#Starter call:: Amber

[eternxlstar-archive]

Perm. Starter call For Amber.

Link to about, rules and other things are on this link here -> LINK

lease like or comment for a starter from amber on here, and I wll get to it as soon as possible <3. And if you could please let me know to who if you have a multi?

[feroluce]

Hello!! I came here because I was informed you had some Wriowinne headcanons and ramblings to share? Would it be alright for me to ask for some 👉👈 (or as much as you want to share please I'm desperate for food)

OH BOY DO I.

I feel you anon, I've been shipping them like...since the PV. So I've been stuck in utter absolute hell, getting nothing but father&daughter content from the fandom (shoutout to @hydrachea for being able to dual wield and letting me talk ship to her, light of my life fr weh). I'm hoping now that 4.1 has been out for a little bit, we'll get some more of them, though. I've dug through our dms, and found a hc that takes place after 4.1. So spoilers for that archon quest, but no leaks are involved!

Anyway, I love thinking about how close they cut it at the climax of 4.1, and the aftermath of it all.

Sigewinne somehow finding out what happened down there at the bottom of Meropide while she was evacuating the inmates, and like. She knows what the stakes were. The Primordial Seawater could not be allowed to rise. Clorinde made the right decision in shooting the gate lock. Even if it had killed Wriothesley, it still would have been the right decision.

That doesn't mean it's not a bitter pill to swallow.

Sigewinne can usually put it out of mind during the day, especially when she's busy treating patients, but it's harder when she's asleep. She dreams of the evacuation, and the alarm blaring, and waiting and waiting and waiting, and Clorinde walking past, alone, with her head down and her fists shaking, until Neuvilette finally approaches. Wriothesley isn't with him.

And Neuvilette's face doesn't really show much. It never does. But Sigewinne is close enough to the surface that she can hear the absolute downpour raging outside as Neuvilette tells her that he's sorry, he's so so sorry, and he gives her a gray and black and red coat, so soaked through with Primordial Seawater that he'd been afraid to let anyone else touch it, and the fur collar is matted and wet against Sigewinne's face when she clutches it close-

Sigewinne jolts awake, grasping at whatever is in her reach, which just happens to include Wriothesley's arm. His eyes almost immediately fly open, slurring out a mix of what's goin' on and what's wrong, and then a do we need to evacuate and poor Sigewinne, she feels awful. He hasn't been sleeping as well since the almost-flood, every little sound wakes him up now.

(There are nights where she'll wake up alone, and if she goes looking, she'll find Wriothesley, still in his sleep clothes and looking exhausted, down under their secret passage and staring at Neuvilette's seal over the sluice gate. Like he's keeping watch over it, or just daring it to try and do something.

Whenever she finds him like this, Sigewinne tells him to come on, come back to bed, and he'll keep his eye on it until the last possible second, but generally Wriothesley comes when called, and he'll let her lead him away. On his worse nights, he'll tell her to go back without him, he can't sleep anyway, he's going to stay down here for just a little while longer. He'll be back later. And she does occasionally go back to bed, but most of the time she stays, because she doesn't like the idea of him alone down there. Sigewinne will tuck herself into his side, or she'll get him to relax his guard just enough to lay with his head in her lap, and they'll stay there like that until Wriothesley finally decides he can bear to leave it alone and go back to bed with her.)

So with all that in mind, when she accidentally wakes him up, Sigewinne quickly gets her breathing back under control and pets his hair until he relaxes again. She tells him it's fine, everything is ok. Meropide is safe. Their home and everyone in it is safe. Go back to sleep. He needs his rest if he's going to go up to the overworld for supplies in the morning. She'll go sleep in the infirmary, she just had a nightmare, is all (the truth), it was nothing, she barely even remembers it anymore (a lie).

Sigewinne doesn't even make it out of bed, though, because when she tries to go, she finds her wrist suddenly caught. She turns back and Wriothesley is squinting up at her face, human night vision isn't nearly as good as a Mélusine's. They sit there like that for a moment, until she can see through the expression on his face that he's come to some sort of decision. Wriothesley pulls her back in and Sigewinne lets him, lets him rearrange them into something more comfortable. It's easy to give up when it's him, she didn't truly want to leave anyway. By the time he makes a satisfied little huff into her hair, Sigewinne is tucked under his chin, her face against his chest, one arm wrapped around her to keep her there. She pats his side and tells him ok, ok, she gets it. She won't go anywhere.

Wriothesley buries his face in her hair and sighs at that, something deeper and more content that hilariously reminds Sigewinne of a dog asleep on the floor. "Good." Wriothesley sounds like he's already half-asleep again. His arm still tightens around her waist though, just to make a point. "How could I sleep, when I know you're off somewhere crying alone?"

Sigewinne touches her cheek, and sure enough, it's wet? She has tear tracks. No wonder Wriothesley had been staring at her so hard. She hadn't even realized. And she opens her mouth to protest because she wasn't crying, some tears in her sleep doesn't count, but. Wriothesley is already asleep again, breathing slow and deep and even, and his arm is heavy and warm around her, and his sleep shirt is soft and comfortable against her face, not at all like the fur-collared coat in her dreams.

Sigewinne gives in again, curls into all that warmth and wraps herself up in it, until it lulls her back to sleep.

[irresistiibles]

@wvsteria / amber & mia

"i come with brownies." amber said with a grin, holding up a small box. it seemed like she'd be waiting for eula again, but they couldn't be too upset about it if it meant she was getting out of the house. "for both you and eula, but well, they might be a little overcooked. i wanted the edge to be crispy and probably overdid it a little bit, but they should still be good!" cooking or baking really weren't to her strengths, but amber had made an attempt.

[telepathyia]

Now is a good time as any to do a starter call to the ball rolling on here <3 no cap and length will vary! I'm trying to get back into rp so forgive my writing pls ;v;

[ladytsunadehime]

Hit the ❤️ for a starter from Dark!Tsunade

[unmeiame]

Link to about, rules and other things are on this link here -> LINK

please like or comment on this post for a starter from amber on here, and I wll get to it as soon as possible <3. And if you could please let me know to who if you have a multi?

[faeryworlds]

Tag Drop (part 2)

[poohsources]

🐝  *  ―  𝑪𝑶𝑳𝑶𝑼𝑹𝑭𝑼𝑳 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑽𝑰𝑬𝑾. ( send one or more of these to get to know the person behind the blog a little better. )

[ cherry ]  what is one thing you love about yourself? [ crimson ]  what is one thing you wish you could change about yourself? [ scarlet ]  what is one thing you wish you could do? [ ruby ]  give one random fun fact about yourself. [ tangerine ]  do you speak other languages? if yes, which? [ amber ]  which is your favorite season? why? [ bronze ]  if you were stranded on a deserted island, which three things would you want to have with you? [ apricot ]  what do you think your life will be like in ten years? [ canary ]  do you have pets? if yes, how many and what? [ lemon ]  do you believe in ghosts? how about aliens? [ bumblebee ]  where have you always wanted to travel to? [ blonde ]  what is your favorite type of music? favorite artist? favorite song? [ lime ]  describe yourself as a character / mix of characters you've always related to the most. [ emerald ]  bonus round: coffee or tea? morning or night? extroverted or introverted? hot or cold? fruits or vegetables? sweet or salty?

[ mint ]  when did you start your blog? what made you start it? [ olive ]  what gives you the most inspiration for your muse(s)? [ cerulean ]  what is your favorite ( type of ) character to write? [ teal ]  which fandom has been your favorite to be a part of? which has been the least favorite? [ azure ]  is there a specific character or type of character you want to write but never have? why? [ navy ]  what do your muse(s) mean to you? [ indigo ]  when did you first start writing / roleplaying? [ denim ]  have you ever roleplayed on any other site(s) besides tumblr? [ mauve ]  give one random headcanon about your muse / one of your muses. [ lavender ]  if you could change one thing about the rpc as a whole, what would it be? [ plum ]  are you more of a dialogue or a description writer? [ mulberry ]  what tips would you give someone with writer's block? [ coral ]  give a shoutout to one of your favorite blogs. [ fuchsia ]  bonus round: angst or fluff? one-liners or paras? plotting or winging it? memes or starter calls? single muse or multimuse?

[lalaluuz]

"Oh, dude, just ignore those popups, they're not--"

"Wait, is that a picture of Eda?!"

"Hot moms in my area...?? I mean yeah, it's been hot."

"Do they require assistance? Where are they?"

[6utterfly3ffect]

If we’re stuck with the bay over bae ending, since we haven’t seen the true aftermath of it since most content pays respects to the bae over bay ending, I need that choice of ending to be recognized fully in the story. For starters, I need Chloe haunting the narrative like Rachel Amber did. I need her there hanging in Max’s head consistently. And, I need Max to still be in contact with students from Blackwell. I need the students from Blackwell mentioned and recognized as characters because yes it is crucial to have Chloe mentioned because of her importance but yes it is also crucial to have the whole other cast of characters Max interacted with be mentioned to because if Chloe isn’t alive, the Blackwell students are. How about a part where Warren calls up Max to check up on how she’s doing? Or Kate? A little catch up between Max and one of the people she had a connection with at Blackwell would be nice. I need this story to feel complete. These people who had importance to Max to still be recognized because she is not going to just forget about everyone at Blackwell after all she experienced there. And with Chloe, of course, I need her to think back on her plenty because of how much she experienced with her and how losing her was, which I assume we’re more likely to get than her thinking back on characters like Warren & Kate, but still. My point stands.

[witch-hazels-musings]

My Dearest Hazel,

It had been quite some time since our last correspondence, I apologize for that. Many things had changed for the better, some overwhelming, others miniscule.

My residence had switched from the amber leaves of Liyue to the clear blue lakes of Fontaine, for starters. Perhaps this is why your letters, if you had sent some, had not reached my new residence. Fear not, I shall let you know briefly of the new address you may send them to!

There were many trials and tribulations that we had encountered in the Nation of Justice--Getting used to Operatic Trials, learning the many different pathways of Fleuve Cendre, and learning how to explore the vast waters along with the creatures in it. The first time Childe had encountered one of the Local Legends, let me tell you how absolutely giddy he was at the challenge presented to him, I swear that man...

Speaking of him, once more I shall need your help in perhaps a dabble of witchery for this man's own good. Childe had encountered such troublesome things upon our arrival, you'd swear that he is a magnet for misfortune, tsk, tsk.

As such, I shall help you pick out what you need for the ritual, as per usual.

A dash of Black Torumaline, a pinch of Dalmation, and perhaps a spoonful of Wormwood to help balance out this man.

Attached to this letter is the mora for your service (do tell me if your rates had increased, I shall send another to cover the missing expenses!) and hopefully, I shall await your good reply just like old times.

Your friend from afar, F----

Black Tourmaline (safety, shielding), Dalmatian stone (loyalty, family), Wormwood (nightmares)  Childe x Gn Reader | Protection Ritual  Warning: nightmares (childe wakes from one), very fluffy, angst/comfort (extra dose on the comfort), childe's real name used

The cool air caressed your skin - gentle, lapping ripples of mountain streams, chilled by falling snow. You adjusted in bed and pulled the blankets around you, but before settling again, a strange noise drew your attention. 

A soft whimper, heavy breathing. The bed jerked, creaked. You rose, shivered at the rudeness of the night, and peered into the darkness of the bedroom. Another sharp breath and the room became washed in amber and shadows. 

Childe was on his back, one hand resting on his bare chest, the other twitched at his side. He turned his head away from you, then back, and bore pain on his face as he did so. Knitted brows, disheveled hair against a sweaty forehead, feathering jaw stopping only when he parted his lips to take in a quick breath. He mumbled something but you couldn’t make it out. 

“Ajax,” you called to him quietly but he didn’t respond. He just fidgeted, his fingers pressing into his stomach as his chest rose and fell like tormented waves. You twisted and slid your hand along his tense, twitching forearm until your palm covered the back of his scarred hand. “Ajax,” you said, whispered near his head as you pressed your face near his temple and ran your fingers through his hair. 

Whatever plagued him seemed to get worse. He turned into you and you could feel his breath against your skin. Closing your eyes, you wrapped your fingers around his hand and squeezed, brushed his hair from his forehead, and murmured reassurances near scrunched eyes. 

His body jerked and he pulled away from your face fiercely, his eyes wide and shimmering. Every muscle in his body went tense at the same time, his fingers like a vice-grip as he held your hand against his chest. 

“You’re okay, it’s okay,” you said calmly as you held his eyes while he searched for clarity in the torrent. “It was a dream. Just a dre-” Childe cut you off by pulling you against him. His arm coiled around your waist, desperate fingers digging into your back as his face buried itself in the crook of your neck. He was trembling. 

You’d seen him have nightmares before. Found him awake and standing next to the window, sitting in a chair with his head in his hands. Always alone, disconnected. At first, you thought it better to let him be. To leave him to settle in the ways he had before you entered his life but after the third time, you couldn’t bring yourself to stay in the warmth of a bed he was unable to lay in. 

So you moved to him, carefully, tenderly, slowly. 

He seemed surprised by your action. Almost in disbelief when you stepped in between the clouded blue window so you could cup his face. He tensed then too. His shoulders, his back, his hands. As if he were a wounded animal trying so hard to hold back the violence lying in wait. 

“Go back to bed,” he said, his voice strained and tight.  “I will when you do,” you replied, passing your fingers under his tired eyes.  He smirked and looked back to the window. “It might be a while,” he said in his usual, laid-back tone but you could feel the edges of his words and how they were laced with bitterness. You wondered then how many nightmares he had suffered through unaccompanied.  “Then I’ll wait.” Childe met your eyes, searched them as if looking for a break in your resolve. But you had none. “For as long as it takes. I’ll be here.” Childe’s eyes flickered back to the window. He breathed, swallowed, and then reached for you. Embraced you in a wash of blue, held you in the quiet of the evening and you held him back. For as long as he needed, you stayed with him and spoke nothing of the warm drops of water that fell against your arm. 

To Childe, the 11th Harbinger, nightmares were as common as the rising sun. But he rarely let them command him, so, when they did, when the bearable became too heavy, you vowed to carry the extra weight - however you were able. 

You pressed your cheek against the top of his head and wiggled your arm until you could drag your nails along his scalp, through his wild locks, and over his ear. “I’m here,” you said against him, hummed them like a song in the still air. “I’m here, Ajax.” 

Childe slid his arm out from under you so he could hold you tighter, closer. Your leg found warmth between his, your arm slipped beneath his neck and coiled to hold his head against your chest. And he turned into you, became lost in you as you reeled him in. 

The warm light filled the room as if it were fighting to keep the shadows at bay but, little did you realize, you were the same. In the darkest spaces of Childe’s mind, you were the barrier, the holder of life and brightness. Where once his world was saturated in hues of deep, midnight blue, you managed to bloom, and now, when the murk threatens to swallow him all he has to do is call out your name and there you are, blinding and radiant to guide him home. 

For you my dear friend, I see nothing other than the two of you. Love and adoration that holds no equal. Should there be a more perfect match for him, I dare the stars to show me - for it will always be you <3

To Ajax's wife, and my darling love, F.

Thaumaturgy Anthology (October 11-13, 2024)

This event is based on spells and rituals. Inspiration does not equal understanding; liberties have been taken. All content is owned by Witch Hazels Musings, theft of these images and stories will result in immediate action.

[irresistiibles]

@purelybilateral / meme based starter for amber & josh

“contrary to popular belief, penguins are… birds.” amber said, eyes focused on the craft in her hands rather than the man she was explaining it to, but she tried to give a proper explanation nonetheless. "anyway, because of that i think they deserve to fly. we have these glider things, back home where i'm from, that look like wings but just let you glide from high heights. it's not exactly the same but i think people would be interested to see penguins in them." amber had never made a glider herself, but they were good with a needle, and figured it couldn't be that hard to stitch together, hence the absolute pile of craft materials spread out in front of them.

[arc-misadventures]

Dragon Faunus au: can I please ask for Jaune finding out who it was stalking him and confronting them?

Mobile Easel

Jaune: So… Pray tell… Why are you here? Definitely not for the sights I take it.

Sienna: I came to meet you, your Grace.

Jaune: Ahh… So it’s more dragon related faunas crap. Peachy.

Sienna: Is that a surprise, your Grace?

Jaune: No, but I do find it uncomfortable. I feel like some sort of zoo exhibit. And, please don’t call me your grace, king, or whatever silly titles you can possibly give me. Jaune is just fine.

Sienna: Very well then. So it seems you have accepted your nature as a faunas, I heard you were denying it, and posing as a human.

Jaune: That’s not true… entirely. I never hid the fact I was a faunas from anyone, I just don’t have any visible traits that scream: ‘Hey, that guy is a faunas!’ My teeth, as well as my talons are retractable so no one would notice them. And, unless I was breathing fire would anyone notice that?

Sienna: Fair point, if I had worn a hat you would have thought I was a human.

Jaune: Yes, a human with some nice looking stripe tattoos.

Sienna: Those are not tattoos.

Jaune: Really? Well they still look nice.

Sienna: Thank you.

Jaune: Well, it doesn’t matter whether those faunas traits are visible, or not. I can’t hide what’s coming next.

Sienna: Are you developing a new trait? That’s impossible!

Jaune: Hey, I already have three traits, most faunas only have one. How’s that for impossible?

Sienna: You are a rarity of rarities among faunas… I suppose you gaining another trait isn’t something to be unexpected. What is this new trait you are developing?

Jaune: Horns. I’m growing horns.

Sienna: Horns? Let me see…

Jaune: Wait, hold on now!

Sienna moved in a flash, moving mear inches from, Jaune’s face, as she held up his hair to display the two mounds forming on either side of his head.

Sienna: Well that’s certainly interesting. Most faunas would be showing signs of growing horns when they were at least ten years old, but to be growing them at seventeen. That is quite… interesting…

Cerulean gazed into amber, and amber gazed into cerulean. The duo stood there for a moment, their eyes locked upon one another as a deep blush spread across their faces. What felt like an age past before the two realized their position to one another, and jumped back away from one other. The blushes upon their faces slowly fading away.

Sienna: I’m sorry for that, it’s just the fact you have so many faunas traits, and the fact you have more to come is quite impressive.

Jaune: Hopefully it’s the last, I’m tired of being the circus freak.

Sienna: So you would not be upset if you heard that I was sent here to confirm whether, or not you were the dragon faunas of legend who would be crowned king of the faunas, and would lead his people into a golden age of prosperity for all faunas, and the world itself?

Jaune: Uhh… No, no I would not. Blake Belladonna has already told me a thing, or two about all that kingly stuff. But, aren’t you the high leader of the, White Fang, who commands you to do anything?

Sienna: On principle, no one. They may recommend, and advise me on various courses of action. But, at the end of it all it is my decision on what I shall do. Or, it was…

Jaune: Was?

Sienna: You are my, King. Whatever your command is, I will obey.

Jaune: Seriously?! I’ve known your for half an hour! Why are you pledging your undying loyalty to me?!

Sienna: Oh, but I have been here for days. Observing you since your match with, Mercury. And, I have become quite found of what I have seen so far.

Jaune: W-What have you seen?

Sienna: For starters…?

Nora: Big bro!

Jaune: Oh hi, Nora. Need something?

Nora: Just wanted to call you, ‘big bro!’ Hehehe~! I love that I get to call you that~!

Jaune: Right back at you, lil sis.

Nora: This is amazing~!

Pyrrha: Ahhh… Is it just me, or was she faster then, Ruby just now?

Ren: If you think that was fast, you should see her on a caffeine high.

Pyrrha: I would rather not.

Ren: No, no you don’t…

Nora: Hey, whose the kitty lady?

Jaune: Nora, may I introduce you to Sienna Khan. Mrs. Khan, this is Nora Valkyrie Arc, my little sister, and teammate.

Nora: Hello~! Can I pet your ears?

Sienna: Hello, and no you can not…

Nora: Naww…

Sienna: And, its Ms. Khan. Not, Mrs.

Jaune: Oh sorry. Ms. Khan.

Sienna: Sienna is fine, Jaune~!

Jaune: Okay… This is my teammate, Lie Ren.

Ren: Nice to meet you, Ma’am.

Sienna: A pleasure.

Jaune: And, lastly we have my partner, Pyrrha Nikos, and together the four of us make up, Team JNPR! Ya!

NPR: YA!

Sienna: It’s a pleasure to make the acquaintance of you, Ms. Nikos. I have heard of your…? (Sniff, Sniff.) Hmm…?

Pyrrha: Is something wro… EEP!

As, Sienna held, Pyrrha’s hand she suddenly pulled her towards her, and held, Pyrrha there for a moment, allowing, Sienna a chance to smell her. As, Pyrrha pulled away she could see a thirsty smile spread across the tigers face as she looked to her, and then to, Jaune.

Sienna: I see… So you’ve claimed her as your own. How interesting.

Pyrrha: Bwa?! WawawawaWHAT?!!

Jaune: You can smell that?!

Sienna: Easily.

Jaune: I thought faunas couldn’t pick up on my sent due to various hierarchical reasons?!

Ren: Hierarchical reasons?

Jaune: I’ll explain later… (Sniff, sniff!) It’s very confusing. But, answer the question!

Pyrrha: Y-Yeah! How do you know that we… did it?

Sienna: It’s more of a female faunas thing. We female faunas, particularly the older ones among us can tell certain… things about woman who have been claimed by a male. I can’t pick up your sent, Jaune, but I can pick up the ‘mark’ you placed upon her.

Pyrrha: WHAT?!

Jaune: Damn faunas, and our incredibly powerful noses!

Ren: Well, that explains why everyone was shooting death glares at, Pyrrha lately. Well, more so than usual.

Nora: Ohohoh! What do I smell like?!

Sienna: Syrup.

Nora: Nice!

Jaune: Haa… So why are you here exactly…? Oh yeah: More pledges of undying loyalty…

Ren: Is this one any different compared to the rest of them; can’t you just decline it like usual?

Jaune: Partly; She may be a single faunas, but she represents thousands of faunas. For, Sienna is the High Leader of the White Fang.

Ren: Ahh, she isn’t just anyone you can say no to.

Jaune: Precisely. So, then we have to do things that prove you’re worth for my trust.

Sienna: Prove my worth?

Jaune: Yes, your worth. I don’t trust blindly; as a businessman, and a leader, you must prove there is worth to me putting my trust in you. (Sniff.) Understood?

Sienna: Earn your trust? That seems perfectly reasonable, tell me, Jaune how can I, and to a greater extent prove our worth to you?

Jaune: You can first start off with why you are spying on me; I understand it’s because of the whole dragon king bullshit. But nonetheless, why are you spying on me?

Sienna: Spying?! I have given no order to spy upon you? In fact I gave the exact opposite order for our operatives to leave you alone.

Jaune: You haven’t? Then why is, Kali Belladonna here?

Sienna: She is the wife to, Ghiria Belladonna, the Chieftain of Menagerie. It’s only natural for her to come here, and see if the rumours of a dragon faunas are true.

Jaune stared down the cat faunas as he sniffed the air. The air of confidence, and assurance in the truth of her own words were etched across her face. And, yet…

Jaune: If that be true then explain this: Team JNPR!

NPR: Yes!

Jaune raised his hand and pointed to a tree near the edge of walkway, and simply said three words.

Jaune: Mobile Easel: GO!

In three seconds three scrolls were pulled out of their respective owners pockets. In a second a single button was pressed. And, in five seconds, three standard issue rocket lockers crashed into the ground before them.

As quick as a flash, Nora, Ren, and Pyrrha each rushed to their respective lockers, and grabbed their gear, and did as Hunter’s do. They hunted their quarry.

Jaune: Nora! Fire one round behind the tree! Force them out of their hiding spot!

As her fearless-leader/older brother commanded, Nora fired a single round from her rotary-grenade launcher. The round impacted behind the tree forcing some black clad individual to pop out from behind it.

Jaune: Pyrrha, open fire on them, don’t let them get away! Ren, charge them!

Listen to their leaders instructions, Pyrrha changed her spear into it’s rifle form, and started firing upon their uninvited guest. The rounds struck true, and prevented them from fleeing, giving, Ren the time to close the distance, and engage in close quarters combat.

The spy was apparently more skilled at fleeing than fighting, for they could barely last a few seconds before they were knocked to the ground by, Ren’s swift onslaught of attacks. There they lay, defeated. Nora quickly ran over, and threw the spy over her shoulder like a bag of rice before dumping them in front of, Jaune with a pained groan.

Jaune: Excellent job team! They won’t know what’ll hit ‘em come the, Vytal Festival if we can keep this up!

Nora: That was AWESOME!!!

Pyrrha: I must admit, that was quite exhilarating.

Ren: I’m surprised we reacted that fast, I thought we would have a harder time with such a quick response.

Jaune: But, you didn’t. So excellent job guys! Now then… Who are you…?

Jaune pushed over their spy with his foot. They had brown skin, and wearing a black bodysuit. Their long brown hair done up in a ponytail, but what stood out the most to, Jaune was the white mask with horns she wore upon her face.

A Grimm mask, often worn by the members of the, White Fang.

Jaune: Interesting… So, the White Fang is following me, and you said they weren’t. Care to explain yourself, Ms. Khan?

Sienna: Ilia…

Jaune: Beg pardon?

Sienna: Her name is, Ilia Amitola.

Pyrrha: And, you know that because?

Sienna: She is as you said, a member of the, White Fang. She’s a chameleon faunas; She can change her skins natural pigment to whatever colour she wants. Because of this we use her to spy on others.

Jaune: She can change the colour of her skin? Well, that explains why she smells like oil paints.

Sienna: You smelt her out?

Jaune: Yes I did, this smell isn’t hard to miss. Now then, what was that bit about not spying on me?

Sienna: I’m not, I swear!

Jaune: This says otherwise.

Sienna: She may be spying on you for another faction within the, White Fang. Probably trying to see where your allegiances are, and if they could sway you to their side.

Pyrrha: Factions? I thought you were the, High Leader, shouldn’t they listen to your commands?

Sienna: I am the High Leader! It appears there are those among the, White Fang who need a reminder on who is in charge…

Jaune: Let’s start here then shall we? Hey, wake up!

Jaune slapped the sleeping faunas who slowly started to rouse herself from sleep.

Ilia: W-What…? W-Where am…?! Oh no…!

Sienna: Hello, Ilia… Care to explain what you’re doing here?

Ilia: Sight seeing…?

Jaune: And, I’m the sight to see, no?

Ilia: N-No… Ghak?!

Sienna grabbed, Ilia by the scruff of her neck, and held her in the air. A fierce gaze burned in her eyes, as she stared the quivering little girl.

Sienna: Considering I gave the orders that I would be meeting the dragon king alone, I expected them to be carried out! But, for some reason you are here, care to explain that?!

Ilia’s body seemed to literally turn white from fear, no doubt her unique faunas trait coming into play. Nora couldn’t help, but give a soft ‘aww’ as she saw this interesting display, while the others just watched on as, Sienna imposed her place within the faunas hierarchy.

Sienna: Answer me you pathetic little welp! I know you would have never sought him out yourself, you pathetic little dyke! Who sent you!

Ilia: T-T-The Albain Brother’s! T-They sent me to see if it was true! If the dragon king was real!

Sienna: Ahh… Those wretched bastards…

Ilia: Ooph?!

Without fanfare, Sienna unceremoniously dropped, Ilia on the ground as an unamused frown spread across her face.

Jaune: Friends of yours?

Sienna: Religious zealots is what they are! Always preaching about the good of the faunas in a holier than thou tone. Their personality is utterly unbearable.

Jaune: Would they also drop to the floor before me, and start worshiping me, praising me as this god I supposedly am?

Sienna: Most likely.

Jaune: So if I ever met them they would be the ones erecting statues, and murals of me for my supposed divinity?

Sienna: It wouldn’t surprise me if they haven’t already done that.

Jaune: Well… That sounds bother some…

Sienna: They would probably try, and wipe up the faunas, and rile them up to committing a holy war in your name.

Jaune: S-Seriously…?

Sienna: They are part of the more fanatical militant arm of the, White Fang. They already have been trying to force me to committing to such a course of action. While I admit that I am willing to attack enemies of the faunas that have slighted us. The Schnee Dust Company, and Atlas for example. But, they would be more open to attack civilians indiscriminately, to show people that faunas are to be feared. Such a course of action will only make more enemies of the faunas as a whole, and not just the, White Fang. With you however, they will try all the more harder to do so, and the likely hood of such a course of action happening is all the more likely.

Jaune: …

Jaune: Fuuuuuuuuuuck! I don’t wanna do this… but, they’re leaving me no choice…

Pyrrha: Do what, Jaune?

Jaune: I have to align myself with, Sienna, and Mrs. Belladonna. Dammit! I didn’t want to take part in this!

Ren: Who says you have to join them? Can’t you stay on the sidelines like you have already been doing?

Jaune: No, if I align myself with, Kali Belladonna it says I am looking towards a peaceful coexistence with humans, and general peace. Aligning myself with, Sienna will show that I do support the, White Fang, but I don’t favour its more violent aspects. People may still worship me as a god, but they will know that I do not like it. So there numbers will be less than if I adopt a more neutral position.

Ren: And, you can easily push for more favourable outcomes if you adopt their sides of the argument than the, Albain Brothers?

Pyrrha: But, is that really better? The White Fang are still militaristic.

Jaune: True. But, what would you rather align yourself with: A militant group, or a fanatical militant group?

Pyrrha: The militant group.

Jaune: Precisely. I will choose the lesser of two evils. On top of that I can curtail their more violent habits, no?

Sienna: I will do as you command.

Jaune: Good! Now there’s only one thing left to deal with! You… Ilia…

Ilia: Y-Y-Yes your, Grace…?

Jaune: How long have you been following me?

Ilia: For about two weeks…

Jaune: So you were there when I was at the, CCT Tower.

Ilia: I wasn’t ther… Gack?!

Jaune’s hand was on, Ilia’s throat, pushing her body against the ground. He stood above her, his other hand held high as he flexed his fingers revealing the talons he hid beneath them. Ilia’s body paled to a ghostly white as he stared at the terrified little faunas below him.

Jaune: Don’t lie to me! I picked up your sent there, and I’ve been looking for it ever since! So were you there or not!

Ilia: I-I-I was there!

Jaune: And, did you hear anything?

Ilia: W-What…?

Jaune: Did you overhear the conversation I was having!!

Ilia: N-N-No! You finished your call as soon as I entered the room!

Jaune: Is that the truth?!

Ilia: I uhh… A-Air!

Jaune: I said: Is that the TRUTH!!!

Jaune opened his mouth, and snapped his teeth together, letting everyone see the fangs that lie within his mouth, as jets of fire shot out of the sides inches from, Ilia’s face. It was a truly fearsome sight to behold, one clearly showing the contained rage the, Dragon King held in check, one that no wanted to be on the receiving side of. Ilia displayed this fact as she promptly fainted from being on the receiving end of, Jaune’s furious visage.

Jaune: …

Jaune: Oops… I went a little too far…

Pyrrha: Damn that was hot…

Sienna: That can certainly get your engine purring~!

Ren: Understandable considering the circumstances.

Nora: Whoo! Do it again!

Sienna: What circumstances?

Jaune: That is none of your business…

Sienna: I see…

Jaune: Well, good talking with you, Sienna. I think we have other things to attend to. I’ll live you to deal with your… associate. Till later.

Sienna: Till later, Jaune.

As, Team JNPR made their away from the faunas duo, Ren fell into step with his team leader to ask him some pressing questions.

Ren: Are you alright?

Jaune: Somewhat. It appears she didn’t hear about the conversation I had with my sisters, but until I know if he has any traits… There is much to worry about…

Ren: What about your breathing?

Jaune: My breathing; What about it?

Ren: You may have smelt, Ilia out, but you were still sniffing heavily. Is something wrong?

Jaune: Damn you noticed that! I thought I was hiding that better.

Ren: You were, but most people tend to focus on the eyes, than the nose. What were you smelling?

Jaune: Sienna. I was smelling, Sienna.

Ren: Oh… Is this the same thing that you’ve been dealing with, with Ms. Goodwitch?

Jaune: Yep…

Ren: Oh… It doesn’t appear like you had the same reaction to her as you did, Ms. Goodwitch though.

Jaune: I know what I’m smelling, I won’t have such a violent reaction. I hope…

Ren: We can only hope that.

Jaune: I don’t like the fact I can sniff people out like that. Oh well… I’ll just look to the bright side in all of this mess.

Ren: And, that would be?

Jaune: That I’ve got good taste~!

Ren: …

Ren: Okay then…

///

Hahahaha!!! Haaaaa…

It’s finished… This has been sitting in my draft for at least a month…

But, it is finished!

Now I have to finish all the other ones…

Nerts…

[asexualbookbird]

Oh what a month for reading! Some really bad books, but also some candidates for favorites of the year! Had book club! That was fun as always! I also started TWO new fiber craft projects which I'm excited about. The Cabled crochet blanket is SO much fun and I'm really getting into the groove of it. I've learnt how to read crochet charts! Partially anyway. For this one project. It's clear I am still recovering covid because I can't do much else than sitting in bed reading lol But hey, I'm resting and having fun!

Envy of Angels by Matt Wallace ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - What a delightfully hilarious nugget of a book! Absolutely wacky! Definitely interested in the rest of the series, but it's also more of a Read When In Brain Fog so I want to save it for my bad brain days lol

Shadow of the Crown by Amber Morane ⭐ - Unpolished. Poorly written. The ending sucked. No redeeming qualities and I do not want to read more from this series or author. At least it was free.

Starter Villain by John Scalzi ⭐⭐⭐ - Another fun and silly book! Scalzi definitely has a way of writing that defines a Scalzi Book™️. Don't think too much about it, just enjoy the ride. Loved the cats, I think more authors should put genius cats into their books.

Firebreak by Nicole Kornher-Stace ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ - CRYING. SOBBING. SCREAMING. Finally read this and I am in PAIN! Very good, very feelings, this is what Ready Player One could've been.

Flight & Anchor by Nicole Kornher-Stace ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - The Prequel to Firebreak, glad I read this second so that lines could hurt me more because I know how their stories end. I'm not sure what, but this one was missing something for me that made me enjoy it a little less than Firebreak, but I still enjoyed it a lot! A great duo!

His Majesty's Dragon by Naomi Novik ⭐⭐⭐⭐ - Reread for book club! Still enjoyed it a lot! Still adore Temeraire and Laurence! The amount of times they call each other "my dear" so early melts my heart. I'd probably like this even more if I actually enjoyed historical fiction and the Napoleon wars.

Godkiller by Hannah Kaner ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ - hey. Hi. Hello. What if Geralt was canonically a woman and the demon chicken from Nettle & Bone had a Voice. What. If. This book is a part of me now thanks bye!

Again, no clear goals for March. I"m honestly having a good time just reading with whatever I vibe with. I didn't get to the Ga'Hoole books in February, so I'll put those at the top of my potential list for March, but other than that? Who knows! I definitely immediately put myself on the libby waitlist for Sunbringer I need to know how Kissen, Elo, and Ina get on. I need to know they're all okay. Please let them be okay ;-;

If you have any recommendations for books like Godkiller I am ALL EARS! Might replay Witcher III about it in the meantime.

[mochaintherain]

Demense

Summary: You change your team lineup of starter characters. The subsequent Aftermath, revolving around a cryo user.

Word Count: ~1k

CW: Heavy religious themes, implied cultish behavior, (implied?) religious trauma, SAGAU

Add. Tags: Kaeya, Creator!Reader, unreliable narrator, reader is Not present in this story as a character.

Author's Note: Not proofread! I've no idea how to use Tumblr or format on mobile </3 please help me. did I miss something I DUNNO (´_ゝ`) WHERE EVEN AM I anyway kaeya is so babygirl

Never had Kaeya assumed the Gods would favor him. Not after the promise he made, the bonds he shared with both his fathers—his brother, and how easily his patchworked life tore beneath his feet, his right eye a constant reminder of all his failures.

So when Aether, Amber, and Lisa extended a hand toward his figure, purple light enveloping his being, bubbling with warmth that mended the bitterness of his past, and opened his eyes to the heavens—

How could he not become Your believer?

Soon, he would travel the entirety of Mondstat, escaping his duties whilst discovering treasures, receiving divine gifts: goblets, circlets, feathers—and participating in...rather strange rituals. You made him carry a hefty bag of mora and flowers, gems, remants of slain regisvines, to the zenith of Starsnatch Cliff before imbuing him with unknown strength that coarsed through his veins.

Aether called it an "initiation", to forever be acquainted with divine blessings, to be Yours. He affirmed the sole reason he'd been able to save Dvalin, the entirety of Mondstat, was due to You, granting him the privilege of becoming a vessel.

"...Vessel, huh?" The word stuck to his tongue like a bitter saccharine. Even worse--You seemingly vanished, leaving he and his comrades hollowed by Your absence. After a desperate letter and trek sent back home, the reception back in the City of Wind was nothing less than suffocating.

A small gathering of vision wielders greeted them at the gate, welcoming them home. Yet, the sun never penetrated his body. The bite of sheer cold blossomed in his veins, making him tremble with every step he took—the first of many which he had to be conscious of; and breathing, keeping his heart beating, leaving him winded and dizzy. Your gaze took away his autonomy, rendering him a spectator in his own corpse, but You left him with the most joyous of dreams and slumbers; abandoning him forced everything back into his muscles, and he scrambled to remember what it was like to be alive without you. However, that was hardly the worst part.

His friends who cheered at his safety—

their smiles did not meet their eyes.

Instead, replaced was envy, resentment, and the brewing notion that he was a fraud, tricking the Creator and seducing You into loving him. They swirled, in vile concoctions, behind each of their pupils. Yet they paraded around him like he, himself, was divinity. Did they all wish he never came back? Would they tear each other apart for a chance at Your Grace?

Maybe his death was an opportune moment.

Unfortunately, he lived.

"Welcome back, everyone. I'm glad the Creator brought you back safe and sound." Jean bowed slightly, relief written on her lips.

"Hmm...go on and rest for now. Tommorow, you can tell us what all your travels uncovered." Albedo smiled, nodding at him and Lisa in particular.

Klee bounced on the soles of her heels, waving her hands to the weary travelers. "Yay! Kaeya's back! And Amber and Lisa and Mr. Honorary knight!" she cheered, beaming.

"Ah...why don't we all go back to the cathedral? I can heal you all of any injuries!" the deaconess suggested, a strain of a smile forming on her face.

"...Welcome back," Diluc muttered, most likely dragged along by the Acting Grand Master.

"Hey, on the way there, why don't I sing you all a song? No wine in exchange!" The enigmatic bard hummed, giving them all a wink.

Kaeya heaved a ragged breath, forcing a small laugh out his lips. "Sorry, but I think I'll pass. I'd much rather rest at Angel's Share," he responded, ignoring the pointed glare from a certain redhead. "After all, the Creator never afforded us any sort of wine; I'd certainly die if I had to spend another day without it."

"Huh...?" Barbara said, "b-but, Sir Kaeya—"

She was interrupted with a solemn headshake from the librarian.

"None of us are hurt," Lisa reaffirmed, "let him be...We'll tell you everything."

The Calvary Captain huffed, breaking away from the group and stumbling into the tavern, his countenance morphed into the expression he held all those years ago, when he first received his vision.

Haunted.

Nothing had changed since his leave, though there were far less customers than usual. Did the other citizens feel You vanish too? Or was that a curse reserved only for the puppets You deemed fit for control?

"Charles, the strongest, if you please."

Alcohol had left his throat burning, a reprieve from the sudden, chilling, desolation. After his "ascension", he was no longer the same man. In gazing upon him, You stole away a piece of his soul, a void only able to be filled by You and You only.

It wasn't too long before the bar's door opened again.

"What are you up to, Kaeya?" Diluc stayed near the entrance, not bothering to move toward the stools.

"I'm not in the mood," he hissed, downing his glass too quickly to savour.

Diluc forewent the usual quips he'd aim toward his brother, settling in a silent scrutiny. He was never one to favor the Gods. They stood in one another's solitude, drinking until the "Darknight Hero" woke to dusk.

Then, Kaeya was truly alone. Truly, utterly alone, with not even the eyes of which he'd come to expect. After all, he, a barely devoted follower, could never stay in the Divine's gaze forever.

Even so, the ache in Kaeya's heart screamed that the Gods had forsaken him again; being a vessel was far more merciful than being 'Kaeya'. Because if he wasn't a vessel, he was emptier than he'd ever been.

And when Lisa wrote to him, musing about how his Prototype rancour ended up in the hands of the Yuheng of the Liyue Qixing, how strong she was—he knew he'd been discarded.

...

If he were more pious, would You deign to look at him once again?

[velidewrites]

To get back what the Cauldron has taken from her, Elain Archeron makes a deal with Prythian’s most dangerous enemy.

Now, a servant of a cruel Death God, Elain must make sure her efforts are not discovered—especially not by someone tied to her darkening heart by a golden thread.

Someone like her mate.

Tags: Post-ACOSF, Canon Compliant, NSFW

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

@elucienweekofficial

Chapter 1 - They Don’t Understand You

Despite the cushions imported from Sangravah, Elain Archeron was supremely uncomfortable.

She’d always been particularly skilled at hosting, but then again—it had always taken place at her own house, and her guests…well, for starters, they’d never had the nerve to show up uninvited.

Eris Vanserra had no such qualms, it seemed.

“Tea?” she asked him tightly, trying her best not to squirm at those watchful, amber eyes. Even with the spring in full bloom, the male still somehow managed to look pale, his freckled skin resembling frost dotting the autumn leaves. It made him look even more out of place in her sister’s home, the sunlight almost skitting from his presence as it poured through the open windows.

Where was her sister, anyway? Elain would have uttered a mental call for help had it not been for the shields she’d spent so much time hardening over the past few months—and now she was not entirely sure how to lower them enough for a daemati to comfortably slip in. Not that she’d ever truly want that to happen, though.

Eris’s lip curled into a smile. “How very kind of you.”

Elain reached for the pot, silently thanking the forgotten Gods for keeping her hands from shaking. Her eyes fixed on the pink roses painted atop the porcelain as she poured him some of the golden liquid, the colour very much resembling something—someone—she decidedly did not want to think about right now.

She blamed Eris for this—it had been months since she’d last seen a Vanserra at the River House. She could only hope the Autumn heir would be on his way as quickly as he’d appeared.

The sun offset the auburn of his hair nicely where it reached him, though, and Elain supposed Eris was handsome if she opted to forgo that cruel smile twisting his mouth. There was no denying the male occupying the couch opposite from her was no friend—no matter how much he’d claimed to be one. Even if she hadn’t heard the stories—from Feyre, from Rhysand, or even the Morrigan herself—Elain liked to think her own judgement was sharp enough to set her instincts on alert. Right now, as her gaze lifted to meet Eris’s, drawn towards him as though by some magnet, they screamed one word and one word only:

Run.

But Elain continued sitting on her billowy, sky-blue couch, her whole body rigid enough that she might as well have turned into a statue. Eris simply sipped from his cup, lazily leaned back in his seat as his arm settled on the dark, wooden armrest.

Something flitted outside the window behind him, something large enough that Elain had no doubt it was not one of the chirping sparrows that liked to frequent the gardens. No, this was an owl that landed on a nearby apple tree, its tawny feathers unmistakable no matter how strange it was for one to appear in the middle of the day. Elain stiffened even further, her spine nearly a straight line now that her shoulders rolled back in discomfort.

His red brows knitting over those cunning eyes, Eris looked over his shoulder, then turned back to Elain, seemingly finding nothing out of the ordinary that could have led her to such a reaction. His lips eased back into a smile as he asked, “Something wrong, Lady Archeron?”

“Forgive me if I’m not entirely content with a Vanserra in my living room.”

Eris chuckled, looking more amused than offended as he noted, "How terribly your mate would take to such words, I wonder.”

“Stop calling him that,” Elain snapped, the words leaving her throat before she could really think them through.

The winning flash of his amber gaze told her she should have. “Ah,” Eris hummed, his pale features twisting into curiosity. “So you have not yet accepted.” His long, slender fingers drummed on the polished wood. “The High Lord will be...pleased to hear this.”

The High Lord. Not Father, not even Beron—the High Lord.

“He will hear nothing,” a deep, booming voice sounded behind her.

Elain’s shoulders nearly fell with relief.

“Rhysand,” Eris crooned, his free hand lifting to sketch a mocking bow. “How kind of you to join us at last.”

Her brother in law circled the couch, moving to take his seat beside Elain, his power thrumming around him like blood pulsing thickly in one’s veins. Elain guessed his neglect to conceal that dark magic was purposeful, even if the way he sat gave none of his tension away.

“I’m not in the habit of entertaining unwanted guests,” Rhysand merely said, his own cup of tea appearing beside him with a half-wave of his hand. Elain shifted slightly.

Eris continued as though Rhysand had not spoken at all. “I jest, of course. Lovely Elain has been such pleasant company that I find myself, ah…unwilling to discuss her predicament with my High Lord.”

Elain frowned. “My predicament? I don’t—” she started, though the question died on her lips as she noticed darkness coiling around them like snakes, ready to strike.

Rhysand tapped a finger on the armrest, the sound scraping as a sharp, dark talon replaced his usually immaculate nails. “Horrible Eris seems to be under the impression that your mating bond means you fall under the jurisdiction of the Autumn Court.” Elain’s eyes widened, but before she could gasp out in protest, Rhysand added smoothly, “Though perhaps he needs a reminder that so far, it remains unaccepted.”

Eris let out a dramatic sigh, the sound lingering on the already heavy air. “So I hear,” he said, utterly unbothered by the living night slithering at his feet. “Such a shame,” he mused. “After all, we could all be one, happy family.”

Elain’s own magic stirred in her veins as though in protest. “You could never be my family.”

She hopelessly wished for the words to deal enough of a blow that Eris would simply get up and leave—but instead, his mouth curved into a smirk as he remarked, “How terribly sad.”

Beside her, Rhysand sneered. “We’ll send you a Solstice invitation, if it makes you feel better.”

But Eris’s amber eyes remained fixed on Elain, the Autumn prince seemingly deigning the High Lord’s jab to be unworthy of his time. Whether the obvious dismissal had bothered Rhysand at all, he did not show—still, Elain had managed to catch a flash of annoyance in her brother in law’s gaze, there and gone like the flicker of a star.

“How terribly sad,” Eris repeated simply, “that, just like your captivating sister, you, too, are wasted in Rhysand’s pretty little court.” He shrugged. “I suppose at least lovely Feyre has found her purpose here.”

“Get my mate’s name out of your lying mouth,” Rhysand spat, darkness now openly simmering around him.

Eris’s expression shifted into that of triumph. “I always forget what a pleasure it is to visit the Night Court.”

The comment seemed to cut through Rhysand’s rising anger—the small wrinkle between his brows smoothed out, and his talons slowly retracted as he leaned back in his seat, though the watchful darkness remained. “Just say whatever you came here to say, Eris,” he told him, his aloof composure back as though he never lost it in the first place.

Eris clicked his tongue. “I thought news of my dear father’s dealings would’ve piqued more of your interest,” he wondered.

“I seem to have no time for your games today.”

“Ah.” Another smile. “Of course. And how is the little prince doing? Forgive me, Rhysand, but I never took you for a particularly fatherly figure.”

Rhysand sipped his tea. "That means little to me considering your basis for comparison. Now get on with it.”

Eris rolled his eyes. “Fine.” But his eyes darted back to Elain, a silent question in his stare.

“I keep no secrets from my Inner Circle,” Rhysand said. Elain’s grimace vanished as quickly as it appeared, her face expressionless before her brother in law returned his attention to her. “Unless you’d like to leave, Elain?”

You’ll always have a choice here, Feyre had once told her. Elain had nearly scoffed then.

Her choice had been taken away a long time ago.

She had no intention of letting herself be dismissed, though—especially now that she'd learned the purpose of Eris’s visit revolved around the same court that felt entitled to her person more than she’d ever want it.

Elain would rather be dead than step foot in that wretched place, really.

In some way, she already was. 

“I want to hear this,” Elain simply stated, and Rhysand nodded for Eris to continue.

The male sighed again. “Very well, then.” He crossed an ankle over a knee as he studied some invisible flaw on right thumbnail. “Beron has left for the Continent.”

The room shrank, all the air knocked out through the window without warning. Her chest tight, Elain watched as Rhysand’s eyes flashed, then melted back into their usual, dark pools of violet, and suddenly the fresh garden breeze flowed into her lungs again. She released a shuddering breath.

“I’m sending Azriel.” The words were indisputable.

Eris set back his tea. “No.”

“Your opinion means very little to me right now, Eris.”

“When has it ever? If Beron has truly allied himself with Koschei after the human queen’s downfall, going to the Continent is a risk we cannot take. All I know is that a formal invitation from Rask arrived last night and this morning, Beron was already gone.”

Rhysand’s fingers tapped on wood again, no talons in sight this time. “Then it was likely feigned.”

“Obviously. But, to the knowledge of my court and anyone else concerned, the High Lord is on a diplomatic visit to discuss Autumn’s lumber exports to the Continent, and anyone else’s presence there would only put them—and this alliance—in danger.”

“Azriel can stay hidden well enough.”

Eris scowled, perhaps the first true emotion Elain had seen from him since he arrived. “From Beron—perhaps. But even your spymaster’s shadows cannot keep him from Koschei’s dark magic.” He angled his head, auburn hair catching the faintest glint of sunlight. “Surely you would not risk your court’s safety like this.”

Rhysand wouldn’t—Elain was sure of it. That did not mean Azriel would share such sentiment.

She dismissed the thought as soon as it arrived. Taking it upon herself to stop him would be a…mistake.

Rhysand said, “So you would rather have us sit idly, then. Do nothing.”

To Elain’s surprise, Eris nodded. “If you still care about our shared goal, you will trust that I am doing everything in my power to see it through until the very end. In the meantime, I suggest you make use of what resources you have now to find out how to eliminate Koschei before Beron closes whatever deal he’d offered him.”

Outside, the tawny owl flapped its wings.

“I’m afraid the Troves do not hold the answers you’re hoping for,” Rhysand said coldly, his mind no doubt drifting to the last time they’d been used.

Elain tore her eyes off the window to look at him again. “We do not need the Troves,” Elain spoke, the two males’ attention snapping to her immediately. “We need Vassa.”

Eris’s smile became lupine. “Not just a pretty face, after all.”

Rhysand snarled.

Eris held up a hand. “Lady Archeron is right—the firebird queen knows more of Koschei than any of us do.”

“You’ve already spoken to her—months ago,” Rhysand pointed out. “Cassian and Lucien have, too.”

Eris shrugged. “That was a different time. Koschei no longer has Briallyn and her Crown, and Vassa is the only link to him we have left. Perhaps it is one worth…exploring.”

Rhysand considered. “Vassa is a fragile ally, but an ally nonetheless.” He stood, the matter seemingly too pressing to continue the conversation any longer. “I will consult this with my High Lady.”

Eris drained his tea, the quiet clank of porcelain being set atop its plate sounding his agreement. “Contact me when Feyre Archeron makes up her mind.”

And with that, he winnowed away.

So had the owl, a lone apple resting in its place.

______

Nyx was a peaceful sleeper, thank the Mother.

Smoothing a tattooed hand over her son’s blanket, Feyre smiled lightly, watching his tiny, rosy lips part in a gentle dream. Nyx’s mind was like a soft cloud, casting shadows of images and sounds toward her mind before she even managed to stop them. He’d be a powerful daemati—some day.

The baby dreamed of his father’s face—of a blue so deep it was almost violet, stars twinkling among it with a quiet, silvery glow. The dream then shifted into swirls of dark—into floating tendrils of the night, caressing his tiny form as he took breath after breath.

He was perfect, and alive—they all were, Feyre reminded herself with tears lining at her eyes. They’d made it, and now…now they could finally be a family. She swallowed thickly at the thought, her own mouth parting to mirror her son’s little smile.

“You are so beautiful,” Rhys whispered, and Feyre’s smile widened before she looked up to meet her mate’s gaze. A tendril brushed against the steel gate to her mind, and Feyre invited it in, the picture of herself leaning over Nyx safely tucked in his bassinet appearing in her mind. “Will you paint it?”

Feyre nodded, then reached out a hand. “Of course.”

Rhys moved from the doorway he’d been leaning on, at her side in two quiet steps. His hand captured her own as he brought it to his lips, placing a small kiss atop her knuckles. Feyre tugged for him to stand beside her, until Nyx’s both parents stood over him, two guardians watching a precious gift.

She rested her head on his arm—his shoulder being out of her reach did not come without advantages, since she got to revel in the feel of his muscles beneath the fine, midnight jacket. Rhys chuckled, and she buried her nose further in the dark fabric. “I missed you,” he told her softly.

“You saw me half an hour ago,” she reminded him, earning a kiss atop her head.

“Far too long a time,” Rhys said, then sighed, as if some invisible weight had suddenly returned to his shoulders at the thought. “Eris was here.”

“I know.”

Rhys hummed. “You heard?”

“About half of it.” She jerked her chin playfully towards their son. “I’m afraid this one kept me occupied for the latter part of the conversation.”

The smile returned to Rhys’s full lips. “He takes after his mother in mischief.” Feyre’s eyes narrowed.

“Hmmm.”

Quietly, the two of them moved outside of the nursery, the door clicking lightly behind them as Rhys led them toward the bedroom. “Elain seemed to be holding her ground, though,” Feyre pointed out.

Rhys nodded. “I had no doubt that she would,” he said, and Feyre sighed.

“It’s not that I doubted her—I just…wish it wasn’t her Eris bumped into.”

Rhysand squeezed her hand. “Your sisters are adults, Feyre. You cannot protect them forever—though I know you would, if you could only have your way.”

Feyre sighed. “If there’s anything I learned from Nesta, it’s that my sisters are well capable of protecting themselves.”

“Elain did show some claws today,” Rhys agreed.

“Oh?”

Her mate’s power grazed her mind again, and Feyre let him in as Rhys filled in the blanks of the discussion she’d missed. She watched the conversation and wordlessly listened to Eris’s refusal to let them engage—though, as much as she hated to admit, she partly agreed with the Autumn male about the gravity of the risk.

Azriel will want to go, Rhys’s voice slid into her mind.

Too bad, Feyre responded.

A twinkling laugh sounded in her head. So commanding, my High Lady.

Feyre rolled her eyes. Prick.

She laid on their soft bed, sinking into the plush mattress, letting the first hints of sleep sting her eyes despite it still being the early hours of dusk. So what would Eris have us do? she asked Rhys. We are not using the Troves to try and kill Koschei—we don’t even know if that would work.

No, Rhys agreed. But your sister suggested that we speak to Vassa.

Feyre’s eyes shot open. “Vassa?” she asked. “Why?”

Rhys took his seat beside her legs, wings unfolding to stretch over her form. “Eris thinks we can make good use of the link between her and Koschei. I do not know how.”

Feyre considered. “I promised Vassa I would find a way to break her curse.”

Rhys’s expression shifted into that of concern. “You promised you would try.” He skimmed his knuckles over her arm. “I doubt she blames you for failing the first time.”

Because she had—less than two months ago, when Helion Spell-Cleaver wistfully told her that not even her power—the powers of seven High Lords combined—could cleave an ancient magic woven into blood. And though Vassa had tried to hide her disappointment in her letters, it took no daemati to know the firebird queen’s despair burned more and more each day.

There had to be a way, Feyre knew it, someplace deep down that she was too blind to discover. If she could only see…

Feyre jolted up.

“What is it?” Rhys frowned, his wing brushing protectively against her back.

Feyre half-turned to face him. “Elain.”

Rhys’s eyes flashed. “Is something wrong with her?”

“What? No—we use Elain to investigate that link.” She crossed her legs over the mattress. “Elain’s a Seer, Rhys—what if exposing her to Vassa’s magic triggers some kind of vision? Some kind of…answer?”

Rhys chewed on his lip. “Elain has met Vassa before, Feyre.”

“Not directly,” she countered. “And, what if…what if we could somehow kill two birds with one stone?” Rhys’s brows rose, and Feyre rolled her eyes. “Alright, that’s a bad analogy—I mean, what if the answer to killing Koschei—without all of us dying in the process—is the same answer to breaking Vassa’s curse?”

“You think killing Koschei would break Vassa’s curse?”

Feyre sighed. “I don’t know anything, Rhys—which means no matter what we learn, we’ll be all the smarter for it.”

Rhys leaned in to plant a kiss on her shoulder. “Resourceful as always, Feyre darling.”

The words made her grin. “You love me for it.”

“I do,” came the reply. “And for everything else.”

______

The house was falling apart.

Lucien gave it two years at best. The War had ravaged it so thoroughly that the paint peeling off brick by brick was truly the last of his problems. The upstairs bedrooms, thankfully, were still somewhat intact—though he could probably do without the moths in his closet, taking up permanent residence in the sleeves of one of his finest jackets.

His finest jacket was long gone. Lucien wondered if she’d kept it.

He smothered the thought instantly, his day already miserable enough that adding more onto the pile would likely lead him to some entirely unreasonable choices—like winnowing straight to Night, which was a choice he could not afford to make at this particular time.

Lucien had very little reason inside of him left, actually, which meant going to Night was definitely out of the question. He’d been keeping himself occupied well enough, from the more bearable tasks like being Jurian’s errand boy (for some reason, the Mad General’s presence in the village created more unease than Lucien’s scarred face and metal eye ever had), to those like visiting Spring, which was another thing Lucien decidedly did not want to think about right now.

The truth, as adamant as he first had been to admit it, was that being in the human lands had proven to be exactly the escape Lucien needed. There was nothing in Prythian for him left—he hadn’t stepped foot in Autumn since that fateful, Cauldron-damned trip with Feyre just before the War, and frankly, Lucien did not think he’d ever see its orange-gold woods again. Spring, like an ever-present thorn in the back of his mind, was another court that used to feel like home until it hadn’t, and though it was a land he hadn’t exactly been exiled from—Tamlin sure didn’t care enough to bother with issuing an official order—Lucien had slowly begun to wish he had, so that Rhysand would finally stop sending him there. Tamlin is not a threat, Lucien had told him about two months ago, Not to Prythian, anyway. Rhysand seemed to understand, because Lucien had not visited Spring since then—but still, the possibility of ever returning for some calamity-related reason loomed over him like a dark cloud.

So Lucien stayed at the human lands, patiently without ever truly knowing what he was being patient for, negotiating whatever peace talks Feyre asked of him and whatever ridiculous errand Jurian would find a way of asking for. There were only two times Lucien had refused him—the first one, which was entirely unselfish, was when the mortal man had fallen ill in the last month of winter. Lucien had forgotten that human healing prolonged over almost outrageous amounts of time, with Jurian’s relentless coughing for two weeks straight nearly having driven Lucien out of his mind. A broth of sorts had originally seemed like a reasonable request—but when the general had requested his favourite wolf stew, Lucien took perhaps more satisfaction than it had been appropriate in telling him the meal had been outlawed nearly a century ago.

His chest clenched as he remembered an entirely different kind of wolf—yet another thing he would never see again.

The second time Lucien had refused Jurian was when his friend had announced he required a new weapon—and had specifically requested Illyrian steel, a metal unachievable during his time.

Lucien had denied him immediately, feeling terrible afterwards for slamming the door in his face.

He had not visited the Night Court since the Winter Solstice.

Lucien had awoken less than an hour after he’d finally fallen asleep—after his racing mind had finally come to terms with the fact that another year had passed and nothing changed at all. He’d shoved the disappointment, the primal longing he’d failed to tame on more than one occasion, deep into the place in his heart that he’d locked away when he’d been first chased out of Autumn. Sleep had come somewhat peacefully after that, knowing that, the next morning, he would be back at the manor, ready for Jurian’s latest whim that he naturally could not get done himself since the frightened the “other humans” for reasons unbeknownst to the general himself. He hadn’t had the heart to tell him that, while Lucien could easily glamour his own scars and golden eye, there was no magic in the world that could mask the haunted look in Jurian’s stare, ever-present since he’d been put back together by the Cauldron. It had startled the humans enough to close their shops and clear the streets an hour early when they’d seen Jurian wander the market square for the first (and last) time.

As he’d drifted away into a dreamless slumber, something had surged through him so powerfully Lucien had found himself struggling to find a breath. Its tug on his rib had been so familiar it ached, the source of the feeling practically impossible to deny. It had set every single one of his nerves on high alert, like a fox perking up its ears after having sensed a danger of some kind, his blood running molten like a liquid flame. There had been no danger, but the godsdamned tug had been more than enough to make Lucien worry—it translated into something restless, something like…anticipation.

He’d shot out of bed, not bothering to throw a shirt on—he ran hot even in winters—and exited his room, listening for any sounds from the room across the corridor he knew was hers.

Except that she had not been in her room—he’d heard her downstairs.

“…on me?” her quiet question reached him, so small he might not have even heard it had it not been hers.

Lucien had never moved more quietly in his life, stopping only at the top of the curved staircase, hidden from those downstairs but having enough view to watch the back of their silhouettes through the gaps in the balustrade. He knew it was probably not right to listen in—hell, he might have even scolded Feyre for eavesdropping a lifetime ago—but, somehow, his body had frozen into place, as though that very tug had commanded him not to make a move.

It was needless to say that what he’d seen next made him not want to step foot in the Night Court again. But there she was, his mate, the one he had never even asked for but the Cauldron had somehow deemed him worthy of one anyway, leaning in for a kiss from another male. It had been then that Lucien realised that perhaps Elain Archeron was not a gift from the Cauldron—but a punishment.

Lucien had not stayed until morning to say his goodbyes. He hadn’t even gathered his things when he’d winnowed away straight from the upstairs corridor—he hadn’t cared if their lips had met in the end or not, if anyone had cared enough to stop them, if Lucien himself had cared anymore. He was simply…gone.

He still thanked the Mother for finding Jurian and Vassa in the living room that night. His friends had drunk themselves into oblivion and immediately invited him in. Lucien had spent the rest of that Winter Solstice listening to Jurian sing some old marching hymn from before Lucien’s time before they all fell asleep at last.

Yes—there would be no visiting the Night Court for Lucien.

He felt somewhat guilty, though. It had been two months, and he still hadn’t met Feyre’s son—though she’d promised to visit him once their healer declared Nyx to be strong enough to be winnowed. Feyre had made no comments on his decision to stay away in her letter, though there was a hint of question hiding behind her words. Lucien, to this day, had not answered it.

The old wood squeaked beneath his feet as Lucien made his way toward the study. The door was already-half open, which meant that either Jurian had fallen asleep behind the desk again, or that Vassa was back.

He found the female—woman, he mentally corrected himself—utterly consumed by a piece of parchment in her hands, her cerulean eyes tired as though draped over by a fog.

“Rough day?” Lucien asked, and her head snapped up in surprise. It was another adjustment Lucien hadn’t exactly gotten used to yet—after centuries in Prythian with the Wall separating their two worlds, there were still more than a few things about human instincts and behaviours Lucien needed to learn about.

Her features eased into a crooked smile. “Something like that,” Vassa said, then motioned for him to sit.

Lucien shook his head. “You deserve some time alone.”

Vassa scoffed. “Please. I spent the entire day alone—and the day before that, and the day before that, too. Now sit, Lucien.”

He chuckled. “Alright.” The bottle-green armchair groaned under his weight as he settled, a small giggle ripping free from Vassa’s throat. “I hate this house,” Lucien complained.

“No, you don’t.”

“Fine, I don’t. But we could do with some improvements.”

“Oh, my sincerest apologies, Lord,” Vassa mocked. “Shall I fetch you some hot stones to put under your blankets before bed, too?”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re a queen, you know. You can’t fool me—the only one of us who seems to enjoy these conditions is Jurian.”

Vassa rolled her eyes. “Okay, you got me.” She tossed the parchment to the side. “I take it your day hasn’t been particularly joyful, then?”

He had been sulking more than ever recently. “What’s that?” he asked instead, gesturing toward what seemed like a letter.

Vassa bit her lip. “It’s a letter,” she confirmed, averting his questioning gaze. “From the Night Court, the ah…the spymaster delivered it about twenty minutes ago.”

So much for avoiding the subject.

“Did something…happen? Lucien began carefully, taking note of Vassa’s leg bouncing anxiously as she mulled over her next words.

“I…” Vassa sighed. “Well, no. Not yet, anyway.”

Lucien grunted in frustration. “Vassa, will you just tell me what is going on?”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Alright, Lord Lucien. Feyre Cursebreaker is coming to the manor tomorrow evening—and she’s bringing her sister.”

Lucien frowned. “What the hell would Nesta Archeron want from any of us here?” He couldn’t possibly imagine the viper herself gracing his doorstep for any reason other than to snap his neck in half. Perhaps that really was why Nesta was coming, he thought with no real amount of sarcasm.

Vassa’s lips thinned into a line. “Not Nesta.”

Oh. Oh.

“Yeah,” Vassa said, seemingly reading the words simply by looking at Lucien’s face. “I can’t exactly tell them not to come, can I? Should I?” And she would—if Lucien asked, she’d send a letter to reschedule, though by the time it reached Velaris, Elain and Feyre would have probably managed to travel here and back ten times at least.

“No,” Lucien said. “Why—why are they coming?” Why was she coming? As far as Lucien had been made aware, Elain was starting to feel like her old self again—the female she had been long before Lucien even knew of her existence—settling into the Night Court and, within its borders, making a home for herself. Feyre had spoken of her volunteering to help the citizens of Velaris rebuild—to regrow the lands the War had plundered in whatever way she could.

He’d made the mistake of asking if she’d worn the gloves. She hadn’t.

Lucien hadn’t asked Feyre anything about his mate again.

His mate—as though their bond was not as good as rejected at this point. Perhaps he’d use tomorrow as an opportunity to ask her to end this torment, though that persistent tug in his chest roared at the very thought. It was the truth, though—it had been two years. Elain wanted nothing to do with him. Elain already had a home.

Even thinking her name made his stomach twist.

“I’m not exactly sure,” Vassa’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts. “The Cursebreaker said the matter was too delicate to be trusted over a letter.”

“I thought you said the shadowsinger delivered it personally.”

Vassa shrugged. “Perhaps they didn’t want him to know, either.”

Lucien seriously doubted that. If there was anyone well-versed in whatever threat was sure to be approaching, it was the Night Court’s own spymaster. Lucien supposed he didn’t have to actually like the male to give him that credit—Azriel would have been trusted by Feyre and Rhysand with the matter, which meant it was serious enough that this whole ordeal was necessary.

Vassa’s head cocked to the side as she surveyed him, her tired eyes sharpening as she asked, “Will you be there?”

Would he? Since the letter had been delivered right into Vassa’s hands, Lucien was fairly certain Elain was not coming to see him, specifically—rather, there had to have been something requiring her particular skillset badly enough for her to come along. He’d seen it done enough times over his tenure as courtier to know how to read between the lines. If Elain Archeron herself was returning to the human lands, she was not coming as Elain Archeron, but as a Seer.

He told Vassa as much. “She will not want me there.”

Vassa hummed. “You don’t know that. Perhaps—”

“No perhaps,” Lucien cut in, earning another sigh from Vassa. “Will you fill me in on what happened after they’re gone?”

Her brows knotted into a frown. “Where will you be while they’re here?”

Lucien grimaced. “Jurian needs a jacket.”

______

If there was one thing Nesta Archeron knew about herself, it was that she never backed down from a fight.

“I’m going,” she pressed as their small group exited Rhysand’s study, “and I don’t care if you plan to stop me. You can certainly try, anyway.”

Feyre looked to Cassian, who merely offered a one-shouldered shrug—Nesta would kiss him for it later. Her sister sighed. “Nesta—”

But Nesta cut in, “If the threat is as dangerous as you say—”

“The threat is not in the human lands,” Feyre countered, the tone of her voice leaving no room for argument.

Too bad.

“I don’t care,” Nesta repeated. “I am going in her stead. If Elain—”

“Elain wants to go, Nesta,” Feyre sighed, her inky-black markings swirling as she ran a hand through her long hair. “It was her idea and she wants to—she wants to see it through.”

Nesta scowled. “It was her idea?” Surely whatever Elain had said to Feyre earlier, her younger sister had misinterpreted it. Perhaps Elain suggested that someone should go to the old Nolan manor, with little relation to that ugly house and the people currently occupying it.

Nesta had no reservation to voice her doubts. “You must be mistaken, Feyre. Why on earth would Elain want as much as set foot there?”

Feyre cut her a knowing look. “Perhaps she feels that she has something to prove.”

Nesta’s jaw tightened. “She needs to prove nothing.”

“I know that,” Feyre sighed again, “but I don’t know if Elain would agree. She cannot be tending to her gardens forever—she said as much herself.”

Nesta remembered that conversation very well.

“Lucien will likely be there,” Feyre offered, no doubt thinking she was being helpful. 

She bit back a snarl. “I do not want that male anywhere near Elain.”

“He is a good male, Nesta,” her sister told her, and not for the very first time. “You may not like the fact that he’s her mate, but you know better than most that he’d die before he let anything bad happen to her.”

Nesta looked to her own mate, standing by her side as always, who in turn gave her a small smile. A silent understanding passed between them—through the bridge connecting their souls—and Nesta realised that she did know, as much as Cassian did, that they both would be damned if they allowed for any danger to get near the other.

Cassian placed a warm, broad hand on her lower back, his thumb swiping lightly over her black dress, the touch grounding her and settling something restless within her, replacing it with a soft, golden light.

Nesta said calmly, “At least let me go with her.”

Feyre’s expression turned incredulous. “Walk with me?”

“I’ll see you back home,” Cassian told Nesta without missing a beat. She squeezed his hand and followed Feyre down the hallway.

They pivoted left to a sunlit room, nearly every inch of the space splattered in a vivid colour—Feyre’s private painting studio seemed to grow messier every time Nesta visited. The back wall tapestry, previously featuring fading ivy leaves, was now almost entirely covered by a mural of Velaris. The Sidra snaked through it, the silver-blue paint somehow gleaming a quiet light, leading her gaze from the River House itself to the small picture of the townhouse, one among many, then the bright colours of the Rainbow, then finally the House of Wind—Nesta smiled at the sight of her home, towering over the city like a watchful guard. Feyre took her seat on a small, wooden chair by the easel displaying a white canvas, empty aside from a single, brown streak across its centre.

“What are you painting?” Nesta asked her, taking her own seat on the couch behind her.

Feyre glanced at the canvas, something like exasperation twisting her features. “I haven’t decided yet.” She turned to Nesta again. “Elain wanted to go alone.”

Nesta stilled. “No chance.”

“Obviously,” Feyre agreed. “But it took a lot of convincing for her to let me go with her, and I worry that if I ask for you to join us as well, she’ll turn back on her word and this whole plan will go to hell.”

“Why should you go with her, then, and not me?” There was no malice in her question as she asked it—whatever reasons Feyre had, they must have been serious if she’d asked for this conversation to be had in private.

“For starters, it was me who promised Vassa to break her curse. We’ve been,” she hesitated, “corresponding. It’ll be good for her to see a somewhat familiar face if we are to seek her aid.” Feyre leaned forward an inch. “Nesta, I worry about Elain.”

Nesta smirked. “She would hate hearing you say that.”

“I know. Which is why I asked to speak with you here—I don’t know where Elain is.”

Nesta frowned. “I thought she was at the house.”

“She might be,” Feyre said, “or she might be out. She comes and goes every day—and I’m glad, truly glad to see her eager to help the people and rebuild what was lost in the War. But this is no life, Nesta—she lives for everyone but herself.”

“Perhaps that is the kind of life she needs right now.”

“Perhaps,” Feyre agreed. “But this—Elain asking to be part of this task, to leave Velaris, to use the powers that she’d once wanted no part of—it could be a sign of something bigger for her. Don’t you think she deserves to try?”

“Of course I do,” Nesta said. “Of course I do. I just…I worry.”

Feyre chuckled. “That makes two of us.”

Nesta sighed. “Tell me what you learn as soon as you get back.”

Feyre nodded. “If there is anything to learn at all.”

______

Elain despised the manor.

The Nolan family had a number of estates in the human lands, but this one Elain was perhaps the most familiar with. There had been a time when she found its ambiance charming, with its squeaky wooden floors and aged carpets—it felt like the foundations of the house carried years of history, history Elain had once hoped to become a part of.

Did you think you could come back here? the words roared in her head. Live with me as this…lie?

It was exactly what Elain was.

A lie. A mistake.

Elain smiled brightly. “Thank you for having us on such short notice.” She took a quick glance to her left, yet another half-empty room revealed to her sight. She’d counted four of them on the ground floor, exactly as she’d remembered—though, under its previous occupants, there had been considerably more clutter, now most of the furniture draped over by large, white cloths. Elain wondered just how many possessions the manor’s current residents truly owned—far less than what she would expect from the likes of royalty.

The tall figure walking in front of her grunted in what Elain could only assume was an answer. Seeing the Mad General in person after so many months and only two steps away from her made her more squeamish than she would’ve liked to admit—he was imposing in a manner akin to that of Cassian’s, though their powerful frames and a sword strapped across their backs was where their similarities ended. Elain couldn’t pin it down at first until Jurian’s brown gaze had finally landed on her and held. Though his face appeared indifferent, there was no denying the torment hiding behind his stare, holding the corners of his mouth stiffly in place.

At least Cassian smiled sometimes—often, actually, now that his bond with Nesta was sealed and a silver band was wrapped around both his and Nesta’s ring fingers. Elain quickly let go of the memory, the very thought of rings in this place causing her breath to fall flat.

Jurian led them down the hallway, and Elain began to notice things she hadn’t spotted before. The house was old and stuffy, and way too dark, with hardly any windows carved into the space except the few out front. The one thing she had at the River House, or even the wretched House of Wind before that, was the unobstructed access to sunlight—cold and somewhat faint with Velaris’s mountainous climate, but sunlight nonetheless. Feeling it kiss her skin settled the dread that would often build in her heart, the heart that always expected to be submerged in an ancient, icy darkness—and clear the fog that so often descended upon her vision without warning.

She was apparently now expected to summon that fog, though from Feyre’s look as she explained the nature of Elain’s role in this assignment, Elain suspected the Night Court had little hope in her Seer abilities producing any fruitful results. She supposed they could all only wait and see.

A small window miraculously appeared as they passed what seemed to be a study, and Elain cast it another glance—she didn’t realise dusk had already passed, the greyish light darkening into a deep, star-flecked blue. Somehow, the human lands seemed to host a lot less stars than the Night Court sky, their light dimmer, too, as though not entirely comfortable enough to display their full glory. It was not how Elain remembered things—the sky she used to lie beneath merely two years ago was a thing of spectacular beauty. The chance unnerved her, but she forced herself to look away—back to the dark, dusty corridor.

“Has Vassa returned yet?” Feyre asked beside her, the question making Elain’s thoughts scatter until her attention was back on the matter at hand.

Jurian stopped in front of a large, wooden door that Elain recognised as the entrance to an old drawing room. “Yes,” he said, his eyes sliding to Elain then back to Feyre again. Her sister reached for the iron handle, but Jurian’s hand on metal stopped her in her tracks. “Feyre,” he began, his voice dipping into a softer tone, so at odds with his gruff expression and haunted eyes. “I don’t know how much more disappointment she can take.”

Feyre stiffened beside her. “I am only trying to help.”

Jurian looked at Elain. “And what is your stance on this?”

Elain opened her mouth, but Feyre held up a hand. “My sister is not your enemy.”

Jurian hummed. “That remains to be seen,” he said, then opened the door.

Unlike most of the house, the drawing room was nearly exactly as Elain remembered it—a floor of splintered, chestnut wood with bookshelves of the same fashion climbing the back wall, a worn-out tapestry displaying rather graphic scenes of a hunt, and—rather ridiculous—pink couch, half-eaten by moths, waiting opposite two armchairs at the very centre.

Elain looked around the room and found only one person waiting for them—Vassa stood near the windowsill, she, too, looking out to the night sky. Elain loosed a breath.

“Vassa,” Feyre began in a manner of greeting, “it is good to see you again.”

Elain had forgotten just how beautiful the human queen truly was, her reddish-blonde hair offsetting the golden brown of her immaculate skin. She was only two years older than Elain, from what Elain had been told, her eyes of cerulean blue sharp with youth and grace. Still, there was a weariness in her gaze—a sense of fatigue Elain could only guess stemmed from an endless flight as she roamed the skies at the first break of dawn. Elain had seen it—the vision came to her in her sleep.

“Cursebreaker.” Vassa turned, her smile not quite meeting her eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” A glance at Jurian. “I trust the general has not been bothering you too much in my absence.”

Jurian’s gaze narrowed on her, though his lips curled up at the challenge.

Feyre said, “We only just arrived.”

“I see.” Vassa gestured toward the middle, where a teapot and four cups had already been set on the low, round table. Four, which could only mean one thing.

Feyre seemed to notice this, too. “Is Lucien joining us tonight?”

Vassa settled on the couch, Jurian following closely behind her as Elain and Feyre took their seats opposite the pair. “I’m afraid—”

“He’s busy,” Jurian finished for her, Vassa looking at him with reprimand.

Whatever Feyre thought of her friend’s absence, her eyes did not betray a thing of it. “I see,” the High Lady simply said, then turned to her left. “My sister Elain.”

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Elain said, letting another smile grace her features.

Jurian said nothing, his knuckles white as he poured himself a cup of tea.

Vassa sipped from her own. “I was under the impression you found no solution to breaking my curse.”

Feyre met Vassa’s gaze, her blue-grey eyes sincere. “If there is one thing I’ve learned since being Made, Your Majesty, it’s that hope is not a thing to be given up quickly.”

Indeed, Elain thought to herself, her own eyes trailing toward the window as though with a mind of their own.

The only sight that met her was the overgrown garden, mishandled so neglectfully Elain was practically itching to go outside and bring life back into the land. Unfortunately, she had another task at hand, one far too pressing to dare another look at the tall, dying grass.

 Feyre asked, “I was wondering if…if you could tell us how you got cursed.”

Jurian’s brows flicked up. “What good will that do?”

Vassa placed a hand on his broad arm. “Jurian, it’s fine.” She looked at Feyre again. “Though I’m afraid I was unconscious for the most of it. Briallyn’s soldiers had taken me from my bed in the midst of the night, and I sustained an injury to the head,” she explained, Jurian’s body going rigid beside her. “When I woke up, I realised I’d been laid atop a dark, murky lake with blood dripping down my palms.”

The image pushed into Elain’s mind, and she shifted in her seat.

Vassa’s smile was strained. “I don’t know much about magic,” she said honestly, “but after my blood had touched the water’s surface, I felt a searing pain in my veins. The sun rose, and I was transformed.”

“A curse woven into blood,” Feyre muttered, Vassa nodding her head in agreement.

“Unbreakable, from what I hear. I don’t think even Koschei himself would be able to undo it.”

“Perhaps killing Koschei is the only act we need to break your curse,” Elain supplied, repeating Feyre’s words from earlier this morning as they’d gone over the assignment.

Vassa barked a laugh. “If only it were that easy.” 

“I don’t mind fighting yet another war,” Jurian declared. The added “for you” lingered in the air.

The human queen’s gaze softened. “I do. This world—both of our worlds—have endured enough wars already.”

Feyre looked inclined to agree. Elain pressed, “Nobody is speaking of war, Vassa. I’ve seen things—in my visions—flashes of onyx. A box he possesses that could put and end to…to all of it.”

Both Jurian and Vassa stiffened, neither of them uttering as much as a word.

Then, “The box is indestructible,” Vassa said quietly. “I’ve tried.”

Elain wasn’t sure she was breathing. “When?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Jurian said, cutting Feyre a sharp look as though she were responsible for the behaviour of her sister. Elain swallowed her anger, building like a lump in her throat. “There must be another way.”

Feyre said calmly, “That is precisely why Elain is here today.”

Vassa’s gaze swept over them both. “I thought your visions could not be controlled.”

Who had told her that? “That does not mean I can’t try,” Elain said, then forced a smile back onto her lips. “I have recently grown stronger in my abilities.”

A flicker of surprise reached her from Feyre’s side, the question like a tendril brushing against her mind. “The shields,” Elain explained out loud, and Feyre frowned, seemingly not expecting her sister to keep her away from her mind for as little as a conversation.

But Elain continued, “Let me do this—let me at least try to help you.” Feyre’s expression softened.

“Koschei poses a grave threat,” her sister added as she turned back to Jurian and Vassa. “The rumours of his alliance with Beron are resurfacing.”

Vassa drew in a long, long breath.

To everyone’s surprise, Jurian snickered and looked to Vassa again. “I told you war would catch up with us even in this godsdamned house.”

Vassa rolled her eyes, but her shoulders seemed to loosen slightly. “Sounds to me like we can kill two birds with one stone.”

For some reason, Feyre smiled at that. “That’s exactly what I said.”

“How do you propose we do this?” asked Jurian, his gaze surveying Elain closely.

Elain studied the table. “You will not like it.”

“You haven’t been able to induce a vision before,” he pointed out, leaving no more doubt in Elain’s mind that a certain someone had spoken to them about her abilities. She smothered her frustration deep where it could not be seen—especially by a daemati. “What makes you think you can do it now?”

Elain said, “My visions are triggered in two ways: either by sleep or my senses. Sometimes, it can be the taste of whatever I’m eating that appears again in the future, or the scent of a room—or the feel of an object as I touch it.” Elain looked at Feyre. “If only the box was here,” she sighed, “I could perhaps hold it and see if anything comes to mind.”

“The box isn’t here,” Jurian snapped, “so tell us whatever else you had in mind.”

“Jurian,” Feyre warned, but the general did not take his eyes off Elain.

Elain cleared her throat. “The curse is woven into blood.”

There was a beat of silence before Jurian said, “No.”

“Jurian—” Vassa began.

“No,” he repeated. “What she’s suggesting—you want to—what—taste Vassa’s blood?”

Even Feyre seemed concerned at the very idea.

“Of course not,” Elain said calmly. “The scent should be enough.”

“No.”

“Jurian,” Vassa interjected, squeezing his arm again. “I am willing to try this. It’s only a cut.”

“I will heal her right after it’s done,” Feyre assured them. Jurian gritted his teeth loud enough the sound nearly echoed through the room.

“Give me your knife,” Vassa ordered, Elain recognising her voice as that of a Queen’s.

He only sighed deeply before reaching for his boot, a knife appearing in his large hand as the steel caught a golden glimpse of the chandelier above.

Vassa took it from him and placed the blade to her palm.

“Maybe I should—” he started, but Vassa only rolled her eyes. “Ready?” she asked, that cerulean stare settling on Elain once more. Elain nodded.

She was far more than ready.

Elain blinked as the blade slashed across Vassa’s palm, a trail of blood immediately staining her golden brown skin. A tangy, metallic scent filled the space between them—and something else, like withering moss mixed with raw, pungent earth. The musky scent overpowered the iron quickly, its stench somehow dry and humid at the same time, bringing tears into Elain’s eyes as it filled her nostrils.

Tears and nothing more.

Feyre frowned.

Disappointment filled Vassa’s eyes, still fixed on the crimson liquid now dripping down her waist and onto the old, green carpet. “I don’t think—”

Jurian’s tone was smug. “It seems that the magic demands a sacrifice in return.”

Elain snapped her head to him. “You can’t possibly think—”

His mouth curled. “Afraid of a little cut, Seer?”

Elain’s eyes narrowed. “Give me the knife.” And, with a single, sharp breath, she sliced through her own palm.

Her blood, its shade the same deep red as Vassa’s, was slightly thicker as it began pooling in her open palm. She could feel three pairs of eyes fixed wholly on her, but Elain only looked at Vassa. “Your hand, please,” she asked, praying the others’ attention would keep them from asking how, exactly, Elain had figured out this was the only way.

The prayer was shoved to the back of her mind as Vassa placed her hand in hers, Elain’s vision flashing a blinding light.

She searched through it frantically, chased by a white-hot flame that seemed intent on keeping her from seeing whatever it guarded, but Elain was resilient. She let her mind be flooded with images and sounds and scents until they all blurred into one. Elain squinted, looking for the answer she so badly needed, the answer she’d come here for, but, as the final picture cleared into view…

Elain yanked her hand away, and the vision was over as soon as it began.

She blinked—once, then twice, then three times as her eyes readjusted to her surroundings—she saw the pink couch first, vibrant and infuriating as she took in the woman sitting on it, her leg bouncing in anticipation, then the man beside her, then finally the stars behind.

“Well?” Jurian’s sharp voice pulled her back into reality. “What did you see?”

“Elain!” Feyre exclaimed, and Elain flinched, following her sister’s gaze.

The cut on her palm had been replaced—with a bright, scalding burn.

“Oh,” Elain said a shade pathetically. “I’m sorry, I…” she started, looking up from her hand to meet Vassa’s eyes once more.

Looking into them, she found nothing but pure, unrestrained fear—there and gone before anyone could prove it was there in the first place.

Vassa blinked, too.

“You’re hurt,” Jurian said, reaching for her wrist where, just in her palm above, a burn mark of the same shape gleamed furiously, demanding attention.

“It’s…alright,” Vassa said, not tearing her gaze from Elain for a moment. “It doesn’t hurt.”

“Like hell it doesn’t,” Jurian snarled. Feyre stood. “Let me help you with that,” her sister said, leaning over Vassa, a gentle light soon shimmering from her tattooed hand.

Elain’s chest felt tight as she examined her own wound. “I have to stay,” she whispered.

“What?” Jurian growled as Feyre turned to face her again.

“I have to stay,” Elain repeated, daring a quick look outside the window again, as though looking for the stars’ reassurance. “We need to try again.”

Feyre sighed. “Elain, it’s alright if—”

But, to her surprise, Vassa started, “She’s right. You—you’re welcome to stay here. As long as you’d like.” She blinked a final time, as if waking up from a daze.

“What did you see?” Jurian asked—herself or Vassa, she was no longer sure.

“I saw the sun,” Vassa said quietly. “I saw myself standing beneath it.”

“And you?” Feyre asked Elain.

She lied, “The same thing.”

Vassa only looked at her again.

Elain continued, “We need to keep trying until the picture becomes more clear.”

Feyre hesitated. “Alright…how long do you need to stay?”

Elain took a long, deep breath. “Until we get the answers.”

Until she found what she’d truly come here for.

And before Vassa figured out the light burning her to ash was not the sun, but Elain Archeron herself.

_____

Lucien returned just before daylight broke over the sky again. He’d spent hours wandering the cobblestone streets, fighting every last one of his instincts compelling him to drop everything and just—show up.

Somehow, though, he’d managed to keep his distance, even the moment he’d felt her arrival, wrapping the air in that sweet scent of jasmine and honey he’d known once and had not forgotten it since. It was a test of his patience, which had already been hanging on by a thread since yesterday—since Vassa had announced his mate would be coming.

He’d caught her just in time, the question leaving his lips before he’d even entered the house. “How was—”

“Lucien,” Vassa breathed. “She’s still here.”

Lucien stilled. “What?”

“Elain is staying,” she repeated, but she must have been teasing him for some cruel reason, because there was simply no way his mate had willingly decided to remain at his home with Lucien present. 

The two, slender hands gripping his arms in near-desperation told him this was no lie—that Elain’s scent still lingering in the air was no remnant of her presence, but a painful reminder of her closeness. Lucien’s breath fell flat, a thousand questions and more flooding his mind one by one until he was no longer sure where to start. Had she asked about him, had she mentioned him at all? Was she under the impression he wouldn’t be returning for a while? What happened over there that made Vassa practically lunge for him as he showed up on the manor’s doorstep?

Something told him his questions would have to wait as a familiar, burning flame sizzled in Vassa’s eyes. Lucien straightened, recognising it in a heartbeat as the final shadows of the night began fading away. She had a minute left at best.

“Go,” Lucien told her, hating that his confusion ended up prolonging her pain. “Go now. We’ll talk about this later—I’ll ask Jurian to fill me in—”

But Vassa was already shaking her head, “He won’t know—Lucien, he doesn’t understand—” Her shoulders shook, a tremor passing through her body as she loosed a final, shaky breath. “Lucien,” the queen repeated before the creature took over at last. “Something is very, very wrong.”

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