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turnupswritessometimes · 5 months

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Geppetto's Boy - Lies of P - Ch7

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54517777/chapters/138571591

Summary: A collection of oneshots set throughout the game, mostly exploring P and Gepetto’s relationship. (But exploring P’s relationships with most of Hotel Krat too.)

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Chapter Seven

Ergo was humans.

Ergo was made from humans.

Ergo was life. Literally. It was human lives.

P killed one of the monsters on his way back to the hotel. Ergo had flown from it. The alchemist had been right, then. This sickness was because of Ergo. The very thing P needed to live had caused the petrification disease. The puppets had been the reason for all of Krat's downfall; their frenzy, and their poisonous Ergo. He was a puppet. He had been part of the reason Krat was in the state it was in.

And yet, as he made his way back to the hotel, he still couldn't believe it. Couldn't believe that the blue, swirling Ergo could also be so terrible. It was beautiful; it was beautiful, and it was what brought him to Sophia. It was what had brought him home - the hotel was his home.

He stopped, on the steps of his home, his hand over his chest. His heart ran on Ergo. When his father opened him up, his face was lit with the soft blue light. How could something so beautiful be so terrible too?

"Hey, pal…" Gemini seemed to hesitate. "You don't think…"

All P was doing was thinking. His mind whirred, round and round. He couldn't stop thinking about his conversation with the Head Alchemist: with Simon Manus. Could he trust him to tell the truth? He supposed he had to: he had as much reason to believe him, as he did believe his father? Things were starting to come together, like fragments of a broken mirror. If he had some patience, he could piece it back together.

Though, he felt a twinge of fear at what it could mean.

"I need to speak to Polendina," P murmured. Because Polendina said his Ego had awakened: Polendina remembered things. It would make a terrible sense with what he had learnt.

"Shouldn't we see Geppetto first?" Gemini asked. "I mean, he'll want to know about this-"

"He might already know. He must already know." P was sure of that, when he said it. His father must know the truth about Ergo; must at least know its effects on humans; he was a clever man. "But he will not tell us the truth."

Gemini's voice was soft, and only half-scolding: "You don't know that."

But P did. He looked up at the hotel, finding the window of his father's room. He knew Geppetto now, and he knew what he would say and do. He knew that he had already hidden so much from P, that he wouldn't think of hiding this. He had gotten P to do exactly what he wanted.

"He does not lie," he said. "But he does not tell the truth, either."

He only told P as much as he needed to know, to keep him obedient. To keep him being a good boy.

Gemini listened. He gave a long, low chirp, his light dimming. "It's up to you. I don't control what you do. I can only give you advice."

P almost smiled. He felt exhausted from the fight, and more exhausted from the revelation, but at least he still had Gemini. He brushed his fingers over the top of the lantern. "Thank you."

Then he noticed there was something very wrong, with Hotel Krat. Noticed, now that Gemini was dimmer, there weren't as many lights coming from the building. The door was open - the door was damaged. From the glimpse he saw inside, he could see the lobby was in a state; the plants overturned and a tile cracked. Something had happened.

He rushed in, drawing his sword. Almost everything had been overturned. The photoframes had been smashed, and glass scattered the floor. The welcome desk was cleaved, woodchips trailing across the cracked marble floors. A chandelier had fallen, over the stairs, making everything darker; making shadows dance across the walls.

"I don’t like this…" Gemini murmured at his side. P didn’t reply. This was unnerving. More unnerving than walking into the Grand Exhibition, knowing it contained monsters. His home had been attacked. Someone had attacked his home.

When he went upstairs, when he found everyone, he learnt the details.

It had been attacked. The hotel had been attacked, and his father had been taken. Kidnapped. Geppetto had been kidnapped, and P had not been there to save him, this time. P hadn't been there. This had happened because of him.

It had all happened because of him.

All the way down to him inviting Allidoro to the hotel. His father had warned him about inviting everyone to the hotel, but P hadn't listened. He hadn't obeyed. He hadn't done what his father said. And because of that, his father had been taken from him. It had been the alchemsits. The alchemists, who were turning people into monsters. What were they going to do to his father?

It scared him, and he still hated being scared.

It wasn't just Alidoro, he thought, as he turned back down the corridor. It had been the fox and the cat. They had said their next job was for the alchemists. They must have known about this. He had trusted them too. He had suspected they were lying, but he'd thought they were good.

It was all P's fault.

He couldn't remember feeling angry, but he was angry, now. Furious. Hot. Not warm, like when he was happy, or proud. This was an itching, raging anger that made him want to fight. P had never wanted to fight like this. This feeling made him want to hit and maim and hurt something. He wanted to let out the burning rage onto something; to destroy something and have the satisfaction of knowing he had done that.

He retreated back to the lobby, becuase he hadn't trusted himself around the others. He didn't want to shout at them. He didn't want to hurt them. He couldn't risk hurting the people he cared about.

P looked at the gramophone in the lobby. The table it sat on was chipped, but the gramophone itself was in tact. He'd spent a long time listening to its records; loved listening the music, and how it skipped and crackled sometimes. But now, he wanted to smash it. Into pieces. It was so delicate, and it would be so beautiful to break it. To use his own hands to destroy such a beautful, delicate thing.

"Clever one."

He turned, to see Sophia there. His anger swirling like a hurricane inside him. He clenched his jaw, so he wouldn't shout at her, because he didn't want to shout at Sophia. He clenched his fists, and kept them clenched at his sides.

Sophia was soft, as soft as she always was. Her blue eyes looked at him, sadly. "I don't believe you've ever felt rage before, have you?"

P couldn't even shake his head. His chest heaved with a burning breath. "I've never wanted to destroy before."

"That's because you are just." Sophia stepped forward, her dress moving gracefully around her. She held out a hand, as if she was going to touch his cheek, but then stopped, as if she was afraid to touch him. "You don't have to destroy, now, darling."

He didn't want her to be afraid - not of him. He didn't want to be angry, anymore. He caught her hand, and tugged it to him, feeling clumsy. Sophia leant closer, unfurling her fingers to cup his cheek.

"How?" How could he stop being furious?

"Take a breath," Sophia said. "Keep breathing, and it will get easier. You can control that anger, and save it for the people you're truly angry at."

P tried to breathe. He wondered how breathing even helped, when he was a puppet. But it did. When he took a long breath, he felt some of the fire die down. It brought him back to himself. He leant into Sophia's touch, his heart racing. He kept breathing, searching her face. Her eyes were like sapphires; were the same deep blue as Ergo.

"Or, you can let it pass," she said. "You can let it wash over you, like a wave."

"I want that." He didn't like anger. Anger didn't make him feel like himself. Anger made him feel like he was going to do something terrible.

"Then you do that, clever one."

Sophia smiled at him. She brushed his hair back, behind his ear, her finger trailing down his jaw. The touch was so gentle compared to the violence he wanted to commit. Was this how the Black Rabbit had felt, when he'd wanted to take P apart? Was this how that donkey-man had felt, on the bridge, when he'd wanted to kill Geppetto? Could he blame either of them, for their feelings?

Being a human, he was finding, was much more difficult than he'd ever thought. There were so many different kinds of pain. There was so much more that he hadn't felt, and didn't know if he could stand feeling.

P nodded. He caught her hand again, and squeezed it gently. He wanted her to be closer. When Sophia was close to him, he felt he could be good; he felt as though he was more than Geppetto's puppet.

"My dearest friend!"

It was Venigni's voice. P turned towards the sound, and he knew Sophia was slipping away. She always did, whenever anyone else was there. He didn't understand it, but thought if he asked, she would hide from him too. Now, he wished she would stay. She always knew what to say to bring him back to himself.

By the time Venigni had made his way down the stairs, P stood alone in the foyer. For once, Venigni looked a mess; his hat gone, hair a mess, coat akimbo. He was panicked; of course he was. They'd been terrified, without him. How could he had let that happen?

"Oh, grazie a Dio!" he said. "When you rushed from the room, I thought...well, I'm glad you've not done anything hasty, compagno."

P shook his head. His hair swayed with the movement.

"Good, good." Venigni brushed his own hair back. His hand shook. "Because, forgive my saying so, you are not prepared to rush off to another battle."

P supposed he wasn't. His legion arm needed tuning up, and now the anger had dulled, he felt pain where he'd been hit in the fight. Not to mention the blood, jamming up his legion arm. Geppetto had always cleaned the blood off him. Had always kept him perfect.

"I'm alright," he lied.

"You may be alright, but my beautiful arm is not." Venigni closed the gap between them. He caught P's wrist before he could pull away, turning it over to examine his palm. P could pull away, if he wanted to - but he didn't. "I cannot allow you to shame me by fighting with this."

"My father always repaired me," P said. He didn't realise it would hurt to say, but it did. His father had always been there.

Venigni stopped, for a moment. He nodded, then. "I am sorry about what happened to Geppetto. But will you allow me to help you?"

P looked at his legion arm. He had never cleaned or fixed it himself. Not anything more than Venigni's repair tool, wich gave it a second lease of life but didn't fix it for good. He didn't know if he could do it himself; his father had never given him the chance.

He nodded.

"Thank you." Venigni did smile. Did look genuine, if still shaken. "Step into my office, if you will."

If P had been in a better mood, he would have smiled. Instead, he nodded, and stepped towards Venigni's space. Pulcinella clunked down the stairs, watching them, almost hesitantly.

Did he have an ego, too, P wondered? Did he also have a human soul within him?

He laid his arm on Venigni's worktable, and he could see it now. Could see the dozens of small repairs that needed to be completed before it would work well again. Could feel, now, that it was an effort to make it work. Now the anger was gone, he felt drained.

Venigni paused, over it. He looked at P, as though he was expecting him to object. P took a deep breath, letting go of the last drags of anger. He nodded, again, setting his jaw.

"I cannot imagine how you must be feeling." Venigni sought for his tools, thumping the bag down on the table. He started work, easing P's fingers into place and taking off the plating.

He didn't want to look. Not this time.

"Geppetto is a good man," Venigni said.

He was the creator. It had been on that recording, from the King of Puppets. From Romeo. Geppetto was the creator, and all the puppets had been obeying Romeo, but also Geppetto. Romeo, it seemed, was also bound by that covenant. His own creator had destroyed him.

He hadn't told Venigni about that. He'd lied, and said he hadn't been able to hear, either.

How far would his father hurt him, if he needed to?

"Ergo is humans," he said, instead. He thought it best that someone else knew.

"Excuse me?" Venigni asked.

P looked at him. "Ergo is human souls. That's why puppets release it when they're destroyed. The monsters too, they release it, when they die."

Ergo and ego didn't sound too different. Pulcinella had paused at the doorway. What was he thinking? It was easier for P to wonder that, than to keep thinking about his father. His father who must have known about the ergo. Who had given P an ergo heart.

What was in P's heart?

"The Head Alchemist is using ergo to create monsters. To evolve humans, he said," P continued.

"That's awful." Venigni paused in his work, to look at him. P stared back. "And now they've taken Geppetto too."

"Because he knows about Ergo." Or because it would draw out P again? He wasn't sure. He knew he was going to get his father back. He was going to be a good son; he was going to be a good boy.

"That is their mistake." Venigni continued his work, and relief shoot through P. He felt his arm fixing. "I have never seen anything you cannot triumph over, bello."

Because P was made to destroy. Designed to destroy. The very arm Venigni was fixing was a weapon. Finally, he felt he could put his weapons to good use.

P didn't answer. He waited, feeling his arm be fixed. He brushed Gemini's lantern with his spare hand, waiting. He wanted to go. He wanted to go now, becuase if he was fighting, he wasn't thinking. If he thought too much, he'd realise what everything meant.

And he didn't want that. Suddenly, surely, he didn't want the puzzle pieces to fall into place.

"Thank you," he said, when Venigni released his arm, declaring it was as good as new. It shone in the gas lamps.

"I know I am not as fine a maker as Geppetto," Venigni began again, pausing longer this time, looking over him. "But there are...other repairs. If you'd permit me, I could..."

He trailed off, gesturing to P's chest. His heart. He had internal repairs that needed seeing to; he felt that too. Felt like he was overheating.

P put his hand over his heart. It was racing. He looked at Venigni. This man had irritated him, often, but this man was a friend. His friend. Looking at him earnestly form behind his glasses.

He trusted him.

P nodded. "Alright."

Venigni blinked, shocked. Then he beamed, like a child in a sweetshop. P couldn't help smiling, a little. He lifted himself, so he sat on the table, pushing back to make himself comfortable. He unbuttoned his coat, and his waistcoat. Pushed open his shirt, and realised he'd never done that before. Had never gotten to do that before, because his Father had always been the one to do it. It was strange, to do it himself; to make a decision.

Venigni's fingers hovered, over his chest plate, pausing.

This feltintimate, P realised. Venigni could break him, if he felt inclined. His life was in this man's hands.

He put his hand on Venigni's wrist, meeting his eyes. Venigni stared back, and nodded.

And Venigni opened him up, and got to work fixing him. P waited, sparks dancing through him, and watched Venigni's expression. It was different to watching his father. Geppetto was impassive, methodical. Venigni's eyebrows twitched, his mouth moved, as he worked.

"You're beautiful," Venigni murmured. "Truly, you are – a masterpiece."

He was a copy. P knew that, now. He was a copy of the little boy in the portrait; a copy of Carlo. But how could he resent his father for doing that, now he had been taken? How could he have been suspicious of him? How could he have been such a bad son, when his father had always been good to him?

P smiled, a little, and let Venigni work. He was grateful for Venigni had made him stop. This gave him time to think. If he'd rushed on, straight away, he worried he might have done something terrible.

He might have killed, without his father telling him to. Might have not felt remorse for hurting humans.

Could he do that?

He might have to do that, now, as he pursued the alchemists.

Venigni closed P's chest. His hand lingered, on his bare skin. He looked up, and P realised they were close. Very close, and Venigni was examining him. His glasses were low on his nose, and his eyes seemed bare without them.

"You are beautiful," he repeated.

P felt warm. This wasn't about his mechanics; it was about his appearance. He didn't want to say that it wasn't his face. It was Carlo's. He put his hand over Venigni's.

"Thank you," P murmured. This made him feel alive; his heart whirring.

Venigni smiled, softly. "May I?"

P wasnt sure what he was asking, but he nodded, all the same.

Venigni reached up, with his spare hand, and tucked P's long hair behind his ear. It was different to how his father touched him; this wasn't maintenence; this was something more. Something closer to Sophia. This was touch.

"Buorna fortuna, my friend."

Venigni pressed his lips against P's cheek. On one side, and then the other. He stepped away, and P felt sparks on his skin. He blinked. Found himself smiling, ducking his chin like he was embarrassed. He was embarrassed. He could feel, even if he shouldn't be able to. He nodded.

Eugenie arrived, then. She brushed her hair back, retying it, adjusting her glasses.

"I am sure your weapons need a buff up too," she said. She looked nervous. "Or perhaps I can improve them before you head out again?"

P nodded, drawing his blade. He held it out on his palms. "Thank you. Both of you."

He had a team. He had friends, who were ready to repair him and his weapons. For once, Eugenie didn't smile, as she looked over his sword. She worked silently, and hard, whilst he paced. Tested his arm.

Noticed the puppet they'd used for sparring was broken, on the floor. Did that puppet have an ego too?

P leant against the door of the hotel, listening to Venigni and Pulcinella's soft voices and the sound of Eugenie tinkering. His friends had calmed the fury inside him.

Now he was ready to save his Father.

P suspected he'd known, before the beach. Long before the beach, though he couldn't say how much longer. Just that he'd known, even before he saw the memories.

He stood, his boots half-buried in the sand, and finally admitted it.

"My Ergo is Carlo."

Gemini didn't chirp. For a moment they stood there, together, the wind whipping P's clothes. Sand buffeted his cheeks.

"Do you remember...being him?" Gemini asked.

"No." P's heart thudded. He wondered if that was Carlo, trying to get out. "No, I only remember parts, but it's like..a book. I remember these things and I know they happened, but it doesn't feel like it happened to me."

He was Carlo. But he wasn't. He had been Carlo, once, and now he had Carlo's Ergo in his heart, yet Carlo hadn't returned. The boy in these memories didn't feel like him.

He stepped forward. The waves washing to the shore sounded very far away.

"My Father knew that."

Gemini paused, again. "Yeah, I think you might be right about that, Pal."

"He built me to replace him."

P knew that. He thought he'd known when he saw the portrait, for the first time. He'd known, but hadn't let himself realise it. Perhaps he'd even known before that. Perhaps, when he was presented with Carlo's old uniform, and Geppetto had looked at him like that, as if he was looking for something inside him. He had Carlo's ergo, he was built to look like Carlo.

And he wasn't.

It explained all of those looks that he didn't understand. Every time it felt like he'd said something wrong. It hadn't been what Carlo would do. He had failed. He wasn't Geppetto's boy. He couldn't be.

"Pal?" He heard Gemini's voice distantly. He hadn't moved, he realised, he still stood on the beach, the wind whipping his hair across his face. His hair. That had been why his father wanted to cut it. P hadn't let him.

"If I had been better, this wouldn't have happened." If he'd been a better replacement for Carlo.

"You don't really believe that, do you?" Gemini's lantern glowed brighter, to get his attention. He looked down at it, blinking. "You didn't kidnap Geppetto. You were doing what he said. Going to the Grand Exhibition."

"He told me not to trust anyone outside the hotel."

"And I'm sure glad you did."

"Carlo wouldn't have." He felt sure of that. Felt sure that Carlo had only trusted Romeo.

"Maybe. But it was trusting people that got you the cure for Lady Antonia. It was trusting people that got Eugenie closure about her family. It was trusting people that helped us get this far, kid."

"Those were all lies."

"And that makes you better than Carlo."

P raised an eyebrow at Gemini. "Maybe Carlo was a good liar."

"You tell me."

P knew. He knew that Carlo was an atrocious liar. "He wasn't."

"See, I can't tell if you're lying or not."

P couldn't help it. He smiled, just a little. That could have been Gemini's plan all along; to lift his spirits. He still felt entirely weighed down, but not quite so terrible – not quite so terrible that he wasn't Carlo.

He took a step. The memories continued around him. He hadn't wanted to be Carlo. He'd known that.

But he did still want to be a son.

He let the memories form around him, let them fill up the gaps in his mind, and understood what Carlo's life had been like. Understood Carlo was gone, now. P may have his Ergo and his memories, but he wasn't Carlo any longer. That boy was gone. Maybe Ergo wasn't quite human souls. Perhaps there was more to what a human soul was.

Perhaps he still carried part of Carlo, but now it nestled alongside something else. Hi owns?

"Gemini." They'd reached the steps of the great, stone building. It loomed so large that it seemed to have become one with the stony, grey sky.

Perhaps he still carried Carlo's soul, but now it nestled alongside something else. His?

"Gemini." They'd reached the steps of the great, stone building. It loomed so large that it seemed to have become one with the stony, grey sky. "Do you think it's possible? To develop a soul?"

Gemini didn't answer straight away. His light flickered.

"You know, pal," he said. "I think anything's possible."

P smiled. He stepped forward.

He didn't know what he was going to do, when he met his father again.

But he did know who he was, now. He wasn't Carlo.

He was P.

#one more chapter #lies of p #pinocchio #lies of p venigni #lies of p sophia #lies of p player character #lies of p p #turnupswrites #fanfiction

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kindoffruity · 2 years

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Smitten - Chapter Five - Neteyam's POV

Summary: We've got some jealous Neteyam and a lil feral Aonung for the heart.

Warning: As usual, non canon compliant. There is some mild violence, just a bit of a heads up. We will be wrapping this up in one more chapter.

Smitten: Chapter 5 - Mine - Neteyam's POV

With Aonung gone for the month, Neteyam felt the need to step up more around the reef. Ronal and Tonowari were preparing a new home for their son, it was tense for him to be around the couple. Tonowari was nice, even when he was angry he had never really stepped out of line. But Ronal? Neteyam always felt shy around her, he was scared to offend her. He really cared about her thoughts on him, so he made sure he was there to help.

“What is it you like about my son?” Ronal had asked him while she made the bed for Aonung whenever he returned. Neteyam was taken aback by the question, trying to calculate what he should or should not say. Sure, there was his physical appearance. Aonung’s height alone seemed to fluster Neteyam. He would not dare tell Ronal that.

“He makes me feel safe, when I am with him, I feel like I am home.” Neteyam’s response seemed to satisfy Ronal. “Would you die for him?” She asked. “I would. And, I would kill for him.” Neteyam showed no hesitation in his response. Ronal seemed pleased that her son had a partner who loved him that much.

Tonowari never once questioned Neteyam’s feelings, all he did was start inviting him out more, once to a hunt. It did not go well for Neteyam who had not ever learned to ride a Skimwing, he struggled keeping up with his Ilu. “It is fine, Neteyam. You will learn, son.” Tonowari placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and Neteyam couldn’t hold back a smile. It made him want to learn.

Neteyam was used to excelling at almost everything he did, so it wasn’t a surprise when he had finally picked up a spear to practice with. He had seen Tonowari and even Ronal use it, he imagined if they could do it. He would be able to learn to use the weapon. The spear felt heavy in his hands compared to his bow, managing to move with it and keep his balance was something he struggled with.

He was used to being great at everything he did, so to struggle with this foreign object really sparked up his insecurities again. Except, Aonung wasn’t here to tell him he would be fine and he was proud of him for trying. Sometimes, he really missed the participation trophies Aonung would give him.

It didn’t help that quite a few people were not fond of their relationship. Neteyam never realized how many people seemed to like Aonung until he was promised to him. Neteyam could feel judgemental stares and even backhanded comments constantly. “He cannot even use a spear, why would ‘Nung choose him?” Neteyam could overhear, the nickname threw him off. Who was this person to be calling him ‘Nung? Was that a pet name of sorts?

Neteyam decided to not pay attention to it, he used the words to fuel him to get better. Neteyam wasn’t jealous or insecure, he should have known Aonung would have some sort of fan club. But regardless, Aonung had chosen him and would choose him over anyone. Neteyam was sure of this.

Neteyam did eventually get better using a spear, once he learned to treat the weapon as a mere extension of himself. Plus Rotxo had sparred with him in exchange for a date with Kiri, which went surprisingly well. Neteyam couldn’t feel prideful for too long though.

“I just don’t think he’s that attractive, I mean maybe in the forest he was considered attractive. But I find the whole small tail and small eyes to be unattractive. I mean, personally I think I’d look a lot better standing next to the future Olo’eyktan.”

The words came from a group not too far from him, Neteyam clenched a fist, he had never heard any of these things when Aonung was here. The gossipping about him never ceased, either they were talking about how lucky Aonung was or apparently how Aonung could do so much better than him.

“Maybe I’ll just steal him away,”

That was truthfully the last straw for Neteyam.

“I don’t know, ‘Nung seems to like this small tail,” Neteyam mocked as he approached the group. He was a little disappointed seeing them, they could have at least been attractive and talking about him. The group looked surprised that he had said anything. “Don’t be shy now, you think you’d look better than me next to him? Who said that?” Neteyam moved to sit right next to them, a young woman and two men, probably part of Aonung’s fan club.

There was silence, they all exchanged looks. Scared to speak up.

“Don’t be like that. I thought you guys wanted to steal him away from me,” Neteyam was more annoyed they wouldn’t say it to his face at this point. “I’ll tell you guys what, if all of you combined could beat me in a fight, I’ll let you have him.” Neteyam offered with a smile, it was petty. This wasn’t really like him, this was more of Lo’ak’s signature but he would absolutely drag these three.

“Pathetic,” Neteyam moved to stand back up, a hand on his waist to bring some attention to the creation Aonung made for him. “Allow this to be the first and last warning. Aonung is mine. He will always be mine.” Neteyam warned, eyeing the group up and down before walking away. His tail swished as he walked, since they seemed to like it so much.

- - -

Aonung’s return was surreal, Neteyam had been prepared to not see his lover for months. But he had kept himself so busy he felt like he didn’t get the chance to really truly miss him, until he saw Aonung on the beach. Neteyam’s chest felt tight and suddenly the whole month and a half without Aonung hit him, he wanted to just jump into his arms but everyone was surrounding him. They surrounded him at dinner, they wanted to hear the stories, admire the new tattoo on his body.

Neteyam could only watch from a distance, knowing that his lover was now considered a man made him so much more attractive. He was going to head to sleep when he had the overwhelming urge to visit his lover in his new Marui, remembering he had left so many beads from when he and Tsireya practiced braiding together. He hoped it wouldn’t bother Aonung that he had basically made himself at home there.

“You have arrived.” Neteyam teased because he hadn’t gotten the opportunity to greet his lover, he couldn’t help but laugh as he was tugged into the home and cuddled with. Aonung was apologizing for not spending any time with him? Neteyam was really spoiled.

Aonung wouldn’t even let him leave, Neteyam didn’t put up much of a fight to leave anyways. Instead, he admired the black Ink on his lover's arms. “So, does anyone call you Nung?” Neteyam asked curiously. “Uh.. Not that I can recall, how come?” Aonung asked, his eyes closed. His hands were gently tickling Neteyam’s back as they cuddled.

“Just curious, I heard through the grapevine that your pet name is Nung and you have a bit of a fan club.” Neteyam teased, tossing his leg over his tired lover. “Is that so? Are any of them cute?” Aonung was clearly joking but Neteyam glared up at him. “Not cuter than me. Plus, I told them you had a thing for small tails.”

“Don’t say it like that, I only have a thing for your small tail.” Aonung emphasized his statement by grabbing his tail, causing Neteyam to flush. “What else happened while I was away? Tell me everything, my love.” Aonung pressed a kiss to his head, Neteyam could have melted right there. Neteyam spilled almost everything, he talked to Aonung about Kiri and Rotxo’s date and how he had hung out with Tonowari and Ronal.

“Tsireya and I switched braiding techniques, so I can braid your hair now. You’ve gotta let it out and show me what it looks like.” Neteyam was excited to be able to do his lover's hair, it was something he had always thought about doing but he had been worried he wouldn’t know how to do it correctly.

They spent so much time talking, neither one of them knew when they had fallen asleep.

The only thing Neteyam knew was he had woken up to Aonung jumping up, it startled Neteyam thinking they were under attack or something. Yet it was just Lo’ak being an ass again, Neteyam glared and he must have been half asleep because he had grumpily let out the secret that Lo’ak and Tsireya had mated already, a secret in which Aonung nor their parents knew of.

Aonung took off chasing Lo’ak and Neteyam wondered if he should have stopped the two. But the bed smelt just like Aonung, the spot they had been laying in still warmed. He wasn’t leaving. Neteyam simply rolled over, laying on his stomach and he was practically surrounded by the smell of his lover. He could hear the yelling and throwing of things in the distance.

Neteyam went back to sleep for an extra hour feeling content.

- - -

Neteyam had woken up to Aonung laying on top of him, at first the extra weight was nice, like a warm blanket resting over him. Except, Aonung wouldn’t stop whispering for him to wake up, planting kisses all over his head and nibbling at his ear. “Aonung.. Enough.. I am up.” Neteyam whined, turning his head to look at him. “Ouch.. Hopefully, Lo’ak looks the same at least?” Neteyam was taken aback by the nice busted lip Aonung wore.

“Tsireya saved him. But it does hurt, you should kiss it and make it better.” Aonung pursed his lips out, Neteyam couldn’t resist him at all, planting a large kiss on his lips, slowly moving to lay on his back mid kiss. Neteyam’s hands trailing down his back in a gentle scratch, one of his legs locking around Aonung’s hips to make sure he stayed in this position.

“Looks like you feel better..” Neteyam teased against Aonung’s lips. “Nope nope.. it still hurts, my tongue hurts too because I bit it.” Neteyam couldn’t even hold back his laughter, “What does that even mean? You want me to kiss your tongue?” Neteyam asked in disbelief. “You know.. They say saliva has healing attributes.” Aonung kissed him again, this time Neteyam deepening the kiss and slipping his tongue in Aonung’s mouth to help heal him.

Neteyam tried not to laugh at the thought as they made out, the couple making up for a month and a half of lost time. Their arms clinging to each other, not wanting to let the other go. Aonung rested his full weight on Neteyam, their hips pressed together as Neteyam locked his legs around him to keep the pressure right there. Aonung pulled away from the steamy kiss to plant kisses on his neck, biting down on the skin and leaving little love bites on the skin. Neteyam sighed happily at the feeling of kisses at his neck, missing the touch of his lover.

“I can’t wait to wake up to you every morning… I’ll wake you up just like this..” Aonung’s hands traveled his body teasingly as he adorned Neteyam’s neck with all sorts of kisses and nibbles, just taking his time with him.

There was a knock from outside, Neteyam instantly froze smacking Aonung off of him, he pushed him off the bed to the floor, not wanting to get caught like this. Aonung fell off the bed with a loud thud. “Y-yes?” Aonung called out as Neteyam shot to his feet to straighten his messy appearance out.

Tonowari walked in and Neteyam occupied himself by watering the plants, hiding his marked neck from the older man. “Aonung.. Why are you on the floor?” Tonowari asked with calculating eyes, “I was just stretching, father. What do you need?” Aonung really came up with the dumbest excuses in Neteyam’s head.

“There is an Akula at the edge of the reef, threatening our fish, let us go.” Tonowari was inviting Aonung to protect the reef with him, Neteyam tried to maintain a normal composure until Tonowari had left before he practically jumped on Aonung, pulling him for another kiss. It took Aonung by surprise but he caught the other nonetheless. Neteyam was just so proud of his lover for getting this far. “Wow, what a big strong man protecting our reef.” Neteyam was teasing but it was clear he was excited for his partner. Aonung was just surprised to hear Neteyam say ‘our’ reef.

“Neteyam.. Let’s mate tonight. I think we have waited long enough,” Aonung’s words took Neteyam by surprise but Neteyam was ready for it, “Let us mate tonight. When you come back,” Neteyam promised, pushing himself up to stand on the tips of his toes to plant another kiss on his lips.

“Be safe, my love.” Neteyam had no choice but to let him go, he watched him get ready with a sense of pride in his partner.

Neteyam wanted to be like that, he wanted to join him on the hunt. He wanted to protect the reef, his new home, with his partner.

- - -

Neteyam decided that he would master a skimwing before they mated, he wanted to accomplish this because he wanted to be Aonung’s equal. He had already mastered an Ikran, and an Ilu. How hard would it be? Plus his father had learned without even riding an Ilu.

Neteyam took Etera out, settling at a small island where she would wait for him in case he needed her. Neteyam spotted a few, now that he thought about it, they brought one to his father. Neteyam was trying to catch and form the bond all on his own. It was not as easy as he thought it would be, they were fucking fast.

Every time Neteyam had even grabbed onto one, it practically thrashed him off. Neteyam did like the challenge though, he had grabbed onto a different one, immediately locking his thighs on the trashing fish. He reached to make the bond, the second it was made the skimwing took off instantly. Neteyam kept up as best as he could, practically choking on the water as it dragged him far out.

Neteyam lost his grip on it, flying off the large animal. He couldn’t help but laugh after he had finished coughing up all the water he had swallowed. His adrenaline was still pumping, he found it kind of fun to ride that fast. “Where did you go?” Neteyam looked around, treading in the water as he looked to find his skimwing. Except, it was nowhere to be seen. Neteyam didn't receive the memo that just because you caught one and bonded with them, did not mean they would stay. Skimwing where finicky, they were stubborn, and would leave you behind.

“More and more, I understand why my mother never learned how to ride..” Neteyam thought to himself as he started to make his way back, he had been dragged quite a distance. At this point he was lucky if he made it back by eclipse.

Neteyam had started swimming back, half tempted to call Etera to grab him when he heard a loud wail in the distance. The sound broke his heart instantly, he wasn’t sure what came over him but he felt a strong need to follow the sound. With zero hesitation, Neteyam took off in the direction of the painful wail. Whatever it was, it sounded hurt.

Neteyam approached a rock, climbing it and hiding behind it as he looked to see what the sound could have possibly been making that noise. His eyes widened, it was a Tulkun impaled with a tracking device. Usually, Tulkun traveled in packs.

Neteyam instantly made his way over, swimming as fast as he could to the beeping device. “We need to get this off of you, they are coming.” Neteyam signed, apologizing for any pain that would be felt as he had to rip the device off. “Once this is off you need to go away, as fast as possible. I will make sure they never hurt you again.” Neteyam pulled as hard as he could, trying to rip the device off. He started to panic when he couldn’t get it off, he could see the boat in the distance.

Tulkun Hunters.

Neteyam pulled out his knife, using the blade to saw at the thin part that was pierced through the Tulkun’s fin. Neteyam’s heart was racing as he noticed the boat getting closer, he finally heard a snap. He had cut through the sharp part, pulling out the heavy device and freeing the Tulkun. He dropped underneath the water, his eyes widened as he recognized Aonung’s spirit brother, he must have been returning from their trials. Suddenly, the attack felt more personal than anything. Neteyam swam the device far away from the Tulkun, he dropped it allowing it to sink and explode underwater.

Neteyam swam to the surface, gasping in a large breath, he hollered for Etera. His Ikran was there momentarily, Neteyam slid onto her back, clinging as he was wet. He knew he should have just gone home and called for backup, but he couldn’t trust that they wouldn’t go after him again. Neteyam flew over the large boat, there were only a few sky people, he could take them down.

Neteyam maneuvered Etera above the boat before he grabbed his bow and arrow off her, immediately shooting towards those in mechanical suits to render them powerless before he jumped off of her, landing on the deck. He had the element of surprise on his side, plus an intense rage for those who hadn’t learned their lesson since Payakan.

Neteyam had enough of this, tossing the sky people into the water or piercing them with his arrow, he had an advantage on them with his size. What he hadn't counted on was there being more than two of them with their mechanical suits, that set them as almost evenly matched and with that, blinded by rage had under anticipated the amount of enemies on the ship. Neteyam hissed threateningly, despite being outnumbered, he wasn’t going to back down.

It was his worst trait.

Neteyam slapped the gun out of one’s hand, rushing for it. Simultaneously, one reached for a baton that shocked him, the electricity surged through his body and he stumbled to his knees, just missing the gun as it was kicked from him. Neteyam grabbed someone's leg and dragged them down with him because he wasn’t going down alone. Suddenly, he was surrounded feeling a gun cock to the back of his head, he glared. Twisting his body to knock the gun away from his head, while his body was turnt he felt another surge of electricity rush through him, it burned. His body too stunned to move, they took advantage of this and dragged him towards the railing where they tied his hands to it. Neteyam could hardly breathe as he tried to gain control of his body that still felt the pulses of electricity rush through him.

“We have to kill him, if we release him he will just come back with more people!” Neteyam could hear them shout about how they could get rid of him. Neteyam searched around for how he could get himself out of the situation, the ropes burning on his wrists as he tugged and pulled at the rusted railing to break himself free.

“We are here to hunt Tulkuns, they will come for this boy!”

Neteyam smirked knowing it was true, they would come for him as soon as they realized he was missing. Neteyam’s leg swiped at one of the Tulkun Hunters walking by, knocking him down and wrapping his legs around his neck to suffocate using his thighs. His hands tugged harder at the railing, feeling it snap with him. There was a series of gasps as he managed to rip off a piece of the railing and use it to stab into the person he had caught.

Neteyam didn’t care if his hands were bound, he still proved to be a threat, a warning shot was sent in his direction, both of his arms were grabbed by those in mechanical suits, and another approached him with the taser, shocking him right in the stomach. “That is enough! Where is the Tulkun or we will kill you.” It was a threat, Neteyam bit back a wince as he stared up at them. What were there five now? Possibly six.

“Speak!” The taser was sparked up again in a threat, the zapping noise visibly making him flinch as he was preparing himself for the thrumming of it.

Neteyam glared, mustering up his strength and spitting in their face, his arms trying to break free. The spitting must have been really disrespectful because he received a nice backhand smack with the baton, Neteyam took it with a straight face. Blood dripped from the side of his head where he had taken most of the impact.

Still he did not budge.

“Etera! Get Aonung and Lo’ak!” Neteyam shouted in his native tongue. The adrenaline pumping in his veins as he heard his Ikran’s loud screech as she flew off. Neteyam couldn’t help but smirk, pulling once again to try and break free.

“When they come for you, they will kill all of you.” Neteyam warned in english. Until then, he would hold them off. Neteyam used their weight against them, tugging down the suit itself and forcing them to crash into one another, reaching his arms down and pulling his hands out to snap the burning rope from his wrists; he had managed to break free for the second time, running to grab the sharpened staff he had impaled the other with.

Neteyam leaped over the suits struggling to get up, pushing the sharp railing he had broken off into the chest of the enemy, he counted down how many there were left. His body starting to drag from the strain on it, he struggled to catch his breath and suddenly an arrow was pushed by the hunter underneath him. The arrow pushed into his stomach causing him to stumble back, his enemies taking advantage of him being injured hit him from behind with the metal baton.

Neteyam gasped laying on his back, everything felt dizzy and his heart was racing, the sharp pain in his stomach almost seemed to go numb as they shocked him repeatedly to the point where he couldn’t move. His eyes watered and were forced shut as he held back the pain that rushed through him, he wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of seeing him cry or in pain.

“This motherfucker is relentless, we should have just killed him while we had the chance.”

Neteyam could hear them, he thought they would have finished the job or perhaps they decided it would be easier to allow him to suffer to his death. Those he had thrown oversea, a few had survived and crawled back onto the ship. Neteyam tried to count but even if he tried to escape again, his body was dead weight with how many hits he had actually taken.

- - -

Aonung had returned from the hunt with his father and his men, just beaming with pride as they had managed to fight off a nice pack of Akula from their reef; it was the first time he had gone out to hunt with his father. It really just settled in the reality that he was now a warrior now, there was no higher honor to him besides being Neteyam’s mate of course.

Aonung carried two teeth from their enemy for his lover in his hand, surely Neteyam already had some but Aonung would forever dedicate each of his hunts and trophies to the love of his life.

The second his feet hit the sand, something felt off, he couldn’t pinpoint what was wrong, he could feel a sudden sharp pain but absolutely no impact on his body. Aonung found it weird but returned to his home nonetheless, he had expected Neteyam to be there but he wasn’t. Neteyam’s bow wasn’t there either? Was he on a hunt? Aonung took a look around the reef, wanting to give his lover his new trophies from his day.

Aonung groaned again, feeling his body seem to tense up, something was definitely wrong, his tattoo seemed to burn and everything just seemed off.

“Bro what is wrong?” Lo’ak called out to Aonung who was clutching his stomach, Aonung had no visible injuries though. “I do not know.. Something is wrong though, I can feel it.” Aonung warned, “Where is Neteyam?” Aonung asked Lo’ak who shook his head and shrugged his shoulders, he had no idea where his brother was.

Then he heard a loud screech, panicked, begging to be heard from a distance. The wings flapping were rushed as the large Ikran practically crash landed in front of him. Aonung had expected Neteyam to be on Etera, but he wasn’t. Etera pushed its head into Aonung aggressively, bearing herself to him to ride. Suddenly, reality had settled in. Neteyam was what was wrong.

Lo’ak instantly yipped, rushing to grab his spear. Aonung was frozen in place though, immediately the absolute worst thoughts filling his head as the large animal kept pushing him, Aonung grabbed his own weapon without a warning and jumped onto Etera, his thighs locked on her and suddenly his fear of heights were gone.

He had never bonded with this animal, yet he trusted her to guide him to Neteyam. Lo’ak right behind him, underneath them was Tsireya and Kiri following on their Ilu’s. The pain in Aonung’s abdomen never ceased, it burned as if warning him of what to expect.

They approached the large deck, Aonung could see his spirit brother in the distance rushing to get to his pack, on the large ship he could see them struggling to get moving, a few people motionless. Aonung assumed they were unconscious or even dead, then he caught a glimpse of Neteyam’s body in the corner, unmoving with an arrow piercing his stomach, there was blood everywhere yet he couldn’t decipher who it belonged to.

Aonung immediately presumed they had killed Neteyam, Aonung let out a loud battle cry, jumping off Etera without warning, piercing his spear into the large mechanical suit. Aonung could only see the blood of his lover splattered. They would pay for what they had done. War was never brought to his home until this very moment. Aonung without a second of hesitation, withdrew his spear and immediately slammed into it another unsuspecting enemy.

“Shit grab him!” He could hear someone shout, next thing he knew their hands were on Neteyam, holding a blade to his neck. It was then Aonung recognized Neteyam was still alive, “Take one step and I will kill him!” It was a threat, Aonung hissed, part of him didn’t want to risk it. Neteyam looked in so much pain, he could see the blood starting to spill from the wound. Aonung held out his spear threateningly, Neteyam looked at him, mustering his strength, Neteyam head butted the one holding him.

Aonung took that opportunity to throw and pierce the spear into his head, sliding to his knees to catch his lover in his arms. Aonung scooped Neteyam in his arms, careful of his wound and moved him away from the middle of their battlefield. Aonung was livid, now that he knew Neteyam was alive, the rage was permanent as he took it upon himself to destroy the whole ship, in a protective stance over his lover. The remaining members on the boat tried to scramble to defend themselves, gripping on their guns and shooting towards them.

Aonung after setting Neteyam down, ran towards them slamming their guns away with his spear and going as far as stabbing into one and tossing them into another, there was more bloodshed than Aonung had ever seen or participated in. Yet, not even killing them seemed to subside his rage.

Once all the threats were eliminated he was back at Neteyam’s side, pulling him into his arms with care, his bloodied hands caressing his face to see if his lover was okay. Kiri and Tsireya had joined him, when they reached for Neteyam, Aonung couldn’t help but to growl and hiss almost possessively over his lover, slapping their hands away. The action caused both women to cease reaching for Neteyam.

Lo’ak dropped down with the last two Tulkun hunters, tossing their dead bodies overboard. Lo’ak for some reason knew not to even touch Neteyam or Aonung, the aura around Aonung was threatening as he scrambled his lover into his arms. “We need to get him back, now. He is injured.” Kiri shouted at Aonung, who hoisted up Neteyam, who seemed to whimper from the pain. That seemed to bring Aonung down from his protective state of mind, climbing onto Etera they took off towards the reef.

“I cannot believe he did that.. He is my brother!” Kiri was offended, rushing after him to check on her brother. “She does not understand that is his mate.” Even Lo’ak understood that bond as he pulled Tsireya to join him on his Ikran to head back towards the reef, there would be a large commotion as they landed.

- - -

As imagined, the second they landed there was all sorts of commotion, Aonung rushing his lover to his mother frantically, he needed help. Neteyam was strong, holding onto his arm to show he was okay, even though his vision was getting blurry.

“We must remove this arrow, removing it will mean a lot of blood, we need to apply pressure, stop the bleeding, and clean the wound.” Ronal, Neytiri, Kiri and Tsireya at his side, ready to help Neteyam. The arrow was removed with a wince, the arrow had been holding back most of the blood. Aonung struggled to watch, his fists clenching, logically he knew they were just helping but his heart felt torn watching his lover writhe in pain.

Neteyam was strong. Aonung knew this, he respected him and always admired him for it. He knew he would pull through.

The blood seemed to slow down with pressure, then came to clean the wound, “Hold him down, Neytiri his legs. Tsireya and Kiri his arms.” Ronal warned, she glanced at Tonowari and Jake, as if silently warning them. The liquid stung, Neteyam practically cried out from the burning sensation, he pulled and tried to break away from the pain.

Aonung saw red, “Let him go!! You are hurting him!” Aonung practically lunged, feeling a need to protect his lover from pain, Jake and Tonowari gripped his arms to hold him back. “Remove him at once.” Ronal commanded and they practically threw Aonung out despite his protests to be there for his lover.

The whole thing killed him, he hadn’t been there for Neteyam while he was injured, now Neteyam was still in pain and he couldn’t do a single thing about it. His rage struggled to subside as he punched into a tree repeatedly. He hadn’t even been strong enough to stay in the room while they patched up Neteyam.

- - - -

Neteyam was out for about three days, Aonung did not leave his side at all, changing his bandages for him and wiping his lover down with a towel and a warm bucket of water. Apparently, there had just been too much of a toll taken on his body with the amount of blood he had lost.

Neteyam did suddenly wake up, absolutely parched, he rolled himself over moving to stand, clenching on his stomach despite apparently being in the healing process, the sharp pain hardly subsided. He was in Aonung’s Marui, but Aonung was nowhere to be seen. Neteyam limped out, it was evening and Aonung was out on the beach. Neteyam could tell by the outline of his body, Neteyam struggled to get onto the sand, walking slowly he had approached his lover from behind, his arms wrapping around Aonung who seemed to tense not recognizing it was him quite yet until he had looked at his hands.

“You are awake! You should be in bed!” Aonung instantly turned in his arms, Neteyam looked up at him completely drained, but with a small smile. “Was thirsty..” Neteyam explained, laying his head on his chest for a moment to steady himself. “I will get you water- but you really need to rest! You scared the hell out of me, I thought you fucking died. What were you thinking going there by yourself?!” Aonung had been thinking about this for days, and now Neteyam was up.

Neteyam bit his lip as he thought about the feelings he must have put Aonung through, “I’m sorry.. I thought I could handle it. They were hunting so close to the reef, I feared if I didn’t stop them then they would only keep hunting.” Neteyam expressed that as he looked up at Aonung, he could see the mixture of emotions in his eyes. There was frustration but sadness too.

“You are a warrior first and foremost, and I will always respect that. However, it is dangerous and stupid for you to go by yourself.” Aonung was angry, Neteyam understood he had made a mistake, he huffed annoyed. “You can say whatever you want, but I would do it again. If it meant I could protect a Tulkun.” Neteyam pulled away, or tried to at least but Aonung would not allow him to leave.

“You do not understand Neteyam. I thought I lost you! You were laying there unmoving! This is far bigger than your pride, I am your partner. You should have come to me at least!” Aonung wasn’t even angry anymore he was pleading. Neteyam stopped trying to pull away, he just leaned against his lover, remembering the pain and imagining it was the other way around. He imagined it was Aonung being electrocuted and hit, he could understand the frustration and rage.

“I am sorry.. You are right, I need to stop thinking as if I do not have a partner.” Neteyam sighed softly, resting his weight against him, feeling just a bit weak as he had done more talking and movement than he had done in three days. Aonung led him back to their home, laying him to rest on the bed, Aonung by his side to take care of him and give him water. Neteyam felt so cared for as he laid next to his lover. His eyes noticed something different, Aonung had a new tattoo on his chest, another gift from Ewya he thought to himself.

“Whenever you are 100% better, I will not let you escape being my mate.” Aonung warned him, he had almost lost him without them being mates, he felt the need to do it immediately now. Not knowing if he would ever be in this situation again,

“Yes.. As soon as I can take 10 steps without feeling like my stitches will pop open.” Neteyam agreed.

#aonung x neteyam #neteyam x aonung #neteyam #aonunete #aonung #avatar #avatar the way of water #one more chapter #what do you all think?

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separatist-apologist · 2 years

Text

Throw Me To The Flames

You could drag me through hell if it meant I could hold your hand

Summary: Elain only ever meant to deliver a message to Vassa on behalf of her sister's court. She never intended to see Lucien.

And she CERTAINLY didn't mean to get in the way of a knife that was only ever meant for his chest.

Kidnapped, and dragged helpless to the continent, the two will have to work together if they want to survive.

Note: HAPPY HOLIDAYS to my BEST @acotargiftexchange, @fieldofdaisiies

I hope you enjoy this as much as I have enjoyed hanging out with you!!!

Read More AO3

In all Elain’s life, she never expected to find herself standing in a human manor, fussing over a pot of tea again. She could hear rustling wings and the tapping disapproval of Azriel’s impatient boot. They were waiting on Lord Graysen and she knew it irritated him. There were other things he needed to be doing, and while he certainly didn’t have to chaperone this meeting, she appreciated it all the same.

He wasn't the only one out there monitoring for good behavior. Arina, who had declared she and Elain were now inseparable, had taken one distrustful look at Azriel and said she’d come, too. A representative, she’d added when Azriel had sighed with exasperation, of Day Court.

And Jurian was there, simmering with quiet anger at the entire thing. He’d begun raising the human armies and Elain had heard the bitter argument between him and Azriel—why did Nolan get the final say?

Because Nolan had the capital and Scythia was still divided. They needed the men loyal to Grayen to rally the rest of the humans if they wanted an army at least the size they’d utilized with Hybern.

Elain swept into the living room she’d stood in once before, the memory of that argument with Lucien replaying before her eyes. It was like watching the ghost of two people she barely knew, face off and ready for combat. Now Azriel was perched on that pink couch, his discomfort evident. Jurian stood in the doorframe, eyes trained on the door while Arina paced by a window.

“Are you sure—”

A knock interrupted Jurian’s angry words, drawing him into the hall. Azriel glanced at the steaming tear before nodding for Elain to sit, too.

“Don’t serve him,” Azriel murmured. It was the sort of thing Lucien would say, too. Still, the urge to do things right overwhelmed her. She knew every step to this dance—play her part immaculately to get what she needed. Fall on her knees to beg the man she’d sworn to always love to help her rescue the man she currently did.

He was not as she remembered. Time had settled into the fine lines of his once youthful face, marking him older. Gray peppered at his warm brown hair and teased against a mustache he hadn’t always had.

Her chest ached at the sight. So many years had passed, seemingly as quick as a breath. She had never once considered what that passage truly meant. That one day she might wake and Graysen would merely be gone, passing like memory over the earth.

Graysen, who’d been staring at her with open-mouthed surprise, closed his lips into a firm line. “Elain.”

She looked at Azriel, who’d told her that Graysen would only speak to her. Was it to express his disapproval one last time? To humiliate her all over again, having found the first time so wildly satisfactory.

“I said I would speak with her, not with an audience,” Graysen continued in clipped tones. Dressed in the familiar cobalt blue of his family crest, he was a peek into a life she might have had, if things had worked out even a little differently.

He wore a band of iron around his ring finger, resting casually—who had he married, she wondered? Who had replaced her in his home, his heart? He didn’t notice how her eyes traveled, his gaze burning on Azriel. As if anything he could say, anything he might do would frighten the ancient, winged male behind her.

“You’ll take what I offer,” was Azriel’s cold response. He punctuated it by sitting himself on that garish couch, flaring his wings for effect. Graysen’s distaste was apparent, made worse when

Arina stepped forward and with a revealing, pointed smile, asked, “Tea?”

They needed him. Elain turned to him, wanting just once to touch him. Instead, she kept her hands curled to fists at her sides. “You asked to speak with me?”

“I wanted to see you,” he admitted, taking one careful step towards her. “You haven’t changed—”

“She’s immortal,” Jurian snapped, earning twin looks of amusement from Arina and Azriel. “She will outlive you.”

Graysen’s mood darkened all over again. Elain was burning with humiliation, warring with the same impatience that seemed to have infected Jurian. They were wasting time. Azriel could be helping Cassian gather troops while Rhysand prepared to winnow them in. She and Arina could have begun planning how Elain would get herself close enough to the fortress so she could find that hidden box.

“What do you want, Gray?” she asked, her voice wearier than she’d meant to sound. “It’s been so long and you said…”

You said you didn’t want me.

“Are you happy?” he asked her, something flickering in his eyes. Elain felt unmoored for a moment, adrift in his question, his gaze, and the realization that he wanted her to tell him no. That though he’d rejected her and cast her aside, and even though they both knew he would never be brave enough to claim her like he should have all those years ago, he still hoped she was miserable.

Because he was miserable.

“Yes, Gray. I am.”

It was the truth. Maybe if he’d asked her a year before she might have told him she was. Graysen’s disappointment was rippled for only a moment before it vanished subtle enough that had she not known him so well, she never would have caught it. Elain didn’t ask if he was happy, given the truth so stark before her.

She simply did not care.

“Will you help us?” she asked, ready to be done. The answer was simple. Yes or no.

“And if I don’t?”

“We’ll do it without you,” Elain replied, turning her back to look at Jurian, Azriel, and Azrina. It was dismissive and casual, the graceful boredom of true-born, fae nobility. She saw the corner of Azriel’s lips twitch, as if it amused him to see her so callously dismiss a man that clearly held himself in such high esteem.

“Where will you gather the forces?”

“Scythia,” Jurian said with more confidence than anyone in the room felt. But Elain turned again, drinking him in one last time. He had haunted her for so long, his face the only thing she thought of more times than not. Had he always seemed so severe? So cowardly? Tucked behind his high walls, in a grove of ash? A ring of iron he knew was useless gripping a finger meant to symbolize love and fidelity? She’d come to him in the worst moments of her life and he’d never spared her a second glance.

Hadn’t cared if she’d lived or died. He’d merely cast her aside, as though she’d wanted this life. It had always burned her, and for years Elain had written and re-written speeches in her mind of what she’d say to convince him otherwise. How she’d make him see that what she’d wanted was him, for as much time as she was allotted.

And never once had it ever occurred to her that perhaps that sentiment was not returned. That Graysen was too scared, too cowardly to ever love her the way she’d loved him. What was love, without bravery? He wouldn’t have gone to war for her—Elain knew that with certainty, because he could have. He could have fought to have her, could have defied society and convention and their very customs and prejudices to have her, and he’d cast her aside. Even when she’d gone to him and confessed he had her heart—always—he’d tossed her aside like a cheap, replaceable thing.

Only now did he understand that perhaps it hadn’t been true, and still he stood here with his cold eyes, demanding she beg, if only to soothe his wounded ego. Elain would beg for Lucien. She would get on her knees and ask for his help if nothing else would save him. There was still enough hope that Elain could maintain her dignity.

She thought Lucien would understand if she told him she couldn’t muster this one last humiliation.

“We have enough,” Azriel finally said, filling the silence with his gruff voice. “If you wish to sit on the sidelines—”

“Like a coward!”Arina interjected, rising on her tiptoes to look menacing over one of Azriel’s flared wings. A ghost of a smile whispered over his face, as if she��d said the very thing he’d been thinking.

“You asked to speak with Elain, you know what she wants. Grant it—or don’t. We’re done wasting time.”

Elain was grateful when Arina grabbed her wrist, pulling her towards the door. She felt like she’d lived a thousand lives in the last day—they’d executed Beron the morning before, and now she stood before Graysen, pleading with him to help her get Lucien back. It was more than just the threat that Lucien would be forced to free Koschei, of which Elain suspected he might have to in order for her to truly damage the box so he was mortal—and killable.

Jurian yanked open the door, clearly disappointed Graysen would leave humans out of the fight in favor of the fae. Face hidden in shadow, Elain understood how important it was to the human General that humanity be well represented when the stories were told.

“Wait–!” Graysen’s voice echoed off the walls, following them into the narrowed foyer. “Your High Lord will winnow us in?”

Azriel assessed him coolly. “He will.”

“We’ll be ready at dawn.”

And that was that. Graysen shoved past them without a second glance, the first one to step into the cool summer night. The four of them watched him go, their displeasure surely burning a hole in his back.

“Is that all the time we have?” Arina whispered once Graysen was out of earshot. “A night?”

“Any more would be a waste,” Azriel replied, guiding them out onto the porch. Jurian seemed to agree.

And so did Elain.

LUCIEN:

Lucien waited for Vassa to slip through the bedroom door, his leg jangling nervously. She’d been pacing the world just above the lake all morning, dragging a trail of fire through the sky as they waited. Time was against them—Lucien had his power back and could, as he’d proven when he’d taken a turret off the far end of the fortress, unspell the magic of his ancestors.

Blood was all that was required, the very same coursing his veins. He could have undone Koschei right that moment had he felt like it. The only thing sparing Lucien the inevitable was Koschei’s distinct lack of knowledge regarding the ancestor who’d bound him.

Vassa slipped in, exhausted like she always did. Neither of them slept, waiting for the day their lives were so casually wiped from the world.

“Something is happening,” she whispered, ignoring Lucien on the bed for the window just behind him. “He’s gathering forces.”

“Forces?” Lucien asked. He hadn’t seen another living creature outside of the three of them.

“His magic,” she breathed, as if it should be obvious. “He’s pulling more of it, reshaping for a fight.”

“Then it’s over,” he said dully, gripping the blankets as the realization washed over him. He’d free Koschei, damning the world and perhaps worst of all, he would never see his mate again.

It was such a selfish thought, a self-pitying feeling to know that he would have given anything to just tell her what he’d been trying for so long to say.

Elain, I—

And she’d politely let him off the hook, each time agreeing, “I know.”But she didn’t, because he hadn’t said so. He’d kept the words leashed behind his teeth, certain she’d never want to hear him say those words.

“I don’t think so,” Vassa interrupted, primed for a fight. Vassa would go down swinging, and Lucien suspected she intended to take her with him. “If his escape was an assured thing, he wouldn’t be fortifying. He rebuilt the tower you wrecked, wrapping it in his slimy magic.”

“What are you saying?”

“I think something unplanned is happening, and he’s reacting,” she said, turning to look at Lucien. “Someone—or something—is coming, and he didn’t expect that. I know he always meant to fight a war in Prythian, where there were more factors he could control.”

Lucien forced himself to think carefully. To be logical. High Lords would move to defend their own territories and people, breaking lines and abandoning alliances if it meant seeing their own power laid to ruin. Koschei could play them off one another—separate them and force them to fight seven wars on seven different fronts.

“Beron is dead,” Lucien reminded her, the wheels spinning in his mind. “He’ll expect Autumn to be weakened, pulling them from the fight.”

“Are they?”

Lucien scoffed. “Eris is young, perhaps, to a death lord, but he’s hardly unseasoned. He’d rally. He’d–”

Lucien swallowed the words he’d been about to say with such confidence. He’d come.

“What if they coming?” she whispered, daring to look out at the dark sky again. Her fingers gripped the stone, scanning as if she’d see a terrifying, winged army just beyond. “He has no more moves left to play, at least not in secret.”

“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t play them well,” Lucien reminded her. After all, Vassa was only a pawn in his bid to get to Lucien. The two turned to look at each other, and he wondered if Vassa had realized what he had only just.

“When I break his spell, you’ll be freed, too.”

“I won’t leave you here,” she said, courageous until the very last. Lucien shook his head, because the humans needed someone just. Someone fair, who put them above everything else.

“You must.”

She opened her mouth as if she might respond, only to close it as that same realization swept over her. There were other things to consider besides their time in captivity and their shared friendship. Vassa could not think like that—and neither could Lucien.

“Well,” he finally said, his voice ringing with hollow finality. He pulled at the bond in his chest, wishing Elain was awake.

She pulled back with an immediacy that made his blood sing. Somewhere in the world, his mate was safe. She was free. Lucien needed her to stay that way, even as creeping realization wormed its way against the back of his neck. Elain was unlikely to keep to the sidelines—was likely the driving force, in her stubborn, unyielding way, of the whole affront to start with.

It should have scared him. Lucien wanted to be angry.

He felt nothing but relief. He trusted her sisters and her friends to temper the worst of her impulses and remind her that dying served no purpose, and deprived the world of her very presence.

And still.

Knowing she would come at all, that she would try and claw her way back to him made Lucien feel alive in a way he hadn’t in centuries. Finally, after riddled with his despair, his self-loathing, his insecurities, Lucien felt like he had some divine purpose. As though the suffering had all been for something, had been dragging him kicking and screaming directly to her.

As someone worthy.

Lucien rose to his feet, joining Vassa at the window. “It doesn’t seem possible he’s left anything to chance.”

“He can’t control everything. Only himself,” Vassa murmured in response. “There are too many of us now—he can’t hold that many strings.”

“He can’t fight a war on every front,” Lucien said in response. “Surely even he has a weakness. Some very killable heart, perhaps?”

“Maybe that’s what he keeps touching under his cloak,” Vassa joked. “It’s just an open hole in his chest.”

Their eyes met, a silent question passing between them. Lucien didn’t have to speak a word to send Vassa scurrying away—watchful, as she was so good at. It was desperate—one last attempt at thwarting what was almost certainly their inevitable conclusion. Lucien would die and Vassa freed, only to succumb to the dark reign of Koschei.

They wouldn’t let history say they hadn’t tried. And when Lucien left his bedroom in the keep just before dawn, pulled by the shadowed whisperings of the Death Lord himself, Vassa waited just in the hall, her lips forming two silent words.

Spelled box.

She inclined her head in a familiar direction, to the once ruined portion of the castle Lucien had once been caged in. Vassa slipped away, fierce determination warring with what looked almost like an apology. Lucien didn’t stick around to let her vocalize it. They all had their parts to play—his was this.

Koschei sat rigid in the same high-backed chair at the long table, laden still with too much food. Unnecessary, given what was coming. Bone-white hands laid calmly on the stone, framing an empty plate with skin stretched unbearably tight over his joints.

“An army gathers just outside the mist,” Koschei told Lucien, his words lacking the usual emotion. It was merely a statement, those Lucien thought there was some puzzlement to his expression, as if for all his meticulous calculations, he had not foreseen this. “They do not accept death as readily as you do.” Lucien heaved a sigh as he fell into his chair, pulling whatever he could reach towards him. It was a last meal, even as his mind turned over Vassa’s words.

Spelled box.

Containing what? And if he managed to unbind it, would he make things better or worse?

“I realize your education is incomplete,” Koschei continued, leaning forward as Lucien began to eat. “Raised wrong, you do not understand your significance.”

“Does it matter?” Lucien asked, certain it made little difference here at the end of things.

Koschei cocked his head. “Of course it matters. Why you, instead of another? Generations of Spell-Cleavers have existed since the first…any might have done. I have waited for you.”

Lucien forced himself to swallow. “Because my line spelled you the first time.”

“Your line spelled me the first time,” he agreed, reclining back in his chair. It was as if Lucien’s willingness to play along, to listen to this story, had settled him. “Bound me to this lake, to this fortress as punishment and…perhaps…as a joke. I have never truly known why Apollion spared me when so many others did not. His magic, drained from him in his ultimately foolish endeavor, spared me the fate of so many other of my siblings. Trapped, yes…but dead, no.”

A thrum in Lucien’s blood made Lucien think that somewhere, he’d heard this all before.

Koschei, unaware of how Lucien’s senses were awakening, continued to speak. Lost in memory, he paid Lucien little mind. “We knew the fae were getting stronger—harnessing the magic of the land, the sea, the sky much like we had once done. We’d grown greedy and were bored with unchecked rule. Your kind was little more than a sea floating rat—able to see and untangle spells, we thought. A little trick and little more.”

Lucien’s heart pounded in his chest, steady like a drum. “Apollion was guided by a prophecy–by love.” There was no disgust, no derision to the word. Only distaste, and perhaps confusion. Koschei, who was not a creature with a true soul as far as Lucien could tell, didn’t understand the lengths a person might be willing to go for such a potent emotion. And he understood, right then, why the gathering army confused him. Why hadn’t they chosen to stay and protect themselves, forsaking their kinsman? Beron had been willing to do so, after all. Beron had handed over a child he’d raised with no feeling at all—surely they were all like him.

But they were like Elain. Burning with feeling, with the willingness to try if for no other reason than loving the world and each other was all they really had. All they could cling to, could steady themselves again.

“Seers are rare—and Apollion let one convince him to bind me. Swore there was a way.”

“She was right, it seems,” Lucien replied, abandoning his food entirely to hear this story. A Seer and a Spell-Cleaver had begun this.

And Lucien knew why his blood was humming. It was her. Outside in that waiting army, coming back for him to finish what their ancestors had begun thousands of years before. He had to force himself not to react, to retain his mask of boredom.

Koschei didn’t smile. “She was. And so they came—Apollion and his Cassandra. She promised me knowledge of the world, promised to tell me all she knew if I would spare her family from my hunger. I had such an appetite back then. Your magical little souls make the finest of meals.”

“You agreed?”

Koschei nodded, ignoring the way the sky began to slip from violet to cerulean as the sun broke through the haze. “How could I resist? I agreed, and she came with her lover, who cursed me to this lake for eternity—and lost his life doing so. She’d thought she could save him. She didn’t realize…as I’m sure you’ve come to—you cannot have it all.”

Their eyes met, Koschei’s words a warning. Lucien discarded it, unwilling to trust that Koschei would be honest with him when so much was riding on everything going exactly as he planned.

“So, what? You’ve been here?”

“I’ve been here,” Koschei agreed. “Heartbroken Cassandra settled among the humans, passing her line through them in an effort to prevent another tragedy. Humans do not feel the magic as your kind do. No mating bonds, as she and Apollion had. No prophecy. The architect of her own ruined legacy as a speaker of false prophecies. She was so afraid I might need another…but not so afraid she didn’t wind that thread through generations of ignorant humans.”

Feyre. Cursebreaker, destined to save them from Amarantha. Her sisters, able to withstand the Cauldron, and Elain—

“I’ve been pulling those threads since before you were born,” Koschei murmured, watching Lucien piece it all together. “Your mating bond has been thrumming through the world far longer than your own father has lived. Waiting for just the right fingers to pluck at it, to draw you near. Little Cassandra, for all her ploys, never imagined her once children, so far removed, might one day become fae again. Destiny is a tricky thing—your kind has never truly understood it.”

“You don’t need her,” Lucien said quickly, betraying himself.

Koschei nodded. “No. I only ever needed you. She merely put you in place.”

“You’ll spare her,” Lucien said. It wasn’t a question.

“And what will you give me in return?”

The board was set. Lucien knew Koschei was primed for his words, for the promise, and so he chose his words as carefully as he could.

“I will give you an end to all of this.”

Koschei only smiled. “Let's begin.”

ELAIN:

Dawn broke just over the horizon when he went to find him. Dressed in golden sandals laced up to her knees, and a leather-skirted pteruges embroidered in gold, Elain felt like a princess of Day Court. Her hair had been carefully pulled from her face in equal rows to create a pretty ponytail more ceremonial than functional. The white leathered breastplate, etched with a rising sun over her chest, and the band of gold over her arms, spoke of Elain’s allegiance.

And who shielded her from all accountability when it came to the brazen slaughter of a High Lord. Helion Spell-Cleaver had taken one look at the furious Eris Vanserra and with a wry smile, said, “High Lord.”

He’d gotten an answering snarl in response. Elain wondered if Eris’s reasons for hating Helion extended to Arina, left behind in Day as a last defense of the city, should they fail here. Elain could untangle the complicated history of those two once she had Lucien back—once they were safe.

“You didn’t want me to see that crown,” Elain said by way of greeting, standing beside Helion as they waited for the mist to fall. It would be Nesta, with the remnants of the death power still clinging to her veins, that pulled it down. Elain could see her eldest sister in the dark leathers of the Valkyries, flanked on either side by Gwyn and Emerie as she stood against it. Head cocked, studying it like a long-forgotten friend.

“No,” Helion agreed, gold eyes coming to rest on her. “I wanted to see if the blade would call to you.”

Cassandra’s dagger was strapped to her belt, the only weapon Elain carried.

“Why not just say that?” she asked with more than a little frustration. “Why the secrets?”

“Killing Beron still serves my purposes,” Helion told her, shadows flickering over his expression. “And I can’t be caught sending assassins into neighboring territories. That had to be all you.”

“I would have kept your secret,” Elain told him, as if there weren’t creatures who could read minds. As if Helion needed just enough plausible deniability to keep his home safe. He only nodded, a silent thank you, even if it no longer mattered.

“Will it work now?” she asked, her insides roiling. Just beyond that heavy curtain was Lucien, still alive even if he’d stopped pulling back on their bond. Something like resignation was hanging between them—he’d made a choice.

She hated to think what choice he’d made, likely on her behalf, without even consulting her first. If Lucien had decided on self-sacrificial bullshit, she’d dig him right back up just so she could kill him all over again.

“They say Cassandra was mad,” Helion told her, his eyes far away. “She said so too, at the end. The journals they recovered were the scribblings of someone lost—she claimed to have lied about it all, that her visions were little more than the wishes of a female trying to achieve greatness.”

Elain felt her stomach sink. “Was she?”

He exhaled. “She had enough presence of mind to leave behind documents, even if they prevented anyone from looking too closely for wherever she vanished. They say it was her prophecy that led to Koschei being bound to begin with. One of the first Spell-Cleavers, if you believe the stories. Guided here on fragments and hope.”

Elain’s heart pounded. A Seer and a Spell-Cleaver had begun this? She blinked away the urge to cry, to push away that golden thread of fate that clung so tight to her ribcage. It was a war and it always had been—but it was a meeting of two souls looking for each other across time and space. Elain’s body ached at the thought. Even if it hadn’t been them, they were always meant to find each other. All the suffering, the misery, it was all worth it to bring her to him.

“I’ll winnow you to the front,” Helion told her, watching as silver flames danced over Nesta’s palms. “And destroy the wards. After that…”

Elain swallowed. After that, she’d have to hope she understood enough—that her visions on how to end this were right. “I won’t fail.” She had to believe that, needed blind faith to get her through the fear racing through her. So much could go wrong, especially know that Elain knew that it was wildly believed Cassandra, the person whose dagger she held, was a liar. It occurred to Elain just as the mist fell, that this might be one last trick. Koschei, luring her in for some piece of his plan she hadn’t considered.

Reckless. The whole thing was reckless and still Elain didn’t care. As the warm winnow pushed at her ribs, Elain felt relief that her separation from Lucien was nearly over. Whatever happened next, they would greet it together.

Just as they’d always been meant to.

A terrible roaring filled the silence before she or Helion ever touched the sandy bank of the lake. He’d clearly been ripped from the air too early, eyes wild as the pair tumbled backwards. He shielded her as something blasted around them, drawing a pained moan from his throat. It wasn’t the sound Elain wanted to hear erupt from a male that exuded the sort of raw power Helion did.

“He’s free,” Helion panted, twisting to look overhead. The sky was blotted in endless, unrelenting dark, broken only from the frazzled static of magics pent up too long. Neither of them moved, staring at the ancient magic unleashed on a new world. She could feel it like oil balancing atop water, too heavy to fully sink into the soil.

Helion reached around Elain, ripping at the wards keeping Elain out—if they even existed anymore.

“Go,” Helion ordered, pulling her to her feet. Neither of them spoke the truth, though the solid second they held the others gaze, the same fear washed through them.

Lucien had freed Koschei.

Elain’s stomach twisted as she scrambled, running for the iron doors blown open when Koschei had escaped. She wasn’t supposed to be looking for Lucien. She was supposed to be looking for that box, but all Elain could think of was Lucien. He was the whole point—everything she’d done had been for him.

The bond was still there, drowned by the roaring and the resulting screams and singing metal of a battle that would be ultimately futile. The combined power of all seven courts might hold him off—might keep him from immediately sweeping through the continent, but eventually Rhys and Feyre would flicker, drained entirely. The rest would fall like dominoes. Koschei only had to batter against them like waves against rocks, weathering each new attack until they were exhausted and unable to continue on.

Time was against her.

Elain ran through dark halls, guided by only flickering torches blowing in a phantom breeze. Occasionally they flickered out, leaving her blind in the dark. She skidded into an open dining hall, the only furniture a long, stone carved table filled with rotting food. Flies buzzed, picking at the carcass of what had once been a chicken, while maggots crawled over plates and cups.

Elain stared in horror, her stomach turning. Where was Lucien? She tried to scream his name, but her voice was lost to the world, drowned in an endless roar. Elain twisted, her panic making her reckless and foolish. She was afraid, so deeply afraid that she no longer cared about anything or anyone. Not as she turned, guided by the gold glowing in her veins. It took her to a spiraling tower and stairs slick with a copper scented substance. Blood, it was blood—

“Lucien,” Elain cried, throwing herself through the door to the iron bars of a cage. She’d seen this—seen him, curled just inside. His once vibrant, warm skin was ashen, too pale to belong to the male she loved. For a moment, Elain thought he was dead, eyes squeezed tight as they were. His hair spilled around a pulsating wound, caked in the same substance dripping down the spiraling stairs.

His golden eye opened. “Elain?” he whispered.

Elain gripped the bars, tugging uselessly. She watched him pull himself towards her, wrapping a callused hand over her own as he forced himself to sit.

“You’re hurt,” she said, not giving him a chance to speak. He was dying. Elain could see the inevitable conclusion to the slashes carved against Lucien’s chest—like a hundred lashes. Elain crushed her mouth against his own, tasting the salt and metal dried against his mouth.

“I’m going to get you out of here,” she said, some part of her settled now that they were together. “I’m going—”

“Elain,” Lucien managed, a heavy finality to his words. He reached just behind, and pulled the thing she’d been looking for. The box from her visions, thudding to the floor when Lucien could no longer stand to touch it.

“It's his soul,” Lucien said, each word thicker than the last. “Without it, he can’t die. Apollion he…” Lucien took a deep, shuddering breath. “He gave us an out. He knew he was going to die, he—”

It didn’t matter. Elain didn’t care, not as she wrenched at the bars, twisting with all her immortal strength until she could force herself between them. Elain squeezed herself in, sucking in a heavy breath before collapsing just beside him.

“As long as he has it, he can’t die,” Lucien told her, his face inches from her own. “Take it to—”

“To me,” Elain interrupted gently, rising on her knees as she pulled Cassandra’s dagger from her belt. “To us,” she added, not daring to look at the flesh hanging from Lucien’s chest. He would survive. They all would. The battle was early and everyone was still strong.

“When this is all over,” Elain told him, her hands shaking in fear as she used one to lift the latch of the box and the other to raise the dagger, “I want that time you promised. Decades in Summer, in Day, in Dawn.”

“You can have anything,” Lucien told her, pressing his forehead to her temple. “I am yours and I always have been. I always will be.”

“You are mine,” she repeated as a sharpened awareness clawed at her neck. “And I am yours.”

“He’s coming, Elain. You have to do it now—”

The lid opened, revealing a mass of swirling silver flickering against a writhing mass of inky black. The world around them ripped, like a yawning mouth looking to devour them. She could feel what Lucien had, the thundering steps of a creature newly freed only to realize its death was close at hand.

“Now,” Lucien whispered, lips to her cheek.

“Together,” she added, wishing she was less afraid. His fingers closer around her own, holding her while Elain p

lunged the dagger into the center of the box.

A deafening, brutal scream rang around them, the agony of a long-held life ripping through Elain’s very sanity. Blood poured from the box, drenching her legs and still Elain twisted, digging that knife viciously through the box until she’d split the wood in two. Arms wrapped around Elain’s body, pulling her against Lucien as the tower began to shake.

“He’s going to pull the fortress apart,” Lucien yelled, his voice drowned by the screams. Lucien pulled her down, his body bracing itself for that first crash as a stone clipped the cage they were both cowering in. Elain swore she felt warmth—the smell of crisp air and crunching leaves so reminiscent of Autumn. A memory she couldn’t quite place, and a time she’d just only lost.

Something struck her, and Elain was grateful to lose herself to the dark.

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elucien fanfiction #elain x lucien #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elain archeron x lucien vanserra #ONE MORE CHAPTER #oh my GOD im so excited to be almost done #Look at us #who would have thought we'd make it #NOT ME

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