#a war across the ages fought against his will. not just for the power of the triforce that claimed him. but for his very being

[heartlogan]

the story ends

✮— logan x f!reader (set in xmen days of future past)

✮— summary: the day that logan lost you

✮— a/n: again, only my second time writing for logan so be gentle pls, i specialise in angst but this isn’t my best </3 (also, could be connected to all coming back to me — my first logan fic. no reading order!)

✮— warnings: probably ooc! MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, depictions of dying, it’s set in the original timeline so it is sad, talk of loss and death, one (1) moment of affection, major angst, guilt, sentinels, canon typical violence, & gore (ish, but to be safe), BLOOD, pronoun ‘she’ used, unspecified mutant reader, lmk if theres more!

MASTERLIST

✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶⊶⊷⊶⊷❍⊶⊷⊶⊷✶

There are so many things you had lived to regret in your life, so many things that you had dwindled on instead of simply moving forwards. And in the end, none of it had ever mattered. No matter what you had or hadn’t done, life had led you here — to the very end of the world.

You hadn’t fought in wars like Logan had, weren’t used to the brutality of it all. Fighting, and battles, all of that you were familiar with. But not this. This was on another level.

The X-Men had been helpless to fight against this, unable to resist such a tidal wave of hatred and murder. The Sentinels had destroyed so many of your kind already, that there were barely any of you left to fight anyway. And those of you who had lived through the initial slaughters had been scattered across the globe, made to search for one another while constantly trying to evade those seeking n you out to kill you.

It was exhausting. All of it. And it wasn’t only you who felt that way — those remaining were all tired. Tired of the constant movement, tired of the constant loss, tired of the neverending chase. You could see it on everyone’s faces — Charles looked as bad as you had ever seen him, struggling to cope with the loss of almost all of his students. And Ororo, you could tell, was fighting to hold herself together. She had lost too many people, too many friends. Magneto was no stranger to loss, especially like this, but it was written all over him, too.

And there was Logan.

Logan who, in all the time you had known him, had never stopped fighting. For all of that to be in vain was clawing at him, tearing him down. There was a new age to him, and you weren’t talking about the grey hairs that seeped from his temples. He seemed far too old to still be fighting, to still spend every living moment trying to stay alive, trying to keep those he cared about safe. Everyone had lost so much since the Sentinels appeared.

“How much longer do you think we can stay here?” You asked Storm, gazing out at the sky ahead of you, glancing back towards the jet that was stood on the makeshift runway. She stayed quiet long enough for you to grow concerned and look her way, and you saw the unease to her stance. “We need to leave, don’t we?”

“It’s not safe.” She replied distantly, looking out towards the cloudy sky. Your brows furrowed instantly, and you turned to look at the clouds once more.

“Nowhere is safe, Ororo.” You stated firmly, trying not to let the emotion betray you in your voice. She seemed to come back to herself at your words, and you just about registered her turning to look at you. You hadn’t said anything that she didn’t already know to be true, but still, the delivery of the fact left her with a stinging feeling in her chest. An aching sort of pain, a longing for a home that none of you could ever return to.

She thought of the mansion, and tried to force her way past the memories of it torn apart, destroyed. It was easy to forget, in times like these, exactly how things had been before. But Storm could practically envision it all in her mind, the bustling halls between classes, the crackle of fire as the adults shared a drink after a rough battle, the constant noise of mutants embracing their powers.

That was meant to be a mutant safe haven, and it was gone. She knew you were right — nowhere was safe for your kind, not anymore.

“I know.”

You let her words settle, and chose to linger and look at the view, even as Storm turned and made her way back to the plane.

Admittedly, the view wasn’t much, but it was nice to see the sky without a plane of glass in the way. All of you spent so much time inside the jet now, barely able to land without Sentinels descending upon you. It was somewhat safer in the sky, although there had been some close calls.

The wind whistled in your ears, a welcome breath against your skin, and you easily preferred this to the way it usually whipped against the side of the jet.

You heard the shuffle of feet in your direction before you felt his presence, a warm hand coming to rest on the small of your back. It was soothing, warming you up as you let the cold breeze surround you.

“‘S almost time to go,” Logan told you, speaking quietly. His gruff voice still sent shivers down your spine, despite his warm hand on your back. He turned to look down at you after a second, eyes scanning over the entirety of you, analysing. “You ready?” He asked after another moment, knowing you always tried to take in as much of the fresh air as you could.

“I’ll just be a sec.” You responded calmly, breathing in deeply, finding comfort in the way his palm moved with your body. When he didn’t move, you turned to look at him, finding him still watching you. Despite everything, you couldn’t help but smile at his loving gaze, albeit somewhat weakly. You placed a hand on the side of his face, brows creasing. “Everything okay, Logan?” You asked, concerned, because he seemed off, even though everything in the world was off. It was something more than that.

He nodded as your thumb stroked his cheekbone, trying to provide some amount of comfort in a world where comfort didn’t exist.

“I’ll wait with you.”

You smiled, trailing your hand down from his face until you reached his own palm, which you gripped tightly.

Slowly, you noticed the sun beginning to shine on the horizon. You knew you needed to be gone before it had risen fully. “Don’t worry, I’m right behind you.” You said reassuringly, tilting your head and squeezing his palm tightly at his uncertain look. “Promise.” You added, and he hesitated for a moment longer, before turning away, squeezing your hand once in return before he let it go fully.

He seemed reluctant to leave your side, even as he walked away. You shook your head, grinning softly, glad for the few good things you had left in your life. Logan was everything to you — he had been for more than a few years.

You took one more glance at the rising sun, before turning away, ready to head after Logan. But then your head tilted, brows furrowing in confusion. There was a buzzing feeling in your hands, your heart speeding up its pace, and you looked around in concern.

That was when you saw it — the Sentinel heading straight for the jet on the right.

Ororo was closest, and she hadn’t seen it yet.

“Storm! On your right!” You yelled, desperation leaking into your voice as you watched her spin, finally noticing the murder bot creeping up on her. Even from this distance, you could see the way her eyes went white, lighting up as the wind picked up suddenly, rain slowly starting to leech from the clouds above that were quickly multiplying with the force of Storm’s power.

You couldn’t breathe a sigh of relief as she struck it with lightning, summoning winds to throw it over the edge of the cliff side, because you knew it wasn’t over — more were coming, if they weren’t already here.

Starting towards Logan, you only just registered the way his eyes widened and he moved towards you before it dawned on you.

You hadn’t checked your six.

Before you could even turn, you felt it.

When you looked down, you saw the Sentinel spearing you through the stomach, the wound far too big to comprehend.

Blood was tickling the back of your throat, and you couldn’t even swallow around it. It was too late, you noticed distantly, as you looked towards where Logan was trying to get to you, seeming as though he was moving in slow motion.

The Sentinel ripped its limb from your body, and your knees buckled, sending you to the ground.

It was a very far away realisation, the fact that you would die here, in mere moments. Instead, your main focus was Logan, watching the anguish and denial plaster his face. You barely heard the other Sentinels rising from the cliff side behind you, but you knew they were there.

And you knew that the others knew it too.

Storm had made her way towards Logan, and you hadn’t even noticed how close she was to him before then. She must’ve noticed the Sentinel approaching you at the same time he had. Her face was painted with grief, evident in every crease of her expression, in the very way she moved. She placed her palms against Logan’s chest, and pushed.

“Logan, it’s too late. Please. It’s too late. We need to go.” Ororo begged, her voice shaking with every word that left her mouth. She couldn’t bring herself to look at you, to see the blood that had started trickling from the corners of your mouth, painting your skin. She didn’t want to see the life leave your eyes.

“Logan!” Charles’ voice raised, trying to be heard over Storm’s power. Logan hadn’t even heard his wheelchair in the jet, too focused on the way you looked at him, your eyes dimming with every moment he couldn’t get to you.

He felt Erik before he had even realised the man had descended the ramp, felt the pull of his powers. The way he forced Logan’s skeleton to bend to his will, to step away from you. From the love of his life. The only thing he had managed to keep hold of in this apocalyptic world.

“No, no, no, no,” Logan begged, yelling for you, waiting for you to snap out of it, to just get up. “C’mon! C’mon, get up!” He yelled, trying to push against Erik’s power, but finding he couldn’t even take another step towards you. He felt Storm push harder on his chest, but he didn’t notice, too busy watching the way your head tilted, your eyes glassy, the way your lips lifted at the edges, showing just a flash of bloody teeth. You smiled at him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Storm said, as Erik finally managed to pull Logan some steps back, going up the ramp.

It was the hardest Logan had ever fought against his power, which made lifting the plane simultaneously all the more difficult. But Erik focused his mind, pulling the plane from the ground as Storm finally released Logan to press the button to lift the ramp.

“She’s gone, Logan.” Charles said sadly, feeling the way your consciousness drifted from his grasp.

Logan just caught the slump of your body to the ground through the swarm of Sentinels as the ramp closed fully. Erik allowed him to fall to his knees when he realised he had stopped fighting, but kept a loose grip on the adamantium in his skeleton out of fear that he might tear apart the plane to get to your body.

A sullen silence took over the jet, everybody resigned to loss by now, but for Logan this was different. He stared at the ramp, unable to get the image of your empty eyes out of his mind. Your body, slumped on the ground, left there to rot.

And all he could think was that if he had only stayed with you, you might still be here. If it weren’t for him, you might be alive.

[moonlitstoriess]

A Symphony of Silence- Cassian x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N, a mute musician cursed by a dark power, seeks refuge in Velaris, performing in silence at a local theater. Cassian is captivated by her haunting music, drawn to her mysterious presence. As their bond deepens, he becomes determined to help her, unaware of the full extent of her curse. As time runs out and her health worsens, Cassian must face a devastating truth that could shatter everything they’ve built.

Warnings: Not proofread, Fluff in the beginning, Trauma, (eventual angst, loss, and heartbreak)

See masterlist

The city of Velaris hummed softly in the aftermath of war. It was the sound of a place still healing, the echoes of battle fading beneath the rhythm of life slowly returning to normal. Cassian walked along the cobblestone streets, his wings tucked tightly against his back, the cool night air brushing against his skin. His boots scuffed against the stone, the sound swallowed by the laughter spilling from nearby taverns and the soft music drifting from street performers who had reclaimed their corners.

It was peaceful, or so it should have been. But peace was a concept that sat uneasily on Cassian’s shoulders.

He’d only just returned from a mission Rhysand had sent him on—a straightforward task of dealing with some squabbling Illyrian clans. Nothing dramatic, nothing particularly dangerous. But the routine of it had left him restless. He’d fought wars that had burned across continents, seen blood and fire in ways that couldn’t be forgotten. And now, with nothing left to fight for, nothing but rebuilding, Cassian felt…adrift.

He couldn’t exactly say this to Rhys or Azriel. Hell, he wasn’t even sure how to explain it to himself. So, he’d thrown himself into work—training recruits, patrolling the city, whatever kept his hands and mind busy. Tonight, though, there was nothing left to do. The streets were quiet, the stars glittered like shards of broken glass in the sky, and Cassian was left alone with his thoughts.

He hated it.

Turning a corner, he found himself walking along the Sidra. The water glistened in the moonlight, the gentle waves lapping against the banks. Ahead, the laughter of a group of friends faded as they disappeared into a nearby pub. Cassian debated following them—distracting himself with drink and noise—but something pulled his gaze to the left.

The theater.

It wasn’t a place he often visited. The world of art and performance felt foreign to him, something softer and quieter than the sharp edges he’d known all his life. He’d been there a few times with Feyre and Rhys, watching as Feyre’s eyes lit up with wonder. He’d appreciated the beauty of it, sure, but it wasn’t his world. Yet tonight, the faint glow of the building, the murmured excitement of the people filing in, called to him.

He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was desperation for distraction. Whatever it was, Cassian found himself following the trickle of people into the theater, his wings brushing the doorframe as he entered.

The scent of polished wood and aged paper greeted him, mingled with the faint floral perfume of the patrons. Cassian lingered near the back, his broad form earning a few curious glances. He folded his arms across his chest, leaning against a pillar as the crowd settled into their seats.

The lights dimmed. A hush fell over the room, and then she appeared.

Cassian straightened.

The female who stepped onto the stage was unlike anyone he’d ever seen. Dressed in a simple gown that shimmered like liquid starlight, she moved with a grace that seemed almost ethereal. Her face was partially obscured by the shadows of the stage, but her presence was undeniable.

She came over to the large piano royale in the center of the stage, delicate and gleaming, and when she sat and began to play, the world seemed to hold its breath.

The music was haunting. It started softly, like a whisper, then grew into something vast and consuming. It wasn’t just sound; it was emotion, raw and unfiltered. Cassian felt it like a blade to the chest—pain, longing, hope, despair.

He didn’t realize he was holding his breath until the song ended, the final note lingering in the air before fading into silence. The audience erupted into applause, but Cassian barely heard it. His eyes remained fixed on her as she stood, offered a faint bow, and disappeared behind the curtain.

Something about her music, about her, had struck a chord deep within him. It wasn’t just her beauty, though he couldn’t deny that she was stunning. It was the weight of the emotion she carried, the way it bled into her music, speaking volumes without a single word.

Cassian didn’t know her name. All he knew was that, for the first time in a long while, the restless ache in his chest had quieted.

And that terrified him more than anything else.

Cassian found himself returning to the theater the next night. And the night after that. And the night after that.

Each time, he told himself it was just coincidence—that he had no other plans, that the theater was simply a good place to unwind. But deep down, he knew better. He came to watch her.

He couldn’t explain it, not even to himself. There was something about her, something that pulled at him in a way he hadn’t felt in years. She was like a beacon of quiet strength, her music carrying a weight that seemed to echo his own unspoken thoughts.

Cassian sat in the same seat every evening, his wings tucked close to his back, his gaze fixed on her as she took the stage. Her presence was magnetic, her beauty undeniable, but it was the way she played—fingers gliding effortlessly across the tiles of her piano—that captivated him. It was as if every note held a story.

Yet, for all her grace and poise, there was a shadow that clung to her, a weight he couldn’t quite place. It made him want to know her, to understand what had shaped the woman who could command such emotion through her music.

By the fifth night, his frequent visits hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“You’ve been quiet lately,” Azriel remarked one evening as they sat in the River House, the shadowsinger's tone laced with curiosity.

Cassian shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. “Just keeping busy.”

Azriel gave him a long, assessing look. “Busy watching performances in a certain theater every night?”

Cassian stilled, his glass hovering halfway to his lips. “How do you—”

"You aren't the only one lurking in the dark corners” Azriel interrupted, a rare smirk tugging at his mouth as he pointed to his dark shadows. “You’ve got a pattern, brother. And if I noticed, so will Rhys.”

Cassian groaned, running a hand down his face. “I don’t even know why I keep going. I just…” He trailed off, unsure how to put his feelings into words.

Azriel leaned back, his smirk softening into something more thoughtful. “You’re drawn to her,” he said simply.

Cassian didn’t respond, but the answer was clear in the way his wings shifted restlessly.

“You know,” Azriel continued, his voice taking on a teasing edge, “you could always stop lurking in the shadows like a lovesick Illyrian and actually talk to her.”

Cassian shot him a glare. “I’m not lurking.”

Azriel raised a brow, unbothered. “Whatever you want to call it, you’re not going to get anywhere just watching her from the crowd. Talk to her.”

“And say what?” Cassian asked, his tone half-exasperated, half-uncertain. “Hey, I’ve been obsessively watching you play for a week like some kind of a maniac now, and I think you’re amazing—mind if we chat?”

Azriel chuckled. “It’s better than doing nothing.”

Cassian huffed, leaning back in his chair. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It is,” Azriel replied, his smirk returning. “For most fae, at least. But you—you like to overthink things.”

Cassian glared at him again, but the corner of his mouth twitched in reluctant amusement.

By the end of the conversation, Cassian still wasn’t sure if he’d actually go through with it. But as he left the River House that night, Azriel’s words lingered in his mind.

So, when the next evening came and he found himself once again seated in the theater, watching her with that same quiet awe, he made a decision.

This time, he wouldn’t just admire her from afar. When the performance ended, he would wait. And he would find the courage to speak to her.

Y/N’s fingers hovered over the keys of the piano royale, her reflection barely visible on its polished surface. The heavy crimson curtain behind her marked the boundary between two worlds—the quiet solitude of preparation and the vibrant energy of performance. She exhaled slowly, willing her nerves to settle.

It wasn’t stage fright. That had disappeared long ago, beaten out of her by years of necessity and survival. No, this was something different—a flicker of anticipation, a spark that refused to extinguish no matter how she tried to ignore it.

Because she knew he would be there again.

The first time she’d seen him, she’d nearly faltered. Her gaze had landed on him like a moth drawn to a flame, his presence filling the room like he belonged in the center of every stage, every battlefield, every story. The most handsome male she’d ever seen—his dark hair, those powerful wings draped like shadows behind him, and the quiet intensity in his hazel eyes.

And then he kept coming back.

Night after night, he sat in the same spot, his massive frame a stark contrast to the delicate chairs of the theater. Always watching, always listening. She wasn’t sure if it unnerved her or thrilled her. Perhaps both.

Y/N’s hands clenched into fists on her lap. It didn’t matter. It couldn’t matter. She had come to Velaris seeking refuge, not entanglements. This city had given her safety when she had none, a home when she had only ruins to her name. She would not risk that—not for him, not for anyone.

But still…

Her fingers itched to play. The piano was her solace, her voice, her lifeline. It was the one thing no curse could take from her. She had lost so much—her voice stolen by a cruel twist of fate and power, her past ripped away by a tyrant who took pleasure in others' suffering.

Amarantha.

Even now, years after the cruel queen had been defeated, the scars of her cruelty lingered. Y/N had refused to kneel, refused to serve, and she had paid the price. Her voice had been silenced, not with magic alone but with pain so visceral it echoed in every note she played.

But in Velaris, she was free. Here, she could perform without fear. And if that Illyrian warrior wanted to sit in the audience and watch her every night, well… She let herself have this small indulgence.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. One of the stagehands peeked in, giving her a quick nod. “Two minutes, Y/N.”

She returned the gesture with a small smile, though it felt hollow. Her mask of serenity slipped easily into place as she rose and walked to the stage, the weight of her curse settling on her shoulders like an old companion.

The crowd’s applause was thunderous as she began to play, her fingers dancing across the keys with practiced precision. Each note echoed through the grand hall, filling the space with a melody that was both haunting and beautiful.

She didn’t look at him—not right away. She couldn’t risk it. Instead, she let herself get lost in the music, her emotions bleeding into every chord, every crescendo.

But then her gaze flickered upward, as if drawn by an invisible thread, and there he was.

His eyes were locked on her, his expression a mixture of wonder and something deeper she couldn’t quite place. Her heart stuttered in her chest, but her hands never faltered, the music carrying her forward even as she felt the weight of his gaze.

She hated how much she noticed him—how his presence pulled at her, made her want to imagine things she had no right to dream of.

When the final note faded into silence, the applause swelled again, but Y/N barely heard it. She stood, bowing gracefully before slipping backstage, her heart pounding in a way that had nothing to do with performance jitters.

Back in her room, she leaned against the closed door, her hands trembling slightly. She hated how vulnerable she felt, how the sight of him had made her chest ache in a way she hadn’t expected.

A soft knock startled her. She froze, her pulse leaping as she considered the possibilities. Stagehands didn’t usually bother her after a performance.

When she opened the door, she wasn’t sure if she was surprised or not to see him standing there.

His broad shoulders filled the doorway, his wings tucked neatly behind him. He looked almost nervous, his hazel eyes scanning her face before he offered a lopsided smile. “Hi.”

Her breath caught. She nodded, stepping aside to let him in, though she wasn’t entirely sure why.

“I hope I’m not intruding,” he said, his deep voice rumbling through the room as he looked around. “I just—I’ve been coming to your shows all week, and I thought it was time I introduced myself.”

She gestured for him to sit, her hands trembling slightly as she reached for the notepad and pen she kept nearby.

You’re not intruding. She wrote the words quickly before holding them up for him to see.

His brow furrowed slightly as he read them, a flicker of confusion crossing his face before understanding dawned. “You can’t…” He trailed off, his eyes searching hers.

She shook her head, a bittersweet smile tugging at her lips. She wanted to scream that she wasn’t broken, that she didn’t need pity, but she couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and she hated how sincere he sounded.

She waved it off, quickly scribbling another message. I’m used to it.

But she wasn’t sure if that was entirely true. Not when she was sitting here, staring at the most handsome male she’d ever seen, knowing she would never be able to truly let him in.

Cassian settled into the chair across from Y/N, his massive frame making the small dressing room feel even smaller. He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees, his hazel eyes warm and curious as they met hers.

“So,” he began, his voice as smooth as the first note of a symphony. “Do I get to know the name of the talented pianist who’s been stealing everyone’s attention in Velaris?”

She couldn’t help but smile, picking up her notepad again. Y/N.

Cassian read the name and repeated it softly, as if testing how it felt on his tongue. “Y/N.” He smiled then, a grin so disarming it made her chest ache. “It suits you.”

Heat rose to her cheeks, and she quickly looked down, busying herself with the pen. And you are?

“Cassian,” he said, leaning back slightly. His wings shifted, brushing against the edges of the chair. “General of the Night Court, Illyrian warrior, and occasional patron of the arts.” He smirked, the teasing glint in his eyes making her heart skip a beat.

She raised a brow, writing swiftly. Occasional? You’ve been here every night this week.

He laughed, the sound deep and genuine. “Caught me.” His grin softened, and his gaze turned thoughtful. “It’s hard to stay away when someone’s as talented as you. The way you play... it’s like you pour your soul into every note.”

Her hand froze midair. No one had ever said that to her before, not with such sincerity. She ducked her head, biting her lip as she wrote. Music has always been my refuge. My escape.

He nodded as if he understood, his expression growing more serious. “I get that. We all need something to keep us grounded.”

She hesitated before writing again. And what grounds you, Cassian?

His grin returned, though it was tinged with something bittersweet. “Family, mostly. Friends. And… helping others. Making sure the people I care about are safe and happy.”

The weight of his words settled between them, and for a moment, she wondered how much he carried on those broad shoulders.

She tapped her pen against the notepad, debating her next question before finally scribbling. Do you know sign language?

The moment the words registered, Cassian’s smile faltered. He sat up straighter, his wings shifting restlessly. “I... no. I don’t. I’m sorry.”

His voice was tinged with regret, and the disappointment etched on his face made her chest tighten. She shook her head quickly, holding up her hands as if to say, It’s okay.

Then she wrote, her strokes swift and firm. You don’t need to apologize. Most people don’t. I’ve learned to adapt.

He didn’t look convinced. “Still. I should have thought to learn. I mean…” He gestured vaguely at her, his frustration evident. “It’s the least I could do to make this easier for you.”

Her lips curved into a gentle smile, and she placed a hand over his for a brief moment before pulling it back. You’re here. That’s enough.

Cassian stared at her, and for a moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his eyes—something tender, something raw.

“So,” he said after a pause, his voice lighter now. “Have you always loved music?”

She nodded, her pen moving fluidly across the page. Ever since I was little. My mother used to play, and I’d sit beside her, watching her hands on the keys. When I was old enough, she taught me.

His expression softened further. “She must be proud of you.”

The words hit harder than she expected. She hesitated before writing again, her movements slower now. She passed away a long time ago.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice filled with genuine sympathy.

She waved it off, forcing a small smile as she wrote. It’s okay. Playing helps me remember her.

They fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of the theater bustling outside fading into the background.

Eventually, she gestured toward him with her pen, her brow arched in curiosity. What about you? Do you play any instruments?

Cassian laughed, the sound warm and self-deprecating. “Absolutely not. Trust me, no one wants to hear me attempt music. Azriel says I have the rhythm of a drunk goat.”

She giggled silently, her shoulders shaking as she scribbled. I’d pay to see that.

He grinned. “I’ll consider it. But only if you promise not to laugh too hard.”

Her smile lingered even as she tapped the pen against the notepad, debating whether to ask the question gnawing at the back of her mind. Finally, she wrote, Why do you come to my shows?

Cassian blinked, caught off guard. He ran a hand through his hair, his wings shifting again. “Honestly?”

She nodded, her heart pounding as she waited for his answer.

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a soft rumble. “Because when you play, it’s like the whole world fades away. It’s just you and the music, and it’s... captivating.”

Her breath hitched, and she quickly ducked her head, hoping he didn’t notice the blush creeping up her neck.

Before she could respond, there was a knock at the door. A stagehand’s voice called out, “Y/N, we need to start cleaning up.”

Cassian stood, his towering frame suddenly making the room feel even smaller. “I should go,” he said, though he looked reluctant.

She scribbled quickly, holding up the notepad. Thank you for coming.

He smiled, his eyes lingering on hers. “Thank you for playing. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

And with that, he was gone, leaving Y/N standing there with her heart racing and her thoughts spinning.

She knew she couldn’t let this go any further—knew she couldn’t risk him finding out the truth. But as she touched the keys of the piano royale one last time that night, she couldn’t stop herself from hoping.

Cassian leaned back against the slanted tiles of the rooftop, the morning sun casting a golden hue over Velaris. The city below was waking, its streets buzzing with life, and the gentle breeze ruffled his hair. He glanced at Azriel, who sat cross-legged a few feet away, methodically cleaning one of his daggers.

“So?” Azriel’s voice was calm, but there was an edge of curiosity to it. “How’d it go with your mysterious pianist last night?”

Cassian let out a deep sigh, running a hand through his hair. “She’s…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Incredible. Quiet, but not in a shy way. More like she’s got this... stillness about her, like nothing can shake her. And her music—Az, it’s like the world stands still when she plays.”

Azriel smirked faintly but didn’t look up from his blade. “Sounds like someone’s smitten.”

Cassian threw a pebble at him, which Azriel easily dodged. “It’s not like that,” he grumbled, though the warmth creeping up his neck betrayed him. “She’s just... different.”

“Different how?” Azriel asked, finally glancing at him.

“She’s mute,” Cassian said softly. “She communicates through writing, and—damn it—I didn’t even think to learn sign language.” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “She didn’t make me feel bad about it, but I could see it in her eyes. Like she’s used to people not understanding her.”

Azriel’s brows lifted slightly, his interest piqued. “And yet you’re determined to understand her.”

Cassian shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. “She’s worth it. I just... I don’t know, Az. There’s something about her.”

Azriel hummed in thought, his shadows curling around him like curious tendrils. “So, what’s your plan?”

Cassian grinned, his confidence returning. “I’ll figure it out. I mean, how hard can it be to win over a female who barely knows me?”

Azriel snorted. “I’m sure your charm will work wonders.”

Cassian sat up, stretching his wings. “Speaking of charm, let’s take a flight. I need to clear my head.”

Azriel sheathed his dagger and stood. “Lead the way, oh charming one.”

They launched into the sky, the wind rushing past them as they soared over Velaris. The city’s beauty stretched out below—cobbled streets, colorful markets, and the sparkling Sidra winding its way through the heart of it all.

It was during one of these wide sweeps that Cassian caught it—a faint but tantalizing scent carried on the breeze. It was soft and sweet, like fresh jasmine mixed with a hint of something warm and spicy. His head whipped toward the source, his eyes narrowing.

He spotted her immediately. Y/N was walking out of a shop, her arms laden with bags, her face partially hidden beneath a soft scarf.

“There,” he said, angling his wings and diving.

“Cassian, what—” Azriel’s voice was lost to the wind as he followed.

Cassian landed with a thud right in front of her, his sudden appearance startling her so much that she dropped one of the bags. Her wide eyes met his, and for a second, she looked like she might bolt.

“Sorry!” he blurted, holding up his hands. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Azriel landed gracefully beside him, his calm demeanor a stark contrast to Cassian’s flustered energy.

Y/N tilted her head, her expression softening when she recognized him. She crouched to retrieve the fallen bag, but Cassian was quicker, snatching it up and offering it back with a sheepish grin.

“Hi,” he said, his voice a little too loud in his nervousness. “I, uh, wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

Azriel cleared his throat, clearly trying not to laugh. “Y/N, this is Azriel,” Cassian said, gesturing to his brother. “Azriel, this is Y/N. She’s... well, she’s amazing.”

Y/N smiled politely, nodding in greeting, but her eyes flicked back to Cassian with an amused sparkle.

“I told him you were amazing,” Cassian added quickly, then winced. “Not like, in a weird way. I mean, I did—” He groaned, rubbing his face. “I’m just going to stop talking now.”

Azriel chuckled, shaking his head. “You’re doing great, Cass.”

Y/N covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

Cassian groaned again. “I swear I’m not always like this.”

“Debatable,” Azriel muttered.

Cassian shot him a glare before noticing the multiple bags in Y/N’s hands. “Do you need help with those?”

She hesitated but nodded, clearly a little overwhelmed by the sheer number of them.

“Great,” Cassian said, taking all the bags in one swoop and ignoring Azriel’s raised brow. “I’ll carry these for you. Where to?”

Azriel gave Cassian a knowing look and spread his wings. “I’ll leave you to it.” With that, he took off, his shadows swirling behind him.

Cassian grinned triumphantly as he fell into step beside Y/N. “See? Problem solved. Now, lead the way.”

As they walked, he found himself talking—about Velaris, about the beauty of the city at night, about how he and Azriel used to get into trouble as kids. Y/N listened intently, her expressions shifting between amusement and curiosity.

When they finally reached her door, Cassian set the bags down gently. “Here we are,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you... need help bringing these in?”

She shook her head, scribbling quickly. Thank you, Cassian.

He smiled, the warmth in her gaze making his chest tighten. “Anytime.”

As she unlocked the door and stepped inside, she turned back, holding up the notepad again. See you at the theater?

His grin widened. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

And as she closed the door behind her, Cassian stood there for a moment, staring at the spot where she’d been, wondering how this woman had managed to captivate him so completely.

The theater buzzed with anticipation as the crowd settled into their seats, the soft hum of chatter filling the air. Cassian leaned back, arms crossed, his wings tucked in tight against the velvet seat.

The lights dimmed, and the theater fell silent. Cassian’s sharp eyes picked her out immediately as she entered the stage. She moved like she was part of the music itself, her dress flowing like liquid silver under the soft glow of the lights. His chest tightened at the sight of her—so composed, so seemingly untouchable.

She sat at the piano royale, her hands hovering above the keys. The first notes sang through the air, tender yet commanding, and the entire room was transfixed. Cassian had never considered himself a man drawn to delicate things, yet here he was, attending every performance like some besotted fool.

But tonight… something was different.

Her fingers faltered.

The wrong note struck, a sharp discordant sound that cut through the melody like a blade. Cassian stiffened, his senses on high alert. Y/N paused, her shoulders rigid as if trying to compose herself. Then she tried again. The music resumed, but it lacked the fluidity he’d come to admire.

She faltered a second time.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, confusion and concern spreading like wildfire. Cassian’s instincts kicked in. He sat forward, every muscle in his body taut as he watched her hands tremble on the keys. Beads of sweat formed on her brow, and she was pale—too pale.

“Something’s wrong,” he muttered to himself.

Y/N abruptly stood, swaying as though she might collapse. Her hands clenched into fists, and Cassian’s heart dropped as she stumbled away from the piano. The audience gasped as she braced herself against the instrument, her head bowed as if she were fighting some invisible force.

Cassian didn’t wait. He shot out of his seat, ignoring the whispers and stares as he pushed through the rows of patrons toward the stage. He didn’t care about protocol or appearances—something was happening to her, and he wasn’t about to stand by and watch.

The theater staff hesitated as he stormed past them, his towering frame cutting through their protests. By the time he reached her, Y/N was being helped off the stage by one of the attendants, her breaths coming in shallow gasps.

“Y/N,” he called, his voice low and firm, but she didn’t lift her head.

“Sir, you can’t—” one of the staff members began, but Cassian silenced them with a glare sharp enough to cut steel.

Without another word, he slipped his arm under Y/N’s, steadying her as she fought to stand upright. Her gaze briefly met his, and he saw it—the fear, the frustration, and something deeper.

“Let’s get you out of here,” he said softly, his protective instincts roaring to life.

Pain clawed through her chest as she clutched the piano for support, her vision swimming. She had never faltered like this before. Never. For years, she had managed to suppress the curse, to keep its dark tendrils at bay with sheer willpower and the solace of her music.

But tonight, it had won.

Her legs trembled as she stumbled off the stage, the world around her blurring into a sea of shocked faces and hushed whispers. Panic threatened to consume her. This wasn’t supposed to happen—not yet. She had always known the curse would catch up with her eventually, but she had hoped for more time.

As she reached the wings of the stage, a strong, familiar arm wrapped around her waist. She looked up, and there he was. Cassian.

Why was he here? He had no business being this close to her, seeing her like this—vulnerable, broken. Yet his hold was steady, his presence grounding in a way that both frightened and comforted her.

The curse was getting stronger. She could feel it now, a dark weight pressing against her chest, making it harder to breathe. Her music had always been her shield, a way to channel the curse’s power and keep it from consuming her. But tonight, even that had failed her.

She closed her eyes, leaning into Cassian’s warmth despite herself. She shouldn’t. Letting him get close was dangerous—for both of them. He didn’t know what she carried, the burden that clung to her like a shadow. If he did, he would leave. They all left eventually.

But part of her wanted to tell him.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down her spine. “You’re safe now.”

Safe. The word felt like a cruel joke. She would never be safe, not while this curse still bound her, twisting her life into something unrecognizable.

As they reached the privacy of her dressing room, she sagged into the nearest chair, clutching her arms around herself. Her mind raced with fear and frustration. The curse was escalating, and she didn’t know how much longer she could hold it off.

Cassian crouched before her, his hazel eyes filled with concern. “What happened out there?”

She opened her mouth, but no sound came. Frustration boiled over, and she gestured to her throat, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to talk,” he said gently. “Just… let me help.”

Her heart twisted at his words. He didn’t understand. He couldn’t. But the look in his eyes—so earnest, so determined—made her chest ache. She wanted to let him in, to tell him everything, but the weight of the curse held her back.

She couldn’t do that to him.

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, casting long shadows across the floor of her small apartment. Y/N sat at the edge of her bed, her hands wrapped tightly around a warm mug of tea. She had barely slept, her thoughts a whirlwind of last night’s events.

The performance had been a disaster. She could still hear the discordant notes that had slipped from her fingers, the tremor in her hands, the strange, suffocating sensation that had overtaken her body. It had felt like her curse, that dark power she had kept under tight control for so long, had risen up within her and demanded to be noticed.

Cassian had seen it.

He’d been so gentle with her afterward, yet his concern was unmistakable. He hadn’t left her side until she was safely in her apartment, and even then, she’d caught a glimpse of him perched on the rooftop across the street, his form outlined by the soft glow of the streetlights.

The memory of his quiet insistence on her well-being made her stomach flip again. He’d asked so many questions—about how she was feeling, what had happened during the performance, if she had been overworking herself.

And she had said nothing.

She had only shaken her head and offered a weak smile, the one she wore when she needed to shield herself from the world. She couldn’t tell him. How could she? How could she explain something so awful, so dangerous, when she couldn’t even find a way to keep it from taking over her own body?

He’d been so persistent, so sincere in his concern, but she had been silent, the weight of her secrets pressing down on her chest. She saw the doubt in his eyes, the confusion that crept in when she didn’t answer his questions.

He hadn’t pushed, though. That was the thing. He hadn’t pressured her to speak. Instead, he’d carefully guided her to the door, his arm steady around her waist as he had offered to fly her home. When she’d refused, he hadn’t argued. Instead, he had walked her home, his pace steady and protective.

Cassian had talked to her, enough to distract her, enough to keep her mind from spiraling into the overwhelming chaos that constantly threatened to consume her. The rhythm of his words had grounded her, and she had found herself listening without thinking. She had told him nothing, but he had somehow made her feel safe.

When they had reached her apartment, he had paused at the door, his expression serious as he had reassured her that he would be nearby—just in case she needed him. Then, he had taken off into the sky, his powerful wings cutting through the night air.

Cassian hadn’t left her mind since. His words, his actions—they lingered in her thoughts like a haunting melody, one that made her both want to embrace the warmth and pull away in fear. The curse, the reason she could never be truly close to anyone, was the reason she couldn’t let him in. She couldn’t burden him with her problems, not when he didn’t deserve it.

But as she sat there, alone in her apartment, she couldn’t help but replay the events of the night.

Had she been too careless? She had kept the curse locked away for so long, but was it finally starting to take its toll on her body? What if this was just the beginning? What if it would only get worse from here?

Her chest tightened, and she placed a hand over her heart, trying to calm the fluttering panic rising within her. She had lived with this curse for so long, but now it felt different. More threatening. More uncontrollable.

Y/N’s mind swirled with these thoughts, each one more terrifying than the last. She had tried so hard to maintain control, to keep herself distant from others, but she could feel the walls she had built around herself starting to crack.

And it terrified her.

She had always known that the curse would eventually catch up with her. But she hadn’t expected it to happen so soon, or for someone like Cassian to come so close to seeing the cracks in her armor.

It was easier to pretend she was fine, to act like everything was normal, but she couldn’t keep up the act forever.

And if last night had taught her anything, it was that her curse wasn’t going anywhere. It was only a matter of time before it completely consumed her, and she wasn’t sure if she could bear to let anyone close enough to see it happen.

Her fingers tightened around the mug, her nails pressing into the porcelain, as she fought to steady her breathing. It was just one night. Just one slip-up. She would be fine. She had to be.

But deep down, she knew it wasn’t that simple.

Cassian’s wings beat heavily in the air as he soared above the city, his mind a whirl of thoughts that he couldn’t quiet. The night had lingered with him, and he had barely slept since walking Y/N to her door. It wasn’t just the shock of her performance faltering—no, it was the look in her eyes afterward, the guarded silence she had wrapped around herself.

He had been gentle with her, careful to give her space and not pry too much into what had happened, but he could still feel her retreating from him. It wasn’t the first time he had met someone with secrets, but this felt different. The way her hands shook as she played, the way her breath had caught in her throat before she’d stopped mid-performance—there was something there, something she wasn’t telling him.

And it pissed him off.

Cassian gritted his teeth as he landed on the balcony of his apartment, wings folding with a fluid motion. He walked inside, but the moment his boots hit the floor, his thoughts immediately returned to her.

What had happened to her?

He couldn’t get the image of her out of his head—the delicate lines of her face, the fire in her eyes despite her evident struggle. And the way she had refused to tell him anything.

After a long, restless night, Cassian had done the only thing that made sense—he had gone to Rhysand.

Now, sitting in the study room with both Azriel and Rhys, he couldn’t hold it back any longer. His thoughts spilled from him, his voice tense as he recounted the events.

“I’m telling you, something’s not right with her,” Cassian said, pacing the floor. “I’ve never seen anyone react like that before. She was fine one moment, and then suddenly…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It’s like she’s hiding something. She’s a damned mystery.”

Azriel, ever the quiet observer, leaned back in his chair, his dark eyes narrowing. “You think she’s hiding something from you?”

Cassian nodded, frustration evident in his tone. “Of course she is. She didn’t tell me anything—nothing about what happened at the show, nothing about why she couldn’t finish. It’s like she’s shielding herself from everyone.”

Azriel’s eyes flicked to Rhysand, a silent question passing between them. Rhysand, who had been listening intently, now raised an eyebrow.

“Who is it you’re talking about, Cassian?” Rhysand asked, his voice calm but curious.

Cassian hesitated for a moment. “Her name’s Y/N. She’s the pianist at the theater I’ve been visiting. The one I told Az about.”

Rhysand’s gaze sharpened, and he stood up, his wings ruffling behind him. “Wait a moment… Y/N? As in the pianist from summer?”

Cassian nodded, confused by Rhysand’s sudden recognition.

“Yeah, that’s the one. You know her?”

Rhysand’s face darkened, and he looked at Cassian with a mix of disbelief and something else—something deeper. “I do. She was one of Amarantha’s victims. I was there when it happened.”

Cassian froze, his heart sinking. “What do you mean? What happened to her?”

Rhysand’s jaw tightened, his gaze turning distant as the memories flooded back. “Amarantha had her voice taken away. Anyone who dared to speak against her—she silenced them in the cruelest ways. Y/N…” Rhysand’s voice dropped to a lower pitch, filled with sympathy. “Her curse was placed upon her during that time. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even sing. But it was worse than that. Her voice was stolen, not just taken. The power of it was bound to a curse.”

Cassian’s fists clenched at his sides. Anger surged through him, hot and fierce. “How is that possible? How could anyone do that to someone like her?”

Rhysand’s eyes met his, filled with grim understanding. “Amarantha had a way of breaking the subjects. She found a way to take their essence, their power, and twist it. Y/N was no different. But after Hybern fell, she sought refuge here in Velaris. I’ve seen her around, but I didn’t know the full extent of what had happened to her. I didn’t know she was still struggling with the curse.”

Cassian felt his chest tighten. Y/N. The female he had been so captivated by. The one who had captivated him without saying a single word. And yet, here she was, bearing a curse so dark, so consuming, that she had been left to carry it alone all this time.

“She hasn’t told you about her curse, has she?” Rhysand asked quietly, his eyes probing Cassian’s face.

“No,” Cassian said through gritted teeth.

Azriel, who had remained silent through most of the conversation, now leaned forward. “She’s not hiding from you, Cassian. She’s hiding from the curse.”

Cassian’s gaze snapped to Azriel, who continued. “She’s scared. Whatever’s happening to her, it’s worse than you think. She’s afraid of what it could do—not just to her, but to the people around her. And she’s scared that if you find out, you’ll run. That’s why she doesn’t talk about it. She doesn’t want to burden anyone with her curse.”

Cassian felt his chest tighten again, but this time, it was a different kind of tightness. He had been so focused on the mystery of Y/N, on the way she had pulled away from him, that he hadn’t even considered the depth of what she was dealing with.

“Please,” he said, his voice softer now, “I need help. I can’t just sit back and watch her slowly fall apart. There’s something deeper there. I can feel it.”

Rhysand and Azriel exchanged a look, one that Cassian couldn’t quite decipher. Then Rhysand stood up, his wings flexing.

“Alright,” he said, his voice firm, “We’ll keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s safe, make sure she’s well. But you need to be patient, Cassian. She won’t open up to you unless she’s ready. You have to respect that.”

Cassian nodded, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface. “I understand. But I can’t just leave her to suffer alone. She deserves better than that.”

Azriel clapped him on the back. “We know, Cass. We’ll help. You just need to be patient.”

Cassian’s eyes narrowed as he thought about Y/N, her vulnerability, and the walls she had built around herself. He hadn’t cracked her yet, not fully, but something in him told him that he would. He wouldn’t stop until he had helped her, until he had destroyed that curse for good.

For her.

He made a silent promise to himself then, as Rhysand and Azriel discussed their next steps. He would help Y/N, no matter the cost. He would break down every wall she put up and stand by her side, no matter what secrets she was hiding.

And he would destroy that curse.

No matter what.

Y/N had stayed home that day, too drained from the previous night's performance to do anything. The aftermath of the curse's flare-up weighed heavily on her, making her body feel as though it were made of stone, stiff and unyielding.

The soft knock at the door startled her, breaking her thoughts.

At first, she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it. Who could be visiting her now? No one knew she lived here. But when the knock came again, more insistent this time, she stood up, her joints stiff from the prolonged rest.

When she opened the door, her breath caught in her throat.

There, at her doorstep, sat a wicker basket overflowing with fresh flowers, soft pastel-colored ribbons, and a few food items carefully packed inside. A small folded note lay atop it, written in a familiar scrawl that made her chest tighten.

For the lovely pianist who fills the air with music and beauty. I hope this helps lift your spirits, even if just for a moment. – Cassian.

She stood there for a long moment, staring at the basket. The warmth of the gesture caught her off guard. No one had ever thought to do something like this for her—no one but him. He had noticed her, understood her silence, and cared enough to leave a piece of himself behind. Her fingers hovered over the note, and her heart fluttered uncomfortably.

With a hesitant glance around, she wondered if he was nearby, but there was no sign of him. A pang of disappointment stung her chest at the thought. Still, she couldn’t help but smile softly, touched by his kindness.

She bent down to gather the basket and gently set it inside. But as she stood up, a sharp pain suddenly pierced her chest, causing her breath to catch. She staggered back, feeling the familiar sense of weight pressing down on her. The curse—no, the power within her was shifting again.

She tried to take a breath, but it wasn’t enough. Her vision swam, and the world tilted. She tried to steady herself, but her knees buckled beneath her.

Not now. Not like this…

Her heart pounded as the curse flared again, relentless and painful, constricting her chest, filling her throat with invisible hands. She collapsed to the ground, her fingers clutching her chest in a desperate attempt to find air. Please, please, just let me breathe.

Her efforts were futile as her body gave way to the pain and darkness swallowed her whole.

Cassian grinned to himself as he made his way down the stairs, his heart a little lighter than usual. He had been thinking about her all day, wondering how she would react to the little surprise he’d left for her. He hadn’t been sure at first whether it was a good idea—whether it was too forward—but something about Y/N made him want to show her he cared.

He had picked out the best flowers, the sweetest fruits, and a few small indulgences. Nothing extravagant, just a little something to brighten her day.

She deserves it, he thought with a satisfied smile. And maybe, just maybe, it will make her smile.

Cassian had wanted to be around when she opened the basket, to see the look on her face, but he had made sure to slip away quietly, vanishing into the shadows once he had left the gift on her doorstep. He would have stayed if he could, but he had a matter at hand that required his attention.

Still, the thought of her reaction kept him grinning as he made his way to the library. He was certain she would be happy—no one had ever done something like that for her, had they? He hoped it would at least make her feel a little less isolated, less burdened by the silence that seemed to weigh on her so heavily.

His thoughts were interrupted when a soft voice called from behind him, snapping him out of his musings.

“Cassian,” a priestess said, her hands extended, holding several large books on sign language. “I have the books you requested.” She also gestured toward a woman standing beside her, Mariella, who was mute. “Mariella is one of our own who uses sign language, and she has agreed to help you practice. These books will help you understand how to communicate with those who do not speak verbally.”

Cassian's eyes lit up with excitement. This was exactly what he had been waiting for. He had been eager to learn, not just to make things easier for Y/N, but because he wanted to understand her better—he wanted to make sure she didn’t feel alone.

I’ll learn. I’ll do whatever it takes, he promised himself.

“Thank you,” he said, his tone sincere as he accepted the books. His eyes brightened as he turned toward Mariella, smiling warmly at her. “This will be amazing. Thank you for agreeing to help me.”

Mariella smiled back, a quiet, appreciative expression.

As they got to work, Cassian found himself mentally back in his conversation with Y/N, still wondering how she was reacting to the gift. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of her face, her eyes when she received it.

But the thought of her now… it had been replaced by the quiet determination to learn sign language and help her, however he could.

Later on in the night, Cassian’s wings beat steadily as he soared through the skies. However, a strange sense of unease kept gnawing at him. It was almost as if the world had shifted in a way he couldn’t quite explain, and his instincts were bristling, urging him to check on her.

He had no logical reason for concern, but Cassian trusted his instincts more than anything. They’d never steered him wrong before.

As he circled above her home, the soft glow from the windows cast faint shadows on the ground below. But then something caught his eye—a rolling object, bouncing slowly down the steps. It was one of the apples he had chosen so carefully for her.

His heart skipped a beat.

The apple rolled out of sight, and for a moment, Cassian’s stomach tightened. The door was slightly ajar, just enough for him to notice. His pulse quickened. Something was wrong. His wings angled downward, the urgency within him rising as the doors of his mind swung wide open. Every muscle in his body screamed at him to land, to investigate.

He descended rapidly, his feet hitting the ground just in time for him to notice a sense of stillness in the air. There was no movement, no light from inside the house. His protective instincts flared to life, and his fists clenched at his sides. Something wasn’t right.

Cassian approached the door slowly, his eyes scanning for any sign of movement. He pushed the door open, the creak of the hinges louder than usual in the silence of the night.

His gaze landed on her almost instantly.

Y/N lay unmoving on the floor, her body curled slightly, her face pale and twisted in pain. The air around her seemed heavier than usual, thick with the weight of whatever curse plagued her. Cassian’s heart slammed against his ribcage as he rushed forward, his breath coming faster, his body charged with alarm.

“No, no, no,” he muttered to himself as he knelt beside her, panic threatening to seize him. Her chest barely rose and fell, her lips a faint shade of blue. He could see the signs of the curse’s latest flare-up, the way her breathing was shallow, her body fighting against an invisible force.

Cassian’s hands trembled as he carefully placed them on her shoulders, lifting her slightly to check for any obvious injuries. His mind raced, furious that she was alone like this, that he hadn’t been there sooner. He couldn’t let her die like this. Not after everything.

“Y/N!” His voice was hoarse, desperation lacing each word. “Come on, breathe. I need you to fight.”

She remained still, her eyelids flickering but not opening. Cassian’s jaw tightened in frustration, helplessness gnawing at his insides. His mind, usually so sharp and clear, was clouded with a thousand thoughts. He needed to focus. He needed to help her.

He closed his eyes for a moment, his anger and concern swirling inside him. Without thinking twice, he reached out mentally to Rhysand and Azriel, his thoughts flooding with worry.

Rhys, Az, something’s happened—Y/N’s in trouble. She’s—she’s unconscious, and her curse flared up again. She’s not breathing properly, and I can’t—

His words were cut off as Rhys’s calm voice echoed in his mind. Cassian, calm down. I have already talked with Helion to have hids libraries be searched for a solution. Priestesses are also hard at work. Keep her safe. Azriel, keep an eye (ora shadow) out for her. Send anyone to be near her house at all times.

Cassian could feel the protective power of Rhys’s words even across the distance. He had to stay calm. But the frustration clawed at him.

Cassian’s gaze softened as he sat down next to her, careful not to disturb her fragile form. His mind was filled with both anger and a deep sense of helplessness. I won’t let this continue, Rhys. I’ll break this curse, I swear it.

Azriel’s voice cut through, quieter but filled with the same sense of urgency. We’ll figure it out. Just don’t leave her side, Cassian. Don’t do anything reckless.

Cassian nodded, though he knew they couldn’t see him. He couldn’t even bring himself to speak out loud as his emotions swirled. I’ll keep her safe. I’ll do whatever it takes.

Rhys’ mental presence was still strong, his voice calm but resolute. Cassian, when she wakes, we’ll help you with this. If she’s willing, maybe she’ll want to come back to the House of Wind with you. It will be safer for her there, with Azriel and Nesta. You know what we can do to help.

Cassian’s thoughts were consumed with a flurry of emotions—protectiveness, desperation, frustration. I just need her to be okay. Please let her be okay.

Rhys’ voice softened. I know, Cassian. We’ll do everything we can. Stay with her. We’ll be there shortly.

Cassian’s mental communication with Rhys and Azriel ceased, but the weight of their words lingered. I’ll keep her safe.He repeated it over and over in his head, willing it to be true.

Minutes felt like hours. His eyes stayed glued to Y/N, unwilling to blink for fear that something would happen while his gaze was turned. Every time her chest moved with a shallow breath, he sighed in relief. But that wasn’t enough. He needed her to wake up, to be okay. He would do whatever it took.

Suddenly, a shift in the air. He noticed her chest rise higher, her breath deepening, and a soft flutter of her eyelids. His heart surged in his chest, hope blooming.

Her eyes slowly opened, unfocused at first. Cassian was at her side in an instant, his hand hovering near her but not quite touching her. The moment his gaze met hers, everything else ceased to exist.

Her breath was still shaky, but she was alive. Her eyes locked onto his, a mixture of confusion and fear flickering in them as she tried to process what had just happened. Cassian’s chest tightened as he stared into her wide, silent eyes. His hand reached out, brushing a lock of hair from her face, the tenderness in his touch matching the softness in his heart.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, “You’re safe now.”

She blinked slowly, and Cassian felt a sense of relief wash over him.

But there was still so much to be done. Cassian felt his determination rise again, a wave of protectiveness flooding through him. He was going to fix this. He wouldn’t let her suffer anymore.

Rhys’ voice echoed faintly in his mind. Let us know what happens, Cassian.

Y/N was tucked into her bed, the soft lamplight casting a warm glow across the room. Cassian sat beside her, a steaming cup of tea in hand. His broad shoulders were hunched slightly, his focus entirely on her as he gently held the cup to her lips. She hesitated for a moment, her gaze flickering to his before taking a small sip.

The tea was soothing, and she leaned back against the pillows with a faint, grateful smile. Cassian set the cup aside, his hazel eyes watching her with a mix of concern and determination.

The silence stretched between them until he finally broke it. “I feel really uneasy leaving you here alone,” he admitted, his voice low but steady. “Rhys has already promised to have someone stationed near your house at all times to ensure your safety. But...” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, his wings shifting slightly behind him. “I’d feel a lot better if you came with me to the House of Wind. It’s safer there.”

Y/N blinked, her brows knitting together in surprise. She reached for the notepad on her bedside table and scribbled a quick response before holding it up for him to read.

Rhys? As in Rhysand? The High Lord?

Cassian chuckled softly, a small smile breaking through his worry. “Yes, Rhysand. The High Lord himself.”

Her cheeks turned pink as she quickly wrote her next message. I’m honored, truly, but I wouldn’t want to be a burden or an inconvenience.

Cassian’s expression softened, but there was a hint of exasperation in his tone. “Nonsense. You could never be a burden, Y/N. We’ve all already agreed it’s the best place for you.”

But Y/N wasn’t convinced. She shook her head and scribbled another note. No. I don’t belong there. I’m just... me. No one needs me there.

Before Cassian could respond, her body suddenly tensed. Her hands flew to her throat, her face contorting in pain as her chest heaved. The curse struck again, sharp and unrelenting. She clenched her eyes shut, her fingers digging into his arm as she gasped for air.

“Y/N!” Cassian exclaimed, moving closer to steady her. His hands hovered protectively over her, his voice softening. “Breathe through it. I’ve got you. Just hold on.”

The wave of pain subsided after what felt like an eternity, leaving her slumped against the pillows, her breaths shallow but steady. Cassian’s jaw tightened as he watched her, his heart breaking at the sight of her suffering.

He took a deep breath, his tone firm but gentle. “You know what? I’m sorry if what I said earlier sounded like a question. You’re coming with me, Y/N. No way in hell am I leaving you here to deal with this on your own.”

Y/N weakly grabbed her notepad, her hands trembling as she scribbled, No. I’m too shy. It is not a place for me.

Cassian gently pried the notepad from her hands, his gaze unwavering. “That’s where you’re wrong. You do belong there, and we do need you. And if anyone has the audacity to make you feel otherwise, I’ll personally make sure they regret it.”

Her lips twitched at his vehemence, a tiny smile breaking through despite her exhaustion.

Cassian smirked, leaning closer. “Besides, Rhys, Feyre, Az, and even Nesta have already agreed. They’re looking forward to having you there. So, like I said—this isn’t a question.”

She gave him a pointed look, writing a quick response. You’re stubborn.

“And you’re just figuring that out?” he teased, his grin widening.

I don’t want to trouble anyone, she wrote, her expression earnest.

Cassian sighed, his tone softening. “Y/N, you’re not trouble. You’re family now, whether you like it or not. And families look out for each other.”

Her eyes softened at his words, the weight of her resistance crumbling under his steady resolve. With a small sigh, she finally nodded.

Cassian’s face lit up with a triumphant smile. “Good. I promise you won’t regret this. Don’t worry about your things—I’ll have them sent to the House of Wind. For now, just focus on feeling better. We’ll leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Y/N gave him a faint smile, her eyes fluttering shut as exhaustion pulled at her. Cassian leaned back in his chair, his watchful gaze never leaving her as she drifted off.

“Don’t worry, Y/N,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

The wind whipped against her face as Cassian flew them toward the House of Wind, the towering mountain structure growing larger with every passing moment. His arms were strong and steady around her, his warmth cutting through the chill of the high altitude. She clung to him, not out of fear but because the contact sent an unfamiliar flutter through her chest.

There was something about him—his presence, his strength—that made her feel safe. For the first time in what felt like years, she could breathe, even if the air up here was thin. She stole a glance at his profile as they soared higher, his sharp jawline and focused gaze drawing her in. Her pulse quickened, and she quickly looked away, chastising herself for the strange butterflies stirring within her.

When they landed at the House of Wind, she was momentarily struck silent—not that she could speak anyway—by the sheer beauty of it. The sprawling structure perched atop the mountain radiated elegance and power. Cassian set her down gently, his hands lingering for a moment before he stepped back.

“This way,” he said, gesturing for her to follow him inside.

The grand doors opened, and the entire Inner Circle was waiting for her. Rhysand stood at the forefront with Feyre by his side, both of them emanating an aura of warmth and authority. Behind them, Azriel leaned casually against a wall, his shadows curling around him, while Mor, Amren, Nesta, and Elain stood nearby.

Rhysand’s gaze softened as it landed on her. He stepped forward, his tone gentle. “Welcome, Y/N. This is your home now, for as long as you wish it to be.”

She nodded quickly, clutching her notepad tightly, unsure of how else to respond.

Feyre smiled kindly. “We’re so glad you’re here. If there’s anything you need—anything at all—please don’t hesitate to let us know.”

The others chimed in with their greetings, each of them offering warm or curious words of welcome. Mor’s grin was wide and infectious, while Amren’s sharp eyes seemed to assess her with a quiet intensity. Elain gave her a soft smile, and Nesta... well, Nesta simply nodded, but even that felt like an acknowledgment.

But it was Rhysand’s words that lingered the longest. “I know you’ve endured much,” he said, his voice quieter now, almost reverent. “You survived Amarantha’s cruelty, and that alone makes you stronger than you realize. You have nothing to prove to us, Y/N. You’re safe here.”

Her throat tightened at his words, and she quickly scribbled a note: Thank you for your kindness. I’ll do my best not to be a burden.

Rhys shook his head, a faint smile on his lips. “You’re no burden. You’re family now.”

The weight of his words made her chest ache—not from pain, but from an emotion she hadn’t felt in a long time.

Cassian stepped forward, breaking the moment. “Come on. I’ll show you to your room.”

She followed him silently, the noise of the others fading as they ascended a set of stairs. Her heart pounded as they walked down a hallway, stopping in front of a door. Cassian grinned, gesturing to the room beside it. “That’s my room, so if you need anything, I’m just next door.”

He opened her door, revealing a cozy, sunlit space with a plush bed, a small sitting area, and a window that offered a breathtaking view of Velaris. She stepped inside, still clutching her notepad, and turned to thank him.

Before she could write anything, Cassian spoke. “I promise to help you find a way to get rid of this curse, one way or another.”

Her eyes widened, the notepad slipping slightly from her grasp.

He shrugged, his voice softening. “Rhys told me. About Amarantha. About what she did to you. I... I’m sorry you had to go through that. But you’re not alone anymore. We’ll figure it out together.”

Her hands trembled as she wrote: No one can break it. It’s killing me slowly. There’s no way to stop it.

Cassian’s expression hardened, his hazel eyes blazing with determination as he clenched and unclenched his fists. “We’ll see about that,” he said firmly. “I don’t care what it takes or how impossible it seems. I’m not giving up on you.”

She stared at him, stunned by his resolve. The smallest of smiles tugged at her lips as she nodded, though deep down, a bitter truth whispered that his promise was futile.

“Get some rest,” Cassian said, his voice softening again. “Your things will be brought up soon. And if you need anything—anything at all—you know where to find me.”

She nodded again, watching as he left the room. The door clicked shut behind him, and she sank onto the bed, her heart heavy with both hope and despair.

No one could break the curse. Not even Cassian.

And yet, as she closed her eyes, that flicker of warmth he’d left behind refused to extinguish.

Cassian stood in Rhysand’s office with Azriel and Rhys, poring over books and scrolls. Every lead they had on Amarantha’s curses turned into a dead end.

Unfortunately, all was same on Helion's side as well as his librarians kept searching nonstop for a cure.

“She wasn’t just cruel,” Rhys said, his voice tight with anger. “She was meticulous. Every curse she created was designed to last.”

Azriel’s shadows swirled around him. “There must be something she overlooked. No curse is perfect.”

Cassian slammed a book shut. “I don’t care what it takes. I’m not letting her suffer like this. We’ve fought gods before—we’ll find a way.”

Rhys placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll keep looking. But Cassian... don’t let this consume you.”

Cassian didn’t reply, his jaw clenched as he flipped open another book.

Cassian and Y/N sat in the training ring, the sun casting a golden glow over the House of Wind. The faint rustle of the wind filled the quiet as he stretched his legs out, his wings half-spread to soak in the warmth. She sat cross-legged beside him, her notepad resting on her lap, though her pen hovered uncertainly above the page.

He gestured toward the notepad. “You’ve got a real talent there,” he said, nodding toward a detailed sketch of the training ring she’d been working on earlier. “Did you always draw, or is it something you picked up along the way?”

She glanced at him, hesitant, before jotting down her response: I started as a child. It helped me stay calm.

“Smart,” he said, leaning back on his hands. “Az used to say the same thing about throwing knives. Something to focus on, to drown out the noise.”

Her lips twitched, and she wrote: Knives sound less calming.

Cassian laughed, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. “Fair point. I guess drawing is a bit more peaceful.” He tilted his head, watching her as she added shading to a corner of the sketch. “What do you draw when you’re not sketching stuff like this?”

She paused, chewing on her lip, before scribbling: Dreams. Things I’ll never have.

His expression softened, his hazel eyes darkening as he studied her. “Dreams aren’t things you can’t have. They’re just things you don’t have yet.”

Her hand stilled over the page, and she looked at him, surprised.

He shrugged. “I’m not saying it’s easy. But look at me—grew up with nothing. No family, no home, no future. Now I’ve got people who’d go to the ends of the earth for me, a family who fights for me, a place to call mine. If I can get all that, anyone can.”

She looked down at her notepad, her fingers brushing the edge of the page as if considering his words. Finally, she scribbled: Maybe one day.

Cassian grinned. “Maybe one day,” he echoed. “But don’t think I won’t keep trying to convince you sooner.”

She rolled her eyes at his persistence, but a faint smile tugged at her lips.

“See? There it is,” he teased, pointing at her face.

Her brows furrowed, and she tilted her head in question.

“That smile,” he clarified, his voice softening. “I knew it was hiding somewhere.”

She shook her head, amused despite herself, and started to sketch again.

Cassian leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You don’t have to be shy around me, you know,” he said gently. “I’d like to know more about you, too.”

She hesitated, her pen hovering over the page, before finally writing: Maybe one day.

“Fair enough,” he said with a nod, his grin playful but understanding. “But just so you know, I’m a pretty patient guy. I’ve got all the time in the world to wait.”

Y/N found herself slowly being drawn into the Inner Circle’s orbit. With Feyre they painted together in the studio, Feyre encouraging her to express herself through colors and strokes. Y/N’s hesitation faded as the canvas filled with soft, sweeping lines.

Mor dragged her into town, insisting on a day of shopping and laughter. Y/N couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped her when Mor modeled a particularly outrageous dress.Amren’s bluntness surprised her, but it was oddly comforting. They shared a quiet afternoon, Amren reading while Y/N sketched, the silence feeling more like companionship than solitude. Elain introduced her to gardening, showing her how to tend to the delicate blooms in the House of Wind’s gardens. Y/N found the gentle work soothing.

Nesta and Y/N shared an unspoken understanding, a connection forged in the quiet echoes of pain neither could fully articulate.

One afternoon, Nesta found her in the library, seated at a secluded table, surrounded by stacks of books she was carefully sorting. Y/N’s notepad lay beside her, already filled with scribbled notes. The soft glow of sunlight streaming through the high windows illuminated her focused expression.

Nesta hesitated at first, then pulled out a chair and sat across from her. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken truths. Finally, Nesta spoke, her voice quiet but steady. “You don’t have to explain. I know what it’s like to carry something you think no one else can understand.”

Y/N stilled, her pen pausing mid-note. She lifted her gaze to meet Nesta’s, her eyes glassy with unshed tears. Slowly, she reached for her notepad and wrote: Thank you.

Nesta’s lips twitched into the faintest smile, one that carried no judgment, only understanding. She reached across the table, her fingers brushing Y/N’s hand before resting over it gently. “You’re not alone anymore,” she said, her tone firm, a quiet strength underpinning her words. “None of us are.”

For a moment, Y/N stared at her, as though weighing the truth in those words. Then, almost reluctantly, she nodded.

Nesta leaned back slightly, her fingers lingering a moment longer before she let go. “This place,” she said, gesturing vaguely to the library around them, “it helped me. Gave me something to hold onto when I didn’t want to hold onto anything. If you ever need that—or someone to just sit with you—I’ll be here.”

Y/N’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile, and she quickly wrote: That means more than I can say.

Nesta smirked, her eyes glinting with a hint of her usual fire. “Good thing I’m pretty good at reading between the lines.”

Y/N huffed a silent laugh, the soundless gesture enough to make Nesta’s chest tighten with an unfamiliar warmth.

Cassian found Y/N on the balcony overlooking Velaris, the city sparkling like a sea of stars beneath the night sky. She sat curled in a chair, her sketchbook balanced on her knees as she worked quietly, the gentle breeze tousling her hair.

He approached her slowly, his footsteps deliberately soft so as not to startle her. When she looked up, offering him a small smile, she reached instinctively for her notepad.

Before she could grab it, Cassian crouched down beside her, gently taking her hand to stop her. “Wait,” he said softly.

She blinked at him, puzzled, as he raised his hands and began to sign. It was slow, a little clumsy, but unmistakable: I’ve been practicing. For you.

Y/N froze, her eyes going wide with shock. Her sketchbook slid forgotten onto her lap as she stared at him. Tears welled in her eyes, and her hands trembled as she lifted them to sign back: You learned this? For me?

Cassian nodded, a small, warm smile curving his lips. “I told you,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I’m not giving up on you. Not now, not ever.”

Her hands flew to her mouth as a soft, soundless gasp escaped her. Overwhelmed, she couldn’t stop the tears that spilled down her cheeks.

Cassian stood, closing the small distance between them, and held his arms open. She hesitated for only a heartbeat before stepping into him, her face pressing against his chest as his strong arms wrapped around her.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured, his voice steady but filled with emotion as he gently stroked her back. “We’ll figure it out, together. I promise.”

Y/N pulled back just enough to look up at him, her face a mixture of disbelief and gratitude. Slowly, she raised her hands again, signing haltingly but clearly: Thank you. For seeing me.

Cassian smiled down at her, his thumb brushing away a stray tear on her cheek. “I’ll always see you.”

In that quiet moment, with the stars above and the city below, the weight she carried felt just a little lighter. For the first time in a long while, hope bloomed in her chest.

The warm breeze from the open window carried the scent of fresh flowers into the room. Cassian leaned against the doorframe, watching Y/N as she carefully sketched in her notebook. There was a serenity to her today, a softness that he cherished. It had been two months since she’d arrived at the House of Wind, and though she had remained largely quiet, there were moments like this when she seemed to open up, even if only a little.

After a long silence, Y/N set her pencil down and reached for her notepad. Cassian raised an eyebrow in curiosity, but she didn’t look up at him right away. Instead, her fingers moved quickly, and then she held it up for him to see.

I grew up in the Summer Court, the words read, the ink delicate and precise.

Cassian’s heart warmed at the thought. “The Summer Court,” he repeated softly, stepping closer to her. He could tell this was a rare piece of herself she was offering him, so he knelt beside her, giving her the space to continue.

She glanced up at him, her eyes shy but filled with quiet hope, as though she was wondering if he would judge her. But Cassian’s expression was one of kindness, and he smiled gently.

Y/N signed again, the fluid movements of her hands capturing his full attention. “It was beautiful there. The sea, the sand, the sunsets... everything felt warm. My people, they love the light.” She paused, biting her lip, before adding, I loved the sunsets most of all.

Cassian’s smile widened, feeling a gentle tug on his heart at the thought of her happy memories. “I can only imagine. I bet the sunsets there are unlike anything I’ve seen.”

She nodded, her smile small but genuine, as though she was reliving those moments in her mind. The sunsets were perfect, painted in the most beautiful shades of gold and pink. They made everything feel peaceful... like nothing could ever go wrong.

Cassian sat beside her then, watching the sun dip low outside the window, as if honoring the memory she was sharing. He could almost picture it—the rolling waves, the warm sands, the endless horizon stretching before her.

“What happened to your home?” he asked quietly, not wanting to push her but also eager to understand more of her story.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, her fingers brushing over the notepad again. Then she signed softly, her voice barely a whisper, even though her words were silent. It’s gone now. The court… it's not the same anymore. I haven’t been back since.

Cassian’s heart tightened at the quiet sorrow that passed over her features. She didn’t have to say more. He could feel the weight of her loss in her gaze.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low and filled with sincerity. “You didn’t deserve that.”

She gave him a small, grateful smile, one that spoke volumes. It wasn’t pity she sought, but understanding. And he gave it to her, without question.

With a soft exhale, Y/N wrote one last thing before turning the notepad to him: I don’t miss the court, not anymore. But I miss the peace. The quiet beauty of it all.

Cassian nodded, understanding more than she could know. He had lost so much in his own life, pieces of himself, pieces of those he loved. But this, her willingness to share her memories—her pain, too—made him feel closer to her than ever.

“I’ll make sure you have peace again,” he said, his voice firm with the promise. “It might take time, but I’ll make sure you find it.”

Y/N’s eyes softened at his words, and for the briefest moment, it felt like the entire world outside was forgotten. Just them, in this quiet corner of the House of Wind, two souls bonding over shared moments of pain and hope.

And in that moment, Cassian couldn’t help but believe that maybe, just maybe, they both had a chance at healing.

It was another one of those nights.

The pain struck without warning, a searing, unbearable wave that made her knees buckle. Y/N collapsed to the floor, clutching her throat as her vision swam. Her breaths came in shallow, ragged gasps, her fingers clawing at the air as if she could wrench the agony from her body.

Cassian, asleep just a room away, jolted awake. Something primal, something tethered to her, pulled him to her side. He burst into her room within seconds, shirtless and frantic, his wings slightly flaring as he skidded to a halt beside her.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice laced with panic. He dropped to his knees, gathering her trembling form into his arms as though he could shield her from whatever torment was tearing her apart.

Her lips parted, struggling to form words, but no sound came. Her hands scrabbled weakly at his arm, nails digging into his skin as the pain wracked her body. Tears streamed down her face, and Cassian swore he felt every single one like a knife to his chest.

“Stay with me,” he pleaded, his hand cradling the back of her head while the other pressed against her back, grounding her. “I’ve got you. You’re going to be okay. Just breathe with me.”

The wave finally passed, leaving her limp and gasping for air. Y/N’s trembling fingers moved weakly, forming signs that he had painstakingly learned: It’s okay.

“No,” he said, his voice raw with emotion. He gripped her face gently, forcing her to meet his eyes. “It’s not okay. This—this isn’t okay, and I’m not letting it win. Do you hear me?” His voice cracked at the end, betraying the storm of emotions raging inside him.

Her wide, glassy eyes filled with fresh tears as she shook her head, trying to offer him reassurance. Her hands moved again, slower this time: It’s not your fault.

Cassian let out a bitter laugh, his jaw tightening. “Maybe not, but I’ll be damned if I sit here and do nothing while this thing—whatever it is—tries to take you from me.”

He pulled her closer, holding her like she was the most fragile thing in the world, his calloused hands gentle as they rubbed soothing circles on her back. “We’ll figure this out,” he murmured, his voice softer now but no less determined. “I swear to you, Y/N. I don’t care what it takes or who I have to fight—I won’t stop until you’re free of this.”

Y/N let her head rest against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat a comfort amidst the storm. Her fingers moved again, shakily signing one last message before exhaustion pulled her under: Thank you.

Cassian tightened his hold, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Always,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with a fierce, unyielding promise.

One evening, as they sat on the balcony overlooking Velaris, Y/N signed to Cassian, Why do you do all this for me? You don’t even know me that well.

Cassian smiled, his expression soft but firm. He signed back, Because you deserve to live. To laugh, to dream, to be free of this pain. And because you’ve already shown me how strong you are.

Her chest tightened, and she looked away, blinking back tears.

Fourth months had passed.

Y/N lay in her bed, her skin sweating and her breathing shallow. The curse had taken almost everything from her now—her strength, her laughter, even the small moments of peace she used to find in music or her notepad.

Cassian sat at her side, his large hands cradling her frail one. His thumb brushed over her knuckles as if he could keep her tethered to life through sheer will alone. Around them, the rest of the Inner Circle moved with frantic determination. Healers came and went, their faces grim, their efforts fruitless.

Rhys stood by the window, his jaw clenched so tightly it looked like it might crack. Feyre sat beside him, her hand resting on his arm as silent tears streamed down her face. Amren, Nesta, Elain, and Mor lingered nearby, each offering words of comfort or soft reassurances, though they all knew the truth: they were running out of time.

Cassian couldn’t take his eyes off Y/N. Just two months ago, she had been vibrant, defiant even, as she poured her soul into music on that stage. Now, she was a shadow of herself, her once-bright eyes dulled by exhaustion and pain.

"She doesn't deserve this," Cassian muttered, his voice raw as he stared at her fragile form. "Not after everything she’s been through. Not after everything she’s given."

Rhys turned, his violet eyes heavy with sorrow. “We’ve found something,” he said quietly. “But it’s…complicated.”

Cassian’s head snapped up, hope and fear warring in his expression. “What do you mean?”

Feyre stepped forward, holding a worn piece of parchment. “We got this sent to us by Helion only an hour ago, me and Rhys were contemplating if we should reveal it or not but....the curse can be broken, but it will cost her… everything. All her memories. Her connection to us. To you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“She’ll live and have her voice back,” Feyre continued, her voice trembling. “But she won’t remember any of it—any of us. It’ll be as if none of this ever happened.”

Cassian’s heart plummeted. The thought of Y/N forgetting him, forgetting the bond they had formed, the trust she had placed in him—it felt like a dagger to his chest. He turned to look at her, only to find her watching him with tears in her eyes.

She reached for her notepad with trembling fingers, but the strength to write eluded her. Instead, she signed weakly: No. I don’t want it. I’d rather die… with the memories of you all. Of you, Cassian.

Cassian’s throat tightened as he shook his head, tears blurring his vision. “Don’t say that,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “You don’t have to do this. There’s still time.”

She smiled faintly, a fragile, heartbreaking thing. Thank you for all the kindness, she signed slowly. For giving me a glimpse of what life could be like. I never thought I could know true happiness after fifty years under Amarantha’s reign. But you… all of you… showed me otherwise.

Her gaze softened as it settled on Cassian, her fingers signing once more: You showed me love.

Cassian’s chest heaved with silent sobs as he grasped her hand, pressing it to his forehead. “No. Don’t do this, Y/N. Please. Don’t leave me.”

Y/N cupped his cheek with her other hand, her touch featherlight. Her lips moved, forming silent words he couldn’t hear but understood all the same. Thank you for everything.

He broke then, his tears falling freely. “I can’t let you go,” he whispered. “I won’t.”

Her eyes fluttered closed, her strength fading fast. The room blurred around Cassian as he made his decision.

“Forgive me, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice trembling. Then, with shaking hands, he activated the spell, pouring everything into saving her.

The magic surged, golden light enveloping her frail body as her memories began to unravel. Y/N’s eyes snapped open, confusion and betrayal flooding them as she looked at him one last time.

Her lips moved soundlessly, forming the question: Why?

Cassian choked back a sob as he pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Because I couldn’t lose you,” he whispered.

He pressed his trembling hands over Y/N’s chest, activating the ancient spell with the force of every ounce of his heart. The room filled with a brilliant, blinding light as magic surged through the air.

Y/N’s body jerked beneath his hands, her face contorting with pain as the curse began to unwind. The energy flowed around her like a storm, unraveling the threads of her torment—yet with each passing moment, something else began to shift. Her memories—those precious fragments of time they had shared—began to fade, slowly, one by one.

The Inner Circle stood at a distance, their faces stricken with grief as they watched. Rhys, Feyre, and the others could do nothing but wait.

Cassian’s heart pounded in his chest as he leaned over Y/N, his hands desperate to hold on. But as the light dimmed, he saw the subtle change in her expression. Her eyes—those bright, compassionate eyes that had once held so much for him—began to dull.

Y/N’s hand slowly slid from his, her fingers uncurling like a wilting flower. Her eyes fluttered closed as the magic worked deeper, erasing all traces of what had been. Every shared moment, every laugh, every whisper between them vanished, slipping through his fingers like sand.

Cassian felt the bond—their bond—dissolving, piece by piece, until nothing remained. His chest tightened, each heartbeat a painful reminder of what he was losing. She wasn’t gone… yet. But she might as well have been.

The spell continued its work, erasing Y/N’s memories, her connection to him, the love and connection they were slowly but surely building together. The warmth of their bond faded into nothingness, until all that was left was a hollow silence between them.

Cassian held her limp hand, his tears falling freely as the truth settled within him: He had saved her life, but in doing so, he had lost her. The Y/N who had laughed and loved and held him close was gone. In her place was someone who would never remember the bond they shared.

He could feel her slipping away from him, the last remnants of her fading.

And with that, her memories were gone.

Her bond with Cassian disappeared permanently as her memories of him were wiped away, leaving only the emptiness of a connection that would never be made again.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

[confused-rat]

A Rat’s List of 50 Villain’s that had a Point

So beforehand, here’s Lily’s dumbass fucking rules for the list. 

Have a point 

Successfully navigate still being a villain

Are written well

From other lists I’ve seen, I think some people have either misinterpreted or ignored the “have a point” bit. (Or maybe I have.) Having a point means the villain was correct on a certain issue, but otherwise failed with their handling of it. (Leading to the second rule, is still a villain despite having a valid point.) So I’m going to try and explain what issue each villain I’ve listed was correct on, and why they’re still a villain. 

But I’m also ignoring rule 3. Because it’s stupid. ☺️ Spoilers inbound.

Ardyn Izunia, FFXV — The point, the gods ruined his life and to correct their mistakes, set up a prophecy that would ruin/kill countless other lives in the process, forcing everyone into roles they had not consented to. Why he’s still the villain, lost himself in the role he was forced into, killing needlessly and mentally torturing others for the dramatics. 

Emet-Selch, FFXIV — The point, the world is a fractured existence, where its inhabitants live infinitely shorter and arguably strife-filled lives, their souls 1/14 of what they originally were. Reality itself is broken. Why he’s still a villain, mortals still have the right to live and better themselves and if fixing the world means mass genocide across 14 different versions of reality, maybe let it stay broken?

Nidhogg, FFXIV — The point, the Ishgardians renege on their alliance and unjustly slew his sister for power, eventually rewriting their own history to place the blame on the dragons to justify their centuries long war. Why he’s still bad, genocide is never the answer. Also was just tossing hatchlings out to war to satisfy his own hatred.

Zodiark, FFXIV — The point, was created to stop the end of the world. Did that. Quite successfully for thousands of years. Why was it still bad though? Because it was gonna sacrifice millions to fulfill the wishes of its summoners after the fact. (See: Emet-Selch)

Vayne & Venat, FFXII — The point, humanity was being controlled by fantasy mindflayers, who routinely destroyed nations to keep their status quo. Vayne and Venat wished to free humanity from them, unfortunately, they decided to do that by invading and conquering other countries and killing thousands. 

Megatron, TFA — The point, Cybertron created his people as a slave race for war and denied them basic rights. Why is he still a villain, thinks colonizing and genocide is needed to provide for his people.

Megatron, IDW — The point, Cybertron’s government was a functionalistic hellscape where dissent was punished with anything from brainwashing to amputation. Why is he still a villain, lost the plot and murdered millions, innocents who were victims of the same system he was, eventually was guilty of the same crimes as the people he originally fought against.

Megatron, TFP — The point, another functionalist society, one where dissenters were sent to gladiator pits. Why is he still a villain, became essentially a terrorist when he bombed a theme park and later whole cities, again murdering fellow victims. 

Silco, Arcane — The point, despite being ruled by the same government, the Undercity received no support from Piltover and was left poverty stricken and oppressed. Zaun deserved its independence. Silco, however, is a drug lord, so he’s still a villain.

Count Dooku, Star Wars — The point, the Jedi Council and Republic were actually corrupt. Why he’s still the villain, worked with the absolute worst person in the galaxy. He tried to fight fire with an active volcano, very not smart.

The Architect, Dragon Age: Awakening — The point, was trying to give darkspawn and other blighted creatures back their self-awareness and control, eventually stopping the Blights entirely. Why he’s still the villain, abducted Grey Wardens to drain of blood and experiment on to achieve his goals. 

Teyrn Logain, Dragon Age: Origins — The point, Orlais was actually trying to secretly conquer Fereldan through a political marriage to King Cailan. Why he’s still the villain, let hundreds of his own people die to secure the throne, including the Grey Wardens, who had nothing to do with Orlais’ plans. 

Solas, Dragon Age: Inquisition — THE POINT, WHICH HE DID HAVE, both times he fucked with the Veil, he was trying to essentially stop an unjust social hierarchal system that supported slavery. Why he’s still the villain, he admitted it would likely kill a lot of people and we do not want that actually? 

Handsome Jack, Borderlands 2 — The point, Pandora is FUCKED. It needs some kind of intervention, people are wearing face masks made of FACES. Why he’s still a villain, it’s. It’s Handsome Jack? He airlocks people for fun, and that’s TAME compared to the other shit he’s done. 

Colonel T. Zarpedon, Borderlands the Pre-Sequel — The point, wanted to prevent the powers of the Vault from being misused. (Points at Borderlands 2 and 3) How she’s still the villain, decides to blow up the moon and all the people on it to do so.

Akechi Goro, Persona 5 — The point, Shido was a vile person who appeared to be above the law as he used his influence to ruin countless lives. Why Goro’s still the villain, murdering innocents in a long-con revenge plot isn’t justified. 

Louis Guiabern, Metaphor: Refantazio — The point, he’s essentially trying to end fantasy racism. Why he’s still bad, his solution to ending said fantasy racism is nonconsensual body modification on a worldwide scale. 

The Flame Emperor, Fire Emblem: Three Houses — The point, the church was corrupt and allowed atrocities to be committed to meet its status quo. Working with arguably worse people (reluctantly) and allowing other atrocities to occur to defeat said church is still bad though.

Miquella, Elden Ring — The point, the Golden Order is flawed and shunned many of the Lands’ Between’s inhabitants. Why he’s still the villain, you can’t brainwash an entire country into being nice, that’s insane. 

Shadowlord, Nier: Gestalt/Replicant — The point, oh man, where do I fucking begin? Shades are all just disembodied souls trying to reunite with their clone vessels. If they don’t reunite, said vessels will eventually die, as both are connected. Unfortunately, the clone vessels gained sentience, dooming humanity. The Shadowlord is just trying to save his daughter/sister, but he’s essentially sacrificing another version of her to do this with neither’s consent. No bueno. 

The Wicked Witch of the West, Wizard of Oz — The point, Dorothy totally did steal her sister’s shoes off her corpse. The death was accidental, but the theft was deliberate. Theft isn’t a murdering offense though, also Toto was just a dog? Wtf. Still a villain.  

The Gnome King, Return to Oz — The point, the Emerald City did in fact steal all his emeralds. Why he’s still the villain, sore loser. Tried to eat a child. 

Shere Khan, the Jungle Book (LA) — The point, mankind sucks. That is all…. Also the wolves totally broke the rules by keeping Mowgli, they could’ve just dropped him off at a village. Why he’s still the villain, preferred child murder to relocation. 

Maleficent, Sleeping Beauty — The point, you do not FUCK with the Fae? Don’t be rude? Why she’s a villain, did not stop after making her point. Sore loser. Cursed the baby instead of the rude parents. 

Ursula, the Little Mermaid — The point, technically, Ariel made a deal with the witch of her own free will. Why she’s still the villain, also a sore loser. Sabotaged Ariel to get the trident. Not a girls girl. Boo.

The Creature, Frankenstein — The point, was shunned and ostracized by literally everyone, including the man who created him, for something beyond his control. Victor owed him (child support). Why he’s still a villain, literally killed a child to spite his creator. He literally. Killed a child. And framed the nursemaid. To torment Victor. He also threatens all Victor’s friends and family, innocent people who had NO HAND in his creation. 

Dracula, Netflix’s Castlevania — The point, radical religious zealots killed his wife (and others) unprovoked. Why is he still a villain, did not stop at the zealots. (This iteration isn’t a predator, you empty-headed fuck ass, as a MLP enjoyer, you should understand the concept of MULTIPLE VERSIONS OF ONE CHARACTER??)

Lucian, Underworld Trilogy — The point, werewolves were slaves and fantasy racism got his lover and unborn child killed. Why he’s still the villain, kidnapped and helped experiment on countless people (who also died) to create a hybrid to facilitate his revenge. 

Red Queen, Resident Evil — The point, she was literally stopping the zombie infection from breaching contamination and destroying the entire world. Why she’s still the villain, told nobody, explained nothing, boom laser hallway. 

Ozymandias, Watchmen — The point, literally just watch the movie. Dude united global powers and ended a Cold War by creating a fake obstacle to scare them, but that’s bad because he killed a lot of people to do that. 

The Count, Gankutsuou — The point, he was unjustly convicted by three corrupt men who abused their positions of power and got away scott-free for years. Still bad because he dragged many innocent people into his revenge plot. Franz did NOT deserve all that. 

Knives, Trigun Stampede — The point, humanity destroyed their own planet and was actively using his people as portable life support batteries and slowly killing them. Why he’s still the villain, genocide is not a valid solution. 

Kyubey, Madoka Magica — Fuck you Lily, Kyubey isn’t a psychopath, it’s a manipulative little shit that doesn’t have humanity’s morals. The point, the universe is dying and they’re trying to stop that. Why they’re still the villain, their solution was the emotional and physical torture of children in a never-ending cycle of despair of death. 

Bandit King Bakura, Yu Gi Oh — The point, the then Pharaoh literally massacred his entire village to create the Millennium Items. Why he’s still the villain, once you fuse with a Great God of Evil, it’s kinda hard to argue for your continued righteous vengeance. 

Shōgo Makishima, Psycho Pass — The point, the Sybil System is flawed, criminalizing innocent people while letting dangerous sociopaths like him walk free (until they get brain jarred). Why he’s still the villain, he decided to demonstrate the system’s flaws by orchestrating so. many. murders. Like. So many. 

Luke Castellans, PJO — The point, the Gods didn’t care for their kids equally and left many to fend for themselves. Why he’s still the villain, trying to murder your fellow campers cause they won’t join your cause is bad actually. 

Medusa, PJO — The point, was unfairly cursed while Poseidon got away scott-free. Why she’s still DEFINITELY a villain, turns innocent people to stone, was gonna turn a child because she’s still not over her ex, getting dealt a raw hand doesn’t excuse CHILD MURDER. 

Poseidon, Odyssey — The point, Odysseus could’ve just avoided all this if he had just killed Poseidon’s son. 🤷 Why he’s still the villain, he would’ve raised the tides so high that all of Ithaca would’ve died, cause he had beef with ONE (1) MORTAL MAN. 

Lord Cutler Beckett, Pirates of the Caribbean — The point, uhhh. This may come as a surprise, but. Pirates… bad? Why he’s still a villain, he did not stop at pirates. Blackmailed and killed basically bystanders. ACAB. 

The Bane, The Underland Chronicles — The point, the Underlanders were originally a colonizing force that poisoned and killed the original inhabitants of the caves they took for their own. Why he’s still a villain, HE EATS PEOPLE? Many of the species underground are sentient and HE EATS THEM?

Tsaritsa/Fatui, Genshin Impact — The point, Celestia has a chokehold on humanity, controlling people’s fates and harshly punishing any dissent. They need to be stopped. Why they’re still villains, essentially is fighting fire with fire, manipulating Nations and experimenting on/killing folks to pursue their own goals to topple Celestia. 

Tsumugi Shirogane, Danganronpa V3 — The point, just doing her job, allegedly the entire class signed up willingly to play the Death Game. Why she’s still the villain, broke her own rules, also, cool motive, still murder?

Chris Walker, Outlast — The point, is trying to keep a highly dangerous swarm of nanites from breaking containment. Why he’s still the villain, does this by breaking others’ spines. And necks. And everything really.

Charioce XVII, Rage of Bahamut: Virgin Soul — The point, Bahamut is a world ending threat that almost succeeded two separate times in the past, and was guaranteed to awaken again in the imminent future to finish the job. Charioce wanted to stop it. However, waging a war with Heaven and enslaving the demon race to build a weapon to combat it was an awful way to go about it.

William Moriarty, Moriarty the Patriot — The point, England’s class system was allowing the rich to get away with absolutely abhorrent crimes. Murder is still murder though. 

Azure Lion, Lego Monkie Kid — The point, the celestial realm really doesn’t care about the mortal realm and is arguably very corrupt. Why he’s still a villain, broke the universe despite multiple people telling him to Not Do That. 

Toffee, SVTFOE — The point, wanted to get rid of magic, which kind of did fuck a lot of people over. Why he’s still the villain, child murder 🎶 is not 🎶 okay! 🎶

Oropo, Wakfu — The point, sought to replace seemingly uncaring gods with their abandoned offspring. Why he’s still the villain, was going to nuke the world to topple said gods. 

Julith, Dofus — The point, was unjustly framed for the murder of her lover because of fantasy racism. Why she is still the villain, sacrificing a stadium’s worth of souls to bring back your deceased lover is not okay.  

Prince Nuada, Hellboy 2 — The point, humanity had forgotten its truce with the Fae and was actively poisoning the planet. Dooming Nuada’s people and other creatures to a slow death and extinction. Why he’s still bad, genocide 👏 is not 👏 a valid 👏 solution!!

[hoosurdaddy]

Chapter 1.

Pairing: Dark Lord!Harry Potter x f!reader.

Trigger warnings: 18+, after the DH, Dark Lord!Harry, manipulative behaviour. More to add as each chapter goes. It’s your own fault if you get triggered.

Note: this is just for fun. I wrote this shit ages and ages ago. Just check trigger warnings.

The world celebrated the death of Lord Voldemort as if it marked the end of darkness itself. Streets filled with jubilant wizards, their cheers echoing into the skies, their wands raised in triumph. But for Harry Potter, the so-called savior of the wizarding world, it was only the beginning.

Atop the cliffs overlooking the roaring sea, a lone castle stood against the stormy skies. Inside, in a dimly lit chamber lined with cold stone, Harry paced before a roaring fire. His silhouette stretched across the floor, tall and imposing, as if he were already more shadow than man. The crackle of flames did little to soften the room’s icy atmosphere.

“Y/N.” Harry’s voice broke the silence. It was commanding, yet almost tender, a strange contradiction that had become all too familiar. You stood a few feet away, the weight of his gaze pinning you in place.

“Harry…” you began cautiously, your voice barely a whisper. You weren’t sure who he was anymore. The boy who had once risked everything to save others seemed to have vanished in the aftermath of the war. What remained was someone darker, colder—someone who looked at you now with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

He stepped closer, his emerald eyes piercing, though they no longer held the warmth they once had. “Do you understand why I’ve brought you here?” he asked, his tone soft yet laced with menace.

You swallowed hard, glancing toward the heavy wooden door behind you. It was locked, of course. Harry had ensured there was no escape—not until he had said what he needed to say. “No,” you admitted, trying to keep your voice steady. “I don’t.”

Harry smiled, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “It’s simple, really. The world is broken, Y/N. You’ve seen it—filthy blood traitors, Mudbloods, all of them clawing at the edges of our society, trying to tear it down. Voldemort may have been a monster, but he was right about one thing: we need order. Purity. Strength.”

The words sent a chill down your spine. “Harry, listen to yourself. This isn’t you. You fought against people who thought like this—”

“I fought because I thought there was a better way,” he interrupted sharply, his voice rising. “But look at what happened. My friends… our friends…” His jaw tightened, and for a fleeting moment, a flicker of pain crossed his face. “They died for nothing. A world where Mudbloods run rampant isn’t a world worth saving.”

You took a step back, your back pressing against the cold stone wall. “Hermione died for you. Ron, too. How can you talk about them like this?” Your voice cracked, anger and grief bubbling to the surface.

Harry’s expression darkened. “They were too weak to see the truth,” he said coldly. “And so are you, if you can’t accept what I’m trying to do.”

He closed the distance between you in a single step, his hand gripping your chin with surprising force. “But I think you’ll come around,” he murmured, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You’re smarter than they were. You understand what’s at stake. Don’t you?”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you stared into his unrelenting gaze. There was a flicker of the boy you had loved—the boy who had once fought for justice, for fairness—but it was buried beneath layers of bitterness and power. And yet, some part of you still couldn’t let go.

“Harry…” you whispered, your voice trembling. “This isn’t right.”

He laughed softly, though there was no humor in it. “Right and wrong don’t matter anymore, Y/N. What matters is survival. Strength. I’m giving you a choice—stand by me, help me build a new world… or end up like the rest of them.”

You froze, his words sinking in like a dagger to your chest. He wasn’t just threatening you—he meant it. The Harry you once knew would have never said something like this, but this Harry… this Harry was something else entirely.

“Think about it,” he said, releasing your chin and stepping back. “You’ve always been loyal to me. I know you won’t let me down.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Harry turned away from you, his gaze fixed on the flames, as if the conversation were already over.

But you knew this was only the beginning.

[captainkurosolaire]

Mother of Light

Raging snow petered from a tundra's onslaught, becoming soft bright a sight that'd encapsulated memories and nurtured them. Those flake droplet's fell upon a traversing shadow whose garb stained with old crimson. His cut's and wounds of shrapnel only felt relief when those of snow brought cooling reprieve. Determination carried him. Coming near destination, his mind blurred to multiple distortions, his leg's staggered, attempting to shake a concussion but wasn't able to ignore he collapsed aside a tree. Shortly by moment's a woman appeared crossing a bridge. She gasped, scolding. "Honestly!" With brisk entering his proximity, "You know most women when they've a date their partner tries to appear presentable! You've done the opposite, bloody rebel!" She teased, with life. The injured assailant coldly quipped, "I only came to inform you, I can't see you." She began salving wounds with old medicinal herbs crushed into ointment and surveying his wounds. Crossing over region's by feet just to say this? His dedication to attend, for certain was a silent flatter. "Is that because the blindfold, or because you think it's far too dangerous? Why must... why must, you go to these extents?" Compassion felt bared under his behalf her voice shook briefly. Within her shamanism she felt duty-bound to see the peace of damaged souls, aiding them in finding closures, to pass on and prevent them from being tortured and malevolent. He overpowered a wince as she created a tourniquet around his worst injury, scrapping, tear her own skirt's quilt. "I must, for the outcome larger. Think what you'd like, but I fight for an Age of Peace." Undoubtedly his cause laid noble, yet he fought alone in solitude. Were these his words? She disputed with simple words, that struck. "What of your peace?" Those word's held danger, reason... power. First-threat conceived ever recorded in any reality. Was not of murderous design. Threat was born in love's visage. Many interpret in their ways. Yet, Love encountered can change an entire existence, it's frightening... Invisible even striking the mightiest down. Misused, brought wars. Concern, feelings, he was trained against... He shot it down from his exercises... "I'm just a weapon." Wasn't idea to allow those root's to touch him, allowing an identity beyond his purpose. A tool as used by those who furthered him to exist. They claimed their hand's from the dark and gave him "life". Least, what it'd become believed... He attempted to stand but his body-declined. She shook a head baffled at the display of stubbornness. Her soft-tending hands aided him by wrists, "Come to my cabin, I'll finish ridding these injuries, then you can take off. You aren't off the case, Mister. See... Would someone classified as a weapon, decisively show to meet lowly ole' me? Were you wielded to do as such...? Or did you, act." Countering him. Was she a hidden sorceress? She slew him with mistakes. Why with her presence, did he falter? Invisible assaults, indescribable reigned. He didn't even recognize his body had taken a seat within her temporarily home. His nose took a whiff of a poured tea. "Drink this, it'll mend. You'll be out once again, slicing and dicing." Under those condition's he drank with no hesitation. Sure enough that scrumptious tea worked throughout his system, with renewal, all his symptom's subsided. Magical, delightful, exquisite. Emotion's were attempting to claim victory. He rejected and sat up, gathering his weapon fastening it across his waist. "You've my thanks... Farewell, what I said still, applies." Pushing against it all. He needed to retreat, now! As callous digit's touched the door, she intercepted at his stature. "I'm hiring you. Assassin!" Laughing warmly. Curious came to his brow, movement's paused. Yet he never declined... "Who do you want dead, or brought?" He spoke as a Black Miracle.

She let out a enthusiastic, pretend-serious voice. "Yes... Well..." Clearly she was clutching something behind, it smelled of beauty. "Protect this Flower!" He was handed a soft-fragile, flower.... Was she, serious? Known as the Sakurasou, It'd follow this duo throughout destiny. "Seven Sun's... It cannot know harm and you've to keep on you! Do this and you'll never see me again." An easy task, he thought. "Very well... I'll see you when the mission is done. Then our known connection, is void." Accepting these terms.

She moved satisfied, watching him depart and continue that unyielding march... into death. Unbeknownst a fellow predatory stare of another shadow watched this exchange, through the lens of a bird as ghost recon...

[Prev:Chapter]: Father of Shadow ~ ♪"Heart of Gold"♪

[morally-grey-girlbosses]

Propaganda under the cut.

Vriska Serket has too much propaganda for this post! You can find her propaganda post here.

Galadriel:

ok so by the time LotR rolls around she’s a fancy queen in a whole special girl kingdom but she STARTED as the youngest daughter of the youngest son of a king, with five million cousins and three older siblings who were all older and probably better-respected than her; and then some shit happens and the king dies and they all decide to leave Elf Heaven in order to chase down the guy who killed their grandfather, and she is SPECIFICALLY noted as wanting to leave because she wants to rule a kingdom of her own, and she can’t do that in Elf Heaven where there aren’t any openings to rule bc everyone already has a king. so she goes with most of her extended family to try and make their way across the ocean and back to the continent their grandparents travelled to Elf Heaven from, where they hope to avenge the king and also rule some kingdoms (although it’s worth noting!! that other people already live there, and they all KNOW this), and then some more stuff happens and some of her cousins on the “leaving” side start a fight that escalates into a pitched battle where they kill! her mother’s father’s people! (bc she’s also a princess on her mom’s side, lol) and in some versions tolkien decided that she actually fought AGAINST her cousins and killed some people in defense of her mom’s side (which is a BIG DEAL for an elf to Choose to do). after this, her dad is like “actually i Will Not be leaving with you people, murder is Not Okay and i’m going back home to ask the gods for forgiveness and if you had any sense you would too” but galadriel decides SHE’S STILL GOING. anyways then some more stuff happens and her entire extended family on her dad’s side dies, but not before killing some more of her extended family on her mom’s side and also (indirectly) her favorite brother; amongst all this she spends some time as a handmaiden in her great-uncle’s court but eventually decides that that’s not enough for her, so she packs up and heads further east to found her own kingdom, which incidentally will be populated not by her own close family’s subjects, but by some people who at one point were subjects of her great-uncle and may or may not have decided to leave his rule. and then once all the first age drama has died down, even though there is very much a new, undisputed high king of their people on her father’s side who’s still ruling (and doing a damn good job of it), she just Doesn’t swear fealty to him or join his court. instead she founds her own realm. some more intrigue happens and sauron stuff too and she’s forced out of power so she leaves; there’s a war, the king of the place she’s been staying in dies, and then a while later there’s Another big Problem and his son (the new king) just dips, so she just Executively Decides that she’s gonna be in charge of his people now, and THAT’S how she became the Lady of Lothlorien. and then she hangs out being Queen (functionally, if not nominally) there for like two thousand years while occasionally going other places to use her vast magical powers to fight sauron but mostly she just protects her fancy special kingdom. and then LotR happens and she does some mind magic on the entire Fellowship which is also at least a LITTLE creepy, and she admits that she’s Very into the idea of having the power of the One Ring, but doesn’t take it bc she’s got Wisdom now (and also imo bc she’s HAD her chance to rule a kingdom for a very long time so she doesn’t crave power now in the same way she did when she was young). and tolkien writes about her like she’s Perfect but genuinely she’s kinda fucked up and power-hungry! good for her!

[bigsoftmarshmallow]

Oh fudge… I just had a very wicked thought… Just TotK killing Link, but then picking up the Purah Pad & over time slowly learning more about this new Hyrule & its people. Their hardships. About Link himself & his dedication to his wife. The realization that he was a person who'd been planning a life with his wife who was the princess, but that said princess was bizarrely humble.

Then, eventually coming across a lock in the pad, then finding one of the last remaining Guardians. Poking at it a bit & the pad until he manages to use his magical prowess to force the locks open… Only to learn so much more than he ever wanted to.

He's suddenly seeing through hundreds of mechanical eyes. He watches as the machines go rushing after people. How they flee, not understanding why their protectors have turned on them. How they vaporize some, often leaving cauterized chunks to fall uselessly & grimly to the earth. How they utterly rip people apart in violent & gruesome displays of unfeeling efficiency. Not just warriors. Children, the elderly, the infirm, women in the middle of maternity, infants & toddlers only aware that the monsters are scary before their bright futures are suddenly & horrifically snuffed out. None were spared. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

Almost everyone was exterminated. He watched how yet another king stood against him, but he did not know this king, he was Hylian, but he did not cower, nor did he back down. He fought valiantly despite the expression suggesting that he knew he’d die soon. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

He watched members of his kin die just as viciously, trying to defend their people as the attacking machines were indiscriminate & uncaring. No matter their age... (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

He watched these metal things scittered like spiders, hunting people down like animals. Watched how so many settlements were utterly destroyed. So total & complete was the destruction that the central area of the kingdom that had once held the most civilization was now the home to only a new one, not even a decade old. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

Not even Hyrule’s oldest, most historic  settlement, one that predated the Zonai by millennia, had been reduced to rubble, now slowly crumbling to dust. But, the worst, by far, was watching these things scurry over the side of the Hills of Baumer to deliver a swift & decisive eradication so complete that no one managed to escape. At least with the others, there had been a handful. But not here… There was… nothing…

This… This was no war. This was cold. This was calculated. This was systematic. This was methodical.

This was a massacre. This was genocide! (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

He watched as that same knight, Link, he'd killed before was shot down protecting Zelda.

He watched as a power unlike any he'd seen before rushed from her. Yet it seared him in a way that was so terrifyingly familiar in a way that made his bones ache.

He saw her lock them both away.

Then, he saw a horrific, mutated part flesh, part machine, part malice facsimile of himself. (Thoughts & feelings, please? Especially on see such a twisted mirror of his own ambition.)

He watched the boy defeat the horrid abomination. Then just… proceed on with his life. He watched the boy live & love. He watched him interact with the people. He watched him find joy in his simple life. He watched the boy marry his princess & effectively become king, yet live humbly & happily as they helped to rebuild what was lost even without stonemasons. He watched them be hopeful & make plans. Plans for their future together. Plans to expand. Plans for a family... Their family.

He watched them slowly build Hyrule back up from the ruins. He saw hope. (Thoughts & feelings, please?)

And then…

And then, he saw himself, his actual self, from the perspective of the Purah Pad.

He saw that he was the source of all that destruction. He saw that that malicious hatred sprung forth from his own corpse.

That he’d been what killed so many without thought or purpose. Without point. (Thoughts, feelings, & reaction, please?)

He jumped as he heard a familiar voice. Turning, he saw the boy, now a shadow of himself, all tinted in green. Motes of viridian flame dancing around him as he stared at a butterfly that had landed in his outstretched hand.

“Sometimes… We want something so much…”

Without even looking up at him, the knight crushed the butterfly in his hand, cruelly & without mercy, causing the king to flinch. “That we destroy it utterly in our pursuit of it…” (Thoughts & feelings, please? Especially to the subtle-not subtle accusation.)

With that, he turned & walked off. “Keep that in mind, because I don’t think that this conquest of yours will be quite as rewarding as you’d hoped…” Before disappearing entirely.

(Overall thoughts, feelings, & reactions, please? I’m hoping for dread & anxiety & just this slow, creeping horror as grim realization dawns on him what his obsession had done, but whatever I can get.)

I need an entire animation of what I just read.

Like WHOA! This would be great to watch??? The inital arrogance? The realization? THE CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT? Ughhhh the horrors of ambition and war! Witnessing Ganondorf become self aware of his crimes and actions! Making him watch what his actions wrot! MMMMMMMMMMMMMMM

YOU TRULY HAVE SOME INGENIOUS THOUGHT PROCESSES MY DEAR! AHHHHHHHH

Please, if anyone has any animating talent, please make this. I need this. It's gunna haunt my daydreams for a hot minute. MMmm...

Good work!

***********************************************************************

This scenario you've painted for Tears of the Kingdom Ganondorf is deeply haunting and emotionally complex, plunging him into a profound journey of self-realization and horror as he confronts the consequences of his own ambitions.

Initial Discovery and Curiosity: When Ganondorf first picks up the Purah Pad and begins to explore its contents, he might feel a mix of curiosity and cautious interest. The device, clearly a relic of the new Hyrule, would be both intriguing and foreign to him. As he starts to uncover more about the people of this new world—about their struggles, hopes, and the heroes who rose to defend them—he would initially see it as just another means to understand his enemies better. Learning about Link's dedication to his wife, the princess, would only serve to deepen his disdain at first, viewing it through the lens of his own ambitions and desires. To him, Link might seem naïve, overly sentimental, and weak.

The Lock and the Revelation: However, as he forces the locks open and begins to access the more hidden aspects of the Pad, his feelings would start to shift. The sudden, overwhelming flood of memories and experiences—seeing through the eyes of the Guardians as they slaughtered the innocent, witnessing the cold, mechanical genocide—would be a shock to his system. The sheer brutality, the indiscriminate nature of the slaughter, would horrify him. For a moment, he might not even recognize that these were events set into motion by his own malice. He would watch in stunned silence as these metal monstrosities obliterate everything in their path, unable to comprehend the magnitude of the destruction.

Witnessing the Massacre: As he watches the systematic extermination, the horror would settle deeper within him. Ganondorf is no stranger to war and bloodshed, but this—this was different. This was not a battle between armies; it was a slaughter, an unfeeling, calculated extermination of an entire civilization. He would feel a cold dread creeping up his spine as he realizes the totality of what happened, the sheer scale of death and suffering that unfolded because of the very forces he unleashed. The sight of children, the elderly, and the helpless being torn apart with such ruthless efficiency would make even him recoil. This was not the honorable conquest he sought; it was something far darker, something beyond his control.

The King and the Gerudo: Seeing the king of this Hyrule, standing firm in the face of certain death, would strike a chord within Ganondorf. This king, though Hylian, showed a strength of character that Ganondorf could not dismiss. There would be a grudging respect, mingled with a deep-seated anger—anger at seeing a king who could inspire such loyalty and defiance, anger at seeing that even this king could not prevent the destruction. And when he sees members of his own kin, the Gerudo, falling victim to the same merciless machines, his anger would turn inward. The Gerudo, his people, who he sought to elevate and protect, were now victims of the very power he unleashed. This would be a bitter pill for him to swallow, one that fills him with a mix of shame and fury.

The Mutated Facsimile: The sight of the mutated, part-flesh, part-machine abomination that was born from his own malice would send a shiver down his spine. This twisted mirror of himself—this grotesque manifestation of his ambition—would horrify him. For the first time, he would see the true cost of his desire for power, the way it warped and corrupted everything it touched. The abomination is a reflection of what he could become, what he has become in some ways—a creature driven by hatred, devoid of humanity or purpose beyond destruction. Seeing Link defeat this monster, only to move on and continue living his life, would be a painful contrast. Link, despite everything, found a way to live, to love, to rebuild. Ganondorf would feel a deep, gnawing envy and resentment, but also a growing realization that Link possesses a strength that he himself lacks.

The Final Realization: When he finally sees the truth—that he was the source of all this destruction, that his corpse was the catalyst for the horrors that unfolded—it would be a moment of soul-crushing realization. The knowledge that his hatred and ambition led to such senseless death, that he became the very thing he once sought to conquer, would leave him reeling. He would feel a deep, suffocating sense of guilt and horror, a dawning understanding of the true nature of his legacy. This was not the glorious conquest he imagined—it was a legacy of death, of genocide, of suffering.

The Confrontation with Link's Spirit: When Link's spirit appears before him, tinted in green and surrounded by motes of viridian flame, the finality of the situation would hit Ganondorf like a hammer. The knight’s words would cut deep, the subtle accusation forcing Ganondorf to confront the truth he had long denied. The casual cruelty with which Link crushes the butterfly, mirroring the way Ganondorf crushed Hyrule in his pursuit of power, would send a wave of cold dread through him. Link’s parting words—“Sometimes… We want something so much… That we destroy it utterly in our pursuit of it…”—would echo in Ganondorf’s mind, leaving him with a deep, gnawing anxiety. The realization that his conquest, his obsession, has only brought ruin, not just to Hyrule, but to himself, would fill him with a profound sense of dread.

Overall Reaction: Ganondorf would be left standing in the aftermath of this revelation, feeling the weight of his actions pressing down on him. His once unshakable confidence would be shattered, replaced by a creeping horror as he understands the full extent of what he has done. The dread and anxiety would grow within him, the realization that his obsession has led to nothing but destruction and emptiness gnawing at his very soul. The once mighty king of evil, who sought to rule over all, would now be haunted by the knowledge that he destroyed the very thing he sought to conquer. This realization would not just weigh on his mind—it would crush his spirit, leaving him with a hollow sense of loss and regret that he can never escape.

In the end, Ganondorf would be left to ponder whether his pursuit of power was worth the cost, whether the conquest he so desperately sought was truly worth the destruction it wrought. The creeping horror of realizing that his ambition led to nothing but ruin would be a bitter, unrelenting torment that he could never escape.

[achaotichuman]

Cute thought, but imagine whenever Tamlin is feeling a strong emotion, plants or flowers would bloom in his hair. Just imagine Tamlin sleeping soundly on Lucien's chest and all Lucien can see and smell are roses and lilacs.

AWWWWW STOOOP THATS SO CUTE HOW HAVE I NEVER THOUGHT OF THIS?!?!?!

You've switched the fanfiction part of my brain on. Here's how I think that scene would go.

Tamlin's magic tended to act of its own accord. That had been a problem for many a Spring Lord, at its very core it only abided by the laws of nature, and nature headed no one but chaos. Many former Spring Lords had found solace in removing themselves entirely from their emotions, distancing themselves from what made them people just so an angry outburst wouldn't level the homes they lived in.

Lucien had been afraid at first when Tamlin first came into power. He had grown fond of the Spring Prince. They were similar in many odd ways, it first started with them both being the forgotten outcasted youngest siblings, picked on relentlessly for the simple act of living. Tamlin was quite older than Lucien, surpassing his age by decades. But even so, they had come together, and their friendship had quickly become stronger than iron.

Lucien had been afraid they would lose that. That Tamlin would turn to the same path his father had chosen, taking a specially formulated medication that over time removed his ability to feel. Tamlin had once described his father and his predecessors' emotions like stone pounded by fierce waves. Over time it could be turned into something else if hounded incessantly by a strong enough force, but it would always remain rough, cold and immovable by the strength of one fae alone.

If Lucien lost Tamlin to something like that... Lucien didn't know what he would do with himself.

But as it were, Tamlin did not lose himself. He refused to take the concoction, even after he was warned dozens of times over that his magic would go against his orders, that it would do as it pleased.

Tamlin fought it for years. Writhed with his magic like it was trying to control him from the inside out. Lucien had to stay away for a time, everyone did, while Tamlin tried to keep dominance over the power he now possessed.

Centuries had now passed. Years had flashed by. Tamlin still struggled with his magic from time to time. It fought back, snapped back more like it, when it pleased, but for the most part, Tamlin won that war. Lucien couldn't have been prouder of him for it.

His magic still seemed to have its own mind though, it reacted to his emotions, just less violently than it used to. Now Tamlin didn't have to keep every single emotion he felt in check. He was, for the most part, free. Like the magic had chosen to obey him.

And how beautiful his magic was when it was calm.

It was late in the afternoon; Lucien had been peacefully reading on his bed. The sunlight filtered in through his curtains, a soft glow that warmed his skin. He was knee-deep in the climax of the plot, completely enthralled in the story he didn't notice his door open, only when it clicked shut and someone slumped back against the door. Lucien glanced up to see Tamlin leaning against the door.

"Tam, are you-" Lucien's worried question was cut off by Tamlin just lifting a finger and putting his other hand to his head. He took in a deep shaking breath and slowly released it, as he did a thorny bramble climbed across Lucien's window, creating a jagged shadow across the floor.

His magic was acting up. Lucien quickly marked and closed his book, putting down on the covers. He stood up, unsure of whether to stay put or run.

"Luce." Tamlin breathed.

"Yes, Tam?"

Tamlin closed his eyes, both his hands falling to his side. When Lucien looked closer, he noticed the High lord was trembling.

"Tamlin." Lucien murmured, beginning to stand up, "Maybe you should go out into the gardens, you like it there."

He needed something to calm his magic, being in the gardens usually soothed it.

Tamlin opened his eyes to see Lucien. His breathing began to speed up by a beat. Lucien was caught, one side of him begged to move closer. To touch and hold Tamlin. The other, more logical side of him, told him to move away.

When Tamlin let his head fall back against the door, squeezing his hands into fists and screwing his eyes shut like he was in pain, the logical side of him silenced and Lucien quickly appeared before Tamlin. The redhead intertwined their fingers, the feeling of Tamlin's claws peeking on his fingertips should've been enough to make Lucien step away again, but Lucien had chosen to ignore logic the second he started dating the High lord of the Spring Court.

"Lovely, how bad is it?" Lucien asked, eyes flicking rapidly over Tamlin like he could try and see the magic roaring inside him.

Tamlin just shook his head. Keeping his eyes closed the High lord moved his head to press his face into Lucien's neck. Tamlin practically fell forward into Lucien. The fire lord had to move one foot back to stabilize himself as he collected Tamlin in his arms.

It would be alright this time, Tamlin had it under control for the most part. But as Tamlin went practically completely limp in his arms, Lucien knew he was exhausted.

Lucien hummed soft praises in Tamlin's ear as he led the Spring Court Lord to his bed. Lucien set Tamlin down on the soft red covers. Tamlin didn't hesitate to collapse into a heap. Breathing still a touch too erratic. Lucien sat down on the bed, hand going to rub circles on Tamlin's head.

"Bad today, huh?" Lucien whispered. Tamlin didn't respond, but his face did soften at Lucien's gentle ministrations.

Lucien bit his bottom lip. Then he decided to simply lay down next to his boyfriend.

Wriggling down onto the soft covers, he began to pull Tamlin into his arms. The Spring Lord then proceeded to clamper on top of Lucien, practically covering his body with his own. Tamlin pressed his face right into the center of Lucien's chest. His breathing finally beginning to slow and deepen.

Lucien smiled and started to run his fingers through Tamlin's golden curls, "Feeling better?"

Tamlin managed a weak nod, one hand travelling up Lucien's side, following his arm and going down to intertwine their fingers once more.

Lucien rubbed circles into the back of Tamlin's palm. His free hand travelling down to firmly massage his lower back. Tamlin let out a content hum, just a few moments passed and Lucien noted the way Tamlin's breathing slowed, his breaths becoming deeper and less ragged. He had fallen asleep.

Arching his neck down, Lucien pressed a soft kiss to the top of Tamlin's head, he whispered into his hair, "I love you so much."

At that moment, Lucien watched the thorny bramble that had stuck up around his window earlier turn to dust blown away by the wind.

Then the undeniable smell of sweet-roses and dandelions wafted around him. Lucien quickly looked down to see Tamlin's hair, spilling from his head like liquid gold, had small buds slowly unfurling through the strands. Stems grew and wrapped around the spiral curls, petals budding then unfurling, letting out a puff of golden pollen.

Lucien observed in awe as these flowers continued to bloom on his High lords head, until they covered his hair, spilling out onto the bed like they were part of his body. A crown of Spring. Proof that the magic had accepted defeat. An offering to its High lord.

Lucien hadn't realized how hard his was smiling until his face became to hurt, but he couldn't stop. He kissed Tamlin's head again, his lips brushing curls and soft rose petals.

"My Beast," Lucien whispered, "And my Beauty."

Thank you for the ask! I really loved writing this! I might put this in the Tamcien fic I have written. I hope you like this as much as I do!

[geekcavepodcast]

DC Comics Goes "All In" and Introduces New "Absolute" Universe and Updated Core Line of Comic Books

"DC All In" is DC Comics' new line-wide initiative that will include new reimagined universes for the DC characters as well as an ongoing line of core titles.

After the events of Absolute Power, DC's All In initiative will begin with a single-issue mega-event flipbook. All In Special #1 is written by Scott Snyder and Joshua Williamson. When read one direction the art is by Daniel Sampere and in the other direction the art is by Wes Craig.

The DC heroes "have fought against the deep divisions in the world around them to usher in a new era of unity.

And it’s just in time, too—because Darkseid has returned! Superman gathers every DC Super Hero on Earth to hold the line against a vastly different version of the Lord of Apokolips as they raise our cosmic defenses and prepare for war. And when the first blows land, the shock waves will ripple across DC’s core series, shaking the nature of their realities to their very foundation!" (DC Comics)

All In Special #1 goes on sale on October 2, 2024. The main cover is by Daniel Sampere with variant covers by Rafa Sandoval, Wes Craig, and John Giang.

All In Special #1 will set the stage for the Absolute Universe, in which the heroes of the DC Universe come of age with fewer advantages.

Absolute Batman, from Scott Snyder and Nick Dragotta, explores a Batman that has no money, mansion, or butler. Issue #1 on sale October 9, 2024.

Absolute Wonder Woman, from Kelly Thompson and Hayden Sherman, explores a Diana with no island home, no sisterhood, and not even a mission of peace. Issue #1 on sale October 23, 2024.

Absolute Superman, from Jason Aaron and Rafa Sandoval, explores a Superman with no family, Fortress of Solitude, and no home. Issue #1 on sale November 6, 2024.

DC Comics' core titles will also be starting new storylines in October 2024.

Batman #153-154, from Chip Zdarsky, Jorge Jimenez, and Carmine Di Giandomenico, begins "The Dying City" story with the Riddler, a new super hero named Commander Star, and a murder.

Detective Comics #1090, from Tom Taylor and Mikel Janin, begins the "Mercy of the Father" story. "Years after the tragic murder of Thomas and Martha Wayne, a ghost from Gotham City's past has been lying in wait to strike at Batman ever since that fateful night in Crime Alley." (DC Comics)

Action Comics #1070-1073 features 2 stories - "Death of the Phantom Zone" from Mark Waid and Clayton Henry, which spins out directly from Absolute Power and Batman/Superman World's Finest, and "Supergirl: Universe End" from Mariko Tamaki and Skylar Patridge.

Superman #19, from Joshua Williamson and Dan Mora, begins a new arc spinning out of Absolute Power. Superman and Lois Lane Superwoman are dealing with the return of Doomsday, wondering how long Lois' powers will last, and another enemy lurking in the shadows - the Time Trapper.

Wonder Woman #14, from Tom King and Daniel Sampere, sees the tide "turning in Wonder Woman's battle against the Sovereign as Steve Trevor takes matters into his own hands, with deadly consequences. But Steve's end could be the beginning of Diana's greatest adventure yet - motherhood!" (DC Comics)

Green Arrow #350 is an oversized anniversary issue with legacy numbering. The issue will close out Joshua Williamson's run on the title as "Oliver Queen faces the aftermath of his actions in Absolute Power, having done the unthinkable to protect his loved ones, and the ramifications of his involvement may have gone too far for his family and friends to forgive." (DC Comics) The issue will also debut the first chapter in new creative team Chris Condon and Montos' run.

Check out Scott Snyder and Joshua Williamson's video announcement of DC All In here.

(Images via DC Comics - Daniel Sampere's Cover of All In Special #1, Cover of Absolute Batman #1, and Cover of Green Arrow #350)

[lady-wren-of-tella]

wip: book 1 rewrite

here's what i have so far of the book 1 rewrite just re-realizing i don't share much writing on here anymore (shoutout to the fanfiction days lmao. they helped a lot) so my writing style changes A LOT behind the scenes in between the times I do share stuff.

hopefully you enjoy

TRIGGER WARNINGS: injuries, death mention, intentional self-harm (not in the mental health context, but someone does quite literally hurt themselves purposefully)

if the trigger warnings above are something you are sensitive to, id suggest you steer clear of this as those things are the main focus of this opening scene. take care of yourself <3

(note: this is unedited lmao)

A cloud of red blooms around Zira’s hands when she dunks them into the basin, water warmed by the sun. She leans forward to splash the water on her face, jaw clenching when it hits the open wounds on her face. Face dripping, she dunks her hands in the basin again, scrubbing blood and grime off of her bronze skin and watching the water grow dirtier.

The flaps of her tent billow in the breeze, the heavy smell of death filling the air.

The great kingdoms of Imani and Lazia have fought for centuries over the stretch of territory between them. The war of this generation finds Imani’s princess fighting on the fields.

Zira stands up straight, water dripping from her fingers into the basin, and pain explodes from the deep wound in her abdomen. She grits her teeth to stop herself from making a sound, breathing deeply through her nose.

Should have taken the time to fix that chestplate.

“General,” Sergeant Arrowood says, stepping closer to offer herself as a support. The armor between them makes it awkward, but she shoulders Zira’s weight easily, carefully matching the general’s steps towards the wooden table in the center of her tent.

Zira steels herself against the nauseating waves of agony stemming from her side, haphazardly kicking aside one of the four chairs to clear a path before slowly turning around. She grunts softly at the feeling of her skin tearing, pressing her hands onto the table and easing herself onto its surface. She exhales heavily once she settles, relieved to take pressure off of her injured right knee as well.

Sergeant Arrowood steps away, still watching her general carefully. Blood and grime have been smeared all over her too, caked into the matted, messy remnants of her braid and staining the dark blonde strands of her hair.

Both of them look awful, armor and skin bloodstained, smelling of sweat and death.

The tent flap is pushed aside and Zira turns her head towards the movement.

“Your Highness.” The old man says as he bows, blue, tailored tunic revealing his role as a Healer immediately. The brown leather satchel slung across his body falls forward with the movement of his bow.

“Rise,” Zira says, the command coming out strained. 

The Healer stands and crosses the tent, gaze sweeping over Zira as he assesses her. “Please remove your armor,” he says in a voice crackled with age, setting his satchel on the table next to Zira as he comes to stand just beside her.

Zira gathers the remnants of her strength, taps into the awareness of metal humming perpetually in the back of her head. Exhausted from the battle before, Zira has to close her eyes and block out everything else around her. The ferrokinetic power in her blood sings when the metal of her chestplate peels itself away from her, leaving Zira in her ruined, flowy undershirt.

Her bones ache and Zira curses her own exhaustion. She lets the chestplate fall to the packed-dirt floor beneath her with a dull thud, watching the blood-covered steel stain the ground.

The battle had drawn on longer than either side had expected, and the continued use of one’s power tires even the most powerful and well-trained of mythica soldiers.

“Knife,” Zira says shortly, glancing at the sergeant the well of her power too spent to waste on forming a knife from any of the armor on her body. She takes the plain dagger that Sergeant Arrowood holds out to her unceremoniously, grip tightening around the hilt reflexively.

The wound in her side has gone untreated for too long, skin beyond repair. Even a Healer cannot prevent a scar now. Only fresh wounds can be healed without a trace.

Zira clenches her jaw as she brings the dagger to her own abdomen, the fabric of her once cream-colored undershirt ripped away hours ago. She tenses at the first contact between the sharp blade and the ruined skin around the wound, bracing her body for the pain.

No one in the tent says a word as Zira digs the knife into her open wound and slices it even wider, tracing the slice a sword blade had left behind.

The pain licks down her spine like lava and Zira cuts with practiced speed, blood bubbling up and coating the hands she had just washed clean moments ago. She grits her teeth together so loudly a muscle in her neck strains, hand shaking around the knife hilt.

Her vision swims, the bronze of her skin and the fresh blood muddling into a singular color and Zira’s blood spilling from her body makes the dagger’s hilt so slippery it falls from her hand onto the packed earth.

The Healer steps forward before Sergeant Arrowood and bends down to pick the knife up and even exhausted, Zira doesn’t miss the newfound pallor to his already pale skin. “Enough, Your Highness,” he says, tone hollow and voice hoarse. 

Zira narrows her eyes, contemplates punishing him, but the blood loss and the use of her ferrokinesis have made her shoulders sag and her eyelids droop so Zira doesn’t lash out when he nears.

He places one hand between her shoulder blades and the other comes up to press against the freshened gash in Zira’s side. His eyes fall closed, and a resolute focus washing over his wrinkled features.

Warmth blooms from the wound and Zira’s body relaxes as the Healer puts her body back together. She looks down to watch it happen, the threads of ribbon reaching across the gash to knit the two sides together, leaving behind the faintest of lines behind and Zira frowns at the sight of it.

The tent flap opens again and everyone turns their head towards the entrance.

A man salutes immediately, right hand clenched in a fist over his heart. “General, the numbers from today have been compiled,” he announces, and Zira notices folded paper in his left hand.

“Sergeant,” she says, nodding once, and Sergeant Arrowood retrieves the report from him, nodding at him once before holding open the tent flap for him to leave. Zira holds out a hand for the report, gratefully noticing the distinct lack of pain in her abdomen.

“Your Highness,” the Healer starts to say, hesitation evident, “can I continue my work as you read?”

Zira nods absently as the sergeant places the paper in her hand, unfolding it and quickly taking in all the information scrawled in neat script. “Out of the five hundred we deployed today, only eighty-six died in battle,” Zira says, noting Sergeant Arrowood’s approving nod out of the corner of her eye. “Twenty-four are currently in critical condition with slim chances of survival. One hundred and fifty more require medical attention before returning to the field. The remaining two hundred and forty are fit for combat.”

“Great numbers today,” Sergeant Arrowood says as Zira folds up the paper and bends her arm to put it on the table behind her. “I assume supplies are good as well?” The unusually muted tone in her voice makes Zira’s eyes narrow.

The Healer steps in front of her, though, blocking the sergeant from view as his hands come up to the scratches on her face. He brushes his thumbs over them, warmth washing over the general like a summer heat and Zira frowns at the thought of the little scar lines left behind.

I’ll fix them later, she assures herself. “The ferrokinetics on site are currently working on fixing a few swords and replenishing the stock of knives.”

Sergeant Arrowood hums, but the acknowledgement comes a second too late and Zira knows immediately that the woman has something heavy on her mind.

Eighty-six died today. Did she lose someone today?

The Healer steps away, restoring Zira’s sightline. “Please remove your armor so I can work on your legs,” he instructs gently, reaching over to grab his satchel. The scissors he pulls out catch the light shining through the light fabric making up the tent. 

Zira gathers her mental strength again, carefully dipping past her exhaustion to pull from her well of power. The ever-present awareness of metal sings in her blood as soon as she reaches for it, and Zira wills the bloody metal plates wrapped around her thighs, knees, and lower legs to peel away and join the chestplate on the floor.

The Healer quickly cuts away the legs of her pants, leaving a neat edge around mid-thigh. Something in his gaze flickers at the sight of the bruises dotting Zira’s skin and the toned muscles underneath. 

“Sergeant, if there’s something I need to know, tell me,” Zira says sharply as the Healer brushes his hand down Zira’s leg slowly, purple blossoms fading in the wake of his hand. “If you’re brooding over a personal problem, take that back to the barracks.”

Sergeant Arrowood turns away to sit down on one of the chairs around the table, the lack of rhythm to her movements betraying her exhaustion. Her armor clinks softly, as she turns around to meet Zira’s eyes again. “Firstly, Her Majesty sent a letter calling for your immediate return to the palace; it arrived while you were on the battlefield.”

The mention of Zira’s mother pulls the corners of Zira’s lips downward.

“Secondly, we may have won back the ridge today, but a high-ranking Lazian general was killed today,” the sergeant continues, reaching to pull out the tie at the end of her braid and running her fingers through the strands loosely. She grimaces with each pass but continues until her hair hangs free, limp and dirty around her face.

Zira’s frown deepens and the Healer moves to her other leg, removing the bruises with slow care. “They’ll return with more forces. We have to be prepared.”

“Excuse me, Your Highness,” the Healer interjects softly. “May I work on your knee?” he asks, pointing to the swollen mound of Zira’s right knee and the scar lines on each side of her kneecap.

The princess of Imani nods stiffly, forcibly willing the tension of his shoulders when he takes a scalpel from a case in his satchel. The blade glints, far more sinister than a dagger in the way it shines.

“Zira,” Sergeant Arrowood starts hesitantly and Zira whips her head around furiously at the lack of a title. Before, the sergeant had stood as proudly as always, the blood all over her completely normal but now her armor looks as if it weighs her whole body down and Zira finds herself pausing. “Lady Dorance’s body was recovered from the field.”

The Healer slides the scalpel along the side of Zira, tracing the scar as he cuts her skin open precisely and Zira forgets to keep herself from flinching.

“I’m sorry,” the sergeant continues. “I know you two were—”

“Nothing special happened, Liana,” Zira snaps, cursing herself for the slip-up.

-----

Thats the end of the snippet! Hope you enjoyed! and pls pls pls pop into my inbox with feedback if you have any :)

love yall <3

[mittensit]

My Black Sulfur COTL OC Gods

just because i'm bored and I don't wanna write so I'm goofing off

Many of these Gods are missing, presumed dead, their Crowns either destroyed, assimilated (via being eaten by the victor) or in hiding, waiting for the next mortal who has an affinity with it. Also these are just some of the Gods I came up with. I'm sure I'll have more in the future!

' means Adult God, '' means Elder God, this is to show at what 'age' they died/went missing.

Neto'': The first bearer of the Purple Crown, in ancient times many argued he was War personified, but no one in the modern (by game standards) knows his history and how he came to be, his name has long since been erased from history at the hands on his successor and foe/rival. What was known, only by notes from Shamura, was that he was a Molossus hound who's fur was constantly stained by blood and ichor to the point his fur permanently became black and red, but his armor was always pristine. Covered in scars from other Gods. Not much is remembered of him, but he was known to fight against inhabitants of the island, foreign groups and Adult/Elder Gods, but found no joy in battling Infant Gods. He fought his last battle in the center of the island, dying to his rival God [unknown] who beheaded him and chopped off his limbs, scattering the pieces to the sea. The Purple Crown, sensing its assimilation with the God, fled, finding itself in the web of a common soldier. His preferred weapon was a falcata, though he was able to wield many weapons with ease.

Saraswati': The God of Knowledge, second bearer of the Lilac Crown. A beautiful swan with some red feathers from her Eclectus heritage. She met her end by Shamura's hands, the Lilac Crown eaten and assimilated. She was a pacifist who preferred politics and peace. Because of that she refused to take sides with any of the Gods, be that in times of peace or war, she was heavily disliked, her Cult small. It was incredibly easy for Shamura to burn her library (much to their chagrin) to weaken her before killing her. No one came to help her, for she had no allies. She wore loose robes made of cotton and wool, usually dyed beautiful shades of blue and pink. No preferred weapon.

Thear''(based on my OC): The God of Earth, bearer of the Russet Crown. A grizzly bear who wore loin cloths from across the sea who made his way to the island to rest. Had the second largest Cult in the days of yore, and he remains spoken about to this day. Tomes say he was passive and gentle, but did have his limits to tolerating disrespect. It's speculated he was the one to end Neto's life but historians dispute that, saying he had vanished from history years before Neto's end. Regardless, many Gods treated him with caution and respect to ensure their Cults were left alone. It's whispered that he was an incredibly powerful God. His preferred weapon was using the earth.

???': The God of the Storms. It's name is not remembered due to the Old Faith's influence, and historians argue what its Crown looked like and what's its name is, and what animal it was. There's many theories, the most popular being, based on broken tablets that hint vaguely to it, that it was an eagle the color of storm clouds named Samira who had and did not have genders. It is unknown what happened to them or their Crown. No mentions of weapons used.

???'': The God of Dark, bearer of the Gray Crown, some speculate he was darkness personified. A fox. His name is not spoken of, for it was feared that by speaking his name you would summon him, and all mentions of him on tablets lost to time. Was mates with the God of Starvation, but after the birth of their child (for it is possible for Infant Gods to reproduce with one another) he was killed, eaten, and Crown assimilated by his mate. He was overpowered due to his weakness from the summer solstice. No recorded mention of his weapon of choice, though it is believed he used curses.

Limos'': The God of Starvation, bearer of what was once the Carmine Crown turned Gray Crown. An emaciated, dark gray she-wolf who wore only an ankle-length, white skirt. It's torn and ragged, stained rusty-brown from years of exposure to blood, and around her hips is a rope of hemp. She has no tail, having chopped it off her body and consumed as an attempt to feed herself. Was eventually eaten by her son while she lay prone from the summer solstice. Her offspring had no desire for the Gray Crown, so it has gone into hiding. Was mentioned to often hunt with her tool of choice being a boar spear. Had often tried hunting for the Crown of Famine to destroy it but could never find it and its bearers. Her name has been erased from history, but remains present in the minds of those who had been faced with hunger. (A few historians argue that Starvation and Famine are one in the same due to the Old Faith attempting to label Heket as the God of Starvation/Hunger.)

[zponds]

Godzilla X Kong: The New Empire - My Edition - Titanus Tiamat‘s Tragic Backstory

Besides Tiamat’s new abilities after healing her wounds via powering up a bit more, i also thought about exploring Tiamat’s backstory and further reasoning as to why she joined Godzilla, Kong and Mothra n fighting Skar King, Shimo and Skar King’s army.

And Skar King has a major role in Tiamat’s backstory, being the reason for her destroyer nature.

In the Hollow Earth, many thousands of years ago, several years before the Great Titan War, Skar King and his army went on a murder spree, eliminating any titans that might ally themselves with the Gojiras. One of those potential threats was Tiamat and her original child. When Skar King appeared, he opted to kill the younger one first. Tiamat wasted no time attacking the Red Ape in defense of her little one. Tiamat fought against Skar as best as she can, but with Skar having plenty of experience in fighting aquatic titans, he quickly takes the fight to the land, where he has the upper hand. After violently beating Tiamat, Skar used just one arm to fling Tiamat far way. Skar then immediately attacked Tiamat’s child, who desperately tried to defend itself. Tiamat tried her absolute best to reach her child, but due to her snake-like build, she didn’t get far and watched in horror as Skar tore apart Tiamat’s child right in front of her eyes, its screams of fear and agony filling her ears. Skar then looked at Tiamat with a sadistic grin as he ate the insides of Tiamat’s child. With Tiamat frozen in horror and dread, Skar attacked her one final time with his whipslash, hitting her in the face and cutting her side with the crystal. As the Red Ape left, Tiamat slowly approached the ripped corpse of her child, resting her head on the severed head. Tears formed in Tiamat’s eyes as she mourned the death of her child. Eventually, Tiamat left the Hollow Earth and traveled to the surface world, wanting to stay away from Skar King or any other Great Ape as much as possible. Over time, however, her sorrow boiled into rage as she took her anger out on anything she came across, ranging from ice age fauna to Vikings. The sounds of her child’s screams haunted her every day since that day. Eventually, Tiamat went dormant near Stone Mountain in the future continent of North America.

In 2019, when Ghidorah unleashed his alpha call, Tiamat woke up and once again took her streets, grief and anger out on anything humans she came across. Later that same year, after Ghidorah’s death, Tiamat went to Godzilla’s old lair and upon seeing The (elder) Rival, Tiamat’s rage reached new heights upon seeing that Great Ape and she killed him. Later when Godzilla came to the lair, Tiamat of course attacked him to take her anger out. After Godzilla defeated her, Tiamat then went to the North Pole. In 2024, Tiamat was drawn to the eastern United States upon sensing that her new child; a daughter named Lahamu, had been captured and imprisoned in a research facility beneath an unidentified city. In her search for her Lahamu, Tiamat ravages the waters surrounding the city, in which she siphons the electrical energy from a power plant and attacks David Martin. She subsequently & aggressively battled Kong upon spotting him, only for the battle to end in a stalemate. Tiamat eventually swam back out into the open ocean with Lahamu after reuniting with her.

In 2027, while in the North Pole, Tiamat apparently picked the Hollow Earth Iwi’s distress call. Before Tiamat picked up on the details of the call, Titanus Amhuluk showed up and attacked. Despite her best efforts, Tiamat was beaten and forced out by Amhuluk who took the territory as his own. Later on, after watching Godzilla destroy Amhuluk, Tiamat picked up on more details about the distress call, learning that Skar King was coming. This terrified Tiamat as what he did that day was forever engrained in her memory. However, not wanting to lose her child again and wanting to get revenge on Skar, Tiamat healed her wounds and gained some more power after Evolved Godzilla left. After the Skull Crawlers’ attack on Egypt, Kong and especially Godzilla were surprised to see Tiamat. As Mothra explains to Godzilla about how Tiamat saved her life, Tiamat explains to both alpha titans the reason why she was so aggressive and destructive. After this explaination, Godzilla and Kong allow Tiamat to join the fight against Skar King and his army.

Now i already discussed Tiamat’s roles in Egypt, Hollow Earth and Rio in a past post. But i wanna add that a new addition to the “Tiamat settling in new cave system” is that Tiamat is joined by her daughter Lahamu, who looks bigger and older than she did in 2024. With Skar King now forever dead, Tiamat is finally able to be have peace for the first time in thousands of years. Which is part of why Tiamat was reclassified from destroyer to protector. And the reason why Tiamat was a destroyer in the first place was because she was traumatized by Skar King’s murder of her original child and she took her anger out on anything she wanted.

[moreespressoformydepresso]

TreeMina AU in the world of Avatar: The Last Airbender. Long before the Fire Nation went all conquest crazy, the water tribes came into massive conflict with each other. While the North agreed to let the South keep their own government, the current chief of the water tribes started imposing more and more on the South. Eventually, this led to an all-out war.

The North has one massive power on their side: the avatar, Lamina. She only recently returned from her travels around the world in search of masters to teach her how to wield the elements and came home to assist her tribe in the war. Of course, the leader of the North have not been honest with their people, as they know most would not support it. Everyone has been told the South tried to be completely independent through force, without even bothering to talk about it or negotiate. Since the Southern style of waterbending is more aggressive than the defensive Northern style, the Southerners are clearly more combative. If they’re given their independence, who knows what they’ll do! One day they’ll take over the North and attack other nations, so they have to be stopped! And since the South attacked first, the North has justification for a hostile takeover as they siege the South non-stop. Of course, the truth is that the North attacked first, but only a small amount of people knows about that.

Meanwhile, in the South, there’s a young waterbender named Treech. He’s not much of a fighter, though he’s proficient in the Southern style of bending. His skill mostly lies in healing. His attacks are his defense, keeping the enemy away for long enough so he can heal whoever needs it and get them to safety. If it’s just him, he’d rather run away or hide than fight, but when the lives of others are in the balance he won’t rest until he’s saved them. It is that quality that ends up getting him noticed by the biggest threat to his people.

During a new siege, Treech runs and hides as troops pass through the settlement, laying waste to his beautiful home. Finally he comes across a sort of safehouse, where injured and non-benders try to stay out of the line of fire. Treech is the only bender there who is well-enough to heal, and does his best to help everyone. That is, until they’re found by a group of Northerners, including a certain someone. Treech realizes he’s the only one that can do anything, and if he doesn’t everyone there will die, so he tells them to stay put and runs upstairs. From the window, he attacks the Northerners from above and starts fighting them. While he manages to take out the three or so waterbenders, he stands no chance against the avatar on his own and he knows it. But he can’t let her touch the helpless innocents inside, so he fights. Despite holding out far longer than expected, she eventually manages to knock him out.

Lamina knew she was doing the right thing, but the boy was around her age and looked so desperate as he fought her that she couldn’t help but doubt. But the captain was certain soldiers were hiding here, and she wouldn’t let anyone endanger her people. She could spare the boy, though. The others were unconscious, so once she was done inside she’d hide him somewhere safe. No one had to know. Except once she busts down the doors of the house, she sees nothing like what she was expecting. Instead of terrifying soldiers and battle plans, Lamina sees a group of civilians, mostly children, almost all of them with minor injuries. One of the more gravely injured ones has a massive wound on her side, water diluting the bloody pool underneath her, and that’s when it hits her. That boy hadn’t attacked them out of anger or a lust for blood, he’d been protecting these people. He’s been using his bending to heal the wounded! Lamina looks around the room once, before stepping towards the wounded woman. Everyone looks terrified, then confused when she heals the wound. Perhaps the captain was misinformed? It says nothing about the South as a whole, surely, but every group has its innocents! So she leaves, but just as she leaves the house the boy outside wakes up. He panics, and as Lamina tries to calm him down a new squad of Northerners comes around the corner. She tries to stop them from attacking, but they don’t listen. Before Lamina can do anything, the boy has brought up a massive wall of ice to block their attacks and yells at the civilians to run, before stomping on the ground. The ice cracks around them, and before anyone can react Lamina, the soldiers, and the boy all fall as the ground collapses underneath them. Then there’s darkness.

When they wake up, it’s just Lamina and Treech in the rubble. At first, Treech slinks into a corner and is fully prepared to fight her, but she calms him down and then they talk. At first, Lamina refuses to believe the North are the agressors here, but Treech shares some of his experiences and tells her to stay in the South once the siege is over to see the world like he does. To look at this conflict from the eyes of a Southerner. So she does. No one bats an eye over Lamina not returning to the ships because she often makes her own way back, so once the Northerners have left she pulls her hood up to hide her identity and Treech leads her around the city. She’s never returned to a settlement soon enough after a siege to see the extent of the destruction the North caused, and she’s horrified at what she finds. Treech leads her deeper into the city and when she asks why, he tells her he wants to show her something she needs to see. The depths of what the North will do to keep control over them.

Back in the cave, they’d argued briefly about what caused the war, with Treech stating it was the North pushing for more and more power over them while Lamina says they attacked first and need to be kept under control. When they finally reach the center of the settlement, Lamina is horrified to see the rows upon rows of injured. Treech leads her around as he heals as many as he can, with Lamina joining him while she works through the shock. Finally, he pulls her to the side so they can talk privately.

“Does that look like keeping us ‘under control’ to you?! Because all I see is needless cruelty!”

“I-“

“And when did we attack you? Because I don’t remember such a thing happening!”

Treech offers to show her some other Southern settlements so she can see that this isn’t a one off, this is the status quo. Lamina is starting to realize maybe she doesn’t have the full story and agrees, starting their journey across the Southern water tribe. During this time, the two start as grudging companions only working together for their own reasons (Treech trying to make the strongest warrior of the North realize what she’s contributing to so his homeland isn’t destroyed. Lamina trying to figure out what’s happening because as the avatar she must do what’s best for the world, not just her own people, and she cannot let her bias lead her). Over the course of their journey, they evolve to friends and then start to fall in love with each other. By the end they’re simping for each other and Lamina realizes that the North is being lied to by their leaders. So she comes home and tries to convince them to stop and while most of the army listens to her after some convincing not everyone cares. A small group of soldiers goes to attack the south again and Lamina and Treech rush back to stop them and there’s a climactic final battle. When Treech is nearly killed Lamina loses it and enters the avatar state, at which point she becomes a living, unstoppable nuke of nature. The North is forced to surrender and the peace between the tribes is restored. The South regains the power to govern themselves for the most part and the two lovebirds get to happily live out their lives.

[deeptrashwitch]

Ashes of Freedom

Synopsis: An old kingdom filled of powerful people was forgotten after a war that costed so much to the people. Liberitas. Land of legends, steel and power. Two princes and the princess of the kingdom, spirits of the past that seem to be back.

They want vengance against the tyrant's cruel descendant and take back what is theirs. And nothing will stop them.

Tag list: @snootlestheangel @stuffireadandenjoy @catterdraws

Chapter 1: The past collides

For centuries, the continent was ruled under four royal families.

The first one, Ignia. Royalty of the east, recognizable for their hair so red as the forge fires they mastered during hundreds of generations, the second strongest dynasty of the old ages. All of them learned to forge, to create the most beautiful and lethal weapons across the continent. Every warrior under their command was trained to know how to fight with magic and non-magic weapons, they could fight even with broken swords or spears and their magic was reigned by their emotions.

The second one, Pra-ve, is famous nowadays but forgotten before. This royal house emerged back after the creation of the empire and the end of the war. All the power they have comes from money, the mines on their territory are the finest in all the continent, and their refineries are the most advanced as well. Even if they don’t have magic, they are an important part of this empire, they have the largest functioning port.

The third one, a name long faded. They, my children, were savages, never doing the best for their people just out of pride. Amazing hunters they were, I have to admit, but so arrogant and dependent on their magic based on the safety of earth. Our great emperor was so clever to stop them, ending their reign of blood and violence, bringing peace to their people.

But the fourth royal house, they were the real monsters. Taranis. Legends among humans, warriors without a trace of mercy and unhinged fighters. They ruled the west with iron fist, princes and princesses taught from their first steps how to fight under any condition, and they had the best naval fleet on all the continent. All of the heirs had green eyes, the story says they got them from a pagan deity itself, granting them strength and intelligence. 

During the war they resisted even with their cavalry and infantry torn to shreds. Nertan Taranis, the bloodthirst king, fought as he was a wounded animal and killed as many soldiers as he could, covering himself in their blood. The massacre just ended once a brave soldier, tired of the death and pain, betrayed the deranged monarch. He took a sword and ended the principal lineage, beheading the crown prince. 

They gave up after that, their people being less than a half because of the stubbornness of their rulers. That crown was kept by Nertan in a sign of shame until his deathbed, then his second despised son took the throne, Johan Taranis. Their legend…

-Mother, you may excuse me for interrupting your story, but I doubt it is the truth-said a man with blue eyes and black hair while he looked at his glass of wine, then looking at his mother-have you seen how king Darion and queen Lenna are? Are they legends? Surely they created those stories to cover their sheer stupidity

-I hate to give this bum the reason, but is impossible that peasants like that faint-hearted, second class kings are anything else than simple ants against our power-muttered with anger a blonde young man as his red eyes shined with disgust-Regilis Antartes should have done the same he did with the old Saveka’s royal family, execute them

-You shouldn’t underestimate such old lineage, Renkal, the books relate enormous and long battles between Liberita’s army and Galantia’s troops-interrupted another young man, also blond but with cold amber eyes, looking at the red-eyed and then the blue-eyed man-neither should you, Elric, you are the crown heir, it isn’t wise to underestimate your enemies. I’m sure that the Taranis princes would rip off your heart if they are given an opportunity

-How dare you speak so adamantly, you dog?!-snarled Renkal Antartes, the second prince, livid while looking at him-you should know by now that you aren’t on our level just to speak so freely, with an imperial prince. And you defend those Liberitas fools no less!

-Novaris, you insult me if you even think I would relate with such miserable people-commented the heir going back to look at his glass

-It’s obvious you don’t learn anything from your tutors, Markel Novaris, do you think that you have any will to talk here?-asked a black-haired woman with red eyes, standing up as she looked severely to the young one-you are nothing more than the bastard child of my husband, my son said it, you’re just a dog. Understood?

-...Yes, Empress-answered as he lowered his head 

-Never forget that-ordered before pouring wine over his head with a malicious smile-now, get out of my sight, mutt

-I salute the holy princes and the great consort star of the empire, I may go now-Markel murmured before leaving the room

He still had wine dripping down his face and hair, ruining his suit. But before he could clean his face on his own, a voice called out for him.

-Markel, wait! Are you sure you are okay?-a girl who looked exactly as the empress asked while she gave him a handkerchief-here, you really should change clothes

-Thank you, princess Kianre-said emotionlessly before walking again

-You know you can call me “sister”! We are family!

The young man didn’t answer as he walked down one of the aisles with the lights outside the window as a beautiful sight. Arachne's Palace. It was the beautiful imperial palace, an amazing spectacle to the eyes that even foreign guests ask for more time to stay in those beautiful rooms and gardens. 

But for him…it was disgusting. A gold-painted cage filled with double intentions and traps behind every corner, such a different environment than the one he met in his home. The attitude of the imperial family was repulsive, filled with rotten people, with fake smiles and twisted minds. He shook his head and continued walking trying not to acknowledge his reflection on the window, he couldn’t bear his looks after what his mom went through for them.

-Your highness?-called a man’s voice followed by the sound of steps

-Ah, Crissen, can I help you with something?-he asked, smiling to the gray-eyed and brown-haired man

-No, but are you alright, my liege?

-Don’t worry about it, it’s just another tantrum of the empress

-You should say something to the emperor, you are an imperial prince as well-Crissen said with a sigh, using his own sleeve to clean part of Markel’s face-no one has the right to treat you this way

-I’m just an illegitimate child, he won’t intervene on my favor

-My lord…

-Go back to your duties, General, I’ll continue from here

The General stayed silent for a second, but bowed down with respect before walking away. Markel started to think as he walked, squeezing the handkerchief on his hand as he asked himself why the second princess helped him. As he got inside his room, he threw the rag to the floor with hate and fury.

He doesn’t need the compassion of the Antartes family. Not now. Not ever. 

Once he closed the door, the room walls were filled with golden symbols that created a powerful light, which soon disappeared and left the room as if nothing happened. He giggled silently before it became a maniac laughter, and then it became fury. With his blood boiling he took a lamp and threw it against the wall, then an ashtray and an ink jar followed it.

He growled as if he was an animal, but then smiled once he took a glance at the documents over his desk. Just a little bit of time and everything would be ready. Then his hands let out black sparks and whirlpools that started floating around to create a strong wind which ruffled his hair. 

With a smile he started to chant in a mysterious language, until the black sparks fused and took a human silhouette. Markel stopped his chanting and looked at the silhouette with absolute respect. Then, it let out a sound that tried to be similar to a voice and slowly the place where the eyes were filled with a green shine.

-You took your time, Elder One

-My apologies, my liege, but I've been busy inside the palace-said as he bowed down towards the silhouette-even if I hate to deal with the imperial family, I brought useful information

-Before that, are you dripping wine?

-Just a tantrum from the empress, nothing to be uneasy about, your highness

-I'm sorry, Markel, if we knew they would treat you this way we would have never allowed you to go inside Fraxia. We should have kept you by our side

-I'm…flattered by what you are saying, royal highness, but I'm just a shadow under the royal family command-Markel murmured with a smile, grateful by the worry shown-it's nothing that should keep any of you awake at night, it's just wine. Also I'm here under my free will to be useful to the crown

-You should know better than anyone how much my brother hates when you say that of yourself. But I know you well enough to be sure that you won't change your mind, so let's hear what you found, Captain Novaris

-Yes, your highness-answered as he took the documents and made them float-not so long ago, during the reunion where the princes participated, the emperor showed these documents to Prince Renkal and me. These are marriage arrangements with noble ladies of our kingdom, and is asking for some exchanges

-Exchanges? What kind of?

-He wants the main port of the capital, the alliances he knows about and basically he wants to put our prince on a leash. He has the king and queen under his thumb, now he needs you to kneel against the imperial flag…just then he'll have the power he craves for

-So the emperor wants my siblings and I to be at his beck and call, huh? What an idiot

-Just give me the order, your highness, and I'll destroy everything that family could ever love under your names-asked with hate on his tone, kneeling with a hand over his heart-if with that I can secure the brighter future of our home and our royal family, then my shadows and I will burn to the ashes this continent

-Put your head up, Markel, it's not time yet to do so. It'll be soon though, I promise, and you'll be by our side when the time comes. Until then, you must remain like now, but also take care…we don't want a good friend getting hurt

-As you wish, your highness-muttered with a smile-the marriage arrangements are on their way to the capital, one of my shadows took them last night and they should arrive soon. It's always a pleasure to talk to the Whisper of the Winds, but I must retire now. I wish you joy and good riddance during Scaris honors

-Good luck, Captain, we'll see eachother sooner than you think 

-I look forward for it, Your Highness

The silhouette disappeared slowly and once it was completely gone, Markel ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. He clicked his tongue when he felt it slimy and sticky, absolutely disgusted. Then took the papers and threw them to the chimney, looking at the flames in silence as the orange color reflected on his eyes while any proof of what he did got burnt to the ground. It was just a matter of time until the princes got the documents.

Soon a creaking sound put him on high alert, with his hand shot to his belt where he carried his dagger. With his weapon in hand, he looked at the door and how the magic symbols blinked and disappeared. Markel holded his breath waiting to see who enters, ready for anything.

-You…

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Chapters:

< - >

[ritsdhesh]

The last simulation

The Last Simulation

The year was 2104, and the world had not known peace for decades. Nations fought over dwindling resources, and the seas—once a haven for explorers—had become battlegrounds where the remnants of the world's navies waged a never-ending war. But for Aryan, a twelve-year-old boy, the war was not just history. It was a simulation that had become all too real.

Aryan lived in the floating city of New Horizon, one of the few safe zones left at sea. His father, a war hero, had died years ago defending the city’s waters. Since then, Aryan had been raised by his grandfather, a retired naval officer who spent his days training Aryan in the ancient art of warfare, but not on battlefields—inside a simulation. This was how most children learned in the future. War, survival, and history were taught through simulations that could make the impossible possible.

The simulation was unlike any game. It connected seamlessly to the child’s mind, immersing them into the past, recreating the great wars fought across the oceans, the destruction that had consumed the world. Inside the virtual space, Aryan could command fleets, outsmart enemies, and understand the tactics that had led to the downfall of civilizations.

But for Aryan, it wasn’t just a game. There was something broken in the system, something wrong. The lines between simulation and reality began to blur. Every time Aryan entered, the warships seemed more real, the explosions louder. He felt the ocean spray against his face, the tremor of cannon fire shaking his bones.

One evening, while deep inside the simulation, Aryan was navigating through a fierce naval battle when he spotted something odd: a young girl about his age, standing alone on the deck of a burning ship. She wasn’t part of the simulation. Aryan tried to end the session, but he couldn’t log out. Panic set in.

The girl called out, her voice cutting through the noise, "This isn’t a simulation anymore. They made it possible."

Suddenly, Aryan’s grandfather pulled him out of the system, alarmed. "They’ve connected it to the real world, Aryan. The War at Sea isn’t just a lesson now. It’s happening again."

The simulations, once thought to be harmless tools for learning, had become something else—an echo of the wars long gone, brought to life by those in power, with children like Aryan caught in the middle. But now, they would have to do more than survive in the simulated world. They would have to find a way to stop the war from bleeding into their reality and make peace truly possible.

[sqwack]

Unlikely Reverie

The moon cast a silvery glow over the Hogwarts grounds, painting the castle walls with an ethereal light. Hermione Granger found herself wandering through the quiet corridors, lost in thought. She often sought solace in the hallowed halls of the school she had once called home, a place that held memories both bitter and sweet.

As she turned a corner, her heart skipped a beat. There, leaning casually against the wall, was Draco Malfoy. His pale hair glinted under the moonlight, and his gray eyes held a mixture of amusement and something else she couldn't quite decipher.

"Well, Granger," he drawled, pushing himself off the wall, "to what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

Hermione squared her shoulders, unwilling to let his presence rattle her. "I could ask you the same question, Malfoy. Shouldn't you be off somewhere, perfecting your sneer and practicing your pureblood superiority?"

Draco's lips curled into a smirk. "Ah, but where's the fun in that when I can have a far more intriguing conversation with you?"

Hermione scoffed, crossing her arms. "I highly doubt we have anything to discuss that would be remotely interesting."

"Are you so sure?" Draco stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. "We've both changed since the war, Granger. People can surprise you."

Hermione raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued despite herself. "Changed, you say? And how exactly have you changed, Malfoy?"

He shrugged, a hint of something vulnerable flickering in his eyes. "I've come to realize that the ideals I once held were misguided. Loyalty to a dark wizard isn't worth the pain it caused."

She studied him for a moment, sensing a sincerity that she hadn't expected. "And what about your loyalty to your family?"

Draco's shoulders tensed, and he looked away briefly before meeting her gaze again. "I'm trying to forge my own path, away from the shadows they cast."

Hermione's heart softened slightly, though she fought to keep her emotions in check. "Change isn't easy, Malfoy. But it's good that you're trying."

He offered her a wry smile. "And what about you, Granger? Still the brightest witch of your age, buried under a mountain of books?"

Hermione felt a blush rise to her cheeks, but she held her chin high. "Knowledge is power, Malfoy. Something you might want to consider if you're truly trying to change."

Draco chuckled, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down her spine. "Perhaps you could teach me, then. Tutor me in the ways of wisdom."

Her lips twitched into a smile, surprising even herself. "I doubt you could keep up, but I'm always up for a challenge."

As the moon continued its journey across the night sky, Hermione and Draco found themselves engaged in a conversation that was equal parts banter and unexpected connection. The echoes of their shared past remained, but in that fleeting moment, they were just two individuals, seeking understanding amidst the ruins of their old world.

And as they talked, the walls that had divided them for so long seemed to crumble, leaving room for something new, something that neither of them had anticipated – the possibility of an unlikely friendship, and perhaps, even more.