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stubbornness-and-spite · 5 years ago

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Chapter One

Link to Prologue

Summary: The oldest son of Captain Hook, once known as Killian Jones, Peter Jones has been on the Isle of the Lost as long as he can remember. When he was younger, his father used to tell him stories of his mom and papa, who lived in a far away place called Neverland, but it had been years since Peter had been calmed by fairytales. Peter is torn, between the island that calls to him in his dreams and the one where the only family he’s ever known lives: his father, his brother, Harry, and Bronwyn, the boy who has more secrets than he can count but who Peter loves more than anything. When destiny comes calling will Peter choose the magic that runs in his veins or the family he’s built for himself?

Relationships(possibly to be updated): Peter/Bronwyn, Harry/Gil/Uma, Captain Hook/Peter Pan/Tinker Bell

Notes: I don’t know anything about actual psychics and any descriptions in this story are based off of a fantastical magic system. Any similarities to real life practices are not intentional. *Chapter continues under the cut*

Warnings: Non-graphic mentions of blood, mild violence, occasional language

Word Count: 2132

Chapter 1

A familiar figure was perched on a rock just off the shore not far from the ship. Peter grinned as he made his way over. He slipped behind the figure and wrapped his arms loosely around the other’s chest. “Hi, Bronwyn,” he whispered, grinning.

“Shit, Peter,” Bronwyn yelped, jumping. Peter dropped his head onto Bronwyn’s shoulder and leaned on his back. Bronwyn laughed as their cheeks touched. He turned his head to Peter and kissed him on the corner of his mouth. “Good morning,” he murmured. Peter settled down next to him on the rock, one arm falling to his side, the other staying wrapped around Bronwyn’s shoulder. Bronwyn let his head fall onto Peter’s shoulder as the last of the sun broke free from the horizon. Peter rested his head in Bronwyn’s hair and sighed, watching Bronwyn’s hair ruffle with Peter’s breath.

“Something bad is going to happen,” Peter said to the wind.

“How bad?” Bronwyn asked the sun.

Peter grimaced and exhaled sharply. “Bad. And soon,” he promised. “I dreamt the king was here and he stabbed me in the heart. I woke up gasping. It’s probably not literal, you know it rarely is, but I’m worried.”

Bronwyn reached up to Peter’s hand on his shoulder and gripped it firmly. “We’ll get through it,” he said, his voice steel.

“There was more to the dream that I didn’t tell my dad,” Peter confessed. “The king, he was dying. He looked fine but I could tell he was dying. We were on a ship and the sea was made of blood.” He swallowed. “On the horizon, there was a shining green light and it wanted to help, but it couldn’t. I think it might have been Neverland.” He took a shaky breath and squeezed Bronwyn’s hand. “I think Neverland pushed harder than ever last night to warn me of what was coming.”

Bronwyn stayed silent for a few minutes. “Or maybe it was trying to give you a chance. You’ve said it yourself, Peter. Neverland wants you to come home. Maybe it pushed through because there’s a chance to leave here coming.” Peter desperately wanted to latch onto Bronwyn’s hope like a lifeline, but he couldn’t grab it any more than he could grab the fairy dust that should have been in his lungs and running through his veins. “The king’s already taken kids to Auradon. Maybe him stabbing you through the heart symbolized him killing the part of you that belongs on the Isle and letting you go home.”

“I don’t remember Neverland. I don’t remember my papa. I don’t remember my mom.” Peter closed his eyes and tried to picture it, but all he could see were his dad’s descriptions. “I don’t want to leave you behind. I don’t want to leave my dad behind. Or Harry who couldn’t leave Uma or Gil.” He let out a breath. “Fuck,” he shouted, frightening away a flock of seagulls.

“You know we’d all want you to take the opportunity to go if you got it, right?” Bronwyn asked, sliding an arm around Peter’s waist.

“Yeah, I do,” Peter said. He smirked. “You know I won’t take it without you, right?”

Bronwyn rolled his eyes. “Yeah, I do,” he said.

“Wanna go get lunch?” Bronwyn gently pushes Peter off of him and leans back to face him. The darkness of the day where the sun was hidden behind never-changing clouds had risen.

Peter shrugs. “Yeah, sure. Ursula’s Fish and Chips?” he suggested. “We can check out the trainwreck that is Uma, Gil, and my brother.”

Bronwyn grinned. “Sounds like a good time.” He stood up and stretched, before leaning down to offer Peter a hand. Peter took it, laughing. He let Bronwyn help him to his feet and they made their way down the coast to Ursula’s ship. The dock was falling apart even more than Peter’s. He sneered at the stinking fish and rotting boards that had clearly never seen a broom, let alone been scrubbed. Bronwyn grabbed his hand and laced their fingers together, drawing his attention away from the ship’s state of disrepair. Peter sighed fondly as they made their way onto the ship, avoiding the areas of the dock that looked like supporting weight might be the last thing they ever did. Gil was sitting outside the door when they reached it.

Peter bit back a laugh and forced himself to sound sympathetic. “What’s Uma pissed about this time?”

Gil glared at the ground in what Peter would have called a pout if he’d wanted to start a fight. “She was complaining about the awful things that Mal did and I reminded her of one she didn’t want to think about,” he admitted.

Bronwyn grimaced. “Mal was a bitch to her.”

Gil nodded. “I know, but I thought she wanted to bring it up so she could complain and I didn’t notice her and Harry glaring at me until it was too late. She had a whole song about it which ended with me in a net with her using my feet as a chair and shoving me across the bar. I got pissed and brought it up again. Now she’s mad and Harry’s mad and I can’t even go in and apologize.”

Bronwyn closed his eyes for a long moment, his jaw set. “One: I hate that the ambient magic around here makes people break out into song and dance. It’s stupid and useless and you would think magic would want to build up its power so it could do something actually impactful instead of wasting it on creating enough harmony to make our lives a literal musical.”

“Babe.” Peter put his hand on Bronwyn’s arm, his expression fondly amused. “You’re ranting.”

Bronwyn sighed and shook his head. “Two: Uma’s being a self-centered bitch and you should really consider your other options if she’s going to keep taking you for granted,” he said to Gil.

Gil shrugged and grinned ruefully. “I think I’m good. Uma and Harry are…” he trailed off.

Peter nodded. “You know Harry loves you too, right?” he asked. “He’ll never say it, but he does.”

Gil nodded. “It’s the Isle, we’re fucked up. If this makes Uma feel like her entire life isn’t out of her control, then I’ll sit here forever. Maybe if we’d gotten picked instead…”

Bronwyn gave him a regretful look. “I know.”

Peter spoke up. “You’re cool if we go in, right? We were going to get lunch and I should probably talk to Harry.”

“About your… you know?” Bronwyn asked.

Gil’s eyes went wide. “Is something bad going to happen? Not the kind of bad we like but like the kind of bad that-”

“Gil,” Peter interrupted. “It’ll be alright. Don’t worry about it.”

They stepped onto the ship, pretending not to hear Gil call out. “That wasn’t a no!”

Peter waved at Harry as he and Bronwyn walked onto the ship. Harry grinned manically and made his way over. “Was wondering when you two would make your way over here,” Harry said, roughly guiding them to a table. “I’ll get out of your way.”

Peter grabbed Harry’s arm. “Wait, I wanted to talk to you.” He said, biting his tongue. “Just… be careful, alright.”

Harry nodded. His eyes were dark, his mouth pressed into a thin line, and his jaw was tight. “Eyes up, head down?” Peter echoed the statement. Harry nodded again and made his way over to Uma. He whispered something in her ear and she stiffened. A moment later, she relaxed as if she’d never frozen at all. She jerked her head towards the door and Harry nodded sharply. He walked over and out, but came back inside a moment later, dragging Gil along with him. He gestured at Uma and the three of them slipped away.

Peter relaxed. They’d taken his warning to heart. He turned to Bronwyn and smiled. “Are you going to bother ordering or just eat whatever?”

Bronwyn laughed, “I’m not in the habit of wasting words or time, so no. I’m not ordering.” Peter reached out and placed his hand on the table, instantly Bronwyn placed his hand on top of it and smiled. “We’ll get through,” he said. “Just like we always do.”

“Again.” Peter bent forward, his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. He gasped a few more deep breaths and threw himself into a fighting stance, his feet shoulder-width apart, his toes pointing away from Bronwyn to give Bronwyn less of a target from his current angle. Peter’s hands shook on the handles of his knives, his dagger long since knocked away. His skin glistened with sweat and blood leaked from shallow cuts on his arms.

Bronwyn leaned back on his heels, putting himself off-balance to signal to Peter to wait. “Are you sure you can go again?” he asked skeptically. Bronwyn’s shoulder-length black hair was slick with sweat and strands fell loose in his face. His breathing was heavy but more controlled than Peter. His long leather pants and long-sleeved leather jacket had protected him from most cuts by Peter’s knives. The gold patterns on his green jacket looked worse for wear and his black pants had taken the cuts that hadn’t reached his skin.

Peter glared furiously at him. “Again.” Bronwyn sighed, flicking his wrist to send a throwing knife spinning towards Peter’s face. Peter’s feet didn’t move, but he twisted his body back and out of the way. Bronwyn sent a second knife flying to where Peter had moved to avoid the first one. Peter noticed a second too late and pulled out of his twist a hair shy, taking the cut across his cheek. He stumbled back at the sudden pain. Still half twisted and standing up as he staggered away, he lost his balance and ended up on the sand. He made to push himself up, but Bronwyn walked over before he could and pushed his chest down until Peter lay flat on his back. Peter strained to push Bronwyn off of him, but Bronwyn picked up the knife that he’d thrown a moment ago and spun it around to grab in his fist. He held the point to Peter’s throat.

“We’re done,” he growled.

Peter dropped his head back and groaned. “Fine, we’re done,” he acquiesced. Bronwyn let out a breath and rolled off of Peter to flop on the sandy beach beside him.

“You’re running yourself ragged over this vision,” Bronwyn remarked. “Getting yourself killed isn’t going to stop anything. Fighting me until you literally can’t anymore isn’t either.” Peter didn’t answer. “You’re sloppy when you’re paranoid,” Bronwyn noted. “You can usually beat me half the time, but when you’re swinging wide and putting too much energy into everything, you aren’t hard to evade.” Peter groaned and smacked Bronwyn in the chest. “I’m serious, Peter.” Bronwyn stressed. “You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Pretty sure I can’t,” Peter reminded him. “They brought people back to life to imprison them here, do you really think this barrier will let us die?”

“Get yourself permanently maimed, then.” Bronwyn let out a harsh exhale.

“I’m going to be okay.”

“Sorry if I don’t believe empty words over actual prophecies,” Bronwyn scoffed

“That’s not fair,” Peter muttered. “My prophecies are shit and vague and you know it.” Bronwyn didn’t answer. He stared up at the dark clouds that covered the afternoon sun and sighed. He let the back of his hand touch Peter. He turned his arm and wrapped his hand around the back of Peter’s hand, lacing their fingers together and running his thumb softly up and down the skin it could reach. Peter sighed contentedly and Bronwyn closed his eyes.

The sun was setting when the boys finally stood up. Bronwyn pulled himself up and offered Peter his arm. Peter grabbed it and pulled himself up. He stretched his arms over his head until his back cracked. Bronwyn put his hands on his arms and twisted to stretch. He hesitated.

“Can I borrow your belt?” He asked tentatively. “I’ll give it back in the morning. I just need to borrow it.”

Peter looked at him with a furrowed brow and narrow eyes. “You want my belt?”

Bronwyn hissed softly. “And your dagger,” he said. “Peter, I promise I’ll give them back first thing in the morning, please.”

Peter sighed. He slung off his belt and grabbed his dagger, placing it in the scabbard. He held it out to Bronwyn. “Don’t make me regret this.”

Bronwyn grinned. “Thanks, Peter. See you tomorrow.” He leaned over and kissed Peter lightly on the cheek. He turned to leave, but Peter caught his wrist, smirking. He spun Bronwyn into him and dipped him, kissing him deeply, with the sunset framing their silhouettes.

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writevswrong · 7 years ago

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FANFIC * NESSIAN * PART TWENTY ONE

Hey everyone! Couple of things I wanted to share...

1) I’ve been dealing with a family emergency since Thursday, it’s been a rough few days but I’m hoping things start to look up. Well wishes and positive vibes are all I can ask for.

2) Because of that family emergency, I haven’t been able to focus on writing as much. Whatever happens in the next couple of days, might delay the next chapter. I was tempted to break this into two chapters but I figured that would be too cruel.

3) This is long as hell. It’s 6000+ words. It’s going to be a bitch to read on tumblr but hopefully you enjoy.

Nessian Part Twenty One by L.J. LaFleur

Cassian:

The ground beneath me quaked on impact; my knees groaned upon landing. Behind me, the field of wheat began to fill with Illyrian soldiers, the wind disrupted by the flaps of their wings. Our dark armor contrasted with the golden grass. Rising to my feet, I sniffed the autumn air for her familiar scent.

Farmers fled, dropping their plows and buckets. They ran towards the castle, banging on the metal gate. I watched as the guards pulled them inside, as the look of horror brushed across each of their faces. To see the Night Court army in person, to see a field of winged warriors—I’m sure a few of them soiled their trousers.

Inhaling deeply—vanilla and spice, my head whipped in her direction. Eyes narrowed; another breath in. Surveying the western wing…there. A deep growl built inside my chest. They had locked her in the dungeon, leaving her in Ferron’s keep. Grisly thoughts pried at my brain. I couldn’t think of what they had done to her, of the pain she possibly experienced. It only fed the flame of my eternal wrath.

I would not fail her again, a promise I had made every time the sun danced on the horizon. Find her, bring her home and by the bloody mother above—kiss her before anything else goes wrong.

As I examined the western entrance, I could feel my muscles tighten. There was one way in if you were walking, but flying…the options were endless.

Autumn guards filed out of the towers while archers lined the walls. I wouldn’t doubt their arrows were dipped in faebane. Scanning the wall, I could see it. A crack, a weakness—most likely caused by my landing. Good.

Down the lines, I began to bark orders—it was time.

This won’t be an easy one to win. Even with more than a hundred soldiers, we were weak against faebane weaponry. All of our food, our water—filled with the antidote. I only hoped it would be enough.

Orders given, soldiers at the ready. I studied the weakness of Beron’s wall, judging the distance—the number of soldiers that would perish before we could tear it down. Too many. The number of families I would have to deliver the remains to…

I could feel their presence before they appeared. Every sense heightened in war, I could see, hear and smell clearer. My family winnowed in—cauldron in tow.

“What are you doing?” I demanded, my eyes expanding at the site of the cauldron. “That was never part of the plan.”

Azriel bit the inside of his cheek, his face set in stone, “Elain. She’s quite persuasive when it comes to visions.” A subtle shrug, his jaw tightened as he glanced into the fading shadows then back to me.

I nodded once, raising my hand in wait of his. As we grabbed each other’s forearms, our siphons lit up. An explosion of blue and red encasing the entire Night Court legion.

Rhysand released himself from the cauldron to join us. A layer of darkness, enclosed around our well-made shields. “We go in as one,” his violet eyes swept to each of us—from Azriel to Mor to Amren to Feyre, “we leave in one,” Rhysand gripped where our wrists collided. “Family, always,” he finished, fixing his heavy gaze on me.

Family.

What all of us lacked in blood, we made up for in other ways. In respect, in encouragement, love and sacrifices. And then Feyre came along, and eventually so did her sisters. The three of them ripping open the inner circle and making an everlasting impression. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

“She’s in the dungeon—western wing.” I looked to Azriel, memorizing his face—this would not be the last time I see him. “Be safe, brother.”

Azriel gave me one last squeeze before releasing my forearm. He glanced over my shoulder, his lips curved upwards, “remind Amren not to get too cocky. She already unleashed herself once and barely made it home.”

Amren’s crimson lips spread across her face, “at least I made it back in one piece.”

I watched as Azriel faded into a cloud of smoke, a bright smile while his scarred hand rested on the hilt of Truth Teller.

This would not be the last time, brother.

Azriel:

I sunk into the shadows, letting the obsidian coils cradle me. One thought, that’s all it took to reach inside the Autumn Court dungeon. It was too easy. Every time I jumped into the shadow world, on the direct path to Nesta—it should have been difficult, near impossible to get past their wards.

The labyrinth of hallways and cells; it was too quiet. There were no agonizing screams or mumbling prayers…

Elain’s words pestered me through the darkness, “flames of suns, tendrils of night. Wings of ruin. End of sight.” We still hadn’t figured out the vision, I literally was at a loss of words as she murmured the sentences over and over.

Ever since seeing Eris in the Court of Nightmares, she’s been manic. She wouldn’t sleep or eat, her sole focus on what each word represented. In an endless trance, Elain would stare at the wall until I stepped into view. Her words halting, her breathing even—a moment of clarity and then just like the dance of shadows—she was gone.

My head shot up at the sound of one, two, three guards filing down the hallway. As I closed in, dagger at the ready—I launched forward. Slitting two in the throat and stabbing the other in the heart. Their bodies dropped, piling into the already cramped space of the hallway.

I dragged them into a cell, disarming them accordingly. An azure film on the tip of their blades.

Faebane.

Every steel point was dipped in poison. This was going to be an exceptionally painful war if we did not retrieve her quickly. Again, I slipped into the welcoming shadows. I inhaled, hoping to catch her scent.

“Cassian!” Nesta screamed, her voice echoing against the stone walls.

Speeding through the veil of the shadow world, I followed her continuous cries for help. Faster and faster, until my head felt like it would explode.

I nearly smacked into the wall, unable to move forward. I rushed for the stone wall, again, I was stuck. Catching my breath as the darkness glided off my armor, I reappeared in front of the cell. Not a sound but the beat of my own heart. It was too quiet for a dungeon.

I stood still, debating my next move. I couldn’t see through the walls, I couldn’t winnow inside. Continue or retreat? Explain to Elain that I didn’t—that I couldn’t bring back her sister? Or risk it?

Scanning the outside—I picked up a few things. This cell was different than the others, there were no bars—no way to look in. Not only that but this was the opposite end of where Ferron held Nesta before.

Water drained down the walls, discoloration from years of neglect. A single door made of copper stood off centered. The sconce of dying flames snapped, a small explosion of embers distracted me.

“Cassian! CASSIAN!” Nesta’s panicked wailing continued.

I stepped closer, checking the perimeter with each step. Elain’s nagging words threatened to bring me to my knees.

“CASS!”

Hand on the copper door, I stopped, attempting to retreat into the darkness but it was too late.

I heard it first, the trigger igniting the blast.

Feeling it was worse, the faebane powder—the debris of stone and copper shrapnel exploded towards me. I couldn’t winnow fast enough, I was caught—too hell bent on finding Nesta to pay attention.

Limited guards. Hardly any prisoners. A trap.

I flung through the air, crashing into what remained of the hallway. Bits of metal buried into my chest and wings, I felt the crimson gush out of my gaping wounds. Faebane flooded my bloodstream, I was contaminated—through breath and blood…

El…

Nesta:

My knees shook from the explosion, clenching my teeth together—I only hoped it wasn’t him. That it wasn’t Cassian. Emotions that I had run from, the pain and longing that I had attempted to bury surged to the surface.

Eris reached his finger out towards mine, squeezing in reassurance as we hurried through the grand throne room. We were still chained together with barely enough slack for either of us to move freely. His body heat kept the ancient chill from invading my body further.

Another shock wave reverberated against the floor and walls. The multi-colored jewels above us clanked together. Several carved leaves fell, once a dull object—now a weapon from its height. I watched as they began to fall, as the guards dodged them.

Our pace picked up, stone fragments shooting through the air like fallen stars. I glimpsed at Eris, the muscle in his jaw twitched as he glowered at Aedin’s back.

Acid raced up the back of throat, searing the soft flesh. The ache in my chest, the wanting fire. It needed to come out; to release the tension burning in my torso.

I had to stop, I had to…

Eris stayed put beside me, his gruff voice shook me, “what are you doing?” He angled his body to protect me; amber eyes sparked with concern.

“You don’t understand,” I uttered, my voice sounding so far away. I felt lost, detached from my body. A ringing noise threatened to overpower his continuous questions.

The guard behind us pushed the blunt end of his spear in my back, “keep moving,” he ordered.

Snapping without any thought, I turned to face the thickset beast, “shove that stick up your…”

“Is there a problem?” Aedin paused to look over his shoulder. His face contorted, deep lines of hatred, of repulsion as he glared at me. “We wouldn’t want you to miss the show, Nesta.” He closed the distance between us, blocking Eris with one maneuver while delivering a back-handed slap to my bruised cheek.

I bit my tongue, holding the scream in my caged mouth. Slowly, I turned to look at him, at the Vanserra brother I had wished to demolish.

Eris bucked forward, his forehead smacking into Aedin’s face. Eris waited, watching the bloody river drain down his brother’s brow.

Aedin laughed without humor, not bothering to wipe the blood away. “You’re going to pay for that—and for Egan’s murder. Traitor.”

Then it happened, as painful as the first time. I jerked forward, both Eris and I falling to the ground as I wailed in pain. The nausea striking me like the tip of a sharpened blade. My head felt like it would split, Ronan’s whispers grew louder.

Nesta, Nesta, Nesta…

“Nesta?” Eris urgently shook me, amber eyes searching for a sign. “Nesta!”

“Cassian,” I breathed, clutching my stomach as I hurled away from Eris. “The cauldron, they…” Cut off by my own scream, the burning pain of faebane only heightened the feeling of death’s caress.

Eris:

“Get them up, we have a war to win.” Aedin spat at me, a bubbly wad of spit landing on my torn tunic.

Little shit.

I pulled out of the guard’s grasp, helping Nesta to her feet. Her face green, amber tears threatening to escape.

“He is alive, do you hear me?” I searched her glazed over irises; she was lost. By what? “Nesta?” I shook her before we were forced forward, she didn’t answer. To the best of my ability, I held her up, whispering to her that Cassian was still alive.

I didn’t know but I hoped. For cauldron’s sake, I only hoped that he was.

We shuffled onward, towards the western overlook. Nesta trembled beside me, her silence more horrifying than her cries. Through the giant stained-glass doors, I could see what was left of the Illyrian army. It was enough, they could win this.

“It’s about time you joined us,” Father raised his bulbous nose, to emphasize his disapproval even further. “I wouldn’t want our lovely guest to miss her family’s demise.”

Nesta delivered a fearsome scowl; fire incarnate, beauty of war. “Burn in hell,” she muttered just before another round of vomit exiled from her blue-tinted lips.

Father sneered while taking a step away, pronouncing each syllable, “disgusting.” After recovering, he breathed in premature defeat. “Aedin if you will,” he raised his palm while staring at the Autumn army.

A dagger, engraved with our family mantra, rested in his burly hand. The dagger that was meant for the heir of the Autumn Court.

I glanced between Aedin and my father, lastly, I observed my mother. Delivering my final goodbye. She looked shaken with grief, with the news of one son’s death, only to watch another’s.

Nesta blankly gazed at the battlefield that was once farmlands. She focused on the cauldron, on Cassian who hovered just above it. Her nostrils flared, a break between her lips as if she were to speak.

Aedin reached for the Vanserra dagger, this was the day he had been waiting for. To be death’s messenger; to bring me to my knees.

My eyes flashed to Nesta, to Cassian dodging arrows—unable to reach us.

Aedin stepped closer, his mouth curved into a vile smile. I glanced to Nesta, to the woman who deserved more than a brutal gutting.

“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, shoving us off the edge of the balcony.

Nesta awakened, her eyes widening with shock as we dropped through the air. Not a scream, not a damn sound—instead she nodded, understanding my intention.

Pulling her closer, I rested my head on top of hers. Closing my eyes, I waited for the impact. “I’m sorry,” I repeated, feeling the rise and fall of her chest, her body caving into mine.

Cassian:

I dove into the line of Autumn soldiers, fighting my way forward. Launch, strike, kill, repeat. Bloodcurdling screams echoed as metal and bones collided. Soldiers on both sides fell; it was expected. I did not have time to mourn, not yet anyways.

A cry from behind caught me off balance. Feyre dropped, two arrows, one in her shoulder and the other just above her hip. She cursed while sinking to her knees. Rhys blocked her, his hands shooting out tendrils of night toward the wall of archers. Several disintegrated on the spot, leaving a puff of ash behind.

Launching into the air, I flew above the cauldron. Not only for a better vantage point, but to protect my High Lord and Lady.

Rhys dropped his hands, pulling Feyre to her feet. “Stay with me,” he begged frantically, pushing back her wispy hair.

Another round of arrows pierced through our force field.

“Shield’s up!!” I ordered, watching as my soldiers continued fighting—orbs of red bursting one by one.

Fucking faebane.

I flew forward, only to be pushed back by more arrows. Shit.

Think, think…take out the archers first. Then make a run for the wall, for Nesta.

My eyes darted to a falling object in the distance, “no…” I felt my heart burst, my wings give. Nesta and Eris, free-falling towards the ground. “NESTA!!!” I roared, nearly hitting the cauldron as I landed.

I watched as they came closer and closer. I rushed forward, moving without thinking—fighting without stopping. Arrows and spears and flaming daggers, all raced through the sky. Our shields barely holding against the impact.

The rage and fear that had been bottled up, released—the blast from my siphons shredding the opposing side.

“Nesta!!” I snarled, unable to close my eyes, I watched in horror.

Eris shouted, his arms tightening around her just before they hit…a cloud of smoke and shadows.

A young Autumn soldier attempted to engage with me, but he should have known better. I sliced through him easily enough, a quick death for someone who didn’t have a chance—who didn’t deserve the pain.

I scanned the battlefield, taking a quick look back to where Rhys and Feyre stood. He held her up, their concentration unnerving. As they focused on clearing out the archers, breaking apart minds of well-trained soldiers—it dawned on me. The Autumn army had focused their energies on Rhys and Feyre. The two most powerful High Fae is the history of Prythian. Unleashing arrows and bombs to weaken them. To give their army a fighting chance.

I spotted Amren and Mor, they had taken the outer flanks. Barely able to push forward against the blasts of faebane, but they pressed on.

I continued searching, hurtling into the air. My breathing ragged, I wasn’t fully healed but I didn’t care. I would shred my wings if it meant saving her. I would sacrifice my life for hers. As long as she lived, I would fight—I would endure the constant unknown between us.

Twenty, maybe more—spears of fire flung towards us. I spun, maneuvering around the death darts. Soldiers flying beside me screamed as they were impaled, as they fell to the battlefield. Their pleas of help silenced the moment they crashed into the bloody field.

“Cassian!” Eris yelled, his grating voice raced towards me.

Following his strained voice, I found them. Surrounded by Autumn soldiers, he shouted for me again. Warriors using their spears to taunt them, to poke and prod at their skin.

I charged ahead, dodging another arrow and another. Fuck. Following the trail of arrows, I squinted towards the edge of the woods. Hidden archers. They were too far to annihilate with my fists or magic. I had better luck on the ground; with a flick of my wings, I dropped. My feet throbbing with pain on the touchdown; I ran.

Mor:

The overwhelming amount of grief and guilt had smothered me the past few days, and even more so now. This was my fault. The Illyrian deaths—their blood was on my hands. I watched our fleet take hit after hit. A mass of faebane arrows falling towards us. Our shields less effective than we hoped.

This was my fault.

Plunging my Illyrian sword into one—two men, I saw them.

Several fire balls flying towards the legion, I ordered them to duck—unfortunately some did not react quick enough. Countless screams, silenced within a few torturous minutes.

Wil and Idris, the commanders of the Autumn Court army ordered their men forward. Whirls of fire spreading through the crowd of clashing metal.

“HOLD THE LINE!” I echoed, following Cassian’s lead. He was born for war, a master of stealing souls, of silencing enemies.

I was not. Truth is my power, my greatest strength—yet I have failed myself, my family.

I bit my lip, striking blood as I continued my attack towards Idris. The only woman amongst the rank of slobbering succubus’s. Her skin nearly gray, she always painted herself with ashes of the fallen. Ashes she had collected from previous battles. Her braided hair looked that of white snakes, tipped with red, with blood.

The line began to separate, spears of agony ripped through the three warriors next to me. Idris. A disgusting grin, fire flashing in her eyes. Bitch.

Raising my sword, I shouted louder, “HOLD THE LINES!!” Several soldiers replaced those who had fallen. A stampede of Autumn and Illyrians crashing into one another.

I whipped my head around, searching for my family. For a reminder; my anchor.

Boiling water shot out of Amren’s fingers, drowning several soldiers in her path. Her fingers spread, her wrists shaking as she cursed beneath her breath. By that, I mean shouting.

“I fucking hate this place!” She hollered over the crowd, she was speaking to me.

Amren fought with water, I fought with truth. Blasting the enemy with thick bursts of white light. However, my power was weakened by the amount of faebane particles in the air. Each breath incapacitating me a little more and more.

I almost laughed, I forgot she hated the Autumn Court as much as I did. I gnashed my teeth, springing back from the swinging sword. Idris had made her move, heaving forward with the ugliest war cry I’ve ever heard.

“Amren!” I yelled, her petite frame faced me briefly, a sign that she was listening. Watch out for Wil, he preys on little ones, I pushed into her mind.

Probably because he has a small cock.

I smirked, the little monster always had her sarcasm—even in war.

I held out my palm, unable to release my light. Shit. I slammed my foot into Idris’ stomach so hard she lurched forward—off balance by my strike. She began gagging then coughing.

Have you seen Az?! I pushed into everyone’s mind, through Rhys and Feyre’s link.

Idris grew to her full height, wiping the blood from her lips. Blood and ash, smeared across her sharp cheek bones. A pretty, fearsome thing…that I needed to ruin. She opened her palm, releasing several flames—like mini daggers.

As quickly as I could, I ducked one way then another. I grunted as one fire dagger burned through my leathers and into my shoulder. Grinding my teeth, I glanced to Wil, on the warrior with just as much experience as me. We had fought in the war together, he was fearless but everyone has a weakness.

Az, isn’t answering? Rhys panted, his powers weakening—all of our powers were weakening. Soon we would only be able to rely on the fighting skills we took centuries to study.

Amren drowned three soldiers, letting the Illyrians drag their swords through them. No. It’s been too long though, she added while making her way towards Wil.

Find him, Feyre demanded.

I looked to Wil, to Idris. My palms opened, draining whatever I had left into them. Idris went down, unable to avoid the blast. Her scream murdering Wil’s heart. I didn’t bother watching the rush of soldiers over siege him.

I could have taken him, Amren snapped.

Sorry…

I winnowed into the dungeon, near Ferron’s torture-land. Being here, in this gods-forsaken castle, made my blood run cold. Memories flanking me from all sides but I couldn’t lose focus. It meant losing soldiers, it meant I could lose Az.

Cell to cell, I searched. I was sure the dungeon was larger than the actual castle. Winnowing took greater effort, my head pounded with a sharp pain the more I continued. Draining, I felt like someone had bled me of truth and strength.

The burning in my shoulder persisted, scarlet blending into my Illyrian leathers. I tightened my fist, a reassurance that I still had my arm. Booking it down the hall, my lungs filled with dust. I coughed several times, wafting away smoke.

Beneath the rubble, drenched in his own blood.

Azriel…I held my breath. No answer.

I crashed beside him, my knees crushing against the crimson stone.

“Az, wake up...Azriel…” I whimpered, pushing off the fallen stones. I stared at the man I loved and the one who loved me unconditionally. The man I had tortured for my own security.

An echoed moan sounded as I attempted to lift the metal beam. It was too heavy to move by myself. “Gods-damn it,” I cried, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Hang on, Az.”

“Mor?” A faint whisper came from behind me.

Instantly, I raised my blade, turning to land my crushing blow. “Elain?” I mumbled, releasing my sword. The clanking noise stirred Az again; another groan and then silence. “What, what are you doing here?” I asked incredulously, the shock filtering in.

Elain kneeled opposite of me, on the other side of Az. “We don’t have time. Lift the beam,” she ordered softly. Her hands gripped around the rusted scrap of metal, we pushed upwards. “Pull him out,” Elain urged, a bead of sweat dripping down her forehead.

I looked to the beam then to Az, “you won’t be able to hold it.” Stunned, I…I couldn’t move. If we dropped it, he would be crushed. If we held it, we couldn’t move him then he would be crushed. Either way he dies.

“Do it,” she snapped, her golden eyes fixated on Az—on his unmoving chest. Her teeth chattered, those frail hands gripping tighter as she lifted it slightly higher.

Releasing the beam, I dragged Az out. Crimson smeared behind him, his wings torn, metal sticking out of his armor. “Azriel…” I breathed, the lump in my throat cutting me off.

Soft hands brushed along his bloodied face. “Go,” Elain whispered, sweat and tears mixing into one.

I hesitated, “I need to get you two out.” I gripped her arm, then clutched onto his shoulder…I would winnow, I had to.

Elain’s golden eyes turned black, her body still, “go.”

Without another word, I stepped backwards, moving away from the hallway of poison. With each step away, I felt my lungs expand further. I looked one last time, my heart splitting in two.

Her tremoring hands raised above his chest, shadows spilling out of her palms—plucking the shards of metal from him.

I blinked—I was hallucinating. I must be. The lack of water, the battle fever.

Elain bent down, a river of blood snaking down from her nose to her mouth. She leaned further, pressing her lips against his. Her hands shook violently, her brows furrowing as the shadows prodded against him—working faster.

Azriel coughed, sucking in air as his hands reached towards hers. “Elain…?” He croaked, confusion and relief morphing his features.

I sunk back into the shadows, escaping to the battlefield. He was alive and Elain…what the hell was that?

Eris:

“Cassian! Gods-damn it!” I shouted, my voice struggling with every word. I held Nesta up, her knees threatening to give out again—the woman could barely stand. “Stand down,” I growled at the soldiers. Their crude comments and laughter only enhanced my anger.

I tried to stir the fire within, nothing. Winnowing was by far a miracle but here, trying again. I couldn’t do it. “You need to stay on your feet,” I growled at Nesta.

“Something’s wrong, Eris.” She cried, her body shaking violently. “The cauldron,” she dry-heaved, her unstable legs not helping against the enclosing warriors. I looked from her to the balcony we fell from. Aedin was missing, my mother crying and my father…Beron formed an orb of fire in his hands.

He was going to kill us and his men. A sacrifice for the greater good, another wonderful lesson from him. I looked to Nesta, then towards the spears that prodded at us.

“Get down,” I whispered in her ear, watching as the fire grew bigger—as he unleashed it towards us. “Duck,” I hissed, landing on top of her. The screams of burning men echoed around us. I held Nesta down as she tried to get up, “don’t look,” I murmured in her ear, “don’t move.”

Smoke and ash blended with the grey clouds, a ring of fire surrounding us. I peeked upwards, right then left…bodies had been charred while others turned to ash. I nearly threw up from the pile of melted flesh, of two bodies burned together.

“We need to move,” I choked, lifting her up. Shock and fear, her eyes unsure of where it was safe to look. “Nesta, listen to me…”

“Watch out!” she roared, pulling me towards her.

We fell into a pile of limbs on the ground, a guard brave enough to push through the flames was ready to strike. I dug at the pile of ashes, throwing the death dust into his face.

The soldier howled in irritation, giving me enough time to disarm and slaughter him.

Nesta stood beside me, still as the blade in my hand. Her face emotionless but for the amber tears dripping down her cheeks. I must look like a monster. I didn’t bother speaking, my only action to pass her the sword so I could pick up another.

The snarl that escaped my chest didn’t feel like mine. My eyes clamped shut as the pain in my knee made me collapse. Nesta struggling beside me, her hands pulled with mine, each movement causing a burst of thunderous pain. Swiftly, she broke the spear, taking out the wooden spike in my leg.

I couldn’t get up, I definitely couldn’t walk.

Nesta’s scream, her warning cry rung in my ears. She was yelling but I couldn’t hear what she was saying. Fading in and out, I was losing too much blood. Weakened by the chains, I focused on breathing—on staying awake.

Nesta:

“We have to winnow, Eris.” I clamped down on his knee, gushing crimson warmed my hands. “Do you hear me? Can you hear me??” I begged, staring at his drooping eyelids—he wasn’t focusing but he was breathing. Good that, that was good.

I squeezed slightly harder, his back arched—his cursing persisted.

“Gods-damn it, Nesta!”

“We need to winnow, you need to do it now.” I looked around us, at the dying flames…we would be seen any minute. Unable to fight the oncoming soldiers. “Eris…” I choked.

He couldn’t move, nor winnow. We were stuck. A split in the smoke, an opening appearing beside us.

Aedin was pushing towards us, fighting soldiers on both sides to cut through. I peered up to where Beron had thrown the fire ball. Missing. The only one left, stood Eris’ mother—a statue of despair.

I held onto Eris’ knee, still trying to stop the bleeding and failing miserably. Deep within, I felt that sickening spin—the cauldron’s power flickering. Sweat dripped down my temple and back, mixing with fresh and old blood. I felt the surge of bile, the painful singing of the cauldron—of Ronan.

“Eris…” I stopped. What little remained of my heart sunk. Through the clearing of smoke, I watched as Beron made his way towards the cauldron. Scowling through the spray of blood, muttering beneath his breath.

He can’t be…

Cassian:

There’s more archers in the woods, towards the tree lines. I pushed to Rhys while storming onward. I felt slower, my siphons flickered the further I pushed into the autumn lines. The crimson light in sync with my pulse.

We’re struggling to keep the shields up. Arrows keep getting through, and Feyre…

I’m fine, Rhys. I’ll be fine. Her voice sounded hollow, on the cusp of fading out.

Damn! Rhys shouted in my head.

I glanced back, an arrow had hit his chest, he crumbled to his knees.

Rhys?? Amren interjected, her grunt nearly heard across the battlefield. Mother above…

Our troops were getting overrun, drained by the constant explosions and untimely arrows. We would all be dead in the next hour if this continues.

We got through the first war, I reminded them, we’ll get through this. Looking towards the woods, gauging the length…I sent a blast of red. My siphon flickered faster, draining itself as I took half the forest down.

Screaming in the distance persisted, this time cut short…

Nesta.

I flung forward, swiftly dodging a hoard of spears. “Nesta!” I called to her, she had to be alive. Eris, he wouldn’t let her die. He would protect her until I reached them.

Swirls of smoke cleared as a gust of wind moved east. There, between the break of our front lines.

Nesta held onto Eris’ knee, screaming bloody murder. Screaming my name.

“Cassian!” she yelled, her voice growing hoarse. “CASSIAN!” Her eyes searched for me, scanning the remaining Illyrian fleet.

Aedin emerged through the circle of ashes. Blade in hand, a devious smile on his lips.

A spear nearly took out my right wing, I was losing focus. Faster, I pushed—plummeting in front of Nesta and Eris. My boots sunk into the piles, the specks of lost soldiers.

“Get out of the way, Cassian,” Aedin fumed, twisting the sword in his hand.

I didn’t bother speaking, saving every bit of energy I had for this.

“I will kill my brother.” He glanced over my shoulder, “his whore too.”

A gods-awful snarl tremored the earth beneath. I withdrew my weapon, squeezing the onyx hilt of my sword. The Illyrian blade meant to cut through armor and bones. I would not fail her. Not again.

Aedin advanced at the same time as me, metal colliding, I shoved him back.

Nesta’s screeching continued, sparing a glimpse, I saw her press her head into the ground. This was too familiar.

“Did you know she was his whore? Or was that news to you too?”

I propelled forward, cutting his shoulder. He swore beneath his breath. I flew upwards, gaining momentum to crash down on him. My elbow collided with his face. Aedin’s sword flung into the air, nearly hitting Nesta as it landed. My fist met his flesh—blood poured from his lips.

“Do you two share her?” he taunted, wiping the scarlet away. “Maybe I can get in on the action? I’ll take her at the beginning of each month.”

Burling forward, I roared just as Aedin slashed into my wing. I would have collapsed, I should have, had it not been for the adrenaline.

For Nesta.

Aedin attempted to tackle, to fight but the angle was wrong. In two moves, I shoved my sword into his chest, twisting the blade to shred his organs.

I jerked my sword out of his torso, “tell your brothers, hello.” I stilled, watching the life in his eyes fade.

“Cassian?” Nesta uttered, her hands still clutching onto Eris’ leg. She had her head shoved into the scarlet wheat. “Something’s…something is, is wrong.” She could barely speak, hardly see straight.

“What is it?” I asked, pulling her into a seated position. This all felt the same. It was wrong. It was…

I could feel the rumble of the cauldron, silence falling upon the battlefield.

Nesta:

I looked between Cassian and the cauldron, between light and dark. Cassian’s bloodied hands reached to Eris’ knee, studying the damage. He peered over his shoulder, towards the cauldron and cursed.

“We can fly out of here,” I croaked, “we can…” stopping as I noticed his torn wing.

I clutched onto Cassian’s wrist, scarlet dripping from mine and onto his fading siphon. He covered my hand with his, it felt like a thousand suns drained their warmth into my icy skin.

“Cassian,” I begged, unable to fully release my hold on Eris less he bleed out. I held onto Cassian, grasping with all my strength, “don’t…” I begged, my voice thick with desperation.

Cassian pulled his hands away, tapping his siphons to use whatever he could to form a shield around us.

“No, no.” I cried, my heart breaking as I let go of Eris, as blood spewed out of his knee. “Don’t…” I couldn’t get the words out.

“I love you,” he murmured, gently kissing my forehead as his warm hand caressed my cheek. Pools of hazel searching mine, “in this world and the next, I love you.”

Eris yanked me down, covering me with his body. He went limp.

The burning white light plummeted towards us, it wasn’t as strong as before, weakened by time—by Beron’s lack of power. But still, more than a dozen warriors vanquished within seconds.

“Cassian,” I wailed as he spread his wings around us, another barrier.

I reached for him but it was too late. His individual shield shattered as the white light edged closer. The heat clawed at his wings, shredding them until nothing remained. His screams echoed across the battlefield until nothing. Crimson leaked out of his mouth, his copper eyes closing on impact.

“CASSIAN!” I screamed, amber tears streaming down my face.

His body stiffened, opening his eyes to see if I were safe. With his last breath, he fell on his back.

The ringing silence, the shattering of my entire being. I crawled to him, struggling to drag Eris behind me.

“Cass, Cassian,” I fumbled, the warmth evading my body. “Wake up,” I begged, pressing on his chest, “wake up, cass.” I cried louder, the only sound to be heard for miles. “Please…pl…wake…wake up.”

Cassian laid still, his chest unmoving, hazel irises focused on the gray sky above. I shook his shoulders, I watched as the remaining blood gushed out of him. Only ash—more ash—remained where his wings should be.

“You, you have to wake up…” I whispered, too broken to finish. Hands tied, I began beating on his chest, a desperate attempt to make him breathe.

Beron’s laughter echoed against the silence.

He laughed.

I dragged my eyes away from Cassian to stare him down. Like tunnel vision, I could only focus on the laughing bastard.

The faebane chains shattered, shards of it standing still as I felt the fire within circle. I saw red, waves of amber forming into bodies. The cracks of my bones; talons breaking the skin on my fingertips…I transformed.

Minutes, maybe seconds. Time was different in this form. I flew towards Beron, towards the cauldron. His face slowly morphed into that of unending fear. My talons latched onto his skull, digging into his flesh as I ripped him in two.

I didn’t stay to watch the pieces of him fall.

Flying upwards, I studied the glowing blue weapons, the Autumn army. I flew forward, fire leaking from my mouth, talons and wings. I slashed them down, slaughtering the enemy with every ounce of rage that drove me mad.

Cassian’s face, his last look at me—his last words. I replayed them in my head, letting the heartbreak unravel me. He was mine and I was his but only for a moment. I didn’t even get to say…to say…it didn’t matter now. Nor will it matter later.

One by one, I destroyed them all. Their screaming made me feel nothing, even as their blood stained my golden coat. I felt hollow, broken passed madness. I didn’t care if I were stuck in this form forever. What did it matter? What future did I have after this?

By the time I finished, the shards of faebane had just touched the ground. The world recovering from the damage, yet all I could see was Cassian.

The wingless, the dead…the love—the future, I would never have.

I crouched beside him, fading back into my human form as the horrendous cries threatened to escape me.

“I love you,” I whispered, my fingers tangling into his blood-soaked hair. I pressed my lips into his, cold—lifeless. “Come back to me…” I murmured pulling away to look, to hope.

“Come back.”

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