist, the faelights on the ceiling winked out, plunging the room into a quiet hush. Candlelight bathed the walls in dancing shadows, swaying like breathless watchers.

The silence stretched.

Then Sybill set a glinting crystal on the map before Elain—pale, opalescent, like a sliver of moonlight turned to stone. Even the twins, lounging nearby, leaned in slightly now.

Sybill glanced down at Elain and made a sharp disapproval sound. “Not like that.”

She shifted Elain’s posture, guiding her from an awkward kneel to a graceful cross-legged seat. Elain straightened her spine, letting her shoulders settle. Her hands came to rest lightly on her knees, palms open to the warm glow of the candlelight.

“Now that’s more like it. Are you ready dear?” Sybill asked, her voice low and steady.

Elain looked at the twins a few paces away. Nuala gave an encouraging nod. “We’re right here. If anything goes wrong—we’ll pull you out.”

Elain smiled faintly, her chest tightening with quiet gratitude. She turned next to Azriel, whose gaze was locked on her—intense, unreadable, but laced with concern. He gave a slow nod.

That was all she needed. That small, silent promise. That if she slipped too far, he would follow and pull her back.

She exhaled a breath, turning to Sybill again. “I’m ready.”

Sybill nodded once, then gestured toward the glass vial. “Drink it all.”

Elain looked down at the vial where it rested beside the map, catching the candlelight like liquid starlight. She drew in a breath, opening it and tipped it back, drinking every drop.

“Good. Now give me your hand,” Sybill said, holding out her palm.

Elain placed her hand atop it without hesitation.

Then Sybill turned to Azriel and extended her other hand, nodding toward Truth-Teller strapped to his thigh. “Give me the dagger.”

Azriel’s response was immediate—a low growl. “Over my dead body.”

Sybill scoffed, clearly offended. “I just want to borrow it. For a moment.”

“No,” Azriel said flatly.

“Oh, come on. Don’t be so stingy you bat,” she huffed. “I’m only going to prick her finger for a few drops of blood.”

Azriel’s eyes dropped to Elain’s waiting hand. After a pause, he muttered, “Let me do it.”

Sybill rolled her eyes but turned Elain’s hand so her palm faced him.

Azriel reached out, his touch gentle as he brushed his thumb over her pointer finger before pricking it with a small blade of shadow. A single drop of blood welled up.

Sybill took Elain’s hand and guided it above the moonstone, letting the blood fall in crimson beads onto its pale surface.

“Smear it—coat the stone with your blood,” Sybill instructed.

Elain obeyed, streaking her blood across the smooth surface of the crystal.

Sybill studied the blood-smeared stone for a moment, then gave a satisfied nod. “Now close it in your right hand. Sit as you were before—cross-legged, close your palm in a fist, rest it on your knee, face it upward.  Close your eyes. Think about what you want to seek... and you will see.”

Elain followed the instructions, settling into position once more. Within moments, the drowsiness hit—soft at first, then heavier, pulling her into a trance. She tried to focus on the memory back inside the dungeon when Rin mentioned about the Wandering Key, needing to find it to unlock the box and destroy Koschei’s immortality. Over and over, she replayed the moment in her mind—until suddenly, it shifted. A vision slammed into her consciousness as if someone had shoved it into her thoughts. The first image was hazy, shifting... and then it clarified.

A caravan—an ornate caravan, gliding through dense forest, its wood finely carved and gilded, delicate flower garlands swaying from its windows. Elain’s breath caught as she felt a sudden sensation in her fist.

“The stone,” she murmured, “it’s trembling in my hand.”

Sybill’s voice came softly, distant but clear. “Do you see something?”

“Yes,” Elain breathed. “A beautiful caravan wheeling through the woods.”

“Don’t open your eyes yet,” Sybill instructed. “The key might be inside it. Keep looking.”

Elain concentrated, letting the vision pull her deeper. Suddenly, she was inside the caravan. The scent of herbs and smoke hung in the air. It was dim and cozy, aglow with candlelight. A female high fae sat at a small table, a scarf tied loosely around her head, silver charms dangling from her ears.

The table was cluttered with tarot cards, crystals, dried herbs, puppets, gleaming jewelry—and several keys laid just at the edge of the desk.

“I see someone,” Elain whispered. “A female fae sitting at a table… there are keys. A few of them—”

Suddenly, the stone in her hand burned hot. Elain gasped.

“Put the stone on the map,” Sybill said. “You can open your eyes now.”

Elain did, placing the warm crystal onto the world map. Everyone watched as the stone trembled... then slid on its own across the parchment, finally stopping at a location near the western edge of the continent.

“There it is,” Sybill murmured. She circled the spot with a pen. “If you want to find the key quickly, I suggest you head there immediately. Something tells me the key isn’t the only thing that wanders. That caravan… it might not be an ordinary caravan.”

Elain frowned. “What if we get there and it’s already moved on?”

“Then you’ll have to trust your seer abilities to find it.” Sybill wiped the stone clean of blood with a clean cloth, then slipped it into a thin silver setting and fastened the chain around Elain’s neck. “This will guide you to it. Take maps. And whatever you trained at my forest clearing all this time, I hope winnowing is one of them.”

Cerridwen grinned. “We just taught her winnowing last week. I’d say she’s nailed it—grudgingly.”

Elain sighed, dramatic and resigned. “I still hate it.”

Nuala patted her shoulder with mock sympathy. “Don’t worry. I’ll pack you a couple of buckets for the journey. I’m sure Azriel won’t mind holding them while you retch.”

Elain laughed and gave her a playful smack on the arm, earning a wicked grin from the wraith. She heard Azriel chuckled softly, as if imagining the embarrassing scenario.

The room fell into silence once more before Elain broke it. “What about the female I saw earlier…who do you think she might be?”

Sybill shrugged. “You’ll find out when you meet her.”

Azriel leaned forward slightly. “What did she look like?”

Elain shook her head slowly. “She looked like an ordinary fae. Nothing strange about her. But her table... it was cluttered. Tarots, jewelry, tiny puppets, dried herbs—just a mess of oddities.”

“If she guards the key,” Cerridwen muttered, “then she’s not ordinary. She’s dangerous.”

“Or,” Nuala said with a lazy shrug, “she’s just some oblivious peddler who doesn’t even know what she’s carrying.”

Sybill crossed her arms. “Doesn’t matter. What matters is that Elain retrieves it.”

Everyone nodded in agreement.

Elain then turned to Azriel. Her gaze met his—questioning, seeking the quiet reassurance only he could give her.

Azriel held her eyes. “We will meet with Rhys and the others tomorrow and discuss this.”

Elain hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. “What if Nesta doesn’t want me to go? When I offered to help find the Dread Trove...she thinks I can’t handle it. She thinks I’m not as capable as her or Feyre.”

Azriel’s gaze softened, shadows receding ever so slightly. “Then you’ll show her and everyone else that you’re more than capable now.

Elain smiled, a quiet fire flickering behind her eyes. “I’ll prove it to everyone that I’m up for everything.”

Cerridwen smirked. “I can already picture few jaws hitting the floor as they watched the gentle and quiet Elain Archeron finally bares her claws.”

Elain flushed, warmth blooming in her cheeks. She then glanced at Azriel and found him grinning, looking at her. There was a flicker in his gaze—something like thrill and promise—and it made Elain’s stomach flip. Azriel leaned in, the warmth of his breath ghosting across her skin as he whispered low against her ear. “I’ll be damned proud when I get to show them everything my girl has to offer.”