#they he layed on the ground his wings turned to dust....

[chancheols]

Well, that was bleak

[novaursa]

The Dragon's Right (10)

- Summary: - It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.

- Paring: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Word count: 6 000+

- Previous part: 9

- Next part: 11

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne

The Crown’s forces gathered on the ridge overlooking the barren landscape of the Dornish border. Rows of soldiers stood at the ready, shields raised, spears glinting under the harsh sun, their faces set with grim resolve. The wind carried the distant sound of drums and war horns, a steady beat from the Dornish army assembling in the valley below. The smell of dust and sweat clung to the men, the anticipation of battle hanging heavy over the field.

Captain Mallor, the commander of your ground forces, surveyed the scene with narrowed eyes. “They’re massing for a charge,” he muttered to his lieutenant, his voice low but tense. “We’re outnumbered, but if we hold the ridge, we might stand a chance.”

The lieutenant nodded, though his face was pale with the realization of what lay ahead. “Where is the prince?” he asked quietly. “We’ll need him… and his dragon.”

The captain’s eyes flicked to the sky, scanning the clear horizon. “He’ll come,” he said, though even he couldn’t hide the uncertainty in his voice.

Below them, the Dornish army moved like a tide, their brightly colored banners snapping in the wind, the glint of their spears and swords creating a sea of metal and bloodlust. They were ready, and they were coming. Soon.

But then, just as the tension seemed about to break, there was a distant, thunderous roar that echoed across the valley, causing every head to snap upward.

From the clouds above, Silverwing appeared, her massive wings beating the air with a power that made the ground tremble. You sat atop her, your body braced against the saddle as she descended swiftly, the sun catching the glint of her silvery scales. Below, the soldiers on both sides stared in awe and fear as the great dragon loomed above them, casting a shadow over the battlefield.

“There he is!” someone shouted from the lines of your men, their spirits lifting at the sight of you and Silverwing.

“Ready the archers!” Captain Mallor barked, his voice carrying over the clamor as Silverwing swooped down, her powerful wings stirring up clouds of dust.

You could feel the tension of the moment in your bones, your heart pounding with both anticipation and dread. This was it. The Dornish army was larger than expected, and you knew they had prepared for you. Reports of scorpion ballistas had been filtering in for weeks, but now, as you flew over the mass of their forces, you could see the large siege weapons being wheeled into position.

Silverwing let out another deafening roar, one that shook the ground and sent a shudder through the enemy ranks. But the Dornish were not cowed so easily. They were battle-hardened and knew that dragons, while powerful, were not invincible.

You leaned forward, giving Silverwing the command to dive.

With a terrifying grace, Silverwing folded her wings and plunged downward, a stream of dragonfire spilling from her open jaws. The fire hit the front ranks of the Dornish army like a hammer, the flames scorching the earth, leaving nothing but charred bodies and burning wreckage in their wake. Screams filled the air as the heat of the flames spread, and men scrambled to avoid the dragon’s wrath.

But as you circled for another pass, you caught sight of the scorpions—massive ballistas mounted on wooden platforms, their operators frantically turning the cranks to aim the deadly harpoons at you.

“They’re aiming for us!” you shouted to yourself, tightening your grip on the reins as you urged Silverwing to veer left. Her wings flared, and you felt the rush of wind as she twisted away, avoiding the first volley of harpoons that whizzed through the air, missing by mere feet.

“Hold steady!” you commanded, but your heart raced as you saw more scorpions being loaded, their deadly spears now pointed directly at you.

Silverwing banked hard, her wings cutting through the air as she avoided another harpoon. But in the chaos of the battlefield, you didn’t see the third scorpion until it was too late.

A sharp whistle split the air, and you had only a second to react. You yanked on the reins, pulling Silverwing into a sudden roll, but the harpoon grazed your side, tearing through your armor and ripping a searing line of pain across your ribs. You gritted your teeth, gasping as the wound burned, blood soaking through your tunic.

Silverwing let out a shriek of alarm, her body jerking to the side as she felt your pain through your bond. “I’m fine!” you shouted, though the throbbing agony in your side made it difficult to speak. “Just keep flying!”

You gripped the reins tighter, ignoring the hot, sticky sensation of blood running down your skin. Another scorpion fired, and this time, Silverwing was ready. She spun in the air, dodging the harpoon with ease before unleashing another blast of fire, scorching the siege weapon and the men operating it. The ballista exploded into a burst of wood and flame, sending debris flying in all directions.

But the battle was far from over. The Dornish soldiers, seeing their weapons destroyed, began to surge forward, their commanders barking orders as they launched a full-scale charge toward your forces.

“Now!” Captain Mallor shouted from below, raising his sword. The archers let loose their arrows in a deadly volley, and the front lines of the Dornish army fell in droves. But still, they pressed on, determined to reach the ridge and break your lines.

You urged Silverwing lower, her great wings beating the air as she descended once more. The battle below was chaos—soldiers clashing, shields splintering, the sounds of swords clanging and men screaming filling the air. You could see your forces struggling to hold the line, the weight of the Dornish numbers pushing them back.

“We need to break their charge,” you muttered, scanning the battlefield for the best point of attack.

Silverwing growled in response, her body coiled with fury, ready to strike. You guided her toward the thickest part of the enemy lines, where the Dornish were pressing hardest. With a flick of the reins, you gave her the signal, and she opened her jaws wide, releasing another torrent of dragonfire.

The flames tore through the enemy ranks, leaving devastation in their wake. Men screamed as they were consumed by fire, their armor melting to their skin. Horses bucked and fled in terror, and the ground itself seemed to burn as Silverwing’s fire swept across the battlefield.

But even as you rained fire upon the enemy, you knew this would not be enough. The Dornish were relentless, their resolve unshaken by the dragon’s fury. They pushed forward, their commanders shouting for them to press the advantage.

Your side burned with pain, but you ignored it, focusing only on the battle, on the roar of Silverwing’s breath, and on the enemy that had to be stopped.

As the battle raged on, the Dornish forces began to falter, their morale breaking under the relentless assault of dragon and steel. But you knew there would be no easy victory here. The fight had only just begun, and the price of protecting the realm would be paid in blood.

But for now, the Crown’s forces held. And Silverwing, her scales glistening with blood and soot, let out one final, victorious roar that echoed across the battlefield, sending a shudder of fear through the remnants of the Dornish army.

The mood in the Tower of the Hand was suffocating, the air heavy with unspoken words as Otto Hightower sat in his study, his fingers drumming impatiently against the edge of his desk. His brow was deeply furrowed, his mind clearly preoccupied as he stared at the open window, his thoughts far beyond the confines of the Red Keep. The months had dragged on since you had flown off to the Dornish border, and with each passing day, Otto’s frustrations grew. Plans were stalling, opportunities slipping through their grasp, all while the realm waited for the prince’s return—if he ever returned.

A soft rustling of fabric caught his attention, and he turned to see Alicent standing quietly by the door, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. She had come at his summons, but the look on her face revealed she knew this conversation would not be a pleasant one. She could sense her father’s agitation in the set of his jaw, the tightness around his eyes.

“Alicent,” Otto said without preamble, gesturing for her to enter. “Come in. We need to speak.”

She stepped into the room, her movements graceful but hesitant. The weight of the past months had settled heavily on her shoulders, her inner turmoil visible in the slight slump of her posture. She stood before her father, her hands still clasped tightly, as if bracing herself for what was to come.

“Yes, Father?” Alicent asked softly, her voice betraying the nerves she felt. She had been waiting for this conversation, knowing it was only a matter of time before Otto’s frustrations turned toward her.

Otto’s frown deepened as he stood from his chair, pacing slowly around the room, his hands behind his back. He didn’t look at her directly as he spoke, his voice low but filled with irritation. “It’s been months, Alicent. Months since the prince left for the Dornish border, and in that time, we’ve made no progress. None.”

Alicent’s heart sank at his words. She had known this was coming, but hearing the disappointment in her father’s voice still stung deeply. She shifted uncomfortably, not quite meeting his gaze as he continued.

“We had a plan,” Otto went on, his tone growing sharper. “A plan that hinged on your ability to gain the prince’s favor. And yet, here we are. Months later, and you have nothing to show for it.”

Alicent flinched at the harshness of his words, but she forced herself to remain composed, though her voice wavered slightly as she responded. “I know, Father. But… the prince—he’s been away for so long. There was little I could do once he left.”

Otto stopped pacing, turning to face her with a sharp look in his eyes. “And whose fault is that? You had your chance, Alicent. You had the opportunity to win his trust, his affection, but you let it slip away. Now, we’re stuck waiting for him to return, if he even does.”

Alicent’s throat tightened, and she felt the sting of tears threatening to well in her eyes. She blinked them back, her fingers twisting nervously in front of her. She knew her father was right, at least in part. She had tried to win your favor, but her efforts had always felt hollow, overshadowed by your bond with Rhaenyra. And now, with you gone, she felt as though she had failed entirely.

“I’ll be better prepared when he returns,” she said quietly, her voice filled with quiet determination despite the sadness that weighed on her heart. “I’ll be patient, and I’ll make sure I’m ready.”

Otto raised an eyebrow, his lips curling into a scornful smile. “Patient? Prepared?” He shook his head. “Alicent, by the time he returns, it may already be too late. The realm moves on, and so do alliances. If you don’t act now, we’ll lose everything we’ve worked for.”

Alicent’s chest tightened, her heart pounding in her ears as she struggled to find the right words. She had always been obedient to her father’s wishes, always tried to meet his expectations. But with you, it had been different. The feelings she harbored for you were not just strategy or duty—they were something deeper, something that made it difficult to see you as just another piece in the game her father played. She had grown fond of you, despite her attempts to push those feelings aside.

“But I can do this,” Alicent insisted, her voice firmer this time. “I won’t fail again.”

Otto sighed heavily, walking toward the window and looking out over the Red Keep. His shoulders were tense, his frustration evident in the way his hands gripped the windowsill. “You need to set aside your foolish feelings for the prince,” he said, his tone cold. “This isn’t about love, Alicent. It never was. It’s about securing our position, securing the future of our house.”

The words hit her like a physical blow, and she recoiled slightly, her eyes widening in shock. Her father’s bluntness wasn’t new, but hearing him dismiss her emotions so callously hurt more than she had expected. She had tried to hide her feelings, even from herself, but now they were laid bare, exposed and dismissed in the same breath.

“I…” Alicent started to speak, but her voice faltered, her hands trembling at her sides. She couldn’t deny that part of her had hoped for something more than mere duty in her interactions with you, and now, her father had torn that hope away.

Otto turned back to face her, his expression hard. “You had your chance, and you wasted it,” he said coldly. “Now we have to rethink our approach.”

Alicent lowered her head, trying to swallow the lump in her throat as she fought back the sting of tears. She didn’t want to appear weak in front of her father, not now. But the weight of his words crushed her, leaving her feeling as though she had failed not just him, but herself as well.

“What… what do you want me to do, Father?” she asked quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper.

Otto’s eyes gleamed with a new idea, his lips curling into a calculating smile as he stepped closer to her. “The king,” he began slowly, his voice taking on a more measured tone. “Your efforts may not have worked with the prince, but King Viserys… he’s been suffering since he sent his son away. He’s lonely, grieving the absence of his heir.”

Alicent’s brow furrowed, her confusion evident as she looked at her father. “Father, what are you saying?”

Otto’s gaze sharpened, his tone leaving no room for misunderstanding. “You will go to him, Alicent. You will offer him comfort.”

Alicent’s breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in shock and disbelief. “What?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Father, I… I don’t understand. You want me to—”

“You’ll offer him comfort,” Otto repeated, his voice firm. “The king is vulnerable right now. He needs someone by his side, someone he can rely on. And that someone should be you.”

Alicent shook her head, stepping back from her father, her heart racing. “But I… Father, I can’t…”

Otto’s expression darkened, his patience wearing thin. “You will do what’s necessary, Alicent. This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for. If you can win the king’s trust, his affection, we can secure our position in the realm. You’ll ensure our future.”

Alicent’s chest tightened, her mind reeling from the implications of what her father was asking of her. “But… but I care for the prince,” she whispered, her voice shaking. “I thought… I thought I could—”

Otto cut her off with a sharp look. “The prince is gone, Alicent. And when he returns, it may be too late to secure anything with him. You must focus on the here and now. The king is the key to our future.”

Alicent stared at her father, her heart breaking as the weight of his expectations crashed down on her. She had always done as he asked, always played the part he had molded her into. But this… this was different. This felt like a betrayal, not just to herself, but to you as well.

“I’ll do what you ask,” she said quietly, her voice barely more than a whisper. “But…” She hesitated, tears welling in her eyes. “I… I just wish it didn’t have to be like this.”

Otto’s expression softened for a moment, but only briefly. “We all must make sacrifices, Alicent,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Now go. The king needs comfort. Give it to him.”

Alicent nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat as she turned to leave the room, her heart heavy with the knowledge of what lay ahead.

The air in King Viserys’s private chambers was charged with strife, the kind that clung to the walls and weighed down every breath. Rhaenyra stood, her fists clenched tightly at her sides, her chest rising and falling with the force of her anger. Across the room, Viserys sat in his high-backed chair, his face red from the shouting match that had already unfolded between them. His eyes were sharp with frustration, though beneath it all was the unmistakable sorrow of a father who felt cornered by his own decisions.

“I will not marry him!” Rhaenyra’s voice rang out, fierce and defiant, her usually calm demeanor shattered. She paced the floor, unable to stand still, her mind racing as the weight of her father’s words sank in. “Lord Jason Lannister? He is arrogant, conceited, and—"

“You will marry him,” Viserys interrupted sharply, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are a princess, and this is your duty. Lord Jason is the perfect match to solidify the alliance between the Crown and House Lannister. This is not up for debate.”

Rhaenyra spun on her heel, her face a mixture of fury and disbelief. “I don’t care about alliances, Father!” she shouted, her voice trembling with emotion. “I will not be bargained off like a prize to someone like Jason Lannister. You know nothing of him—he’s vain, pompous, and entirely insufferable! I refuse to marry him, and I will not be forced into this.”

Viserys’s jaw tightened, and he slammed his hand down on the arm of his chair, the sound echoing through the chamber. “You will marry him, Rhaenyra!” he bellowed, rising from his seat, his face flushed with anger. “You think you can run from your duty forever? This is not a choice! You are the heir to the Iron Throne, and you will marry as I see fit. That is the end of it.”

Rhaenyra’s eyes burned with tears she refused to shed, her heart pounding with rage. She stared at her father, her lip trembling as the weight of his words pressed down on her. He had always been the one person she thought would understand her, the one person she could count on. But now, here he was, forcing her into a marriage she didn’t want with a man she despised.

“This is about more than just duty,” she said, her voice lower now, but no less intense. “It’s about control. You married Alicent, and now you think you can dictate the rest of my life. But I won’t let you. I won’t.”

Viserys’s face softened, if only for a moment, at the mention of his new wife. The two years since his marriage to Alicent had not been easy on his relationship with Rhaenyra, and he knew this decision would only drive a deeper wedge between them. But he couldn’t back down. Not now.

“This is the way things are done, Rhaenyra,” he said, his voice calmer but still resolute. “You must understand that everything I do is for the good of the realm. You will be queen one day, and this marriage is essential to securing the stability of your future rule.”

Rhaenyra shook her head, her jaw clenched in defiance. “I will never marry Jason Lannister,” she whispered, her voice trembling with the force of her determination. “Never.”

Before Viserys could respond, she turned on her heel and stormed out of the chamber, her footsteps heavy with anger. The guards at the door flinched as she passed, their eyes wide with alarm at the sight of the princess so visibly enraged.

“Princess!” Ser Criston Cole called out from down the corridor, his voice filled with concern as he hurried to catch up with her. He had been waiting just outside the king’s chambers, listening to the raised voices within. Now, seeing Rhaenyra’s furious expression, he knew something terrible had happened.

She didn’t stop, didn’t slow her pace as she marched toward her chambers, her breath coming in ragged gasps as she tried to control the storm of emotions inside her. Ser Criston followed her closely, his armor clinking with every hurried step.

“Princess, please,” he said gently, though there was an edge of urgency in his voice. “What happened? What has the king said?”

Rhaenyra didn’t answer. She couldn’t. If she spoke, she feared the anger boiling inside her would explode in a way she couldn’t control. Instead, she pushed open the door to her chambers with more force than necessary, the wood creaking under her hands.

Once inside, she finally stopped, her back to Ser Criston as she stood in the middle of the room, her chest heaving. She was shaking, her body tense with the intensity of her emotions. Ser Criston, ever respectful, lingered just inside the door, his brow furrowed with concern.

“Leave me,” she said through gritted teeth, her voice thick with barely suppressed emotion. “I need to be alone.”

Ser Criston hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning her form for any sign of what might have transpired. But he knew better than to press her. He bowed his head slightly. “As you wish, Princess,” he said softly, before stepping back into the hallway and closing the door behind him.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Rhaenyra let out a shuddering breath, her entire body trembling with fury and despair. She paced the room for a moment, her mind racing with thoughts of rebellion, of defiance. How could her father do this to her? How could he expect her to marry a man like Jason Lannister, a man she had no love for, no respect for?

The thought of being trapped in a loveless marriage, bound to a man who cared only for power and prestige, made her stomach churn. She could feel the tears pricking at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall.

Without another thought, she rushed to her writing desk, her fingers trembling as she grabbed a piece of parchment and quill. She had to reach out to you. You were the only one who would understand, the only one who might be able to help her.

Her quill scratched furiously across the parchment as she poured her heart into the letter. She told you everything—her father’s plan, the marriage she was being forced into, her anger, her fear. She wrote of how much she missed you, how much she needed you by her side now more than ever.

As she finished, she wiped away a stray tear that had fallen onto the parchment, smudging the ink slightly. She folded the letter carefully, sealing it with wax before hurrying to the window.

She could see the rookery from her chambers, the tower where the ravens were kept. She had used this method before, sending secret messages to you during your time away, but this one felt more urgent, more desperate. She knew that by the time the letter reached you, it might be too late. But she had to try. You were her only hope.

Rhaenyra called for her handmaiden, who arrived quickly at her command. “Take this to the rookery,” Rhaenyra said, her voice steady but filled with urgency. “It must go to my brother at once.”

The handmaiden nodded, taking the letter from her hands and hurrying out of the room. Rhaenyra watched her go, her heart racing with both fear and hope. She turned back to the window, staring out at the sky, her thoughts with you, wondering when you would return—if you would return before it was too late.

The gardens of the Red Keep were a tranquil oasis amidst the bustling halls and chambers, but today, there was no peace to be found in them for Rhaenyra. She sat on a stone bench, staring out at the delicate flowers and perfectly pruned hedges, her mind far from the beauty surrounding her. The announcement of her marriage to Jason Lannister had been like a thunderclap in her life, shaking her to the core, and her heart was still simmering with anger and frustration. She had promised herself she wouldn’t let this happen, yet here she was, being forced into a match she despised.

The sound of footsteps approaching stirred her from her thoughts, and she didn’t need to look to know who it was. Daemon. His presence was as unmistakable as the swagger in his step, the kind of casual arrogance that seemed to follow him wherever he went. He appeared beside her, leaning against a tree with a faint smirk on his lips.

“You look like you’ve been banished to the ends of the earth,” Daemon teased, his voice laced with amusement. “What’s wrong, niece? Did someone steal your favorite lemon cake?”

Rhaenyra shot him a glare, her temper flaring. “It must be so easy for you to jest,” she snapped, her voice biting, “when I’m the one being bargained off like some trinket to marry Jason Lannister and be whisked away to Casterly Rock.”

Daemon’s smirk only widened at her outburst, clearly enjoying her ire. “A Lannister, eh? I’ve heard worse fates,” he replied with a lazy shrug. “Though I can see why the idea of being stuffed away in a gilded cage at Casterly Rock might not sit well with you.”

Rhaenyra scoffed, her anger bubbling to the surface. “You don’t understand. It’s not just the marriage—it’s everything. It’s—” She clenched her fists in her lap, her voice trembling with frustration. “He promised me.”

Daemon raised an eyebrow, his amusement fading slightly as he leaned in, curious. “Who promised you what?”

Rhaenyra’s jaw tightened, and she looked away, her voice low and filled with anger. “My brother. He promised me that he wouldn’t let this happen. He swore he would protect me from being forced into a marriage I didn’t want. And yet here I am, on the verge of being shipped off to marry a man I can’t stand.”

Daemon was silent for a moment, studying her carefully. His amusement returned, though it was tempered now with something more thoughtful. “Ah, so it’s not just the Lannister match that has you fuming,” he mused, his tone sly. “It’s that your dear brother isn’t here to sweep in and save you.”

Rhaenyra whipped her head toward him, eyes blazing. “He lied to me!” she nearly shouted, her voice filled with betrayal. “He promised. And now he’s been away for years, fighting at the borders while I’m left here, alone, to deal with this madness.”

Daemon didn’t respond immediately, but his eyes glinted with something akin to understanding. He knew what it felt like to be betrayed by family, to be pushed aside for the sake of duty. But he wasn’t about to offer her comfort—not in the way others might. Instead, he leaned back, his tone casual.

“Well, perhaps your brother had other matters on his mind. War does tend to make men forget promises,” he said, though the amusement had returned to his voice. “Or maybe… he didn’t forget at all, but simply couldn’t stop this from happening.”

Rhaenyra pressed her lips together, trying to compose herself, though her hands were still shaking with rage. The thought that you might have been powerless to stop this was one she hadn’t wanted to entertain. She had put her faith in you, had believed in your promises, and now it felt as though that trust had been shattered.

She took a deep breath, willing herself to calm down, and after a moment of silence, she spoke again, her tone cooler, more controlled. “I heard about Lady Rhea,” she said, shifting the conversation. “A hunting accident, wasn’t it? Her horse fell, and… well, it seems you’re now free to marry again.”

Daemon’s smirk returned, though there was a darkness behind his eyes. “Yes, my dear wife,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “It seems she brought her death upon herself. She always had an uncanny ability to make unfortunate decisions.”

Rhaenyra snorted, crossing her arms. “I’m sure her death has made your bride-to-be, Laena Velaryon, quite ecstatic.”

Daemon chuckled, the amusement dancing in his eyes once more. “Laena is a smart girl,” he replied, lifting his gaze toward the sky. “She knows what’s good for her. Besides, I doubt she’ll mourn Lady Rhea’s passing too much.”

Before Rhaenyra could respond, Daemon’s expression shifted, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced toward the entrance to the gardens. “Speaking of wives, your new stepmother seems rather keen on finding you,” he said with a smirk, nodding in the direction of the approaching figure. “I’ll leave you to it.”

Rhaenyra turned to see Alicent Hightower making her way across the gardens, her steps tentative but determined. Rhaenyra’s frown deepened as she watched Daemon give her a mock salute before he walked off, leaving her to face Alicent alone.

Alicent approached slowly, her green gown trailing softly behind her, her hands clasped in front of her as if she were holding back from reaching out to Rhaenyra. “Rhaenyra,” she said gently, her voice soft but tinged with hesitation. “I’ve been looking for you. I wanted to… talk.”

Rhaenyra didn’t bother hiding the annoyance in her voice. “Have you now? Come to offer more congratulations on my impending marriage, or perhaps to check if I’m still in one piece?”

Alicent winced at the sharpness of her tone but pressed on, her gaze filled with an earnestness that Rhaenyra found both irritating and exhausting. “I wanted to know how you were feeling,” she said quietly, her words careful. “I know this marriage was unexpected, and I… I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

Rhaenyra let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “How I’m feeling? You really want to know how I’m feeling, Alicent?” She turned to face her fully, her eyes narrowing. “I feel like I’ve been betrayed. Like everyone around me is conspiring to push me into a life I don’t want. And you? You stand there, pretending to care, when you’re part of the very system that’s caging me in.”

Alicent’s face flushed with hurt, but she stood her ground, her voice soft but steady. “Rhaenyra, I do care. I didn’t want this to happen either. I know you don’t want to marry Jason Lannister, and if I could—”

“If you could?” Rhaenyra interrupted, her voice rising with anger. “But you can’t, can you? You’re as much a pawn in this as I am. Except you’ve made peace with it. You’ve accepted your place, married my father, and now you think you can offer me comfort?”

Alicent’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she didn’t back down. “I just wanted to help,” she whispered, her voice breaking slightly.

Rhaenyra shook her head, her heart hardening as she turned away from her former friend. “There’s nothing you can do to help me, Alicent,” she said coldly. “So don’t bother.”

With that, she left the gardens, leaving Alicent standing there, tears spilling silently down her cheeks.

The sun hung low on the horizon, lazy rays sprayed across the barren landscape of the Dornish border. The air was filled with dust and the stench of blood, remnants of the brutal fighting that had raged for many moons. Your men, tired but unbroken, stood along the ridgeline, watching as the enemy forces began to pull back. The Dornish army, once so bold and numerous, now appeared ragged, their numbers thinned by the relentless engagements, their morale shattered.

You stood at the crest of the hill, overlooking the retreating forces, Silverwing perched nearby, her gleaming silver scales catching the last light of day. Her low, rumbling breaths were the only sound breaking the heavy silence that had settled over the battlefield. Your hand rested on the hilt of Blackfyre, your eyes narrowed as you watched the disarray below, the remnants of the Dornish army attempting to regroup, though their retreat was obvious.

Ser Kevven Moriggen, a grizzled and experienced knight who had fought by your side throughout this campaign, rode up beside you. His armor was dented and smeared with dirt and blood, but his eyes still gleamed with the fierce determination of a man not yet willing to let the battle end.

“They’re pulling back, Your Grace,” Kevven said, his voice hoarse from days of shouting orders. He glanced at you, waiting for your command. “Should we press them? They’re vulnerable, and a final push might scatter them for good.”

You frowned, your gaze locked on the retreating enemy. The temptation to drive them back to their lands, to ensure they wouldn’t return for decades, was strong. But there was something hollow about the thought of chasing them now, after years of bloodshed. They were broken, their supplies exhausted, and to pursue them deeper into their own land would be a waste of men and resources.

“No,” you said firmly, turning to Kevven. “We don’t need to spill more blood on their land. If they cross back into ours, then we’ll engage. But for now, let them retreat. The battle is over.”

Kevven looked surprised, his hand tightening around the reins of his horse. “Your Grace, if we push now—”

“I said no, Ser Kevven,” you interrupted, your tone leaving no room for debate. “There’s no honor in cutting down a retreating army. We’ve held our ground, and they’re falling back. That’s victory enough.”

The knight hesitated for a moment longer, then nodded, though the disappointment was clear on his face. “As you command, Your Grace.”

You watched as he turned his horse around, riding down the line to relay the order to the other commanders. The soldiers, weary and worn, seemed relieved when the command to hold was given. They had fought long and hard, and the sight of the enemy retreating was a victory in itself.

The silence of the battlefield settled in once more, the distant figures of the retreating Dornish shrinking against the horizon. Your mind was heavy, not with the satisfaction of victory, but with the weight of the toll this war had taken—on your men, on the realm, and on yourself. You had been away from the capital for too long, and the thought of what awaited you back home stirred uneasily in your chest.

Just then, a soldier approached, his face dirtied with the grime of battle, his breath coming in short gasps as he saluted you. “Your Grace, a raven arrived. A message… from the Red Keep. It bears the Targaryen seal.”

Your heart skipped a beat. The Targaryen seal. That meant only one thing. Rhaenyra.

Without hesitation, you took the small scroll from the soldier, your fingers trembling slightly as you broke the seal. The wax crumbled beneath your touch, and you quickly unfurled the parchment, your eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. Rhaenyra’s handwriting, urgent and pleading.

Brother, the letter began. You promised me you would protect me. You promised me you wouldn’t let them force me into a marriage I did not want. But Father has broken that promise. He’s ordered me to marry Jason Lannister, and I cannot, I will not do it. They are trying to take away my freedom, trying to take away everything we spoke of. You told me you would stand by me, and now I need you more than ever. Come home. Please, I beg of you, come home and help me.

Your grip on the letter tightened as you read the words again, the desperation in her plea cutting through you like a blade. You could see her in your mind’s eye—Rhaenyra, fierce and determined, but also vulnerable, trapped by the weight of duty and expectation. She had always relied on you to protect her from the worst of court politics, and now, you were hundreds of miles away, unable to stop what was happening.

You folded the letter slowly, your chest tightening with frustration and anger. You had promised her that you wouldn’t let this happen. You had promised to protect her, to ensure she wasn’t forced into a marriage that she didn’t want. And yet, while you had been here, fighting a war at the edge of the realm, they had moved against her, using her as a tool in the political games of King’s Landing.

Silverwing shifted behind you, sensing the change in your emotions, her low rumble filling the air as if to offer comfort. You closed your eyes, your thoughts racing. You knew you couldn’t remain here. You had to return. Rhaenyra needed you, and you would not fail her again..

As the sun started to set, you made your decision. 

It was time to go home.

[utterlyotterlyx]

A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part Five

Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - some fluff, flirtation, mentions of blood and gore

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

Azriel hadn't been able to keep his eyes off of y/n despite Elain's incessant chirping about the gardens and her desire to venture into the city for more seeds.

The training grounds weren't usually so busy, but that morning it turned out that Nesta and Mor had begged y/n to spar with them, and she couldn't exactly say no, not when they had established bonds at dinner the evening before.

So there Azriel sat at the edge of the ring, watching y/n move like a phantom breeze and swing her sword like it was an extension of her soul whilst Elain chattered on beside him. He hadn't minded the sound of her voice, it was a miracle she was even speaking at all considering everything that had happened to her, and he was happy to play a part of her settling but it was clear that Elain believed there was something else between them.

He couldn't help but allow his eyes to drag over y/n's figure, from the curve of her hips in the leathers she donned to the tilt of her gleaming smile. Azriel was bewitched. Just as he caught her loosely braided hair swaying in the breeze and wondering how it would feel between his fingers, a voice pulled him from the image, "Azriel? Are you listening?"

Glancing to his left, Azriel's hazel orbs connected with those of Elain, doe-like and soft, and he felt his trance disperse into the air, allowing the clash of swords to fill his ears, "Sorry, Elain. What did you say?"

The pink of her skirt dusted against the dirt of the training grounds, her hair bristling in the unobstructed breeze, "I asked if you'd like to come into the city with me this afternoon? For the seeds?" Azriel moved his gaze back to y/n and didn't feel bad about it, he was more than happy to watch her train, maybe he would get to go head to head with her at some point as well. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Azriel hummed softly in agreement, "Yes, she really is."

"I didn't know that Rhys had a sister. Feyre never mentioned anything."

Frowning slightly, Azriel told her, "Feyre didn't know. No one did. Rhys was prepared to die with the secret, she's only here because he sent her a message, a call for aid. Once the war is over she'll likely return to her world."

Elain examined Azriel's face, the transfixed eyes and softened lips, the lax shoulders and how his shadows were perched upon his shoulders staring at y/n like she was the last blinkering star in existence. She knew better than to get between a look like that, a stare more powerful than one ever given to her. Elain sighed, gathering her journals in her arms, "Maybe another time?"

Without sparing her his eyes, Azriel nodded, rising to his feet and making his way over to the ring where both Nesta and Mor lay on their backs panting whilst y/n stepped over their forms with a smirk, wings stretching and knowing that the two females were done for the day. Y/N approached the weapons rack, settling her sword back on its perch as she felt that familiar cool curl around her arms, smiling downward at the shadows which caressed her skin. "Did you enjoy the show?"

Turning on the balls of her feet, she came face-to-face with Azriel who peered down upon her with wonder, his lips curled upward into a knowing smirk, "It was impressive," he told her with his arms folded over his chest, sparing a glance backward over his shoulder at a groaning Mor who was struggling to stand on her feet without swaying. "I'm just wondering when it will be my turn."

"Your turn?" Y/N took a singular step toward him, her scent becoming entangled with the air he inhaled, infecting his bones straight down to their cores.

"Yes."

The fire in her eyes danced with intrigue, and all Azriel could think of was having her trapped beneath him, his legs pinning her body and hands wrapped around the back of her neck. He could almost picture the sparks of blue in her eyes up close, how they would ebb and flow with the ire of submitting to him.

"We can go now," her voice teased as her chest brushed against his, "If you're ready for me that is."

A soft breeze swept over her face, causing the shorter tendrils of hair to stick to her cheeks, and Azriel couldn't stop his marred fingers from reaching out and removing them from her skin, lightly brushing his digits along the contour of her cheekbone and allowing his gaze to roam over her face.

"I'll always be ready for you," his voice held a certain softness to it, like he was speaking to her in the dead of night, hushed so that he wouldn't cause the storm to stir.

His touch lingered on her cheek, and up close, Azriel was mesmerised by the hue of y/n's eyes. They weren't just violet, they were a myriad of purple and storm grey, with the smallest speckles of blue which caused them to appear alight, and her limbal ring was a shade of deep onyx which just gave Azriel one more reason to be completely consumed by her.

Y/N went to speak, to open her perfectly sculpted lips and say something, but the words were stolen from her throat. In his shadow, she was simply y/n, not a queen or the most formidable warrior Erilea had ever birthed, not the daughter of the Valg or the bringer of the storms; under his eyes, she was just y/n. And she quite liked how that made her feel.

Though, she had wished that she was paying more attention to her surroundings, namely to the set of eyes that were likened to her own now glancing between her and the male who held her cheek in his hand. "Your match will have to wait," Rhys' voice slithered between them, pulling their gazes apart but not their bodies. He held a report in his fingers, his eyes were brimming with concern, "There's an update on Hybern's movements," his eyes moved to his sister, the only one who was truly undetectable and able to do what he so desperately needed, "I need you."

The rage that was written upon Azriel's face was so intense that it made even Rhys feel small.

After his interruption, Rhys had moved the entirety of the Inner Circle indoors, away from any prying eyes and ears, into the main seating area within the House of Wind. It was a comfortable place and the view beyond the arched windows was truly exquisite, even in the daylight when y/n could carve out every section within the mountains where various settlements lay, even the specific place where the pool of starlight resided.

"No." Azriel had snarled at Rhys' request from beside y/n. The Shadowsinger appeared relaxed, but there was molten ash swarming within him, within his eyes and his limbs. "If she were to get hurt then it'll be you that will have to face Aelin and Rowan and tell them why their closest friend, ally, and queen, has been harmed."

It seemed as though only Azriel understood the gravity of what the wrath of Aelin and Rowan would mean for them all, and he knew that with Aelin and Rowan came Lorcan and Aedion, y/n's bloodsworn, and Manon, the latter of which when she was mentioned made Azriel shiver.

Huffing with amusement, y/n rose from her place beside Azriel, finding his protectiveness to be rather alluring, "I can handle Aelin and Rowan," she paced toward the balcony, fixing a pair of leather fingerless gloves to her wrists and ensuring her twin blades were secured against her thighs. Y/N turned to face Azriel who had also risen, wings bristling at his back like they were preparing themselves to shoot off into the sky after her. "One day, you might stop underestimating me."

"I'll use the storms as cover, you'll get the information you need," she told Rhys stoically, opening the large looming balcony doors and stepping into the heightened winds.

Hybern was moving, the threat increasing, but the reports were too vague for Rhys, too conflicting, and he needed someone to report first hand on their movements, size, weaponry, the beasts in their arsenal. Everything. The rest of them were too recognisable, but y/n had the power to disappear whenever she wished, and that was the power that they needed.

"You don't know the continent." Stopping in her place, she turned, finding Azriel at the mouth of the doorway with Rhys stood not that far behind him. "You'll need help navigating the skies and knowing where exactly you are. Let me come with you."

Rhys nor Cassian had ever seen Azriel appear so desperate to be close to someone. From his seat beside Feyre, Cassian tilted his head toward his brother whose hand was outstretched to y/n, and if he could notice the longing glances between them then it must have been extremely obvious to everyone else. He had convinced himself that Mor was lying about was she saw in the training ring that morning, but apparently she was telling the truth.

Cassian had never seen Azriel look so obsessively helpless.

It took her a moment, but y/n nodded, once, and stiffly, before she spoke, "Stay close. You won't survive a lightening strike if it catches you."

The words should have scared him, or at least made him feel slightly wary. But Azriel didn't feel anything other than delight and privilege at the thought of being able to navigate the skies with her, and to be shielded under her power.

Unfurling her wings, Azriel watched in awe as the tips draped over the moon. He could count each feather individually from where he stood, he could etch the curves and membrane to his memory. And with a single beat of those onyx wings that resembled the night sky, y/n soared upward, craning her body in the direction of the wind before allowing it to support her flight.

Azriel wasted no time in joining her.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours.

Four thousand, three hundred and twenty minutes.

That's how long they'd been away for. Spending hours of the night in the wrath of the storms, scouring the lands below their flight for a sign of the Hybern forces. Though it was to no avail.

They'd return to the small cabin they had found at dawn each morning, y/n groaning for a bath and Azriel seeking a moments rest that never found him easily. Azriel had become grumpy, tired of the bristled winds and icy rain that poured down upon him every night thanks to y/n’s storms thundering on to protect them from anything that may be watching from below.

Apparently she was used to such conditions.

It also didn’t help that his rest was confined to the small couch by the entry, his wings ached and there was only a small fire to keep him warm. In those dim moments of discomfort, Azriel wished that he had taken up y/n’s offer to sleep in the bed, to stretch his wings and rest just enough to keep his senses sharp, but he could never take something from her, not when her power was exhausting her to keep them both safe and hidden in the skies.

The nights went by with little conversation, though whatever words were spoken were always light. Despite the importance of their mission, y/n was doing her best to separate the seriousness from it; Azriel had chosen, no, begged to go with her, and she wasn’t about to make the time they spent together full of misery. Though, what y/n did know was that it would be easier for her to find the armies of Hybern on her own. Thanks to Azriel’s need to answer every single one of her questions, y/n was sure that she could navigate the skies on her without issue.

“Az,” y/n called from the doorway of the bathroom where pools of steam swirled along the floor. Azriel craned his head toward her, hazel eyes moving up her bare legs to the towel that was wrapped around her body, allowing his imagination to run wild, “Take the bed,” she told him, nodding toward the plush pillows and sheets that were calling out to him as she adjusted the towel around her chest, the twin mountain tattoos to Rhys’ rippling at her knees.

“You need it more than me,” he told her pointedly, raising an eyebrow at the tapping of her impatient foot again the wooden floor. Even with damp hair and glistening skin, y/n was by far the most mesmerising female he had ever seen, her jaw was so sharp that he was sure it would cut him if he ran a finger along it, her eyes were so bold and hypnotic that they threatened to possess his soul, and he would let them. “Your power has been keeping us safe for three nights now, it needs to recharge.”

Scoffing, y/n folded her arms over her chest, “I don’t think you know how my power works,” she sauntered back into the bathroom, pushing her hair over her shoulder before pushing the door to, but leaving it open by just a crack to allow the bathroom to air out from her obscenely hot bath.

He wished that he could have controlled the urge, he wished that he could just stay put, but the devil chirping in his ear was convincing enough to push him to his feet and slowly move toward the door. Through the crack, he watched as she dropped the towel to her waist and raked her fingers through the lengths of her hair. Azriel watched her skin shimmer in the light of dawn, and saw the curve of her breasts as she moved about, though, that wasn’t what he could focus on. It was the scar trailing from her ear to her tailbone which held his eye, it was angry and scaled, and grey in places, like it was still healing, he kept an eye on it even when her wings rustled at her back, drying themselves from the slick ointments she used which made her smell like his own personal heaven.

Azriel continued to watch as she ran her fingers over her skin, stopping to examine every bump and scar with a frown before tugging a short-sleeved but skintight shirt over her head and reaching for a brush to run it through the wind-induced knots in her drying hair. All Azriel wanted to do was care for her, to run that brush through her hair and place feathering kisses down the length of the healing scar that curled down over her shoulder and spine, but he wouldn’t, instead, Azriel turned away just as y/n reached the unwind the towel from her waist and resumed his position on the chair just before she exited the bathroom altogether.

“Take the bed, Az.” Y/N told him sternly, twirling her hair around her finger and tying it in a low sitting bun, “I’m going to go for a walk anyway, we need more firewood.”

Looking to the once plenitude chunks of wood that were dwindling to almost nothing, Azriel sent her a sidelong glare as she tugged on her shoes, “I’ll go.”

“No you won’t,” she replied, voice cold and demanding, her violet eyes were screaming for a moment of solitude, and despite his objections and the refusals in his ears from his shadows, he stiffly nodded and turned back to the ashen fireplace with a small frown. “I’ll be back soon.”

She left the small cabin quickly, throwing her cape over her shoulders and tugging it closer to her body as she traipsed through the sullen woodland, branches bending under her feet and the wind whipping against her reddened cheeks. All she had to do was get far enough away from Azriel’s earshot to be able to plunge herself into the skies without him realising what she was doing. Part of her felt bad for leaving him behind, but it was clear that he needed to rest, and that the shrill cold and damp of her storms were beginning to weigh him down.

It was a kindness really. In her eyes anyway.

Once she could no longer see the cabin, y/n walked for another fifteen minutes before unfurling her feathered wings and with one beat sent herself soaring upward through the trees. For a moment, she floated there, deciding which direction to go, and she summoned the spirit of the wind to aid her, allowing it to coil in her mind and will her northward toward a set of three mountains that she and Azriel had scoured on the first night.

On approach, they felt different, and y/n flew higher into the clouds to use them as cover as she soared over the clearings and valleys, not wanting to dip any lower in fear that she’d be seen, but she had no choice.

Y/N dipped over the peak of the tallest mountain, the same one she looked at before she went to sleep in the cabin because she thought that it touched the moon, and immediately saw what they had been looking for. The armies swam for miles down the valley, tall wooden cannons stood at the mouth of the woodland, surrounded by tents and fires; the stench of death filtered through into her lungs, and she could feel the power of that damned cauldron not too far away, and she deduced that it had wisely been glamoured. Amongst the tents and soldiers milling about the space, y/n spied winged beasts perched far away from the foot soldiers, probably because they were too terrified to be anywhere near them, and y/n didn’t blame them, their pointed ears and elongated teeth, and their leathery wings were enough to make even her feel queasy. But y/n had fought and survived much worse beasts than the ones stationed below.

Counting the cannons and making mental notes of the sizes and breeds of beasts in the arsenal of the King of Hybern, y/n went to swiftly turn back, to allow the wind to carry her back to the cabin to gather Azriel and then move onward to Rhys.

But the sharp piercing of arrows through her wings stopped her from doing such things, and y/n fell downward through the skies, whatever poison they had dipped the arrowheads in seeping into and weakening her body and powers. The wind flew by her as if trying to slow her fall, and with the last speckle of her power before it dimmed completely, y/n sent out a wave so strong that the air vibrated and hummed just as she hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Groaning, she rolled onto her front, wincing as she counted the four arrows that were embedded into the feathers and membrane of her wings, which made flying to safety impossible. There was no way that Prythian or Hybern would have the knowledge of the poison to slow her unless they knew that she was in their world, somehow, the King of Hybern was wholly aware of her presence, and he had taken steps to ensure that she would at least be slowed enough to be fatally harmed.

Y/N pushed herself shakily to her feet, her fae ears struggling to keep track of the beating of wings approaching her position as they became muffled and her vision hazed. How could she be so stupid? How could she be so unaware of the legion of soldiers and beasts watching her from the peak of the mountain? Queens weren’t meant to be shot down from the skies, especially fae queens who were at one with them.

Retrieving the dagger from the waistband of her briefs, she looked up through the trees, spying the wavering shadows of the winged beasts hovering overhead and willing her wobbling legs into the thickness of the woodland, struggling up the mounds, panting and grunting as she did her best to ignore the spreading poison in her veins that weakened her more each passing moment. The chill coursing up her spine told her that the beasts were closing in, that and their giggles of terror echoing through the forest, making it clear that they were enjoying the hunt and had no wish to kill her, but to only take her back to their master.

The Queen of the Fae continued to run as fast as her legs would allow, relying on her depleting senses to carry her to safety, but it was to no avail.

A body barrelled y/n into a nearby tree, and she felt her ribs crack and splinter underneath her skin at the force of it. Tears prickled her eyes and soft whimpers of frustration fell from her lips, but she wasn’t allowed to clamber to her feet, not when a winged beast drew a scream from her lips as its talons became embedded in her belly, her shriek was loud and shrill, and it sent shockwaves through the earth and air.

“Pretty thing, isn’t she?” A voice as void as death teased, saliva from its fangs dripped onto her skin, searing the surface with its acidity, “Did you truly think that he didn’t know of you? That you wouldn’t come to aid your blood?”

Ripping its talons from her flesh, y/n felt the blood flow from the open wound. The beast curled a razor sharp digit under her chin, lifting her gaze to its face, and its cunning grin made anger swarm inside of her chest.

“How did he know?” Y/N panted, blood continuing to pour from the deep puncture in her abdomen, doing her best to distract the clan of nightmarish creatures for just long enough.

“Your brother isn’t the only one with allies in high places,” the others chuckled, happy to sit back and watch their ring leader torment the poisoned queen at their complete mercy. “Our king wants you alive, but we personally don’t want to see a thing like you live.”

Not a monster like you.

Poison to the earth.

Kin of demons.

Their chants echoed around her, burying themselves into the marrow of her bones.

The beast raised its gnarled hand, a sadistic grin upon its monstrous excuse of a mouth, ready to strike. Ready to take the life of a poisoned queen of a different world.

But it stopped.

Not by its own accord, however.

A blast of dark magic erupted from the east, sending the creature looming over her wailing and clutching at itself whilst it twisted horridly through the air, becoming impaled on a nearby set of branches. Flashes of blue and gold coiled over her hazed vision followed by the dying shrieks of beasts gargling on the blacks of their own blood, and despite the blood coating her lips, y/n couldn’t resist a smile.

Turning her head to the side, she counted three males, two from her world and one not, all fighting, all appearing to her in their own glorious beauties, but they were too enthralled in the taste of battle to notice what was creeping up on them, all too focused on what was going on at the tips of their fingers to observe.

Without thinking, and with using all of the strength she had left, y/n threw herself onto her feet, knife in hand and vision clearing with the last burst of adrenaline that flowed through her veins. Before it could reach Azriel, she hurtled herself onto the back of it, screaming and digging her dagger into its spine over and over. The monster clawed at her legs, shredding the fabric of her pants and slicing her skin like paper. It didn’t stop her, and with one final plunge into the back of its skull, the monster went rigid and fell onto the ground, leaving her stood before the three males that she was far too relieved to see.

Heaving in uneasy breathes, Y/N rested a hand on her hip, knowing that all the three males could look at was the deep wound settled into her stomach that was leaking blood at the tempo of her heartbeat. “Azriel, I’m sure you introduced yourself to Lorcan and Aedion?”

Azriel didn’t say a word, he couldn’t, not when she looked as she did. Pale. Bloody. Weak. Her hair had become loose and stuck to the side of her face, her clothes were saturated in blood and filth, and her wings. Gods. Her wings were impaled with arrows, feathers askew and some littering the ground.

How she was still standing, none of them knew. They all knew that she should be dead.

It was Lorcan who was the first to move, a male that towered over Azriel birthed by death itself, he moved to y/n, catching her swaying body in his large arms. “Tell me you brought Yrene,” y/n pleaded breathlessly, wincing as Lorcan swept her into his arms with little to no effort at all.

“She’s at that shack you’ve been staying in,” Aedion paced across the ground splattered in blood, her own and the creatures that had shot her from the skies, and rested his hand on her cheek, worry laced in the eyes which were twin to Aelin’s.

“Good. That’s good,” her once pristine white teeth were drowning in an ocean of red, it poured from the corners of her lips, and with a stiff nod from Aedion, Lorcan ran faster than anything Azriel had ever seen, leaving him and the blonde haired warrior alone in the clearing.

“If she dies,” Aedion trailed off, already not enjoying the company of the Shadowsinger considering he had allowed his queen to venture in the void on her own, he turned to Azriel, eyes ablaze and disgust snarling on his lips, “We will tear this world apart.”

We. As in Aelin and Rowan, Aedion and Lorcan, and no doubt the thing they called Manon.

A chill ran down Azriel’s spine at the thought, but all he could do was nod and move back to the cabin with Aedion in tow, watching and assessing him. He couldn’t describe the fear he felt when that rush of power startled him awake, nor the pain in his gut that felt like he was being disembowelled, and when Lorcan and Aedion barged into the cabin with a sheepish woman in tow did he realise just what was happening.

Azriel had called for Rhys instantly before they left for her, leaving Yrene behind to set up her supplies with a paling face, like she could smell in the air what was coming her way.

By the time they had made it back to the cabin, the anguish was palpable in the air. Rhys and Lorcan stood leaning against the beams of the door, both looking up from the ground through their lashes once they heard the rustling of leaves and footsteps approaching. From the look on his face, Azriel knew that Rhys was furious, with him or the appearance of Aedion and Lorcan he couldn’t quite tell but he was leaning toward the former.

“How is she?” Aedion stalked ahead, wanting to go into the room, no doubt because of the bond that flowed between him and y/n, but Lorcan stopped him with a firm hand on the shoulder, halting the warrior before he could take one step further.

Rhys’ gaze fell on Azriel and he cocked his head to the side with no emotion in his eyes, “Where were you?”

“I was sleeping.” Lorcan scoffed at the words, he knew that he would never choose to sleep over protecting his queen. “She told me that she was going to get firewood.”

“And you believed her?” Aedion asked, distaste on his tongue and hatred in his eyes.

“I had no reason not to,” Azriel deadpanned, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of y/n inside, “Will she be alright?”

The observant eye of Lorcan swept over him, noting his desperation, noting his guilt and self-loathing, and he shuffled on his feet, “If anyone can save her then it would be Yrene.”

As if on cue, the door to the cabin opened to give way for Yrene to step outside, and Azriel caught a fleeting glimpse of y/n upon the bed, chest rising and falling with bandages wrapped around her torso and thighs. “She’ll live, but the effects of the poison may last a couple of days,” she sent a pointed glare to Lorcan and Aedion, one of question. “The question is how they got their hands on the only poison that can hurt her, it’s too refined a recipe to live in this world.” Yrene wiped her bloodied hands upon her apron and sighed.

Aedion and Lorcan shared a pointed glance, “Aelin will want her back in Erilea once she hears of this.”

Sighing, Rhys ran a hand over his face, like he knew something that the rest of them didn’t, “Aelin already knows that my sister has been harmed,” his words beckoned the attention of the three males and Yrene, and Rhys’ eyes flickered between all of them, “Aelin is in Velaris. It seems that whatever brought you here did the same for her, and Rowan, and the one you call Manon. And since y/n’s power won’t fully return for a few days, you’re all stuck here.”

Dread settled into Azriel’s gut at the thought of what beating was due to come his way, but he refused to focus on it. He entered the cabin, slowly approaching the bed and drifting his hand over the pallid fingers of y/n, shivering at the cold that settled inside of him.

“I’ll winnow her back. Can you take care of those three?” Rhys appeared at his side, eyes soft as they drank in the corpse of his sister. Rhys moved to her, sliding his hands under her legs and around her back, apologising to her gently at her soundless whimpers.

Once Rhys was done making sure that she was settled and as comfortable as she could be, he stepped backward into the black mists of his power, leaving Azriel alone with three beings he was sure wanted to end his existence.

Authors Note

Sorry this took so long! Life has really been lifing recently 😭

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[intoxicated-chan]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏 ༻ 𝐀 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐃𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬

(A/n) ➳ Going over this, I just now realize how similar it is to the first episode of House of the Dragon and I apologize for that! Feedback is greatly appreciated!! Take care of yourselves and take a break, eat a snack, drink some water!!

Word Count ➳ 2.7k

Content Warnings ➳ 3rd, P.O.V, violence, blood, injury, mentions the Doom of Valyria, mentions of death…

AWOIAF Masterlist

The sun set hours ago… Lake-town was cold enough during the day and when the sun came down, it felt like a winter storm.

Bard was preparing to set off to collect fish again. He hated leaving for so long and coming home for a day or two, it broke his heart whenever he had to tell his children he was leaving again.

Bard climbed the wooden planks and up to the rooftop where his young son, Bain, sat. He leaned back, his head up towards the sky with widened eyes.

“Come Bain, it’s cold.” Bard said, his arms resting on the rooftop. “It’s time for bed.”

Bain turned to his father. “Da, is the dragon gonna come for us? Like the one in the stories you told us?”

Bard hopped onto the rooftop, kneeling to his son. “No, son. The dragon sleeps within Erebor. It has for a hundred years.”

But Bain pointed to the sky. “But there’s one.”

Bard followed his finger and squinted. He felt his heart drop when he saw the shadowy figure soaring through the sky. He could barely make out the size or his wingspan.

A gasp left his lips as he grabbed his son’s shoulders. “Go, go inside.” He demanded, pushing him. But his eyes remained on the dragon. “Quickly now.”

Watching him take a couple of laps around the Lonely Mountains. His heart raced, was the dragon trying to tempt Smaug? He followed his son inside, trying to remain calm for his children.

He didn’t see the dragon descend towards Mirkwood.

The dragon flapped his wings as he touched the ground, sending out a cloud of dust, twigs, and leaves out of his way.

The dragon grumbled as the guards surrounded him. “Rȳbās.” His rider told him, taking off the leather belts that held her to the saddle. “Lykirī.”

The dragon bent his neck, allowing the rider to dismount. She smiled rather widely, running her hands along his scaly neck and to his head.

She placed her hand under his eye, seeing her reflection in his eye. She laughed as her dragon rumbled under her touch, she placed her forehead onto his skin, closing her eyes, humming a soft tune.

Tauriel approached her with a stern expression. Usually, she would happily greet her but considering that nobody was supposed to be leaving Mirkwood, let alone at midnight, she was frustrated.

“The King does not like repeating himself.” Tauriel warned her, coming close even if the dragon seemed to be displeased. “No one is allowed to leave unless granted.”

She pulled back from her dragon and turned to face her, the smile still on her face. “Aegar is more than big enough to saddle two. I know how much you love the sky.”

Taruiel shook her head in disappointment. “Come, the King wishes to speak to you.” She walked with some of the guards, two waiting for her.

She sighed and followed her, leaving Aegar to lay and rest.

She may have been here her entire life, but the Kingdom of Mirkwood never ceased to amaze her. They have been friends for her entire life as Tauriel was the one who taught her how to use a bow from a young age.

They walked arm in arm through the halls of Mirkwood. Tauriel found herself unable to contain her laughter and smile.

“It is difficult to understand you.” Tauriel giggled. “Do you take pleasure in seeing all of us scramble to locate you?”

(Y/n) grinned sheepishly. “Admit it. You wish to ride a dragon.”

“I believe I’m content with seeing you fly.”

“Your loss.” She pushed her lightly. “So tell me, how angry is he?”

(Y/n) then pulled her arm back as they approached the throne room, Thranduil sat there, observing a jewel in his hands.

Tauriel took her leave but not before looking back at her, her smile had faded but she remained calm. Tauriel left before Thranduil could say anything else to her.

“(Y/n).” Thranduil’s voice was calm yet assertive. But there was an edge of frustration. “You know how I feel about these reckless flights of yours. And to venture out without my permission, disappointing.”

(Y/n) bowed her head, her gaze focused on the floor. “Forgive me, My Lord.” She replied. “Yet you don’t allow me to go flying with your permission.”

Thranduil sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You must remember there are dangers out there, worse than what Aegar poses. You dare fly close to Erebor? Are you asking to battle with Smaug? A dragon three or more times larger than Aegar. He may be a dragon but you are not.”

(Y/n) straightened, lifting her head to meet his eyes. “Aegar is strong, he is loyal. I wouldn’t dare use him as a weapon.”

“The time is coming, (Y/n). You are a formidable soldier, you two make quite a team.” Thranduil admitted. But with a wave of his hand, he dismissed her. “Take a bath, you stink of dragon.”

It has been several days since Thranduil warned (Y/n). His words lingered in her head.

She shouldn’t have to feel frustrated with him, afterall, he was the one to find the items left behind by your family.

There were many things gifted to her when she was old enough to read. Books of her great- great- something grandfather’s handwriting, it was worn, some words difficult to read.

Before she even learned of High Valyrian, she thought the words were a remembrance of her home or maybe her family. But no.

It was far from it. A warning.

Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor.

A dragon is not a slave.

She managed to grasp her forebear’s language with some help but she wouldn’t say she mastered the tongue of High Valyrian. Rather, she knew the basics.

It was noon, the sun casting a warm glow over the wooden yard. (Y/n) focused on fastening the leather straps to the saddle, she had a feeling that it was becoming loose.

Aegar laid comfortably on the ground, snoring.

Legolas leaned against a nearby tree, watching her and noticing the furrowed brow that she had for nearly an hour.

“Something is on your mind.” Legolas commented. “Speak, looking bothered does not suit you.”

(Y/n) paused, her fingers picking at the old and peeling leather. “It is nothing.” Offering a smile.

But Legolas saw through her smile, he could see it in her eyes. “You forget I know you, I knew you from the start… You’re worried that once Aegar is old enough, you’ll be forgotten.”

She sighed, tying the leather back into the saddle. “I only worry for Tauriel. The King does not respect her enough.”

“You worry too much, you need to place some of it on yourself and Aegar.” Legolas stepped forward. “You have earned your place here.”

“I have no place here. My home is gone and I’m an outsider, I’m no elf. If I had not appeared with my dragon, Thranduil would’ve sent me away.” She explained, standing to her feet as she observed the saddle.

Legolas was ready to push that idea out of her head. He had no idea she thought of herself so lowly. He grabbed her arm.

Tauriel suddenly appeared. “There’s trouble.” She announced tension in her voice. “The King has ordered another nest to get rid of.”

(Y/n) pulled her arm back. “Aegar!” She shouted, waking him up from his slumber. “Iōrās.”

Aegar stood on his feet, stretching his wings. She grabbed the ropes to mount him.

“(Y/n), wait,” Tauriel grabbed her hand. “The King has requested you stay behind.”

(Y/n) frowned and scoffed. “It would be easier if Aegar-”

But she could see it in Tauriel’s eyes, Thranduil was going to keep her and her dragon here. “A dense forest with a large dragon?” Tauriel laid it out for her. “He fears the damage it could cause. Aegar could not maneuver properly in those woods.”

“Alright.” She muttered, stepping away from Aegar. “Alright.”

“I’m sorry.”

(Y/n) watched them go, annoyed and saddened. She longed to be by their side, joining them in a fight.

Thranduil was going to make her wait and watch. He was going to make her feel like a burden. His way was punishment.

(Y/n) watched from the corner, watching as each dwarf was pushed into a cell. Their complaints were falling on death’s ears.

She stepped out from the shadows and towards Legolas’s direction, wanting to know where the dwarves came from.

“What do you know of dragons, girl?” The dwarf’s voice was gruff, laced with bitterness as he eyed the dragon sigils embroidered into her clothing. “You wear it like a badge of honor.”

(Y/n) eyed him as well, realizing who the dwarf in the cell was. “You’re Thorin Oakenshield? Heir to the throne of Erebor.”

Thorin’s fists clenched around the iron bars. “You have yet to answer my question.”

(Y/n)’s eyes widened in amazement. “I cannot believe it. I’ve-”

“(Y/n)! Dina!” Legolas commanded her to come. “Get away from the dwarf.”

With that, she walked away, leaving no room for Thorin or (Y/n) to say anything.

“Must you speak to them?” Legolas sneered, following you down the steps. “What reason do you have?”

“I’ve always wanted to see the infamous Thorin Oakenshield. It was not disappointing.”

“...Is it?”

(Y/n) nodded, a smile on her lips. “Yes. If what they say is true… If they reclaim the mountain, I would love to see the glory of Erebor.”

Legolas froze in his steps. “I am beginning to wonder where your allegiance lies.”

“What makes you wonder that?”

“...Go, I need to report to the King.”

She rolled her eyes, asking herself if her curiosity made Legolas or anyone else question her loyalty.

Of course, her loyalty lies with Thranduil, he saved her and took a human and a dragon in. A human not from this world.

The sun had begun to set when (Y/n) stood at Thorin’s cell. “Might I ask you something?” She began, breaking the silence.

He looked up at her, eyes wary. “What is it? Dragon rider?”

“If you had no memories of the kingdom or its riches, would you still fight to reclaim it?”

“Yes.” He answered without hesitation. “For it is not the gold or treasures that drive me, but the honor and memory of my kin who were lost. To reclaim Erebor is to honor their memory, to give those who wish for their home.”

He stepped closer to the bars as he spoke his words, loudly enough for the rest of the Company to hear. He spoke with bravery and pride, not a single ounce of shame in them.

(Y/n) listened to his words closely. It made her think of her own home, the writing of the book could not describe the doom correctly.

Only a dream, unsure if it came true…

(Y/n) became lost in her thoughts, she began to speak aloud. “I wonder…” She uttered. “What it would be to see Valyria, to walk the streets, see the dragons fly into the sky with my people on its back. I wonder if any Targaryens remain.”

She sighed, sitting down on the steps. “I wonder if the dream was true and the doom of my home was correct.”

Thorin, still irate from the encounter from earlier but genuinely curious about her side of dragons, sat as well. “Was it taken?”

“It was destroyed. A Targaryen had a dream, D… Daenys had a dream. She had foresaw the destruction. But I have no way to know if it was true, I do not know if Valyria still stands or if any Targaryens remain to rule the skies.”

(Y/n) looked up to the ceiling, closing her eyes to remember how Valyria was described. “To be home. I would give my life just to see it.”

“…May you find your way home, dragon rider… And safely.”

It was a chaotic scene. The dwarves and Bilbo found themselves stuck in wine barrels but their path down the rough rivers were blocked by the portcullis.

Kili’s cry was loudly heard as he fell back, clutching his leg that the Morgul arrow stuck out of.

“Kili.”

Thorin felt his heart sink, hearing his nephew’s cries as he was unable to do anything.

Legolas, Tauriel, and the other Elves fought against Blog and his party.

The Orcs were relentless, fighting to the point until their bodies gave out and welcomed death.

Arrows flew into their bodies, daggers stabbed into their hearts or heads.

Kili’s eyes shut tightly, hissing loudly as he attempted to get back up.

His eyes opened and widened, his eyelids fluttering as the pain was flowing throughout his body… He could see a dragon flying… A dragon?

He could make out the dragon’s silhouette against the sunlight, circling the river before he saw him make a dive. He could hear him roar, loudly.

Tauriel’s eyes immediately shot to the sky, Aegar’s body casting a shadow over the river.

Aegar descended from the sky and landed into the river, his landing sending waves that splashed anyone close.

Thorin couldn’t see Aegar but the sound of his roar was enough to send chills down his back. He looked back and saw the rest of his Company staring up at the dragon.

(Y/n) swiftly unchained herself from the saddle, her feet hitting the ground. She drew her sword, cutting down the Orc coming towards Kili.

She took a quick glance around and estimated the amount of Orcs, she could hear another group coming.

Aegar let out another roar, lunging forward and his massive jaws snapped shut on the nearest orc, easily crushing him into two pieces.

He exhaled a quick stream of flame at the incoming group, the Orcs screaming as they threw themselves into the river.

The Orc swung his ax at her, she ducked and cut his leg, making him kneel with a shriek. She pierced his head with force, making sure he was dead.

She continued to cut through the Orcs with Aegar protecting her, coming down on an Orc that nearly came down on her.

“Tauriel!” She shouted as she tossed one of her daggers past Tauriel’s head.

She grabbed the dagger lodged into the Orc’s chest to stab it once more before using it on another, she tossed it back and (Y/n) caught it.

She heard Kili loudly groan once again, Thorin’s Company were sitting ducks in those barrels and they could only do so much with little to no weapons.

That’s when she noticed why the Company was just floating. The portcullis was shut. It must’ve been why Kili wasn’t in his barrel and why he was on the ground, holding his knee.

(Y/n) dodged another Orc’s attack, managing to move behind him. She grabbed his head and slid her blade across his neck, she then let him fall to the ground.

She came to Kili’s side. “Now’s your chance!” She stated, crossing blades with another. “Go! Before they outnumber us all!”

Kili managed to conjure whatever strength he had left and grabbed the lever, opening the portcullis, and allowing the Company to escape.

“Kili!” His brother cried out, watching Kili slump to the ground once again but push himself into the barrel.

Kili felt and heard the arrow snap, sending another wave of agony throughout his weakening body.

(Y/n) watched as one-by-one, the Company fell into the water and their barrels carried them through the rough stream.

She turned back the Orcs, immediately impaling one Orc coming down on an Elf, and used her dagger to finish the job.

She looked up at Legolas drawing another arrow. “Secure Mirkwood.” He ordered. “Worry about damages later.”

Legolas ran off, following the Orcs that were focused on the Company, Tauriel was behind him.

She rushed to Aegar, she climbed onto Aegar who lowered his neck, allowing her to quickly settle herself.

“Sōvēs!” Aegar began to run, flapping his wings a couple of times before taking off.

(Y/n) directed him towards the gates, wanting to spread the word first. Thorin looks back into the sky, watching Aegar and noticing (Y/n) upon his back.

© Intoxicated-Chan 2024, I do not allow my work to be copied, translated, modified, adapted, or put on any other platform without my permission.

Taglist ➳ @mrsdurin , @marsmallow433 , @oneiratxxia10 ,

[sherlockhomies-42]

Holy shit so like yeah the bug bit me and I spat out two chapters in one day...anyway here's chapter 2 enjoyyyyyyyyyyyyy

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Death has returned, Heaven is disturbed

Chapter 2

Almost all at once, a cold shiver ran through the denizen's of Hell and their Overlord's,

A kind of cold some of the haven't felt in ages; if ever in the millenia of afterlife they've lived.

Feeling a shiver run down his spine, the King of Hell sits up straight in his seat, putting the rubber duvk he was workingon down with shaking hands as he felt himself break out into a cold shivering sweat like he hadn't felt in eons.

Death has awoken

He shot up from his seat at his table, rubber ducks falling to the ground and squeaking as they land only further drives his senses into overdrive. His mind begins to race a million miles an hour thinking of many things until his mind crosses to his dear daughter.

If Death is awake here... What of his daughters immortal status? Her safety from the extermination?

What of his?

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

Death flapped her wings for what felt like forever until she began to get closer and closer to the ring of light, As she draws closer and closer she braces her mind for the slip thru the veil. 'Here comes chaos'

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

Meanwhile in Heaven

(Just for like a sec)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A violent tremors shook thru the lowest level of Heaven closest to the barriers between the paradise and the hellish rings below.

Panicked angels and heavenly souls scream on fear as Angels try to keep them calm whilst they investigate the disturbance;

Seraphim and Emily immediately emerge from their soul arrival area upon the first feeling of the tremors.

"SERA! What's going on?!? What's happening?" Emily yelped in horror as chuncks of concrete from the buildings of Heaven broke loose and smashed to dust around them.

Sera looked around at the same view that just minutes before was so peaceful, was now thrown into utter chaos as Angels and souls alike run and are struck by falling rocks and debris

Her voice shook as she look at her sister and weakly said "I do not know" and clutched her as close as possible whilst dodging out of the way of more falling rocks and shattering glass, whilst her sister yelled and screamed in her arms.

Sera noticed in horror that everyone who was crushed was not moving. Regular souls sure if enough damage was done but Angels? They should be able to get back up from such seemingly small injuries, but to her horror they just lay there; bleeding golden ichor and limp as a corpse.

The two seraphim take flight and dodge out of the way of any remaining falling debris as the tempura finally begins to cease, they gather wit the survivors and look on in terror as their once beautiful peaceful home is in chaos and tatters.

Emily looks to her older sister after seeing their fellow angels unmoving and bloody with no signs of stopping.

"What has happened to our home Sera? How could this happen to Heaven?" Tears well in the young girls eyes as her sister takes her in her arms in comfort as she glares out into the madness.

"I don't know why this has happened, Iusteet with the Heavenly council immediately to asses the damages done, you are to return to our home as fast as you are able and stay inside until I come back."

Emily looks to her sister with admiration at her ability to stay so calm, she pulls from her arms with a nod and her wings pull her up and away from the rubble as quickly as possible, not noticing the trepidation on her sisters face.

Sera turns to her fellow angels and takes a deep breath as to calm herself whilst the others are in hysterics over their friends and family's sudden second deaths. She opens her eyes and speaks out;

"Everyone please calm yourselves, I'm sure there's an explanation, I must immediately take to the heavenly council to discuss the damage and how we can begin to rebuild."

An angel screamed out

"WHAT ABOUT THE DEAD ANGELS?!?"

Another followed as the crowd of survivors begin to become rowdy again

"WE'RE SUPPOSED TO BE IMMORTAL"

"WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!?!"

Before anything can spiral further out of control Sera raises her hands and silences everyone.

"Calm yourselves please, I do not know why this has happened, I must meet with the council and weust get an answer from our Father. The only one who could know why is Him, trust I will be swift with the information and Come to you all as soon as I can."

With the raging angels complacent for now, Sera turns to the sky and flys as fast as her wings will take her to the council room with a grimace across her face.

'everything we have worked so hard to make happen here in Heaven could be compromised if this is real'

She stops up short as she thinks of who else could've been causing trouble in heaven

'I need to speak to Lili-'

She is stopped in her thoughts as she sees the other scattered council members shooting up to the council room in the cloud, she curses herself and shoots up to the sky.

"I can only hope that this isn't what I think it is'

I'm all her heavenly wisdom, She couldn't even begin to understand what has been set in motion.

[lostfracturess]

【 ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ 】 9

x PAIRING gojo satoru x fem!reader (main); megumi fushiguro x fem!reader x WORD COUNT 7.8 k x SUMMARY you never wanted to become part of the world of jujutsu sorcerers, yet fate had other plans when the one and only satoru gojo took you under his wing at jujutsu high. as the lines between student and teacher begin to blur, hidden powers surge to life, and a deadly target is set on your head. x WARNINGS + NOTES this story contains partly abusive and possessive behavior, explicit content, graphic depictions of violence, injury, combat and angst. you can also read it on wattpad or ao3. pls like or repost if you enjoyed ♡

➸ ch 1; ch 2; ch 3; ch 4; ch 5; ch 6; ch 7; ch 8

tw: character death; suicidal thoughts

𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐚𝐠𝐨.

When was it really that it all fell down?

Was it when Yuji lost control?

Was that the first downfall?

Yuji was not one to lose control.

He never really did. But after what happened on that mission, he lost it all. And somehow, you felt like you lost a part of yourself that day as well. The horrors you witnessed etched into your very soul, leaving scars that may never heal.

You never wanted to see him like that again.

Maybe that was the day everything changed.

As you came to your senses, a scene of nightmarish destruction unfolded before your eyes. Smoke and dust filled the air, obscuring the sun and plunging the world into a cruel twilight. The ground was marred by deep craters, festering wounds in the earth's flesh.

It was a battlefield that bore the marks of Satoru's destructive fury rather than Yuji's. 

No. 

Not Yuji's. 

He's not cruel. 

He's not violent. 

But Sukuna is.

You couldn't really remember what happened. You were on this mission. Curses swarmed from all sides. One moment, you stood beside Yuji, and the next, you passed out and found yourself thrown to the unforgiving ground.

A ringing in your ears drowned out the world around you. It rang through your skull, piercing your mind like a thousand needles. Pain shot into your temple. You raised your hand to your face. It came away slick with blood.

Your vision was blurred and distorted, turning the world into a series of bright, disjointed images. Perhaps that was an attempt by your brain to protect you. Protecting you from the gruesome truth, refusing to accept the horrors that had unfolded before your eyes.

But the stench of ash and blood was so strong, you could almost taste it on your tongue.

This was no dream. It was a nightmare.

You wanted to cry out for Satoru. But he wasn't there. You were alone on a mission with him.

Satoru was not there to help you.

You hastily examined your body. Somehow all parts of your body were still there and seemed to be functioning. You gathered your strength to pull yourself to your feet. The throbbing pain from the gash on your head strangely absent, drowned out by the chaos around you.

Where was Yuji?

When the dust settled, you saw him.

Sukuna's marks disappeared from his body.

He lay sprawled beneath a heap of debris. His lifeless form pressed into the unforgiving earth. His face was buried in the dirt. He didn't move. Your heart clenched.

You staggered toward him. Your bloody hands desperately clawed away the rubble that imprisoned him. Your hands slipped a few times, unable to get a grip. Finally, you freed him, rolled him onto his front, and hovered over him. Your trembling fingers cupped his pale face.

"Yuji!" you screamed, your voice tearing through the eerie stillness. "Yuji, wake up!"

And then, a gasp. 

Life returned to him, his chest rising and falling as air once again filled his lungs. 

You brushed away the dust from his face. Relief washed over you as warmth seeped back into his pale features.

"Yuji, wake up. It's over."

Yuji's eyelids quivered open. His eyes welled up with tears, cascading down his cheeks like a torrent.

What?

Why did he cry?

You wanted him to stop.

Why didn't he stop?

You didn't want to see him cry.

That wasn't Yuji. That wasn't the kindhearted man you knew.

Before you lay a broken young man-a young man grappling with a burden too heavy-a curse too dark. His body convulsed with sobs as he lay there. His gaze avoided yours, as if unable to meet your eyes.

"I'm sorry," he choked out between sobs. His lips quivered uncontrollably. "I'm so sorry."

His once-vibrant eyes were bloodshot. Tear tracks streaked his cheeks, carving pathways through the grime and gore that marred his face. 

Words failed you. You didn't know what to say. What you could ever say. Nothing you could say would be enough. All you could do was stare, absorbing the sheer horror and pain etched into every line of his face as he cried.

"I'm so sorry, I lost control." His sobs grew more violent. "I should just die," he screamed before shielding his face with his hands from your relentless gaze. 

He tore at his eyes, as if attempting to gouge out the pain within. You grabbed his wrist. "Stop it, Yuji! it's not your fault!" you screamed, your voice a desperate plea that seemed to echo in the blood-soaked battlefield. 

But it didn't reach him.

"I'm no good. All I do is evil!" His voice choked with despair, tears streaming down his face like a relentless cascade.

"Yuji, listen to me," you tried to pierce through the chaos of his mind. "You are not your curse! You are not a monster!"

But his fingers continued their merciless assault on his eyes. You were afraid that if you couldn't stop him, he might actually rip his own eyes out in his madness.

You felt like you were about to cry. You wanted to cry. But no tears came out. There was only the feeling of your heart being torn to shreds. 

He was not a monster. He couldn't be. 

Because if he was, then you surely were one too.

His fingers dug deeper into his skin, leaving cruel, bloody streaks etched against his pale complexion.

In a desperate attempt to reach him, you let go of his wrists and instead cupped his face, forcing him to look at you. His eyes were glassy, tears spilling over, but they did nothing to wash away the terror within them. You felt so utterly, entirely useless. 

"Yuji, this is not what you are. You are not him!"

"I am. I am responsible for all of this," he whispered, his voice barely more than a fragile thread. "I don't know if I can keep doing this."

His words struck you like a dagger through the heart. 

How could he say something like that?

"Shut up, Yuji! If I can keep doing it, you can too!" you yelled at him, your own frustration and desperation coming to the surface. You couldn't let him surrender to the darkness, for if he did, it would mean accepting that you were just as much a monster as he feared himself to be.

"Weren't you the one who always told me, it's not me? It's not me who violently killed? It's my cursed technique? It's the evil of cursed energy itself? So listen to me, Yuji, when I say it's not you, it's Sukuna! You're not him! And I'm not my cursed technique!" 

He was silenced. Your grip on his face tightened as his terrified eyes locked onto yours.

"If I can live with this burden, you can too. You're stronger than me," you whispered, your voice softening with a plea. "So please, Yuji, keep fighting. Because if you don't, I'm not sure if I can."

Yuji's tears ceased as you continued to speak.

"What role do we have in this world if we admit that we are monsters? Tell me, Yuji. What reason do we have to keep on living then? We can never undo the damage we've done, but we can try to make it right. It's either that or surrender to the darkness that threatens to consume us."

Your hands trembled. 

Your hands trembled so violently, you had to withdraw them from his face. You clenched them together, your knuckles white with tension.

Satoru never let you go on a mission alone with Yuji again.

So tell me, when was it really that it all fell down?

Was it back then? When you saw the terror in Yuji's eyes?

Was it then when you decided to protect what was left of Yuji's humanity?

Or was it when you met Satoru, the sorcerer who has altered the course of your life forever?

Who stole your heart?

Was it then that you wanted to do everything possible to protect them? 

To protect him?

But the truth is, it didn't really matter anymore, did it? 

None of these questions could change the brutal reality of the present.

****

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭.

Your hands trembled again.

Your hands trembled so violently, you had to dig your fingers into the palm of your hand to silence them. Blood dripped down.

Was this the final downfall?

Rising to your feet, the world around you blurred into chaos. You watched as Satoru collapsed to the ground. His breathing ragged and heavy. Blood poured from his wounds, staining the earth beneath him, as if the very ground wept for the tragedy that had befallen.

Each heartbeat felt like a crushing weight. Perhaps your heart could no longer bear the pain of beating. You hastily wiped away the tears that blurred your vision.

You had to be fast. Satoru would soon recover.

You moved quickly, weaving through the ruins of the battlefield. The pain coursing through your body was almost unbearable, and you longed for nothing more than to surrender to the agony that threatened to overwhelm you.

Then you saw them. Megumi and Yuji. Megumi rushed towards you, his brow furrowed. "What's happening? Where's Gojo?" he demanded, blocking your path.

"Megumi, just trust me," you pleaded, your voice strained.

"It's hard to trust you when you're acting like this."

As you tried to walk past him, he reached out and grabbed your wrist, halting you. His intense gaze piercing through you, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

"Swear to me you're not doing anything reckless," he said.

Time was running out.

Tears streaked down your cheeks. "Don't make me hurt you, Megumi."

Megumi gritted his teeth. "What are you saying?"

You held his gaze, hoping he would trust you enough-trust you enough to let you go.

"Let's just go home," he begged. "Please."

The weight of it all pressed down upon your battered form. You knew that you couldn't bear it much longer. Yet, you pushed forward, no matter the cost, no matter the pain.

"I can't."

He was torn. He was torn between stopping you and letting you go.

He knew that if he let you go, you would not back down, not now, not when you were so close. He knew he would have to kill you to stop you. So he let go. Knowing that whatever was to come was partly his fault. He would never forgive himself. But neither would he be able to hurt you. 

Not you.

So he let go of your wrist. 

He felt like he was signing your death sentence.

You turned away from him and sprinted towards Yuji.  

Your heart raced. You wanted to rip it out. 

Yuji looked up at you, his eyes filled with fear and terror. It was the same haunting expression he had worn when he lost control. You swore yourself you never wanted to see him ever again like this. But now you were the one he feared. The one he was so scared of.

It hurt. It hurt you to see him like that. When will there be an end to the pain.

Time seemed to slow down as you approached Yuji. He opened his mouth to speak, to reach out to you, but you stretched your trembling hand over his face, cutting off his words-sealing his fate.

"Domain Expansion."

****

"Who are you?"

Sukuna cracked open an eye to peer down at you from his shrine. His crimson eyes drilling into your very soul. Your blood run cold.

You briefly glanced down at your feet. You stood ankle-deep in blood. The surroundings had twisted into a nightmarish version of reality. Crimson shadows danced and twisted around the space like tortured souls.

This was no longer your domain, was it? Had Sukuna taken control of it somehow? But how was that even possible?

No. 

Drown out your thoughts.

Calm Down.

It will work.

"Don't even remember me?" you asked.

He pondered for a moment, his lips forming a cruel, mocking smile. "Aren't you the Fujiwara woman, who crumbled so easily when the brat lost control? Why are you here? Do you want to die?"

"I'm here to end you," you declared, your grip on your weapon tightening.

Sukuna burst into raucous laughter. Slowly, he sat up, his curiosity piqued. "My ending, huh? Bold statement. Let's see if you can justify it, wife of Satoru Gojo."

You flinched. Of course, Sukuna knew everything, just as Yuji did. Get a fucking grip on yourself. It was all part of the plan. The one slim chance you had to reach Sukuna and end this nightmare once and for all.

It's ok.

It will work.

You didn't need to beat him-just reach him. That's all. Then it would all be over.

****

𝐬𝐢𝐱 𝐦𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐡𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐨.

"How can you be sure it will work?"

Snowflakes landed softly on your shoulders. Yet, the cold air was sharp, biting at any exposed skin. Each breath you took sent a small cloud of vapor into the frigid air.

Jack turned to you. "I can't guarantee it."

"So, it's a suicide mission?" you asked, a wry half-smile touching your lips.

"Not if you can control your cursed technique," he countered, rubbing his hands together for warmth. "Sukuna's strength lies in his cursed energy, flowing through his fingers. Disrupt that, and you'll render him powerless."

"Forever?"

"I guess so."

You raised an eyebrow. "You 'guess' so?"

Jack met your gaze, his eyes serious. "Like I said, I can't guarantee it. But based on what we know, yes, it should be permanent. If you can connect with him, even for a moment, you can use your cursed technique to break the flow of his cursed energy. But you need the fingers-they're the key."

"-and so easy to obtain," you added with a hint of irony.

"Mahito has them. All of Sukuna's fingers. You'll need to defeat him to get them. But there's a problem-he's with Kenjaku."

"Kenjaku?" You paused mid-step, the snow crunching under your boots. "This plan is becoming more insane by the second."

"You just have to separate them somehow, then go after Mahito to get the fingers."

"You say it all like it's nothing."

Jack's expression was grave. "I know it sounds insane, but it's the only way. And you are the only one who can do it."

You resumed walking. Each step felt heavy.

"And once I have the fingers, what's next? I have to fight Sukuna?"

"No," Jack shook his head. "This isn't about fighting him. It's about timing. When he makes contact, use that moment. With your cursed technique you can stop the flow of his cursed energy. You just have to be connected to his fingers at the same time as his body and stop it all."

He was surely insane.

Why did you want to meet him in the first place?

Ah. Right. How could you forget.

"I can stop the flow of cursed energy, but I've never done it permanently. And we're talking about the King of Curses here," you said.

"But you managed it with Gojo, didn't you?"

"Yes, but not permanently, as you might have guessed."

"If it worked on Gojo, it's likely to work on Sukuna too."

"And about making it permanent?" you pressed.

"That's the part where you'll have to improvise," Jack admitted. "There are no guarantees, but it's the best shot we have."

"What happens afterwards, if I can actually do it?" 

The question hung in the cold air.

"He'll be rendered powerless," Jack said. "Stripped of his cursed abilities."

"And Yuji will return to being a normal guy," you mused, coming to a halt and locking eyes with Jack. "Free of Sukuna's influence."

Jack nodded. 

With a heavy exhale, you tilted your head back, gazing up at the sky. Soft snowflakes landed gently on your face, melting instantly against your heated skin.

"Pick a side, Fujiwara. You can end this curse forever," Jack continued. "It's your chance for atonement. Your clan has already caused enough damage."

****

𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐧𝐭.

His eyes bored into you, a predator closing in on its prey.

The air shifted as Sukuna moved.

Sukuna lunged, his movements a blur. His hand sliced through the air towards you. Every instinct screamed to dodge, to evade, but you stood still. This was the moment you had prepared for, the moment that everything depended on.

The sharp, searing pain was immediate as Sukuna's hand made contact, slicing through your flesh. Agonizing waves of pain coursed through your being, threatening to rip your consciousness apart.

"Wow, you're just as easily crushed as all your other pathetic family members. How lame," Sukuna sneered, spitting on the ground. "But you, you were by far the weakest."

You grinned. "You think so?"

You seized his arm where it had gouged into the side of your abdomen with one hand and clenched his fingers tightly with the other.

You activated your cursed technique, tapping into the link that had just been formed. A burst of your own energy surged through the link, colliding  head-on into the onslaught of Sukuna's cursed energy.

It was overwhelming.  It was a malevolence beyond anything you had ever felt-a manifestation of pure evil that seemed to transcend the boundaries of human comprehension. It swept over you like a tidal wave. But you held firm. 

You envisioned the flow of his cursed energy, visualized it coming to a halt, and poured every ounce of your will into making it a reality.

Sukuna's laughter died. His eyes widened. The realization of what was happening dawned on him too late. You could feel his cursed energy faltering, its flow stuttering under your influence.

Your grin widened.

But in the blink of an eye, strong arms seized you. 

The walls of your domain shattered like fragile glass in a storm. You were hurled backwards with staggering force. Your connection to Sukuna's cursed energy snapped, leaving you disoriented and robbed of the taste of victory that had been so tantalizingly close.

No.

No.

No. No. No. No. No.

No!

So close.

You were so close to stop it forever.

You crashed to the ground, wrapped in Satoru's arms. He held you close to him. He held you as if you were the most precious thing in the world, as if by sheer will, he could protect you from the cruel twist of fate-or form yourself.

"Let me go, Satoru!"

Your legs kicked wildly in his grasp. Your fingers gripped his arms violently, nails digging into his flesh. You screamed and fought against Satoru's unyielding hold.

Your fingernails dug deeper into his flesh, leaving furious red welts and rivulets of blood in their wake. You could feel the shudder that ran through his body as he endured your assault.  But in that moment, you didn't care.

For what were those minor scratches compared to the pain Satoru had endured during those agonizing minutes when he believed he had lost you?

It was nothing.

A small sacrifice.

Nothing you could do would be nearly as painful to him as the suffering he had experienced while unconscious, not knowing where you were.

So when he saw your domain, he had no choice but to destroy it-free you-bring you back to him.

"Let go, damn it!" you hissed through gritted teeth.

"Stop it, love. It's enough!" His grip around you tightened, each painful squeeze of your wounded flesh adding to your agony. "What can I do to make you stop? Tell me. I'd do anything for you," Satoru's voice was soft, almost breaking, as he pleaded with you, his breath warm against your neck.

As you strained against his grip, you became painfully aware of his heartbeat. You could feel the warmth of his body, inhale the familiar scent of him that was unmistakably Satoru. It was all so awfully familiar. Slowly, almost reluctantly, you stopped fighting against his embrace.

"It's too late, Satoru. We have to do this now, or it's over forever," you murmured, your voice barely a whisper. Resignation flowed through you, leaving you limp in his arms. The fight had drained out of you. All that remained was the harsh reality of the situation.

This was it.

The last downfall.

Sukuna, having partially taken control of Yuji, was closer than ever to seizing all his fingers. If you didn't stop him now, no one ever could.

"Then let Sukuna take over. It doesn't matter. You're all that matters." He paused, a note of desperation creeping into his voice. "Don't you understand? I can't lose you."

He was willing to sacrifice everything.

He had seen you nearly slip away too many times, and he couldn't bear to lose you again.

It had always been a dance of love and pain, sacrifice and betrayal. The wounds from past battles still lingered, scars etched deep into your heart. But despite the hurt, the love had never wavered, an unbreakable thread that bound you together.

Yes, he was willing to sacrifice everything for you.

But so were you.

You knew that it was your turn to make the sacrifice. To put an end to the suffering that had haunted you both for far too long.

"Sorry, do I interrupt the lovely couple?"

Sukuna's voice cut through the tension like a blade. His steps were slow as he approached, his crimson eyes locked onto both of you. Your heart raced, but you couldn't let fear consume you now. There was too much at stake.

He halted a few meters away, across from you.

"Satoru-" You whispered his name, a last desperate plea.

Satoru took a deep inhale. He lifted his head from where it had been nestled in your hair. "How long do we have left?"

"His cursed energy is suppressed, but only for another minute, maybe two."

"Then we need to be fast," he said, releasing you from his protective hold. "Will your plan still work?"

"I hope so." Your hand instinctively went to your belt, relieved to feel the fingers of Sukuna still securely fastened there. Your body ached. You were far beyond your limits, but the familiar rush of adrenaline dulled the pain. "It would have worked if you hadn't destroyed my domain," you added as you turned to face him.

He met your gaze squarely. "Consider it payback for stabbing me with that damn dagger of yours," he retorted, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

"Ha? You started it by throwing a fucking car at me!"

Sukuna watched silently, almost bemused. Then, with a heavy sigh, as if tired of the delay, he lunged towards you both. In a flash, Megumi positioned himself in front of you and Satoru, blocking Sukuna's attack.

"Can you save this discussion for couples therapy and focus on the fight?" Megumi shouted.

"What do you need?" Satoru quickly asked you.

"An opening."

"Nothing easier than that," Satoru replied, a hint of a cruel smile playing on his lips. 

In a flash, he lunged forward into the fray. "Move, Megumi!" he shouted. Without hesitation, Megumi dodged and cleared the way for Satoru to unleash his full power.

Satoru's fist drew back. Then, with explosive force, he unleashed his punch. His fist met Sukuna's jaw, and an instant shockwave tore through the air.

Sukuna was hurled backwards. He crashed into the remains of a building with a bone-shattering thud. The already fragile structure groaned and crumbled under the immense impact. Dust and debris filled the air, obscuring the aftermath of Satoru's devastating attack.

As the dust settled and the debris slowly cleared, Satoru's eyes remained fixed on the spot where Sukuna had been thrown.

Then, from the midst of the wreckage, a chilling laughter echoed. Sukuna emerged from the rubble, his form astonishingly unharmed. He brushed aside the debris that clung to him. His crimson eyes burned with malevolent fire.

"Is that the best you've got, Gojo?" he taunted.

Satoru cracked his knuckles and assumed a fighting stance. "I was just getting warmed up."

But you knew him better. You knew what you'd done to him, you'd stopped his cursed energy, and he wasn't quite back. His injuries still lingered, his cursed energy faltered. He was far from his peak. But so was Sukuna.

In an explosive burst of speed, Sukuna closed the gap on Satoru, their clash causing a shockwave that shook the surrounding.

Megumi clenched his fists and called his divine dog to his side.  "Go to the left!" Without hesitation, you darted to the left, circling around to flank Sukuna.

Sukuna's fist flew towards Satoru's face. Satoru dropped to the ground. In one fluid motion, Satoru twisted his body and unleashed a powerful kick from the ground, sending Sukuna flying over your head.

For a brief moment, Sukuna soared overhead. Your eyes locked with his.

Defying gravity and physical limitations, Sukuna regained control mid-air and hurtled towards you. But Megumi's divine dog was at your side in an instant, shielding you with its form.

In the next heartbeat, Satoru was there. "Don't touch my wife!" His kick connected with Sukuna, sending the cursed spirit flying away from you with a force that echoed through the battlefield. 

What the hell was Satoru doing?

Time was running out.

"What are you doing, Satoru?!" you shouted. "I need to physically touch him, stop sending him flying miles away from me!"

"Oh right, sorry." Satoru landed back beside you, his feet barely touching the ground before he moved again.

Simultaneously, you and Satoru charged forward. Sukuna swiftly regained his footing. In a blur of movement, Satoru's fist shot forward, aiming for Sukuna. His punch smashed into the brick wall where Sukuna's head had been a split second earlier. Chunks of brick flew into the air.

Sukuna exploited the brief opening. He lunged towards you, bypassing Satoru. You tensed, preparing for the impact, but Satoru was faster.

Satoru parried the attack with a swift, powerful kick to Sukuna's midsection. Blood spurted from Sukuna's mouth. Without missing a beat, Satoru followed up with a lightning-fast jab to Sukuna's face.

"Now!" he yelled, spotting an opening.

You lunged forward.  But Sukuna quickly regained his footing. He leaped back, dodging Satoru's punch with a fluidity that belied his injured state. He parried, sending Satoru reeling back.

In the blink of an eye, Sukuna's hand shot out, gripping your leg with an iron grasp. He swept your legs from under you. You crashed to the ground.

Looking up, Sukuna towered over you, his grin malicious. His crimson eyes glinted with malevolence. But before he could make a move, Megumi's divine dog intervened. Its huge form crashed into Sukuna and tore him away from you.

Megumi rushed to your side. "You good?" he asked, offering a hand.

"Never been better," you grabbed his hand, pulling yourself up swiftly.

Satoru was back on Sukuna, delivering a powerful kick. Sukuna dodged. He countered with a fast jab to Satoru's torso, breaking bone with a sickening crack.

Megumi, not missing a beat, joined the fight, his movements synchronized with Satoru's. They worked in unison-teacher and student.

Megumi feigned an attack, drawing Sukuna's attention. Satoru sought an opening. They were relentless, a blur of rapid strikes and feints as they pushed Sukuna to his limits.

Sukuna's desperate defense faltered. His movements became erratic. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, the stench of blood filling the air. Sukuna found himself cornered as Satoru and Megumi closed in for the kill.

There was no way to escape now.

They had him.

At Satoru's call, you burst into action. 

Sprinting forward, you positioned yourself between Satoru and Megumi. You didn't hesitate. Your hand shot out, seizing Sukuna's chest in an iron grip, while your other hand retrieved his severed fingers from your belt. 

With a deep breath, you activated your cursed technique once more, tapping into the fragile link you had established. Sukuna's cursed energy surged through the connection, dark and malevolent, but you were ready for it this time. 

You had felt it before. 

Now, all that mattered was stopping it-halting it forever.

You closed your eyes. The world around you faded into the background as you focused solely on the flow of cursed energy. Satoru and Megumi held Sukuna in place, their combined efforts restraining the sorcerrer.

But then, you sensed a change-a surge of power that shouldn't have been possible. Sukuna's cursed energy roared back to life.

It was too late.

Your eyes snapped open. You starred directly into Sukuna's eyes. He grinned.

"Too late," Sukuna sneered.

In an instant, Sukuna unleashed a devastating shockwave of cursed energy. It erupted like an tempest, its sheer force sending Satoru and Megumi hurtling backward. Their hold on Sukuna shattered.

But you stood still, your hand still pressed firmly against Sukuna's chest. You blocked the surge of cursed energy that rushed at you, deflecting it away from you. The chaotic energy swirled and raged around you. 

The ground beneath your feet shattered and ripped open. You twisted your feet to get more grip, holding your ground against Sukuna's overwhelming power.

The world descended into sheer chaos.

What do you think, was it then when it all fell down?

Perhaps.

Satoru and Megumi shouted. But their voices were drowned out by the chaotic force. Satoru cried out desperately, pleading with you to stop, to step away from the maelstrom, to return to him. 

And you wanted to do that. You really wanted to. You wanted nothing more than to heed his call, to turn back to the safety of his arms.

But it was too late, wasn't it? 

It was all too late.

You drowned out Satoru's pleas, the sound of his voice breaking with each desperate scream of your name. The searing heat of Sukuna's cursed energy scorched your skin. You felt your flesh tearing apart, wounds ripping open across your battered form.

You looked eyes with Sukuna. His crimson eyes bored into you, but all you could do was smile. Your lips twisted into a wry grin as you felt his cursed energy slowing.

You could almost feel the grinding halt of Sukuna's cursed energy in your mind's eye, pouring every ounce of your will into making it a reality.

Sukuna seized your arm. His grip brutal. His fingers dug into your flesh,  drawing forth a wellspring of blood. You winced at the pain, but your focus did not waver. Then Sukuna's hand shot towards your torso with lethal precision. 

The pain was sharp and immediate as Sukuna's hand pierced your flesh. A wave of agony ripped through you, so intense it was almost blinding. Blood trickled from your mouth, but all you could do was grin at Sukuna.

"Too late," you echoed his earlier taunt. In that moment, as your blood spilled and your body screamed in pain, you knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you had succeeded.

Sukuna's laughter died. His eyes widened. The realization of what was happening dawned on him too late. You felt the flow of his cursed energy stutter, then stop altogether.

The shockwave subsided. Everything seemed to come to a halt. Frozen in the very air as Sukuna's cursed energy ceased to exist.

Forever.

Sukuna withdrew his arm from your abdomen. Blood gushed forth from the wound as he did so.

You watched as Yuji returned to normal. Sukuna's marks disappeared from his face,  leaving behind the familiar, gentle features you loved so much. Tears brimmed in Yuji's eyes before he sank to the ground.

You let out a heavy exhale.

It's over.

It's over.

Your breaths grew shallow.

All strength drained.

Your legs, no longer able to support your weight, buckled beneath you. The world spun, its edges darkening, as you teetered on the brink of consciousness.

Just as you began to fall, strong arms encircled you, catching you before you could hit the ground. It was Satoru. His eyes full of horror.

He held you in his arms, feeling the warmth of your blood as it spilled down his hands. He wanted to staunch the flow, to press against the open wound. Stop the bleeding. But a hole couldn't be stopped from bleeding. Some wounds couldn't be stopped.

"Stay with me, love," he whispered hoarsely. He brushed away the bloodstained strands of hair from your face. His fingers trembled. They trembled so violently. "Don't go. I can't live without you."

Over Satoru's shoulder, you caught a glimpse of Megumi. In all the years you had known him, you had never seen him shed a tear. He sank to the ground, his shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

"Satoru," you managed to breathe out. "Let's go back to the beach and live there. I'm tired of fighting," you said with a strained chuckle. Blood pooled around you, seeping into the ground, staining it crimson. 

Tears fell on your face, warm and salty-his tears.

Satoru's eyes were like the ocean as he looked at you. 

How you loved the ocean. 

You loved him so much.

You didn't know what was more painful, the pain of what had happened or the pain of what would never be-the future that was slipping away-the life you could have had-the dreams that would remain unfulfilled.

He looked so young in that moment-he was not the strongest-just a vulnerable young man. Stripped of all his strength. But what was strength anyway if he couldn't protect the ones he loved. How could he name himself the strongest sorcerer, yet be powerless in the moments that truly mattered.

It was all so meaningless to him in that moment, pointless, hollow. 

Without you, the world lost its purpose.

Oh, how cruel fate is.

How utterly cruel some fates were meant to be.

"Yeah, I'm tired of fighting, too," he murmured, his voice a soft, pained whisper. "We'll return to the beach and stay there, forever. Anything for you, love."

Your smiled. You reached up, cupping his face gently in your hand. "I'm all yours," you whispered. As your consciousness waned, you held onto the image of Satoru, the love you felt for him, and the peace of the beach that you would never see again. 

He leaned in, resting his forehead against yours. "And I'm all yours," he echoed softly. "Forever."

And then your hand slipped away from his cheek. It fell to your side, lifeless and still. The light in your eyes dimmed, leaving Satoru adrift in a sea of despair, grappling with the cruel reality that you were slipping away, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

"I love you," he uttered, each word fracturing his heart a little more as he pulled your lifeless form closer to his chest. Repeating the phrase, as if each utterance could somehow bridge the chasm that death had created between you.

"I love you," he repeated over and over as you drew your last breath. The silence screamed in his ears. He couldn't move. He could hardly breathe. All he could do was hold your frail body in his arms-so limp and lifeless, so utterly different from the force of nature he knew-he loved.

The world around him had crumbled, leaving behind a void that seemed impossible to fill-leaving behind an unbearable weight of a future denied.

But all he could do was cry.

His heart shattered and broke in ways he never thought it could.

And all he could do was cry.

"I love you," he whispered until his tears drowned everything out.

Because all he could do was cry.

I love you.

Three simple words.

Three simple words Satoru Gojo could never bring himself to utter again.

To anyone.

Ever.

****

𝐄𝐩𝐢𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫.

53,245.

That was the count. 53,245 curses eradicated since you left. Each one a silent, ruthless kill—each one a cruel reminder of his relentless agony.

53,245 emotionless annihilations.

53,245 final gasps of cursed beings.

53,245... and yet, Satoru Gojo felt nothing. 

No satisfaction, no relief. 

Nothing.

Only emptiness.

How could this world just go on. 

Why didn't it stop. 

Because it had stopped for him—frozen in the moment he lost you.

Satoru Gojo was soaked in cold vengeance and unyielding fury. Nothing more then a shell of his former self—a vessel fueled by rage and an insatiable thirst for retribution, his eyes long devoid of any spark.

Every curse he annihilated  was a futile attempt to fill an ever-deepening chasm within. But with each battle, with each kill, the chasm only grew wider, deeper, consuming what little of him remained.

Blood dripped from his fingers as he stood amidst the remains of yet another curse he had violently torn apart. His form was barely recognizable beneath the layers of blood splatter, the gore clinging to his body as if it had become one with his very being.

The wind whispered through the desolation, carrying away the echoes of his silent screams.

53,246.

Still this feeling.

Emptiness. 

An ever consuming, overwhelming emptiness.

Why?

Why didn't it go away?

Why did it haunt him?

Why did it have to haunt him so relentlessly?

Why was there no end?

To the emptiness?

To him?

53,246.

But who was counting anymore? 

The number was just a hollow count.

Pointless.

Meaningless.

Satoru Gojo had lost himself. He became a shadow, haunted by the memory of what could have been and the brutal reality of what was.

The only constant was the blood that stained his hands.

He didn't care. 

He had stopped caring a long time ago.

Because the world had moved on—that traitorous thing of a world had moved on, but Satoru Gojo remained trapped in a never-ending nightmare. Unable to find an escape. Unable to let go.

He had tried to fill the void, god believe me, he had tried so desperately—tried to fill it with his duties as a sorcerer, throwing himself into battle after battle, seeking solace in the slaughter of curses.

But nothing changed.

The emptiness remained.

There was no end to his journey, no final destination. 

There was only the hunt, the endless pursuit of a peace he knew he would never again find. 

The laughter, the love, the light—all extinguished in the wake of your death. The loss of you had stripped away the last vestiges of warmth from his heart. What remained was a man driven by a singular, unyielding purpose: to eradicate every curse that dared to taint the world you had once walked upon.

And so, he continued, a lone figure against the backdrop of a world struggling to maintain its balance, a sorcerer whose heart had been irrevocably shattered, leaving behind nothing but the cold, ruthless determination of a man with nothing left to lose.

Because nothing really mattered any more.

All that mattered was the void in his heart, the ache of your absence. He had lost the love of his life, and nothing else could ever compare.

Some days he couldn't help but think back to the days when it wasn't too late, remember the sound of your voice, the color of your eyes, the feeling of your skin—they were distant memories now, fading with each passing day. He had tried to hold on to them, but they slipped through his fingers like sand.

And then the darkness consumed him again.

So this was his life now—a never-ending cycle of violence and death.

He was the strongest sorcerer in the world, but it meant nothing to him. All that mattered was the one thing he could never have again. All that mattered was the one person he could not protect.

Why couldn't he protect you? 

Why was he so pathetically powerless?

Why? 

Why?  

When did it all go wrong? 

Why didn't he see it sooner? 

Why didn't he keep you closer? 

The question echoed relentlessly, infiltrating his every waking moment and plaguing his restless nights. He searched for answers that seemed forever beyond his grasp, aching to comprehend the agonizing twists of fate that had torn you from his embrace.

His mind relentlessly retraced the steps that led to this loss. He replayed those moments, desperately seeking the point of divergence where he might have altered the course of fate, prevented the tragedy that had destroyed his world.

But he couldn't.

It was all meaningless.

Amidst the bloodshed of his massacre, he stood, his head tilted back as he gazed at the sky above. He wiped across his eyes with the back of his hand.

It's been two years. 

Still every day was painful.

Still every day he thinks about you.

Some days he thinks he's healed. Other days the wounds are fresh, cutting deeper than ever. But the unchanging, unbearable reality was that he missed you every single day.

****

"It's hot," Yuji remarked.

He's right.

The summer heat was unbearable, the air heavy and still. This summer was violent, each day bringing a scorching heat that seemed to drain the energy from everything it touched. Yuji and Megumi sat in the shade, seeking a fleeting escape from the heat.

"I wonder if Nobara's happy overseas," Yuji mused, his hands mechanically working through the motions of slicing watermelon. 

"It doesn't matter where she is. Here or overseas. She won't be happy," Megumi said as he watched the aimless swirl of a leaf caught in the still air.

"Probably not," Yuji agreed.

A heavy silence fell upon them, pressing down like the summer heat.

After a moment, Yuji spoke up again. "Aren't you leaving soon as well?"

"Yeah, tomorrow."

"You think it'll change anything?" Yuji asked, his eyes searching Megumi's face for an answer they both knew but didn't want to admit.

Megumi paused, his gaze drifting away. "I have to try."

Yuji exhaled heavily. "So, it's just me now here."

"You'll be fine, Yuji. Gojo's still around," Megumi tried to reassure, though his words lacked conviction.

Yuji propped himself up on one elbow. "Didn't Gojo-sensei say he wants to quit teaching?"

Megumi's eyes widened slightly.

At that moment, a familiar voice cut through the heat. "Did I just hear my name?"

As they turned, the sight of Satoru halted their breaths. Of course, they were shocked. But they were not surprised. They long stopped to be surprised to see him like that. In this state.

His silver hair hung in disheveled strands, plastered to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and dried blood. His form was drenched in scarlet, the blood indistinguishable as to whether it was his own or someone else's. His eyes were shadowed with the familiar emptiness.

His exposed skin bore the marks of numerous injuries, bruises and scratches marring his pale complexion. He no longer healed himself with his reversed cursed technique unless his injuries were lethal.

He wanted to feel the pain.

He wanted to feel the pain of each and every scratch and wound.

He wanted to see the blood run down his skin—wanted to see it run out—wanted to see it end his pain.

Yet amidst the chaos of his broken appearance, a small patch on his left hand had always remained meticulously shielded by his infinity, untouched, unblemished. The wedding ring still adorned his finger, a singular spot free from the onslaught of his self-imposed penance.

Satoru drew closer until his shadow fell on Yuji. Yuji tilted his head back. "Oh, Gojo-sensei. What brings you here?"

Satoru strolled closer, picked up a slice of watermelon and sat down next to them. He seemed unfazed by the blood that transferred from his hands to the watermelon as he took a bite. The air around him carried the pungent scent of battle.

"You reek of burned flesh and ashes," Megumi commented.

"Do I?" Satoru responded, seemingly unbothered by the observation.

Silence.

"Is it true?" Megumi spoke up. "You're done with teaching?"

Satoru turned his gaze to them. "Yeah, I'm stepping back. It's time for you all to take over." He paused, his jaw clenched. "I'm tired," he added, almost in a whisper.

His gaze then shifted to Yuji. "Yuji, you're in for the teacher training program."

Yuji's eyes widened in surprise. "What? Really?"

"Yes, you've done well," Satoru said with a fleeting smile that hardly touched the weariness in his eyes. "You too, Megumi, if you want to stay," Satoru added, but he already knew the answer to that.

"Who would've thought? Me as a teacher. Times really are changing," Yuji mused aloud.

Just then, Maki arrived, her directness cutting like a blade. "Gojo, you're reeking up the place. Ever heard of a shower?"

Satoru shot a quick, irritable glance her way. "Shut it, Zenin."

She raised an eyebrow, unfazed by his response. "Seriously, Gojo? When are you going to end your self-destruction? It's been two years!"

Satoru's fist clenched, his patience clearly fraying. "Watch your words," he retorted sharply.

But Maki wasn't done. She had had enough. She had grieved, too, like everyone else, but to watch Satoru drown in self-pity made her blood boil; knowing that it was far from what you would have wanted for him.

She crossed her arms, her gaze drilling into him. "Look at yourself, Gojo! You're a mess! When do you think you will finally be redeemed? Huh? When you have wiped out every curse on earth?"

At her words, something in Satoru snapped. He stood up abruptly, his presence suddenly more threatening. "Enough," he warned, his voice icy, barely containing his simmering rage. "Shut your tongue, or I'll rip it out myself."

Maki held his gaze, unflinching. "And then what, Gojo? You think that will bring you peace?"

Satoru's eyes narrowed. "I advise you to stay out of matters that do not concern you." With that, he turned and left, leaving Megumi, Yuji, and Maki behind.

Maki let out an exasperated sigh, running her hand through her hair. "When will Gojo get a grip on himself?"

"Drop it, Maki," Megumi snapped back with an uncharacteristic sharpness. 

Maki's eyes narrowed, her own patience wearing thin. "Oh, come on! You're just as bad, Fushiguro. Both of you need to move forward. It's painful to watch."

Megumi's expression darkened. Without another word, he stood up, turned on his heel and walked away. Maki and Yuji were left in silence, the tension still hanging in the air.

"Was I too harsh?" Maki sat down besides Yuji.

"Maybe, Maki. I don't know. I really don't know." Yuji let out a weary exhale. "Just don't be so hard on them. They torture themselves enough already," he said while his fingers traced the faint lines under his eyes where painful marks had once been. "We all do."

That's it, isn't it?

That's fate.

That's life.

Unforgiving.

Cruel.

Somehow, some fates are meant to be cruel—cursed even.

And all they could do was hope—hope that one day the pain would ease, that it would become more bearable. Or that life would, at lat, offer them the sweet release they lacked the courage to seize for themselves—the release from the pain that held them captive.

Sometimes, Satoru thought about it.

In the quiet nights.

When he missed you the most.

He wanted to forget, to let go of the memories that haunted him. Maybe then the pain would be easier to bear. Maybe then it would be easier to breathe. Yet, he couldn't. He couldn't allow himself to forget, even though he wished he could.

But the curses that plagued the world were a constant reminder of what had been cruelly taken from him, and he couldn't rest until he had annihilated every last one of them.

Until that day came, he would continue his relentless hunt, each cursed spirit he extinguished bringing him a faint step closer to redemption.

Or so he desperately hoped.

a/n: I can't believe I've finally completed this fic. It's been an incredible journey, and I want to express my deepest gratitude to all of you who stuck with me through it. This was my first-ever long fanfiction, and I've learned so much while writing it. 

I hope you enjoyed the ride, even if it was a bit wobbly from time to time; I just wrote it as it flowed into my brain, chapter by chapter.

Thank you from the bottom of my heart for reading. I hope you have a wonderful day or night, and maybe we'll cross paths again in another story! ♥

[ranticore]

cave time

In a scraped out hollow in the dead heart of the Ama Plains, water trickled from a grey-green spring and pooled in the back of what was once a great cavern. It slanted underground shallowly and without much conviction, eventually ending in a rockfall that blocked the way. It was barely underground, only a thin crust of earth covering the back portion of the cavern, the scratch in the land that had once been so much bigger.

Water didn't usually run down here. The spring was dry most of the year. In winter it would overflow through the tiny gap between rocks at the entrance of the cavern and tumble down against the scree, and against the side of the creature lying there.

It counted years by the stop-start of water on its back. Wet, dry, wet, dry. The days passed too quickly to notice.

The creature had been lying in that shallow excuse for a burrow for so long that it had become part of the scenery. Several hundred generations of rabbits had made their nests around it, until the foxes caught on and massacred them. Decomposing fungus and insects had been the creature's companions now. Sometimes the insects found their way into its own body through the gaping wounds which would never heal and it had to lie there, paralysed as ever, while worms gnawed at it. They never seemed to stick around; they didn't like the taste.

It had no heart, not anymore. The wound across its chest afforded a glimpse at an empty cavity. Sometimes mice explored it. The rats were harder to ignore. Arms splayed out unmoving forever, it had no ability to push away the pests. Its head was attached by threads of flesh, thin enough to be translucent, and below the neck its severed spinal cord lay useless and dead in its back, cutting it off from the luxury of movement.

In all its centuries of lying there, it had never managed to sleep. It lay, eyes open, the star-shaped pupils hazy and clouded, dust and dirt crunching against its cheek, its ear, caking its eyelashes. It couldn't breathe to clear the dirt from its nose. The only thing it could do, the only thing it was capable of doing, was hanging onto that thread of life, whether it wanted to or not.

A shadow passed over the cave floor.

The creature had to remember how to hear and see, its thoughts sluggish, long reduced to nothing but a stream of sensory intake with no inner commentary, no opinions, no emotions. It heard the sound of approaching footsteps, heavy thuds very unlike the scampering rabbits and foxes, or even the occasional antelope that wandered in and out before the creature could notice.

A sound of surprise, then a throaty rumble of curiosity. The creature felt the approaching footsteps falter. Then there was a lunge of movement, and a sudden thud against its side, and it was enough to turn it over so that it had more to see than the ground and the rocks at the back of the cavern for the first time in a thousand years.

The harpy had snatched a rat out of the creature's lower decapitation wound, apparently not having noticed that the body attached to the wound was alive. Fresh blood stained the flowing cream feathers and there was a crunch of small, fragile bones. 

He was hurt. That blood didn't come from the rat; there was a gash across the harpy's face, scraped across the top of his massive, hatchet-like beak. He could barely see past the blood flowing into his eyes, and it seemed that he had run into the cave to escape an attacker. Slowly, the harpy sat down on his heels, a graceful slump against the creature's body, and caught his breath as he tore into the rat. He sat there long enough for the decapitated wyrm to become familiar with his features, the spray of orange-brown spots on his pale feathers, the curious absence of wings, only a pair of strong, upright legs tipped with sturdy and dagger-like claws, designed for running. 

His head turned sharply, his winglets rising on either side of his head in a kingly mantle. Another shadow had fallen across him, one with spiky edges and long, sharp mandibles. One of the crawling beasts of the earth had pursued the harpy here. His blood glimmered on the oil-spill black of its hide, on the tips of its mandibles. 

The creature in the cave was slowly and inexorably aware of its hunger. The harpy did as any good king would and sprang at the crawler, a bone-shattering collision of claws and mandibles. Deep in its undying haze, the creature had no ability to follow the fight; they were moving too fast, and by the time it managed to drag its focus together enough to make sense of the blur of motion at the mouth of the cave, the crawling beast was in two halves and its toxic ichor was spilling into the thin stream of water. The harpy studiously began to kick dust over it, to bury the body in the interim before fire could burn away the pollutants.

With a heavy breath, the harpy stood still again, his head hanging, and in that moment he finally appeared to notice that the creature at the back of the cave, the pitiful and rotting thing, was staring back at him. His feathers raised along their tracts and he shook more blood out of his eyes, his stance becoming aggressive once more. 

The creature's eyes, livid scarlet, fixed on the harpy. It mouthed a string of breathless spell-words and let its tongue touch the spot of the king's blood on the ground in front of its face. A layer of dust cracked on it and trickled down the back of its throat. 

The harpy blinked. A glazed look came over him. He bent down and caught the tail of the half-buried crawler in his internal beak and began to drag it, slowly, towards the wyrm. There was an unwillingness to it, his scaly legs shaking and his tiny stubby wings twitching, and the wyrm heard a faint snort and a whistling voice from him as he spoke something unintelligible in his own language, but which the wyrm knew to be an affirmation. Yes, I will, the harpy had said, because the wyrm commanded it. 

The crawler landed with a thud beside the wyrm's face. It stank of its acrid poisons and the otherworldly clinging odour of the beyond, a smell from another age. The king harpy lowered himself again to sit beside the wyrm, and this time he tore a manageable mouthful of the inedible flesh out of the crawler's tail and slowly, carefully, passed it to the wyrm's lips. 

It was awkward, manoeuvring around the massive heavy beak, but the king was clearly accustomed to it. He was neat and quick, his eyes half-lidded and vacant as he butchered the carcass.

From the first foul-tasting mouthful, strength and focus returned to the wyrm. It blinked, spilling more dust, and added another line to the spell. The tense, shuddering quality to the harpy's movement eased and he seemed happier, maybe. It didn't matter. The food was all that mattered. 

After it was all eaten, the king brought the second half of the carcass and did the same with it, positioning himself lengthways alongside the wyrm so that his own strong body helped to prop it up, keep it in a good pose to accept the food. The crawler had a taste like metal and stone, inorganic and bitter. It wasn't something anybody should have been eating but there was no other flesh that would satisfy the wyrm's hunger, nothing else it could digest. It burned on the way down and every bite was repulsive. But it was food. It was sustenance, more than the wyrm had gotten in so long. 

When it was all gone, the harpy rose to his feet again and wandered out of the cave. His work was done. The wyrm closed its eyes and, finally, succumbed to sleep. 

The wyrm had a name once. Like many wizards of the time it had had a title, too, something pressed upon it by its local lord, who would hire it to cast spells to entertain his guests. It had been 'Elin the Glorious', but its peers would later only ever know it as the Beast of Revelation, who brought about the end of the world. 

Elin had indeed been glorious. A perfect body crafted by its spells. It was beautiful, a marvel, and even though the spells were nowhere near as world-changing as the spells of its master Onozar the Transcendent, that didn't matter. It would attend the yearly summits at Onozar's tower, attached to the royal palace in the since-ruined city of Amphora and sit quiet and attentive at Onozar's elbow, posing just right to allow the other wizards to see its beautiful form. 

It hardly remembered that form now. That was a thing of the past, just like the long nights copying down spell transcripts for Onozar, packing them away in their transport tubes and handing them to the servants to deliver to Amphora. Onozar had been onto something special, some new magical marvel, and wanted it ready before the next summit. He'd dragged in all of his graduated apprentices, promising partial credit for the revolutionary spell. 

"What is it, Elin?" The lord had come to the tower, stepping around the port-hole in its brass frame, through which an endless dimension of reflections and colour spooled out. 

"Something of Onozar's," Elin had said, loyally. "He's trying to create the biggest port-hole yet, so I may be busy for a while with these duties." It was always a thrill to talk down to a lord, or at least to consider itself on an equal footing with one. Nicer than being thrown in the dungeons for pickpocketing had been, or trying to break into the wizard's tower. 

"Of course," the lord said. "If you need any more assistants, I can spare them. Just say the word." He was always very amenable. The presence of a wizard in his small township had elevated his position to one of national importance, and Elin could make any demands it wished. 

It recalled that last glimpse of its perfect body as it dressed for the summit at Amphora in a gauzy white robe, its long golden hair flowing loosely down to its elbows. 

As its mind pieced itself back together, Revelation struggled to hold that image. Then came the electric jolt of nerves rushing to bridge the gap at the base of its skull, and lightning struck; its arms twitching at first, limp in the throat of the cave, hands closing spasmodically until its scarlet claws raked new wounds through its palms. Its ribs billowed out, dragging in air, churning the dust and dirt and accumulated debris in its lungs into a spatter of disgusting black mucous that it coughed out onto the ground by the remains of the crawler. 

It was still weak. It would be for a while yet, unless it got more food. It could crawl - grip the ground with its hands as if it were clinging to the side of a ship in a storm, and slowly, slowly, drag itself out of the furrow in the ground that had grown up around it. But it collapsed too soon, face down again, because it had no legs. Only the ragged wound below its long, sinuous waist. 

Rebirth felt closer to death than the years of purgatory. With sensation swelling into it again, all it felt was the accumulation of pain that its previous state had made easy to ignore. Dragging itself forward one pace was an expression of hope - something painful to hold, something that cut its palms as much as its hooked claws. There could be something other than this cave, for Revelation. 

The flowing stream formed puddles around it, filling the depression in the ground it left behind. It lowered its head on its healing neck and gulped up the water, coughing it back up just as quickly to wash out the dust. When its own vomit ran clear again it could drink properly. 

Something fell against its side; the limp and bleeding corpse of another dead crawling beast. This one had been crushed, its head cracked like an egg by a blow strong enough to bend the solid mandibles. The harpy watched carefully, glancing at the trail of mud and blood and other fluids that Revelation had dragged in its wake. He saw Revelation's claws tighten into the muddy rakemarks on the ground and stepped closer, using a scaly foot to nudge away Revelation's grasping hands. Instead of letting the wyrm flail and drag itself in the mud, or even pull the body of the crawler to its mouth, the harpy again began to methodically tear up the corpse. 

As he did so he spoke, the warbling metallic tones of a bird piping up from deep in his chest. He could form words with his mouth full and his tongue occupied, speaking clearly through the oozing black flesh. If only Revelation understood the words. If only Revelation understood anything. 

Again the meat was disgusting and foul, each mouthful so deeply unpleasant, but there was nothing else that would ever satisfy its hunger, nothing that would give it strength. It went down faster this time. The harpy seized the discarded mandibles in his mouth, grimacing as much as he could with his avian face, and hopped upright again. He left the cave but was back almost instantly, to Revelation's perspective, with another crawler. 

At first life occupied only brief flashes, only when the harpy was around, only when Revelation was being so patiently fed. When the harpy was gone, Revelation slipped into a resting state, sleeping or staring, not really doing anything at all. Then its harpy saviour would return and life would begin again. The harpy would speak in low soothing whistles. Sometimes he brought things other than food - once, an elaborate woven blanket, which he slung over Revelation's shoulders. Another time he brought a small round stone, nestled in the pocket of the leather carry-bag he wore on his leg. The stone glimmered with speckles of mica, oddly green. It was placed beside Revelation's head, then the harpy seemed to think again and moved the stone to Revelation's front, instead, which seemed to please him better. 

Slowly, the brief flashes of life widened. Minutes began to form buffers on either side of each mealtime, slowly accumulating until Revelation was awake outside of the Harpy's visits, still unable to move much but more capable of looking out and understanding what it saw, instead of letting the visuals of the cave flow through it without leaving a mark. 

The mouth of the cave was a wide, white gash. It was only about fifty feet away, but the distance might as well have been miles. Revelation raised itself on its strengthening arms and tried to stare out. Pain jolted in a ring around its neck and across its chest; they had healed slowly but still afforded little structural stability. It lowered itself into the furrow it had dragged itself into and pulled the blanket around itself again. The constant flow of water and sucking mud had started to provide a new sensation, one which had been so thoroughly eclipsed until recently that it had barely noticed; cold. It was a luxury to notice the cold, to feel discomfort at all. 

A shape appeared again in that white gash of sky; the king, back again with another twitching black crawler. After Revelation had eaten, the harpy sat beside it again, his sharp internal beak combing through the tangled mess of Revelation's hair, and he spoke again. 

[sallysavestheday]

The clouds hang pewter-grey and heavy over the forest; the air tastes of steel and frost. The assembled Hunt chimes softly with each footstep, bells at knees and ankles and wrists pealing in rhythm as they weave through the figures of the dance. The silver sound rings in the air; the silver sky calls back. The first flakes begin to fall.

Celegorm loves this welcoming of the snow. As the autumn drains toward winter each year, he looks ahead to this cold assembly, eager to breathe the fragile captured moisture, to taste the chilly crystals on his tongue. As he paces the dancing ground, he gazes upward at the stars that burn and whirl between the clouds, their brilliance broken and refracted by the flakes on his eyelashes. The cold, pale blooms of snow collect on his face: he is dancing through frozen rainbows, spinning through pillars of suspended light.

There is no song, no chant, only the bells and the hunters’ breath, pulsing in rhythm with their softened steps. Each leaves a cloudy trail as they turn and cross and weave, the tracks of their bodies’ heat in the air as clear as the marks of their feet in the accumulating snow. That warmth calls Him, lays them open to His power. They turn and burn, waiting, under the dome of the night.

Celegorm feels Oromë before he sees him: he knows that static pulse, that sudden sinking pressure in the air. That heat, answering his body’s own.

He can never tell, afterward, what shapes the Hunter took. The dance they dance together is woven of wings and horns and haunches; of the eyes of hawk and hart and hound, piercing and luminous and tender; of the softness of feathers and fur and the scalding scrape of talons on his shivering skin. Each year’s marks are different as they heal: claws or spines or teeth tracing his Lord’s will on his body, claiming his price.

They each bleed a little, the drops welling scarlet, then falling black against the snow. It is a small gift to give, for the success of the winter hunt. The offering draws the hare out of cover, unweaves the thickets where the small deer hide. It dusts the pale pelts of their disappearing prey to better meet the eye, and blows the drifts from the frozen pools where the sleeping fish hang, waiting for the hunters' hands.

None will go hungry who dance with the frost on their lips.

They welcome the first snow; they bend and rise for the Hunter. The small bells flash and chime, echoing the stars.

First Snow, from my Celegorm-focused series, Beloved, Forsaken, Redeemed. A little seasonal something for those of us up North, and a cooling bite for those so much warmer down South!

[asolareclipses]

Previous Part

As the large school loomed ominously above him, Nico rethought all of his previous decisions that led him to this point. The building seemed to emanate pure death, but something wasn’t adding up. And the longer Nico stood there motionless, the worse this feeling became.

“So…do we go in or?” Leo said, completely unaware of Nico’s hesitance.

“Yeah…” Nico took a deep breath before pushing open the large castle like doors. He expected to immediately be met with death or something horrifying, instead what lay before him was nothing but empty abandoned halls.

“Wow, this place needs some TLC,” Leo commented as he walked forward, his head swiveling around to take in the large building.

“I guess they abandoned the school.” Nico replied, he couldn’t decide if that was upsetting or not. On one hand, it had been one of the last times he’d really been with Bianca, but on the other it held so much darkness and pain within its walls.

“Any idea where we go from here?” Leo asked, his hands were now blazing with a soft light that illuminated the dark hallways.

Nico paused, trying to determine where the source of his dread was coming from, but it felt all surrounding. “No clue,” He sighed.

“Okay well maybe-“ Suddenly the fire lit in Leo’s hand extinguished into nothing and the room was thrust into darkness.

Nico felt his heart drop, something was here, but unlike that sense of overpowering darkness Nyx emitted, it was something different. Rather than darkness it was more heavy, more emotional.

Suddenly the room brightened, a blueish green haze illuminating what looked to be trees, but Nico knew better.

“We need to get out of here right now,” Nico said as he felt his chest tighten.

Before Leo could speak a dark figure appeared, followed by several more of the same shape. “Oh but it is too late young one, we have already come to play.” The figure spoke as its features became clear. While it resembled a fury with sharp talons and wings, Nico knew better. Once before he faced monsters like this, and now it was too late as he and Leo were surrounded.

“What is that?” Leo asked, his hands bursting into flames once more.

“They’re arai,” Nico glanced nervously at Leo’s flames, “Leo if you attack them they’ll-”

Clearly the arai didn’t like what Nico was about to say as one dashed towards Leo and was greeted by a ball of fire. As the monster exploded into dust Leo yelled out, clutching his chest as he fell to the ground.

“Leo!” Nico called out as he rushed to his side.

“Holy hades what was that,” Leo said as he shakily tried to stand, his hair was sticking up as if he had been electrocuted.

“I tried to tell you, when you kill an arai they release a curse that someone or something has sent towards you.”

“A curse? What would’ve-“ Leo cut himself off as his eyes widened. “Oh. Those gods damned Eidolons! I fried them so of course they wanted to fry me too.”

Nico pretended he understood what that meant, before turning back to the arai who seemed to be eyeing them like prey. “We have to run, we can’t fight.” He forced his voice to remain steady.

“Where do we run?” Leo asked.

Nico looked around, they were surrounded by misty trees and the swampy fog. There was nowhere to run. “I don’t…” Panic filled his chest as he realized the lack of options.

“Your only choice is to fight, or you could let us kill you?” The arai spoke in a low gravely voice.

“Yeah right.” Leo snapped, his hands alight once more.

Nico had no real weapon (no the hatchet thing doesn’t count), no place to run, but the fear within him ran deeper than that. He wondered how many curses had been spoke against him, how many old wounds were about to be ripped open. Still, he had no choice. He had to fight.

And so fight he did.

The first arai swooped forward, its talons and wings moving swiftly. It dove downwards, but Nico had anticipated that and quickly rolled out of the way, bringing the hatchet down on the arias feathered back. Immediately Nico was met with a searing pain in his arm. Gashes resembling claws had appeared etched into his skin, similar to the scar that lay beneath them. Lycaon. It was no surprise the werewolf was a sore loser.

Next to Nico Leo gasped at the site of the wound, before promptly dodging an arai attack.

Nico tried to shrug it off, it was a familiar pain, he could manage. He readied the hatchet, ignoring the fact that he now had to fight with both of his arms injured. Another flash of black and Nico ducked, rolling against the ground while narrowly missing the sharp talons brought against him. He tried to go on the defense like Leo, but without fire it was nearly impossible.

The harsh sounds of wings roared behind him and he spun around almost too late, his hatchet swung and all he saw was a rain shower of dust. In that moment something shifted, everything seemed to go quiet as the hatchet dropped to the ground with the hollow echo of metal.

Leo turned, his fire flickering as his eyes widened in pure horror.

When Nico looked down, his hands were nothing but smoke, swirling around in the familiar way he’d seen many times from spirit roaming the underworld. Finally, one of his darkest moments had come back around to face him. The name, that face burned into Nico’s memory forever. Bryce Lawrence.

A guy who deserved nothing but death, yet every time Nico looked back at what he’d done he was consumed with guilt. Now it was his turn, to be erased into nothing.

Leo seemed to panic, the arai now uninterested with Nico. He called out but the words seemed to pass over Nico as if he weren’t really there.

Nico didn’t feel any pain anymore, he felt nothing. He saw Bryce’s face, over and over, until it slowly became his own. Then the sound of a scream pulled him away from being swallowed whole by the memories.

Leo had fallen to the ground again, his arms shaking in pain. The scattered remains of dust revealed he’d been met with another curse.

Nico wanted to cry, his body was worthless in that he couldn’t fight. He could only stand in watch. The sense of helplessness flooded through his veins as another arai rushed towards Leo.

But it never reached him, instead the ground rumbled and each arai was frozen in place. Somehow Nico stepped forward, his feet solid as black smoke curled off of his body.

“This is over.” He said, his form flickering in and out of a spirit like state. The arai began to back away. “You come from darkness right?” His fists clenched as shadows began to surround the arai, “Looks like it’s time to go back.”

A tidal wave of darkness washed over the arai as they screeched, their voices worse than nails against a chalkboard. Slowly they faded into nothingness and the wave washed away, revealing once more the dusty halls of west over.

Nico stood there emotionless for a moment, until a bout of pain racked his body. He felt like he was swimming in the phlegethon, it was as if pure lava were coursing through his veins,

Once again he heard Nyx’s taunting voice whisper to him, “Strike two.”

—

Watching Nico absolutely obliterate the arai was nothing short of impressive, however the immediate consequences were not. Whatever curses the arai bestowed had seemed to dissolve, but still something remained with Nico.

The previous cursed claw marks had only half healed, seeming to fight back against whatever was healing them. Along with that Nico’s other arm still bared the mark of his previous scorpion battle, now it had bled through its fourth round of bandages. His body was refusing to heal itself, and now that he’d used all of his energy to banish the arai, the pain had completely taken over.

The old wooden floor around Nico cracked and steamed as he fell to his knees. The room seemed to darken as the shadows reacted to his pain, swirling in harsh patterns. Leo practically sprinted to Nico side, knowing of how little he could do to help.

“Nico, oh gods. What do I do?” Leo’s voice cracked as he watched Nicos body shudder in pain.

“I’m..” Nico winced, taking a shaky breath, “I’m fine.” He clenched his hands against the ground, his face had gone so pale it reminded Leo of the time he’d first seen him. That memory only made Leo feel worse, he’d never gotten over the guilt he carried from how he had first treated Nico.

“You’re not fine,” Leo choked out as he scoured his brain for something, anything, to he could do to help.

Nico’s breathing only became more unsteady, “Leo, I’m sorry. You should go back to camp.” His voice was quiet and raspy as he spoke, “I shouldn’t have tried to go on my own, you were right. I’m sorry.”

Leo felt tears build up in his eyes, “Shut up. It’s okay and you’re okay.” His hands began to shake as the panic grew from deep within, he couldn’t lose another friend.

Nico opened his mouth to speak but it was as if a switch were flipped, and he suddenly collapsed to the ground. Smoke curling from his arms as he lay there motionless.

Leo froze for a moment, he felt like his heart had stopped beating. “Nico?” His voice echoed through the empty halls. Quickly Leo checked his pulse, receiving the faintest of heartbeats, “Nico. Wake up dude, please.” His voice sounded like a child’s ringing in his ears, scared and alone.

The dark empty halls only seemed to stretch farther and wider as Leo sat there helplessly. Seconds or maybe minutes had passed before a scuffling sound began to fill the silence. Leo shot up, his hands bursting into flames as he stood defensively in front of Nico’s almost lifeless body. Despite their shakiness, the flames burned bright in his hands.

Whatever the sound was it only grew closer, Leo feared the worst. Perhaps the arai had come back, or a worse monster was there to greet him. A cold rush of wind extinguished his flames as a soft haunting voice bounced off the walls around him. “How sad.” The voice spoke, it was the voice of a woman but it sounded empty and full of despair. “How miserable.”

“Who are you?!” Leo yelled out into the darkness, his flames flickering back to life.

“Your misery is charming young one, such sadness and pain. The loss of another friend would break your heart, how wonderful.” The voice seemed to hesitate, “It’s unfortunate to lose this soul though. His misery was so perfect, never have I met a more tortured child.”

Leo wanted to set whatever this thing was on fire, “WHO ARE YOU?!”

“I fear it is not my place to say,” The voice sounded almost happy with their ambiguousness. “I shall leave you to the darkness, there’s not much I can do here after all.” As she spoke the last word the halls went quiet for a moment, then a louder scuffling sound rung out from behind Leo.

He snapped towards the sound, a harsh flame burnt into his palm. He was ready to turn whatever was approaching into ash, when he was met with a familiar face. A guy with short blond hair, and a small scar that lightly grazed his lip.

“Jason?”

Part Eight

[h4venpha]

hi!! can you write up some uncanny vash headcanons for when the reader is injured or something? might just be a little papercut or something small and i think an uncanny vash would react interestingly to it :3

𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐯𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐢𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐡𝐜𝐬 𓂃 ⟡

uncanny vash x reader

cw: a little angst, small papercut, blood, bullet wound, digging and pulling said bullet out of flesh

a/n: the way you can so clearly tell which one i enjoyed writing more LOL im still on hiatus ok this is me responding to a request i got three months ago. also this shit isnt even hcs anymore mb its basically a drabble esp the second one

ignore mistakes no way in hell am i proofreading

reacting to a paper cut:

- uncanny vash is dead asleep when you accidentally give yourself a paper cut. he’s softly purring and rumbling one minute and the next he’s at your side looking over your shoulder.

- it didn’t hurt; it was a small cut, a thin sliver of red across your skin. vash is squinting down over it, obviously seeding blood with his semi-glowing eyes, yet you don't seem to be in pain..?

- “…hurt?” he chirps and tilts his head in confusion as he looks at you with big, questioning eyes. he crawls up on the back of your chair, somehow not toppling it over with his weight.

- “uh— a little?” you chuckle softly, about to return to typing when his wing appendages wrap around your wrists, pulling you away from the desk and closer to his face.

- uncanny vash’s abnormally long fingers swipe gently over the cut. he makes a squeaking sound when he pulls away and finds a slight red smear on his fingers

- what surprises you most is when he leans closer and licks it. soft lips brush your hand as his pink, barbed tongue darts out and tastes.

- he continues to softly pamper, feathers flicking affectionately at your neck and your sides as he purrs and licks across your skin

- you settle for typing with one hand

reacting to a bullet wound:

- despite his large, intimidating form, during shootouts uncanny vash still tries to minimize all wounds for all parties

- its easy for him to cover you, circling around you as his long appendages curl around you like a glowing cave, deflecting the flying bullets in his feathers with ease as he bares his unhinged jaw at the gunmen.

- suddenly his wing flairs out, stretching and crackling before knocking back a man with a knife, assuring the knife left his hand before turning back towards you. in the split second that his wing isn’t around you, a bullet lodges itself in the place in your flesh. it comes sharp and fast, too fast for you to register until your side begins to sear with pain, blood soaking through your shirt.

- uncanny vash’s head turns with horror, wide eyes searching for the scent of blood. it wasn’t fatal, you would live to see tomorrow. but the shaky, scared huffs leaving your lips and the tremble that runs through your body is enough for him to swoop your up in his arms and skitter away, leaving a cloud of dust and a blur of red in his wake.

—

- “—orry, s- sorry, sorry,” vash chitters softly as he kneels in a secluded alleyway before laying you down gently onto the ground. he curls himself over you, back hunched as his panicked breaths leave his mouth.

- he moves your shirt to the side and you wince sharply as his fingers begin digging into your wound, feeling for the bullet. he can hear your shaking gasps and groans of pain, but he wills his tears away, knowing theres nothing more important than getting the bullet out. a string of apologies continues to rapidly fire out as his shaky fingers gently pry it out.

- your blood is all over his hands, dripping down and soaking into your shirt and onto the dusty ground.

- a jumble of whines and purrs emit from his throat as he applies pressure to your wound.

- “it’s okay,” you rasp out and cup his face in your hands. it hurts like hell but you know he’s got you.

- uncanny vash chitters softly and shakes his head. ‘no, no it’s not okay—please just hold on’ he grip on your shaking body tightens before he swiftly wraps his feathers around you and brings you back home where he can properly tend to your injuries.

[ashley-3]

𝓘 𝓗𝓪𝓽𝓮 𝓨𝓸𝓾

Lmk x reader (wukongxreaderxmacaque)

PART 7 A hero is born

Mk groaned opening his eyes to being poked by one of the flower fruit monkeys Mk looked around as the monkeys began to jump him "Ah! no wait! Don't! Ahhh!" He threw them off as they ran away Mk looked around seeing the flaming mountains in the distance. Mk turned around his eyes sparkling "Woah! Flower fruit mountain!" Mk turned gasping to see Y/n  knocked out but lay softly against a tree "Y/n!" Mk ran up to her and checked for the injury  he saw some of her feathers were burned "Okay..let's go y/n." Mk pulled y/n onto his back and started to climb up the mountain once he was up he groaned standing up y n still on his back, he was awed in amazement at the sight he walked further stepping onto the stepping stones he got to the waterfall and placed his hand on it as it unlocked opening up Mk eyes winded as he walked through slowly.. as Mk walked though he called out "hello?...Hello?...Hello?" Mk looked up to see a mural that had various friends of the monkey king Mk's vision stopped on the monkey king "Hey that's the monkey king!" Mk grinned placing y/n down softly against a pillar turning to look back at the picture Mk groaned gripping his eyes and covering them before slowly removing his hand only to see the world in gold. "What? Uhh! What's happening what's up! What's wrong with my eyes!?" Mk looked at the mural and watched as it slowly came to life "Woah that's monkey king when he was born from stone, and when he got his stuff from the dragon of the east! woah! Ahh! Huh?" Mk looked over and saw Monkey King. He grinned grabbing y/n chasing after him "Hey., wait up! Monkey king!" He quickly placed Y/n down and reached out to touch Monkey King "It's really.." but once he finally touched him he turned to dust. "Monkey King?" Mk groaned kicking a rock upset as he sat down bringing his knees to his chest  "Ugh! What was I thinking? For a moment there I thought, oh! Mr. Tang was right. I am delusional." Mk watched as a butterfly flew past him landing on the ground "Sup?" Mk screamed as Monkey King smirked "Yes yes! It is I, the monkey kin" Mk jumped up and stepped on the book sighing in relief once he did  "Is it dead oooh.." Monkey King proceeds to transform into various animals before turning back into his normal form. I  slowly got up as well my wings retracting into my back I  groaned standing up Mk grinned towards Monkey King "M-M-Monkey king?" Monkey King smirked crossing his arms "A yep! The only so where's my staff?" Monkey King looked confused as Mk looked at him on the verge of tears. I walked closer glaring at the monkey "what did you do?" Wukong turned to me "Morning peaches," I  was about to speak annoyed with him. When Mk fell to his knees causing me to turn to him as he apologized to Monkey King "I'm so sorry! I tried to bring it to you but the princess iron fan came and took it. She's got this glove."  Monkey King laughed softly shaking his head "I know. I know. Look I'm gonna come clean. um...I've kinda been watching you." I shook my head "Stalker much." Wukong looked at me but I wouldn't look at him I moved my wings plucking the burnt feathers from them hissing when I did Mk tilted his head "What?...wait what? That was you?" Monkey King laughed excitedly "That look on your face your perfect!" Mk looked at Monkey King confused "Perfect for what?" Monkey King smirked crossing his arms "To be my successor!" Mk title his head and circled the monkey king poking him and stretching his face slightly "Uh are you sure you're the monkey king? You've been cooped up in here for way too long I think your brain went mushed up." Monkey King wrapped his tail around Mk moving him to the side i walked over to him placing a hand on his head as Monkey King spoke "Listen kid you fought demons and didn't die and you made it here. Not just anyone can lift my staff," monkey king rummaged though. His stuff smiling when he found a bag of peach chips "But you did."  Mk whined softly "But what about DBK?" Monkey King scoffed "What about DBK you can handle it. Consider it a trial." 

[mudandmire]

WIP Wednesday - Ghost

Azriel made a deal with the Mother thirty years ago: his service in return for Eris's life. Azriel leaves no impression on the world anymore, no footprints or sounds. The only thing he leaves behind are rivers - endless erosions of blood through the stone he bore the day Eris died. His obedience, in return for Eris's survival. There is no other way.

...

There are no footprints in the snow. This close to the border Autumn has with Winter, the clouds hang low to the tops of the conifers. Thick, grey blankets heavy with the flurry of flakes that fall fast to the Autumn floor. Everything is dusted with it, the shells of leaves, the shrubs and weeds that carpet the ground—every burrow is sealed away. Somewhere high in the mountains, the jaws that cut the line of the territories, he waits.

Azriel stands unmoving in a clearing. His feet make no imprint, his breath no steam. The watery, pale light frosts over the scene before him, where even the vivid jewel patterns of autumn fade to grey tones. His chest rises and falls, the only movement apart from the dry bones rustle of barren boughs against each other in the canopies.

Every sense is at attention. The hunter, the executioner—both have been called to this ceremony. He just happened to get here early.

His wings twitch when he hears boots in the snow. The crunching of new frost, hurried footsteps and the scuffling sound of a struggle. All that greets him when he inhales deeply is the crisp scent of cold. A familiar smell from his youth in Windhaven. It burns through his nose all the same.

"Fuck—stop struggling." There, a voice through the trees. Gruff, like it was spoken into the collar of a jacket. He can sense the strain in the words—they're dragging something.

Azriel's head tilts just so. The movement is eerie under his hood, predatory. A wolf cocking its ears. His hands remain behind his back under the fold of his wings. Patience, after all, is part of the fun.

Again, a voice reaches out to him, brought on the hissing tendrils of his accompanying darkness—his shadows.

"I thought you said the faebane would be enough!" It's a normal voice. The rounded vowels of the Autumn Court, and a slight rasp in the throat like he'd been strangled one too many times.

"I—shit, I did. That's what she told me."

The other males scoff is ugly, locked up from the chill this far up the mountain slope.

"That's the last time I let you be in charge of the sedative."

Azriel's tongue swipes out, wetting his chapped bottom lip. He can taste the tang of their stress in the wind; bitter like ripened sweat. He feels the pound of their pulse through the breadth of the snow covered ground if he shifts his feet just so. His eyes close. He won't look, won't cheat. Not yet. Besides, he knows all he needs to know about these males: their heads, the nervous trembling to their blue-tinged fingers, the darting of their eyes to every spare corner of the forest. Cornered, disturbed, unafraid to lash out.

He knows that whatever it is they have, has no right being sedated. Hauled like a sack of rice to a little, forgotten corner of this Court and disposed of to no one's eyes under the unsympathetic grey blanket of sky.

No one's eyes, except Azriel's.

He shifts, finding the thread of the males pulses through the ground. Beneath him, the coating of snowfall lays pristine.

The shuffling grows closer, as does the grunts of exertion. Azriel can smell them now, the acrid tang of their sweat and the fetid scent of their breath. Day old alcohol, still lingering on their lips, high in the rosiness of their cheeks.

"Here, we'll do it here." The one with the rasp says. Azriel keeps his back turned at the hollow thump of a body against the earth.

It's pulse is there; weak, but still thumping. The antsy rabbiting of a heart that knows it needs to fight.

His shadows still. Unnatural in its right; the shadows are constantly moving, shaping, bouncing where the light grows and shrinks its domain. Now, they go preternaturally quiet, the buzzing in his head fades as they slink around his shoulders.

This, this, they whisper. We do not know what to make of this.

Azriel nearly rolls his eyes at them. It is not the first time they've had an assignment like this. In now thirty years it certainly won't be the last.

He figures now is as good as any time. The males seem distracted, their muscles loosened with ease, warm with adrenaline and the thrill of getting away undetected.

Foolish, foolish souls. They are not worth the blood on Azriel's blade.

This, this. His shadows hiss again, a rising chorus of confusion and spite that sparks embers in his blood.

Azriel turns, silent as the flakes fall, and freezes.

Bright, copper hair spills out onto the snowdrift. A streak of an auburn ribbon in the ever-white world, this in between space of bejeweled autumn and pale winter. His face is turned, right half buried in the swell of the drift. A bruise, like a roiling thundercloud, blooms along the left side of his cheekbone up to his temple where it disappears into his hair. He's pale, skin nearly translucent where it's pressed to the cold snow, blue at the lips. The only color that remains, not leached from his body or under his twitching eyelids, is the copper shock of his hair and the purpling, violet-green contusion on his face.

This. The shadows round his shoulders, his wrists, legs, the tips of his wings and hum.

The first male, the one who seemingly botched the sedative, stretches his back.

"Mother's tits," he curses, blowing hot air into his cupped hands. "Let's get this over with so we can get somewhere warm." His dark, brown hair escapes from behind a pointed ear.

Azriel hasn't moved, hasn't drawn a single breath. The entirety of him is motionless, even his shadows don't dare to make sudden movements. His gaze, under the shade of his hood, is locked on the spill of copper hair. They map upwards from there, tracing it like the curves of a river until they land on familiar, but unknown territory.

There's a hollow in him. A space once filled but now not. It echoes when he brushes against it, that old, familiar pain rising up with a gasp and a bite to his heart. Tripping, tumbling, till it knocks against the bones of his rib cage and continues to beat against them. He can faintly feel the bond. This close it's drawing him in: two ends of a book closed together, and he craves it desperately.

Azriel sucks in a breath, harsh and cold, shocking him enough to blink his frozen stare away. Burned cinnamon, and the delectable smell of that nutty, slightly earthy scent greets him.

This, this, this. It's grown into a chant, his shadows moving in the strange, halting way they do when there's an end—a goal.

Eris Vanserra has been brought here to die.

Azriel of the Mother has been ordered here to kill.

...

~~~ This is just a fun lil something I thought I'd share. I've been pondering it for a while, but honestly I just got so caught up in all the logistics and if it would match the lore that I lost interest and passion completely. It's only been recently that I've come back around to it because I said screw it - I like this concept, I want to explore it. If it doesn't match the lore or timelines - to hell with both of them! Fanfiction is for fun! I know SJM lore is important and whatnot, but I'm a little kid playing in a sandbox with my bucket and shovels - there is nothing but limitless potential here :D ~~~

[casteliacityramen]

Impossible.

Rio stared, dumbfounded, to the heavens as she lay on her back. She charged at the intruder with a steel wing, but he caught her attack between his palms and threw her onto the ground like a rag doll. She thought the first time was a fluke, but if he was able to do it a second time…

The dust cleared from her vision to reveal the cloudless sky. The sun suddenly felt all too bright and all too revealing.

"How?" Rio asked, lying still on the ground with her wings spread flat on the dry dirt, "How did you catch that?"

"You might be the strongest wyvern on Twist Mountain," The Hero King of Ideals beamed, "but I'm the baddest living thing on the West side of this continent!"

The Hero placed his hands on his hips, took a deep inhale through his nose, and laughed out his exhale.

"Hah! I miss how simple this is," the Hero brushed a lock of light green hair away from his face, "'Might makes right' is the easiest governing system of all. Just be the strongest and you get to make all the rules!"

Rio craned her neck upwards off the ground to glare at this… naked mankey. This sack of meat and bone who dared to trespass into her territory and challenge her authority. The same one who dared to claim that he was the strongest person here, in front of her.

She's beaten everything from a raging Hydreigon to an entire Durant colony. Ever since she was born, she fought wing, fang, and talon to establish herself on this mountain. Her mountain.

This is beyond insulting!

"Your Majesty, your hands-"

"Ah, what of them? This is nothing!" The King turned towards his group of bodyguards and raised both his clenched fists into the air. Small trickles of blood dripped from under his tattered gloves and down onto his forearms.

"I haven't had this much excitement in years!" The Hero King exclaimed. His face fell a little when his company provided concerned glances instead of the roars and cheers that he was typically used to.

He turned to Rio and extended a hand for her to help herself, but Rio frowned deeply at the sight of the dirtied, bloodied gesture. With a beat of her wings against the ground, she flew up, rolled to level herself, and levitated at eye level with him.

The human and pokemon guards raised their respective weapons, fangs, horns, and claws at her, but an obsidian colored dragon raised a clawed hand to lower them. The one whose name she heard whispered throughout the valleys surrounding Twist Mountain. The one she actually wanted to fight. Zekrom.

"You're going to give your wife so much grief when she finds out you've been wrestling with dragons again," Zekrom laughed.

The Hero shrugged and wiped his hands on his clothes the same way a child would brush their palms after eating something sticky.

"What do you want?" Rio glowered.

"I'm sorry, my friend. May I borrow your cloak? I will get you a new one," The King completely ignored her, speaking to a young guard. He ignored the guard, too, since the question was asked after the cloak was already torn and wrapped around his hands.

"I asked you a question!" Rio shouted, her mouth spewing technicolor flames as she readied a dragons breath. Her outburst included a pulse of psychic energy which blew the dust and sand away, leaving everyone in the vicinity clearly in view.

This time, Zekrom didn't stop the guards from taking up their arms to protect their king and crown. Any sign of playfulness dropped from his face as he tensed his own body. However, the Hero King made a gesture as if he were patting unleavened dough with both hands, telling everyone to stand down and relax.

"I've heard stories about you," The Hero King finally turned to address Rio after calming down his posse:

"I've heard stories about a dragon who felled everyone who dared challenge her. The possessed Demon of Twist Mountain… terrifying my subjects," The King loosened and clenched his fists to get a feel of his makeshift bandages. Satisfied, he lowered his hands and looked her straight in the eyes:

"But I also heard stories about a benevolent dragon who offered shelter in her territory as long as you brought her a gift. It didn't even have to be that grandiose. Even a single oran berry would suffice as an offering, as long as you were genuine. Which of these stories were true?"

The King continued to smile, despite the imminent danger. He raised his hands towards her, as if he were marveling at a grand statue of himself.

"I had to see for myself! No matter what you hear about someone, you never truly know them unless you fight them. And now I understand more than what these stories told me. Now, I want you to work for me."

The Hero King looked behind him for a reaction. The royal guards looked at each other in confusion and worry, but Zekrom rolled his eyes and laughed as if to say, "Of course you would." That was all the validation he needed.

"Perish the thought," Rio spat back.

"Oh? But what if I were to defeat you once more in this bout? What say you?" The King lowered his stance, his arms in front of him in a braced position like some sort of feral beast, "What's the saying? The third time is the charm?"

Rio felt her face get hot. Her pride and image was on the line. She couldn't let this go. She clenched her teeth, dispelling the dragon fire as she readied another physical attack.

"I'll make this deal of yours. If this is what it takes for you to get excited at your own death, so be it," Rio sharply laughed.

"Give me another story I can tell my kids!" The Hero grinned excitedly as he twisted his feet further into the dirt.

"Come!" The Hero King shouted at the top of his lungs, his voice loud enough to rattle a lesser man's bones, "Let's see if the Demon of Twist Mountain has what it takes to kill this king!"

If Rio was less enraged, she would have noticed the pebbles near the King's feet levitating off the ground. She would've seen the hand wraps whip around with more force than what the wind could provide. She would've reconsidered the moment she saw everyone, even Zekrom, take a worried step back.

But Rio was all too happy to oblige. With all of her strength, she darted forward like an arrow released from a bow, aiming to shatter the human's ribs with a Zen Headbutt. The air felt like it caught on fire and exploded from the sheer speed and sudden acceleration...

... And then she tasted dirt, stone, and dust. Again.

Impossible.

|| Ray's First Interaction with the King of Truth | Pinned Post ||

[thefallennightmare]

Mercy-Three

*gif created by me. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Pairings: Noah Sebastian x Fallen Angel!OC

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, smut, mythological talk, violence.

Summary: "Blinded by a fear of feeling, these are the kings we chose. Lost and looking for the meaning, I've been searching high and low" It came crashing down on him. This is the story of the highest banished angel from where she came only to find home in the arms of a mortal man. This mortal realizing he'd face Lucifer himself to keep her.

Lethia: Archangelus Oneironaut also known as Archangel of Dream Walking. Across worlds and dimensions, she walks within. Uncovering dangerous secrets, leaving her cast out, isolated- that is until she begins to learn what it means to feel.

Authors Notes: Hope everyone enjoys this chapter!

Tags[OPEN]: @thescarlettvvitch @blackveilomens @crimson-calligraphyx @cookiesupplier @lyschko666 @shilohrosechicken @thebadchic @iknownothingpeople @sammyjoeee @malice-ov-mercy @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @collapsedglasshouses

LETHIA

I sat in the darkness of the old building with a scatter of books in front of me and a face of pure rage. These texts were all wrong, they had to be. There was absolutely no way that Lucifer was the evil that this bible talked about. He never tempted anyone into any sin. He was valued in the Kingdom and so many other angels turned to him in times of despair; me included. 

Kicking the bible away with my boot, I turned to the next book and perched it on my lap. 

The Book of Enoch.

Watchers. Nephilim. The fall of angels. 

All of those words replayed in my brain as I read through the book for what seemed like the third time, searching for an answer I subconsciously knew wasn’t there. 

"The Grigori, who with their prince Satanail rejected the Lord of light,” I read the words out loud, my wavering voice echoing into the large space. 

Slamming the book shut, I tossed it back into the pile with the others and quickly rose to my feet, done with my studying for the day. Ever since I thought I saw Lucifer, I spent the last handful of days searching all over the world for the books at my feet but could only search in the darkness of the night so as not to risk mortals seeing me. 

I tried dream walking to find where Lucifer had ended up but only found myself walking into a dream of someone who wasn’t familiar. The only scene in front of me was a vast field of green overtaken by bloodshed and soot from what some may thought came from the burning woods behind me. 

Although, I knew it wasn’t soot that covered the ground at my feet. It was something not many mortals saw quite often. 

Angel dust. 

It was only ever left behind after an intense battle, their energy staying behind in a variety of ways; most of the time in angel dust. 

However, the destruction from the battle and angel dust weren’t what made my stomach twist in knots. It was the crumbled body that lay at my feet, blood pouring from a gash in his neck but I couldn’t see his face due to his long locks of hair covering it. The crow that seemed to follow me everywhere pecking away at the open wound on the man's chest. 

I ran a hand through my hair, the black locks not as shocking as the first night after my fall, and slipped on my jacket. It was worn from me spending the last few nights flying from other ends of the earth and two large slits in the back from where my wings extended from my back. The old building I’d been hiding away in since my fall almost two weeks ago was slowly becoming my home. I didn’t have a bed since angels didn’t need to sleep. We could, if we wanted to, however, I never felt the need to. 

There was no food since, like sleep, angels didn’t need to eat. Although I did indulge in some sweets now and then from the bakery across the street, I didn’t feel the need to sit and have a meal. 

The one thing, however, I did need was a shower but unfortunately, this abandoned building did not have running water. Which meant late in the evenings, I found myself bathing in the ocean; the salt water helped maintain the life and color of my wings. 

Dreaded black wings. 

With a long sigh, I stepped out into the night California air to head back to the bookstore that was around the block. Among the intellectual texts I’ve picked up, I’ve also begun reading up on psychology and philosophy just as a way to pass the time. 

“Hello, Lethia! I was hoping you’d stop by tonight,” Greg, the older gentleman behind the bookstore counter, smiled at me. 

I raised a playful brow. “I told you I would. You promised you’d have something for me.” 

Greg slid over a worn book to me. “It took me some time to find it but here it is.” 

The corner of my lip curled carefully and flipped through The Death of Socrates, my nostrils flaring at the old book smell. 

“How much do I owe you?” I asked Greg. 

He waved me off. “Same as always. Just make sure to return them in the same condition. No one ever asks for Plato’s work anymore; it's such a shame. So any chance I can scour for one of them, makes me happy.” 

I tapped the counter with a smile. “Thank you, Greg. I’ll make sure to bring you a cannoli when I return the book.” 

“I think this deserves a large pan of Baklava,” he said while placing another book on the counter. 

The Secrets of Lucifer.

My red eyes darkened as I carefully picked up the book, it weighing heavy in my hand. 

“Greg, I will bring you whatever your heart desires for this,” I shifted my eyes to his. “Thank you.” 

With both books tucked away in a bag from the shop, I maneuvered my way through crowds of people, scowling at the King above for dropping me into one of the busiest cities. A bright neon sign on a building caught my gaze as I approached the street where my makeshift home was. 

Live Music. 

Music? Maybe I can find a hint about where Lucifer is.

Before I stepped inside the building, a chilling and painful breeze brushed across the back of my neck causing me to spin on my heels. A loud ringing scratched at my ears but I remained stoned as my eyes hastily looked around the busy street and sidewalk. Something was different in the air; it smelled different. 

Titling my head to the side, I gazed down at my feet when something caught my attention. 

“What are you doing here?” I muttered. 

Dark eyes from the crow stared into my soul as it was perched between my feet. 

“I’m not dreaming so why are you here?” I bent to my knees. 

I knew it was the same one from my dream walking because of the single white path of feathers that ran down its spine. The crow continued to stare at me, not making a sound, so I tapped its head with a gentle finger. 

“If you’re here outside a dream,” I looked at my surroundings once again. “It can only mean one thing and that my friend, is what I was afraid of.” 

Rising to my feet, I ushered the bird away with a simple flick. “Go see what you can find for me.” 

With a simple caw, the crow fluttered its wings and flew to an unknown destination as I turned on my heels walking into the building. It was loud from the constant pounding from the speakers and the boisterous voices from the packed crowd. Everyone in Los Angeles was here tonight as I pushed my way through to find a single spot open at the bar. 

“What can I get you?” A petite blonde behind the bar asked me with a smile, but when she took one gaze into my red eyes, she took a large step back. 

It was like this every time someone took their first look at me. Red eyes must not have been common here on earth. 

“I’m alright, thank you.” I gave a curt nod while sitting on the stool and began reading The Death of Socrates. 

It didn’t last long, however, when a man pushed his way past the bodies on both sides of me so he could lean against the bar, eyeing me down. 

“Who the fuck reads at a bar?” 

Ignoring him, I simply turned the page, continuing to read. 

This prompted him to lay his large hand on the pages of the book, crumpling them. 

My head snapped up towards him when his green eyes ravaged my face, licking his lips slowly. “I’m not into broads with short hair or eyes like yours but I’m sure if I fuck you from behind, it won’t be an issue.” 

“I’d suggest if you want to keep that hand that you take it off of my book,” I said with an eerily calm voice.

“Or what?” He snorted. “You think you can do anything to me?” 

Just before I was about to rise to my feet, a loud voice came through the speaker which prompted the man to push away from my book and disappear into the crowd. 

“We have a treat for you guys tonight!” The voice in the microphone made my ears burn as I screwed my eyes shut. “These guys are on break from tour but we managed to talk them into playing a show for you all. Give it up for Bad Omens!” 

Bad Omens. 

My eyes snapped open just in time for me to look up at the stage before me when that familiar face beamed out into the crowd. His almond eyes shone brightly as he began singing the first song, other familiar faces registering in my mind as they played their instruments. 

The man playing what I was sure was the drums: Nick, the one I had pinned to the ground the first time I fell to Earth. 

The man with long hair playing a guitar. I didn’t know his name but I remembered his voice didn’t sound like the others. 

The man playing an instrument I just learned about, the bass. He was also there that night but I didn’t talk to him. 

Then the last man stood front and center as he sang into a microphone, his hair falling around his shoulders in dark waves. Those almond eyes scanned over every face in the crowd until they rested on mine; a breath getting caught in my throat. 

Noah. 

I was only a few feet away from the stage so when our eyes locked, Noah’s face broke out in a smile as he took a couple steps towards me. 

“And when he has you by your neck,” he screamed into the microphone. 

I expected him to sound like something else; nothing like this. So eternal. So elegant. So breathtaking. 

I stood there frozen as Noah danced across the stage, the crowd jumping along with him. People even enjoyed jumping on top of each other as others moved them along, carrying them throughout. 

As Bad Omens played their set, I couldn’t move; transfixed on the sight of them before me. I couldn’t explain this weird feeling that surged through me as Noah’s eyes kept darting over to me, almost making sure I was still there. Then when he waved toward me during their last song, my heart studered in my chest. 

What was this feeling? It was unknown and it scared me to absolute death to follow it. 

But then something familiar tickled behind my neck, chills covering every inch of my skin and I hastily looked around me to see the crow perched outside the open door of the building. The noise of Bad Omens and the crowd faded to nothing as all I could hear was the constant cawing of the bird, almost beckoning me to follow. 

“Lethia, come back to me.” 

Whirling behind me, I expected to see Lucifer but ended up scaring the people who stood there when they took in the wild look in my eyes. 

“Lethia, you belong to me.” 

Lucifer’s voice was loud in my mind now as I whirled around again, this time facing the stage. My eyes caught with Noah’s and he gave me a slight frown before he took the steps down the stage to come towards me. 

“You were sworn to me and me alone. No other being on this earth can have you.”

“Stop it,” I muttered, closing my eyes. 

“Why haven’t you looked for me? Why haven’t you come to me?” 

I clawed at my ears, now yelling. “STOP! LUCIFER STOP!” 

“Lethia.” 

Noah's soft voice cooed as he reached for my hands, the touch unknown and unfamiliar; as if the wind was grasping at me. 

“You’re a disgrace for a soldier of Lucifer’s. How dare you spend time with a mortal?”

My eyes snapped open at this new voice, only to be clouded with a new vision of a face I hadn’t seen in a very long time. 

White eyes. Even whiter hair. A large golden hoop hanging from the middle of their nose. 

Her name fell from my lips as darkness suddenly took over, my body falling to a heap into Noah’s arms. 

LETHIA

I stood alone in an empty field, the same one I dreamed walked in earlier. Angel dust covered the ground and fluttered in the air. Smoke weighed heavily in my nostrils, leaving a bitter aftertaste on my tongue. The crow pecked away at the gaping wound in the stomach of the man who lay at my feet. 

His long brown locks were covering his face so bending slowly at the knees, careful not to disturb the crow, and black nails brushed away the hair from the man's face, void almond eyes staring into my soul. 

I choked on his name as I stumbled back, falling to my ass. 

“No-.” 

Suddenly, a fast and hard stampede echoed in my ears and my chest as I scrambled to my knees. Large, black wings exploded from my back with a gust of wind just in time for a massive bull to run towards me. With my left hand outstretched and a mere thought of a dagger, it appeared out of thin air. I threw the dagger at the bull when it was less than five feet away from me, only for it to bounce off its large back. 

“Shit,” I cursed, protecting myself with my wings. 

The bull’s nostrils flared, a puff of breath blowing through the angel dust, then as I prepared myself for impact, the bull stopped meters in front of my face. Its warm breath now fanning over my face as I gritted my teeth. 

Bright white eyes stared back at me as the large golden hoop protruding from its nose rumbled with each deep breath. 

“Lethia, my how you’ve changed,” the bull's voice spoke in my mind. 

“Maraxa,” I spat with ice-cold venom. 

The bull chuffed, dragging its feet against the grass. Its black horns were almost too large for its head but somehow seemed as if it weighed nothing. Its lips curled back in a deep snarl, sharp black teeth covered with blood held my gaze. 

“You’ve been hiding your scent well, Lethia.” 

“I didn’t know you were looking for me,” I said. 

The bull chuffed. “My dear, everyone is looking for you. Unlucky for you, however, Lucifer and I have found you first.” 

I raised a brow. “Oh, since when did it become Lucifer and I? You were nothing to him before we fell.”

“Lucifer is my king, I do as he says. I serve him. He sent me to find you, now he never said you had to be alive.” 

My eyes never left the bulls. “You can’t kill me in a dream, Maraxa.” 

“No, I cannot,” the bull snarled its teeth again. “But I can in that little hole in the wall you’ve called home since you fell. If not there, then that bookstore you love to frequent.” 

Ice filled my veins as my wings stood ever still, unmoving in the wind. I thought I’d been smart with hiding my scent from heavens beasts but if Maraxa managed to find me, that only meant others were soon to follow. The only way I could fix this situation was to find somewhere else to hide for a bit before my scent was picked up again. 

But I’d been so lucky to find that abandoned building. I couldn’t risk it again. 

“I didn’t expect to be on the Kingdom’s most wanted list.” 

A loud laughter echoed inside my mind. “The King doesn’t want you. He cast you for a reason, Lethia. It is Lucifer that sent me.” 

Lucifer’s face flashed in my vision for a brief second. Instead of feeling the usual love and adoration I’d felt before, now all I felt was dread. Darkness. Sadness. Fear. 

I swallowed thickly. “You can tell Lucifer if he wants me, he can come find me himself. Not to send one of his lackeys.” 

“Should he look for you in that crumbling building or with that young mortal man with the almond eyes,” the bull didn't flinch. 

My eyes snapped to the body to my left, the crow long gone, and all that stared back were those cold, vacant eyes. 

“It’s time to come home,” its voice spoke in my mind again just before it sunk its teeth deep into my throat. 

I awoke with a loud gasp, breathing uneven and labored as I clawed at the skin of my throat, checking to make sure there were no open wounds. But instead were now scratch marks as my nails dug deep. 

“Shit, Lethia,” large hands grasped mine to stop my attack on my throat.  

My eyes snapped up at the voice, almond eyes gazing down at me full of worry, only this time they were full of light and life. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” Noah’s soft voice cooed; exactly like earlier. 

Feeling the comfort radiate off of him made my heart rate immediately calm and I couldn’t stop myself as my fingers slowly grazed over his cheek; the feeling numb. 

Noah’s beauty was mesmerizing, the way his hair fell into his face in perfect waves, the way his lips curled up into a faint smile, and the freckles that peppered his nose and cheeks. Then lastly, those eyes and the way they drank me in. 

“Are you sure you’re not like me?” I whispered, fingertips tracing over his bottom lip. 

NOAH

“How is she?” I asked, all but barreling through the door of the green groom. 

Jolly, who was kneeling in front of the body on the couch, nodded. “She’s alright, hasn’t woken up yet.” 

Sighing, I set the bag of books down on the table and took Jolly’s spot, him giving my shoulder a reassuring squeeze. 

“Any idea what she was screaming before she passed out?” Nicholas wondered. 

“Lucifer,” I muttered, never taking my eyes off the sleeping form of Lethia. 

Her lips were parted slightly, a soft snore emanating from them, ebony colored hair fell into her eyes so I gently brushed it away; her face never reacting to my touch. 

Almost as if she couldn’t feel it. 

“I’m sorry,” Michael shook his head. “Did you say Lucifer? As in The Devil?” 

I pinched the bridge of my nose with a sigh. “It’s probably unrelated.” 

The sound of a bag rustling sounded in the small green room, Michael holding up the two books that belonged to Lethia. 

The Death of Socrates and The Secrets of Lucifer.

“Unrelated my ass,” Michael grumbled while tossing the books onto the table.

“What is your issue with her?” I asked while turning towards him, sitting on the edge of the couch. 

He shrugged. “She showed up broken in our driveway and didn’t even say thank you to you for taking her in and helping. Then you keep running into her. LA isn’t a small town, Noah. She’s stalking you.” 

“You don’t know that,” I narrowed my eyes toward him. 

Folio could immediately pick up on the tension so his calm voice spoke up. “Michael is just worried about you, Noah. That’s all. You guys just moved a few months ago because of previous stalkers.” 

I peered down at Lethia as she still slept. “Lethia’s not like the others. Every time we run into each other, she tries to get away from me.” 

“Maybe you should let her,” Michael grumbled under his breath. 

Choosing to ignore him, I looked up at the door to the room when it opened, Bryan walking in now. 

“Any luck?” I questioned. 

He hesitated before shaking his head. “The guy at the bookstore only knows her name and the kind of books she’s interested in; nothing else. She always picks up the books, never lets the store send them to her.” 

Fuck.

“Lethia mentioned that she was kicked out of her previous home,” I said. 

“Where does she stay then?” Jolly asked while crossing his arms. 

I shrugged. “No idea. She didn’t tell me.” 

When I noticed the name of the bookstore on the bag, I asked Byran if he could go find out any information. It had been bugging me for weeks since I first met Lethia to find out more about her; where she came from, where she lived, and what her obsession with finding Lucifer was.

I nodded at Bryan before resting my eyes on Lethia’s face once more, watching her sleep for a few long moments.

When I saw her out in the crowd tonight, I couldn’t ignore the way my heart skipped a beat or the way my hands shook with nerves. It always was like this when we found each other again, a feeling I couldn’t push deep down and lock away. Lethia was interesting and had her quirks, some of which I was desperate to find out. 

I couldn't let her leave here alone tonight. There was this pull deep within my chest that vibrated every time Lethia and I were nearby; just like right now. She needed my help whether or not she would admit it. 

“I think she needs a place to stay and try to get back on her feet,” I said while looking back over to Michael and Jolly. 

The latter nodded, immediately understanding what I meant. Michael, however, rolled his eyes. 

“We don’t have a guest room. It’s already a full house with the three of us and Jesse.” 

I shrugged. “I’ll sleep on the couch. She can stay in my room.”

“Noah, you know I’ll agree with you no matter what, but we’ve had issues with stalkers finding out where you live and leaving shit on your car. We can’t have this happen again,” Jolly said. 

“I know,” I nodded. “But Lethia’s different. She needs help and I want to. Just until she gets back on her feet.”

“Savior complex back?” Nicholas asked. 

“No! It’s just me being a decent human being,” I defended. 

Bryan snorted. “Yeah, her being attractive doesn’t have anything to do with this?” 

My cheeks burned as I shifted on the couch. “No.” 

“Right.”

A loud gasp had me snapping my head towards Lethia as she awoke, immediately clawing at her neck. Her black nails left red marks, deep and angry, and I grasped at her hands. 

“Shit, Lethia,” I cursed while grasping her hands. 

Her red eyes filled with fear and despair softened as soon as they met mine but her breathing was still erratic. 

“Hey, it’s alright,” I cooed. 

Lethia’s shaking fingers grazed over my jaw, nails tracing the pout of my bottom lip. 

“Are you sure you’re not like me?” 

Her voice was hushed so much that I had to lean into her touch, hoping I heard her correctly. I scanned over every soft feature of her face but sucked in breath suddenly. 

“Lethia, your nose. It’s bleeding,” I informed. 

Her hands went to her face, wiping away the dark blood; only hers wasn’t the typical crimson color. It was black. 

“Fuck,” she muttered as she stared at her hand. 

Folio handed her a tissue, one she took with a small smile. “Thank you, uh-.” 

“Nick but you can call me Folio,” he smiled. 

“Right,” Lethia nodded before sitting up, drawing her knees to her chest. “You were the one I attacked that night.” 

“Thank you for not doing it again,” he chuckled while packing up his things. 

She looked around the room skeptically until her gaze landed on Michael, a low scowl pulling on her lips. 

“Oh, it's you.” 

He crossed his arms. “Are you stalking Noah?” 

“Michael,” I warned with a stern voice. 

“Me stalking him?!” Lethia gasped while standing to her feet. “Everywhere I turn, he’s there.” 

“Maybe it’s some soul mate shit,” Bryan joked. 

I rolled my eyes as I stood to my feet next. “I don’t believe in soulmates.” 

Lethia cocked her head to the side as she peered down at the table. “My books.” 

“Yeah, I brought them back here with you after you passed out. I wanted to make sure you didn’t lose them,” I said. 

“Thank you,” she looked up at me through her lashes. 

“Can you guys give us a minute?” I asked the guys. 

Nodding, they all gathered their things before Lethia and I were alone. She refused to meet my gaze now, kept it trained hard on the books she had clutched to her chest. 

“How are you feeling?” I asked after a long beat of silence. 

“Fine.” 

I shifted on my feet, trying to gain the courage to bring up the idea of having her stay with me. 

“Is there a hotel where I can drop you off?” 

Lethia slowly raised her gaze to mine. “Hotel?” 

The confusion in her voice made me narrow my eyes slightly. 

“Unless you’ve found a house to stay in. I guess, is there anywhere you want me to take you? I can drop you off wherever or you could maybe stay here,” I rubbed the back of my neck nervously. 

The corner of her lip curled up in a quick smile.

“Nervous?” She jeered. 

I scoffed, trying to play it off, but she saw right through me. 

“What I’m trying to say is; is there anything I can do to help you, Lethia? I feel compelled ever since I found you in my driveway,” I admitted while taking a tentative step toward her. 

The hesitation was evident in the way her breath caught in her throat and her eyes widened. 

“Will you let me help you?” 

My voice was quiet as my fingers reached for hers and when our skin touched, it felt as if sparks shot off inside of me, igniting all five of my senses. My stomach flipped and my heart jumped into my throat when I linked our fingers together, squeezing her hand. 

Lethia never reacted to my touch. 

“Wh-why would you want to help me?” She stammered. 

“I help people I care about,” I answered as if it wasn’t a big deal. 

Her brows furrowed. “But you don’t know me, Noah.” 

I swallowed thickly hearing my name fall from her lips, it causing straight heat to shoot straight to my dick. 

“Come with me, stay at my place for a few days until you get back on your feet; figure out where you want to go,” I suggested with another squeeze of her hand. 

Again, no reaction. 

But I could see the internal battle within Lethia as her eyes darted between mine. Finally, her shoulders slumped as if the decision was made with so much thought it made her weak. 

“Ok,” Lethia agreed with a curt nod. 

I did my best not to show my excitement even though my heart was soaring. 

“But I have to take care of some things first,” she said before I could. “Then I’ll be ready.” 

“That’s fine. Did you want me to pick you up or something?” 

“No, that’s alright. I have my own means to get to your house,” Lethia waved me off. 

She went to walk away, ready to leave the room, until I called after her. “Can I have your phone?” 

“My what?” Lethia slowly turned on her heels. 

Fuck, she looked so cute with the way her nose scrunched up when she was confused; which seemed to happen a lot. 

“Your phone,” I couldn’t hold back my smile. 

Her eyes widened. “Oh right, that cellular device you humans use to talk to one another. I don't have one.” 

“You don’t have a phone?” I asked. 

“Why would I? I don’t have anyone to talk to besides you but it seems like we’re always destined to run into each other,” Lethia pointed a finger at me. 

Destiny. 

I didn’t know why but that word always made my body shiver with something I couldn’t put my finger on. I never believed in soulmates and that my soul was meant for one person only. Well, that was until Lethia seemed to fall from grace into my life a few weeks ago and all I could think about was her. My soul yearned for her in ways that physically made me weak. 

When I wasn’t in her presence, I spent my time holed up in the studio writing or bedroom trying to dream of her because that seemed to be the only time I could find with her. Those dreams felt so real each time even the fucking bird that seemed to watch us every time. 

Except for the last few days, when I did dream, it wasn’t of Lethia. It was of destruction and death, leaving me in a sweaty panic mess when I awoke.

“Noah?” 

Snapping out of my thoughts, I hummed in response to Lethia. 

“Give me some time. I’ll be at your house before midnight,” she said, clutching those books close to her chest. 

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come with you?” I ran a hand through my hair. 

Even though her smile was wide, I could see the fear behind her eyes. “I’ll be fine.” 

Just as she was about to walk out the door, I rambled off my address to her. 

“I remember!” Lethia’s sweet voice echoed back. 

NOAH

With careful precision, I straightened out the blanket on my bed and made sure the pillows were fluffed just right. On my desk was a stack of fresh, folded towels with some different toiletries Lethia might need. Jolly’s girlfriend left some shampoo and body wash behind the last time she stayed over and after double-checking with her, she gave me the okay to use them. 

I didn’t know if she needed an extra set of clothes so on the end of my bed was a pair of my sweats and a shirt, just in case. 

Running my hands over my thighs, I went through the mental checklist of everything as what seemed like a large bird flew past my window. 

Fresh bed sheets. 

Fresh towels. 

Comfy clothes. 

Toiletries. 

“Noah.” 

Spinning around, I gave a warm smile to Jesse and the form behind him. 

“She’s nervous,” Jesse mouthed before stepping to the side, showcasing Lethia. 

She was, in fact, nervous as she shifted on her feet with her bottom lip caught between her teeth. 

“Hi,” I said. “Did you take care of what you needed to?” 

“Yes,” she still stood outside my bedroom door, idly in the hallway. 

I waved her in. “You can come in.” 

Hesitantly, Lethia stepped past the threshold as her eyes took in almost every inch of my room. The lights were off, the only light emanating from the red LED behind my bed, and she quirked a brow at them. 

“So,” I ran a hand over my chest. “I left you some things in case you wanted to shower. And some extra clothes.” 

“This is where you sleep?” Lethia pointed to my bed. 

“Yeah, but don’t worry. You can sleep here, I’ll stay on the couch.” I assured her. 

I noticed she was still standing uncomfortably in the middle of my room, clutching a black bag to her chest. 

“Is that everything?” I asked. 

“Uh, yes. I didn’t have much. Just some clothes and books,” she said. 

“Like the ones I found on you earlier?” I asked while sitting on the edge of my bed. 

Lethia nodded, hesitantly following my lead. “Yes, I’ve been studying philosophy. It’s quite interesting learning about Socrates and his life.” 

She bounced a few times on the bed, a small giggle leaving her lips. “Oh, this is nice.” 

“My bed?” 

Her body fell in a heap against it, now a soft sigh emanating from her. “This is nothing compared to the clouds but fuck, I can’t believe I’ve been depriving myself of this kind of comfort.” 

I chuckled. “Well, make yourself at home.  I’ve also been reading up on philosophy. It’s always been a passion of mine. I might have some books lying around on my bookshelf. Feel free to read one that interests you.”

“That is very nice of you, Noah. You do not need to do all of this.”

Lethia gazed up at me, still lying back on my bed. 

I patted her knee. “I want to help you out any way I can, Lethia.” 

Slowly she sat up and stared for a long moment at my hand on her knee, her brows furrowed with confusion and anger. I went to pull away but her hand stopped me by resting on top of mine. The softness of her skin sent heat throughout my body. 

“I can’t feel you,” she muttered under her breath. “Why can’t I feel you?” 

“Wh-?” 

“Noah!” Jolly knocked on the open door, urgency in his voice. “There’s someone outside for Lethia. 

Her eyes snapped up towards Jolly. “Excuse me?” 

“She’s on the front step claiming she’s an old friend of yours,” Jolly informed. 

I narrowed my eyes. “How does she know Lethia is here?” 

A loud cawing caused me to jump towards the open window of my bedroom, a black crow sitting perched on the sill. The long white stripe of feathers down its spine told me it was the same one that had been haunting my dreams. 

“Fuck,” Lethia cursed when she eyed the bird. 

Before Jolly could answer, she was quick on her feet to push past Jolly, her loud footsteps descending the steps. 

LETHIA

Ignoring the wild looks from Noah’s other roommates, I whipped open the front door to be met with bright white eyes. Her usual long white hair was pulled back in a tight bun but her golden nose hoop stood out in stark contrast to the black night sky. It was weird not seeing her in the beast form she was known for; the one I saw earlier in my dream. 

Her human form was equally as daunting. 

“Maraxa,” I seethed while stepping outside, the door falling shut behind me. 

She eyed up the house. “Hm, cozying up with the mortal, I see. What would Lucifer say to this?” 

“I gave up caring what he thinks when he was the reason for my fall,” I sneered while crossing my arms; the leather of my jacket creaking. 

Maraxa clicked her tongue. “You chose to follow him, Lethia. The love you two shared was palpable. Untouchable. Not even the King could get between you two.” 

“If Lucifer loved me then why is he sending you to fetch me like I’m some kind of animal,” I seethed. 

“He’s a busy man. I’m sure you’ll understand once you're down there ruling beside him.” 

“Why do you want me to go back with you so badly? I know you’ve always wanted my place,” I said. 

An all too-knowing look flashed behind her white eyes even though they were filled with no emotion. 

“I live to serve my lord, Lucifer,” Maraxa simply said. 

“Well, you can tell your Lord that if he wants me beside him, he can come find me himself,” I swiftly spun on my heels, ready to head back inside. 

“He’ll search all four corners of the earth for you,” she called after me. 

“Let him!” I shot back, not bothering to look. 

It was Maraxa’s next words that gave me pause with my hand on the doorknob. 

“Your actions will get this mortal and his people killed!” 

I remembered the body with the gaping wound on his chest as he lay in the open field of angel dust. Those lifeless eyes that stared up at me during that dream weren’t like the ones that shined as they looked up at me as we sat together on his bed. 

“I’d rather cut off my wings than let that happen,” I vowed before slipping back inside the house.

[mischiefmaker615]

Ghost (Loki Love Story) Ch. 23

Loki’s face went as pale as hers as his mouth gaped open, trying to find a better solution while remnants and pieces continued to fall amongst them. ‘’wha- Y/N i-.. I can’t do that-‘’

‘’Loki..’’ she begged, her voice with held back agony while a hand reached out into the dirt, curling her fingers until they clenched into a fist while she pushed her cheek to the ground, trying to cope through the pain that shot through her with wave after wave. ‘’please.. I know you can do this but..’’ she inhaled sharply, her eyes squeezed tight. ‘’it will take to long for the others to get down here- let alone find us while the rest of the building is caving it.. we need to leave now..’’

‘’but-‘’

‘’Loki..’’

Loki gazed down at her, his body feeling extremely heavy on his knees while he lowered himself for his hands to fall forward into the dirt, taking a bowing position that seemed to beg her for him not to do this. Her feathered appendages were special, hers and something rare that he wasn’t even sure still existed with others out there.. she felt grounded now, being stuck together, now having this on top of that? ‘’Y/N..’’ he breathed, his voice shaking and barely above a whisper as he saw her clear as day through the smoke. He felt useless, powerless, weak, and didn’t even have enough magic in his reincarnated state to lift the rock he so easily could have when he was still alive. His fists clenched, hating himself, hating this, and felt his own tears fall onto his hands while Y/N weakly raised her head to look up at him, a pained smile that still told him it will be okay.

‘’please..’’ she whispered.

Loki held her gaze, his eyes giving her one last plea before he slowly rose when her eyelids began to flutter shut. He knew he had to move, and fast while more dust was thrust into the air by more falling wreckage, causing Y/N to cough weakly and flinch where it would shift her back to cause more pain.

His eyes fell upon a chard of glass, broken from one of the damaged windows and slowly picked it up, the blade cutting through his hand where he didn’t seem to notice. With heavy steps, he slowly moved himself over to her, his stomach twisting while her eyes followed him with a gentle smile, a sudden calmly peace washing over her as her trembling lips parted.

‘’it’s going to be okay..’’

Loki’s breath hitched, his chest tight at her soft words where he brought himself to his knees beside her, her hand slowly moving itself to rest against his knee and prepared to squeeze when the pain will show up. There was no other choice.. no other way.. he had to accept that, and the monstrous feeling that came with it as he gently placed a hand on her shoulder, small pressure being pushed down upon it to have her body turn every so slightly towards the ground, granting better access to her back.

Her wings were beyond under the concrete piece, nothing much left being shown attached to her back where he saw her muscles tense and tremble at the strain she was giving to grant his access. With a trembling hand, he slowly raised the glass, her reflection flashing upon it as he watched her slowly close her eyes and lay her head down before he held his own breath..

And brought it down.

~

Y/N gasped as her eyes shot open, flexing her muscles to jolt up but the pain in her back forced her to remain down. ‘deep breaths.. deep breaths.. what- what happened..’ her brain raced before she closed her eyes again and drew a breath. Everything was a blur, what happened?

She was laying on her stomach on a bed, the bedroom looking like someone previously lived here. It was.. homey.. but nowhere she recognized. She carefully placed her hands up to her shoulders, in a pushup position and drew in a breath. The pain shot again through her back, telling her getting up wasn’t going to be an option right now.

That’s right..

Her chest tightened as her memory began to come back.. the explosions, the building falling,.. the glass.. Loki-

Her eyes widened as her muscles tensed. Where the hell was he?? Was he okay?? Wait- how was he not here??

‘’I’m here love..’’

His familiar voice came from the other side of the room, making her turn her head to the other side to see he was making his way over in a fast pace before getting down on one knee to be at eye level with his hands gripping the edge of the bed beside her.

His eyes were almost bloodshot, showing he might not have gotten some sleep in awhile and looked paler than usual. His fingers gripped the side almost as if one was hanging off a cliff. His shoulders tense and his stare searching her everywhere but her eyes.  

‘’Loki.. what happened? Where am i?..’’ she whispered, her voice hoarse and she guessed it most likely was from the debris while his shared the same tone.

‘’Barton’s home.. his family resides here and has been nothing but welcoming to us- Rogers, us, Widow and Barton.’’ He said quietly, his eyes taking interest in the pillow under her head before she drew her hand to rest on his, almost getting him to look at her.

‘’..did-..are they-..’’ she whispered, almost not wanting to know, even if the pain in her back was enough to already tell her.

She could feel Loki’s hands squeeze into a fist with the sheets underneath wrinkling. His eyes stayed low before he slowly lowered his head to rest it into the mattress, a small flinch through his body showing that he was holding back tears.

‘’Loki.. Loki please.. it’s okay.. I asked you too-‘’

‘’you shouldn’t have..’’ he said quickly, his voice muffled but he almost seemed to hiss. ‘’I should have been strong enough.. I should have been making sure the area was safe or.. something- Tony’s defenses-.. there could have been a way! I know where could have been a-‘’

The hard slap on his hand made him quickly lift his head to gaze upon her, eyes wide and puffy with remnants of tears finishing their journey down his cheeks.

Her face was serious, eyes harsh but her grip on his hand was desperate, as if it willed his attention to stay on her and to stay calm. She was resting up on her forearms, one turned so her hand stayed on his. The pain shot through her back but he needed this.. he needed to see she was okay.. even if her body shook from it.

‘’listen to me..’’ she said carefully, her voice a little above a whisper. ‘’none of this is your fault. It’s nobody’s fault. I asked you to do something, and you did it.. and because of that, it saved my life.’’ Her voice softened at the last part, his eyes looking into hers finally where it seemed to have her chest tighten again at the sight.

‘’they are apart of you Y/N.. something precious.. special.. and I took it away..’’ he whispered, his face lowering to go back into hiding before her hand left his to catch his chin, lifting it up to look at her that now shared tears as well.

‘’I am who I am, with or without wings Loki.. nothing has changed at what I am, what I feel, and what I love.’’

‘’..so.. you still love me?” he whispered, his eyes almost not wanting to know the answer in fear that it may be a no.

Y/N gazed at him a moment, tilting her head a little in wonder at why he would ask when she clearly did love him.. unless.. ‘’Loki.. what are you not telling me?”

He was silent a moment, his eyes glancing to the side before returning to hers again, his body taking several breaths to speak before it would coward again. Her hand gently moved to his cheeks, his head tilting a bit to lean more into her touch before he gathered a breath to speak. ‘’..the curse is over darling.. we are no longer stuck together..’’ he whispered.

Y/N heart seemed to stop, her body tensing and almost flinched as the pain shot through her again, causing her to wince and her breath to hitch. Loki’s hand quickly took her hand, his eyes wide as if waiting to be told what to do.. how to help.. but she shook her head a little before she exhaled carefully to speak. ‘’removing my wings is what broke your heart.. that’s what broke it..’’ she thought out loud, her eyes wide as she looked upon the pain in his face, the agony he must have felt doing it and the memory that has been burned.

All he gave her was barely a nod, one that would be missed if you weren’t watching carefully. She didn’t even feel relief at the freedom, knowing the pain he was going through must be far more painful than losing her appendages. Slowly and carefully, using her forearms, she scooted herself over on the bed- it being large enough for two people anyway and she guessed it was Barton and his wife’s. making enough room, she patted the side beside her. ‘’come here.’’

With a moment of hesitation, Loki carefully rose- still in his attire he was to exhausted to remove- and carefully laid down beside her on his stomach, his side pressing up against hers while he supported himself on his forearms in a plank like position just like her. She then rested her hand in his, pressing her shoulder against his with a careful lean while her eyes told him to look at her.

‘’stuck or not Loki, I still choose you.’’ She said quietly, tears falling down her cheeks but her features were soft and relaxed.

Loki’s heart jumped; his eyes wide yet his expression hard to read; but she knew him. exhaustion seemed to rush over him, his shoulders slumping and an exhale left his mouth he didn’t know he was holding. Relief washed over him, his face pressing gently into her shoulder while she left the mattress shake a little, indicating he was crying while she squeezed his hand.

‘’I love you Y/N.. I really.. really.. do..’’ he whispered.

Y/N eyes closed as she left a smile tug her lips up, exhaustion consuming her as well as her hand lifted from his and began stroking his hair. His head immediately leaned into her touch before she left his body slowly lower to lay fully on his stomach, his arms curved to rest his head on them while she scooted a little to lay close to his side, also on her belly with an arm tucked under her and the other draping over his shoulder blades securely.

‘’I love you too Loki..’’

Tag List: @violethaze @fire-in-her-veinz

[lilap20]

CHAPTER I : The meeting of eyes

In the year 105, King Viserys organized moments of rejoicing for the birth of his future child, whom he said was the male heir. Rhaenyra 15 years towards his 16th year Nymeria 13 years towards his 14th year

PRINCESS POV

My mind frees as I observe the wings of my dragon getting lost in the clouds having its scale color, Nightmares seems to enjoy the flight although pressed by Syrax behind him who is doing everything to catch up with us.

Starting the day with a dragon race with my eldest is one of the best ways to spend the day. His dragon is bigger than mine in age but mine is taller and wider, its wings more spread than those of Syrax the golden dragon make it fast and agile.

Nightmares growls in the clouds as I dive through them allowing us to see King’s Landing, King’s Landing and the sea around us. The locals pay no heed to the dragons flying overhead, although they roar and growl in unison. Soon we arrive at the Dragonpit and my dragon's large wings make the dust rise. His landing makes the ground vibrate from his weight and he roars in victory because we have won my sister.

A smile hangs on my lips as I climb off him while stroking his long gray-white neck. He simpers a little with his blue gaze in mine as I laugh at my victory.

-Princess, I think it would be good if we allocated a new cave for Nightmares; he is getting too big for a closed cell, I would recommend an open cell. Meivos the goalkeeper intervenes

I nod positively towards the guardian, my hand warm on my dragon's scale and he does the same. Soon the ground is struck by the presence of Syrax and her dragon rider, the golden dragon roars in frustration something that can only make me laugh, and Rhaenyra gets off her, stroking her scales.

-It's nothing, we'll win another day. She whispers

The dragons easily surrender to the guardians and I turn to my sister with a big smile on my lips.

-I got you.

She laughs while pushing me then takes off her gloves with a blissful smile on her lips.

-He will become as big as Caraxes, your dragon.

-I hope so. I respond by taking her by the shoulders, a big smile stretching my lips

Rhaenyra greets the head of our father's Royal Guard and then runs towards her best friend Lady Alicent who is waiting for her in the carriage. I walk past them, glancing in greeting at the daughter of the Hand of the King.

-Did you enjoy your walk, Princess Nymeria? She asks with a beautiful smile

-I enjoyed it, thank you Lady Alicent. I answer as someone brings me my horse

I mount my pitch-black stallion without meeting my big sister's eyes. Not a day goes by without Rhae asking me to be more open with others, to get out of my books and open up to the people of this palace and to her friend. I just don't have time for that, I'm focused on my mother's fate, my apprenticeship, and my future trips if possible.

I leave the two young women there while my horse trots before galloping through the streets of the city. Freedom and the wind tangle my curly hair even more and I think my curls escaped from my thin braid once I passed the gates of the Red Keep.

-Ser Erryck, thank you for the welcome. I smile as I get off my horse while he holds the reins

-The Princess left early this morning. Said the man with the big beard like a Dotraki

-I have a lot of things planned before the Lords arrive for the big celebration. I explain as he entrusts my stallion to the squires

Following me closely, my faithful guard Ser Erryck Cargyll asks no more questions, following me wherever I go. We pass by my mother's rooms and he stops in front of the door before knocking on it announcing me.

-Mother, I said as I returned, I am back.

I see her laying on her sofa bed a fan in her hand as beautiful as the sunrise. The strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. When she sees me, her pale blue eyes light up and she holds out her hand to me, which I grab while sitting down in an armchair.

-How is my little dragon? She asks a suffering smile

My pale purple gaze slowly darkens as I look at her closer, she is so unwell, and no one wishes to free her from the burden she carries on her shoulders, the conception of a male heir.

-I'm fine mother, flying then galloping, are the best activities to start the day. I respond by stroking his thumb

She smiles at me again, standing up with a grunt and I quickly get up to support her, the servants doing the same. My mother suffers enormously, between unfinished pregnancies, babies who died in childbirth, it is the Gods who prevent her from going through it.

-I pray that the Gods help you mother to get through this ordeal. I breathe while taking a glass of water from him

She takes it with a grateful but grimacing smile as I sit up again running my hands through my completely disheveled hair.

-The Seven? she asks in a sly tone

I run away from his gaze, untangling my braid, letting go of my hair to drink from my glass, a laughing smile on my lips.

My Faith is not with the Seven Gods of these lands, but with the Gods of Ancient Valyria to the great dismay of many Maesters.

-My darling daughter, you should probably take a bath for the dragon scent before tonight, and comb her hair. Advises Queen Aemma to have a more serious look on her face

I stand up to kiss the forehead of the love that gave me life, then head towards the door, nodding.

-I promise mother, only I have to go to the Library, Lady Talyssa is waiting for me there.

-Good learning, my dear.

I close the door smiling at my knight as we head into the Library. Today I am wearing my mother's colors of pale blue, the dress is embroidered in gold, the blue fabric running down to my feet. My curly hair flows over my shoulders and back and the Lords and Ladies of the court bow to my presence, even my shadow.

Finally we arrive in front of the door of the Great Library where my friend and lady-in-waiting, Lady Talyssa, is waiting for me in the company of Maester Aerys.

When they see me, they both turn around and bow, which makes me laugh and roll my eyes.

-No need for that and you know it, I said, stepping forward with my hands clasped in front of me. So where are we?

-The Iron Islands your Highness. The Maester answers me

I like to educate myself, to learn a little more about what constitutes the Kingdom and what lies beyond it, what happened before us, our history.

So I immerse myself in my studies, marking, reading, discussing, to try to put everything together and understand better. When the Sun is high in the sky the servants bring us something to eat, and I barely touch my meal because I am so focused. Lady Talyssa, whose red hair is braided on her head, consults with equal devotion using her blue eyes the books in front of her.

That's how we met, in a library. She had escaped from the group of Lady sent by Tarth to court. I found him in the Great Library reading and looking at the maps. Since that day she has become my lady in waiting and my best friend. We never left each other, and I promised him that together we would travel a lot.

Night falls quickly without me even being able to see it coming, the Maester puts away the books while I still try to decode the language of the Dotraki, one of the most difficult languages ​​to learn. The sound of the door opening doesn't distract me, but my oldest's words do.

-Nymeria, we are expected, and you promised mom to take a bath because of the smell of the dragon. She growls with her hands on her hips

-Excuse me. I stand up to greet each person present

We run towards my apartments where the bath is already ready but probably lukewarm. I quickly undress, forgetting that the servants are there, then dive into my bath, asking for the sponge to soap me.

I hadn't noticed that it was late, I risked making us late. Damn Nymeria.

Once bathed, I am helped to put on my dress for the big bath. A white dress with puffed sleeves and a collar embroidered in red with dragons on it, a golden belt falls from my hips, it is fine and in harmony with the golden designs on my arms.

While Bila does my hair with two small braids gathered at the back that flow over the rest of my silver curly hair, I put on my rings and a beautiful pair of earrings.

-You are ready Princess. Said Eila one of my ladies as she finished tying my shoes

-Thank you girls, you are fast. I sincerely thank you before looking in the mirror

A beautiful Targaryen Princess, a true beauty, that's what my father says, and my uncle and my mother keep repeating. They never cease to salute our unreal and celestial beauty.

-My sister, we are expected. Rhae jumps impatiently

She is thirsty to see the crowd, thirsty to see people celebrating even if her heart keeps reminding her of our mother who is forced to be present this evening despite her suffering.

Rhaenyra is dressed in a golden dress flowing down to her straight feet, there are red trims on her dress and her hair is styled in a braid gathered into a beautiful back bun. Bejeweled I can notice the new necklace on her neck and see how proud she is to wear it. I can smell my uncle there without even seeing him, and Nyra meets my gaze.

-We'll discuss it later, she said, touching the necklace, father is waiting for us. She continues, pulling me with her hand

All the Lords of the Seven Kingdoms are present, even those coming from the North. Our arrival, although late, will be noticed and all eyes will be on us judging by the noise behind its doors.

-Ser Erryck is my mother already in the room? I ask looking at the door

-She is, Princess. My KingGuard answers me.

I swallow as does Nyra who holds my hand encouraging me to go. Ser Erryck asks for the door to be opened and the sight of all these people seated at a table for a newborn who has not yet arrived almost turns my stomach.

Our arrival makes noise, the benches push each other, the cries settle down to a faint whisper as my sister and I cross the room, at the same time the valet announces our titles.

-Princess Rhaenyra and Princess Nymeria Targaryen, daughters of King Viserys I and his Lady, Queen Aemma.

My mother's eyes shine as she sees us walking with our heads held high, while everyone around us lowers them. Nyra and I are one in these moments, even if we are different, both physically and personally. Where Rhaenyra is sophisticated and dazzling, I am natural and simple, but I excel in knowledge while my sister doesn't like studying.

I can see my uncle Daemon smiling at us and I smile back happy to see him. Quickly my sister and I took our respective places. I furtively kiss my mother's forehead before letting my gaze wander over the guests refusing to listen to my father and his dream story once again.

Quickly I find the Northern table and I observe Lord Rickon Stark with his bannermen, next to him, a young man with closed faces and neutral looks is painted in front of me. He looks at the king with a blank expression and alone reflects the Northern beauty, rustic, virile, but with attractive features. His hair is shaved on the sides but braids adorn his head with a small beard his ringed hands are clasped in front of him.

-To the Queen! Do they all shout?

I jump when I hear them, fear painting my face cutting me off from my adoration of the Nordien. Nyra gives me a sideways glance as she sits down and I do the same. How many people noticed my daydream?

I am between my mother and my uncle Daemon, my eldest is between my father and my mother.

My mother, this pure diamond, smiles despite her great fatigue and suffering, dressed like a Queen and wearing her hair like one, she thanks each Lord and Lady who comes to greet her and shower her with gifts.

Discreetly while we are being served the good dishes, I squeeze his hand under the table which attracts his attention. If only she could speak High Valyrian we could have spoken out loud and not whispered.

-How are you ? I ask in one breath

A tender smile appears on his face and his hand caresses my cheek tenderly.

-I'm fine, my miracle, after eating I'll retire to my apartments, the party won't be too long for me. Does she reassure me

I nod gently, turning back to my plate, getting ready to eat. Only I have no appetite, I only eat a little bread and cheese, my turkey and the game hunted for this evening remain intact on my plate.

I huff terribly from boredom, and the guests are already dancing downstairs, Rhaenyra has already lured Alicent for a dance and I enjoy watching them. My eyes fall on the Northerners, and what I see arouses my curiosity. They are loud, and only talk to each other, they are respectful to the maids although some are drunk, but they show no signs of disrespect.

My gaze again finds this same young man next to the Lord of Winterfell, he also laughs, relaxing the features of his face, and while many will think that his features are boorish or brutal, I find them attractive and full of mystical beauty. He looks like a young warrior straight out of my story and poetry books.

My gaze stays on him, and my throat goes dry as I can't look away, behind me I can hear Ser Erryck asking me if everything is okay, but I don't think I really answered.

-His name is Cregan Stark dear niece, he is the future Lord of Winterfell and Governor of the North.

My uncle's voice startles me and I turn quickly towards him. His childish, sly smile that almost never leaves his face when he faces me welcomes me.

-You scared me, Uncle Daemon. I respond by pushing him a little

His laugh makes me laugh, he has always managed to make me laugh even when I am concentrated in my studies, he is the one who relaxes us in times as oppressive as tonight.

-And you, you are almost drooling on the Northerners' table. Daemon mocks

I feel the blush rising in my face and look away from my uncle to look at them again, young Cregan Stark does not move from his remaining seat with his father while others from his table go off to dance.

-He must be in his tenth and eighth year, and he is very tense. His fighting skills are exemplary and worthy of a true warrior. Continue my uncle always with this sly smile

-Why tell me all this? I finally ask looking at him again

His smile widened.

-And take off that smile if you want. I blush even more

-You are so curious, my dear niece, I thought you would like to know more about the young Lord. He replies, shrugging his shoulders.

I lower my eyes to answer.

-Perhaps you are not wrong, uncle.

Daemon bursts into loud laughter and even though the music is loud, some people notice him, including young Stark. My body becomes one with the chair now that I meet his black gaze as deep as the night. He doesn't smile, only nods at me and I do the same, watching him then turn to his father to argue.

-You got me noticed. I scold annoyed at my uncle

-A good point for you, it will be easier for you now to ask him to dance. He said, winking at me.

My fist goes to his shoulder and he laughs a little more calming down, then out of nowhere he pulls out a small bag and hands it to me.

-Gifts from my travels, hoping that they will allow me to be forgiven for my indiscretion.

I can see my mother glancing at the bag containing the presents my uncle gave me, though she's not worried about what he might give Rhaenyra because usually they're jewelry, she's Worried about me because my uncle is bringing me more masculine gifts.

My eyes light up when I first take out a magnificent compass and when I open it tears almost fall.

-It's made of pure gold, I couldn't help but draw your Dragonstone marker above the hands. He explains

Indeed the mark of all Targaryens is engraved on the top face inside the compass, the hands can point to all the kingdoms of the Seven Kingdoms and the worlds explored by man thanks to the drawing on it.

-She is magnificent, uncle. I thank the throat tied with emotion

-If you like it, I'll be delighted. He said with a sincere smile

A muffled noise cuts off our discussion and I turn to my mother who gets up as discreetly as possible. I waste no time and get up to help him as best I can.

-Don't get up Prince Daemon, she said, stopping Daemon who was heading towards her, I want to go out discreetly, without attracting more attention.

Daemon nods and my mother smiles gratefully at him before slipping into the arms of her ladies who carefully guide her towards her chambers. I sit back down, not without looking at her until she disappears from my field of vision.

-Ser Erryck? I call softly but firmly

-Yes Princess? The guard kneels to be at my height

-Follow my mother until she returns to her chambers, then please come back, I want to make sure the ride goes well.

My gaze meets his and he responds with a nod before walking towards my mother. Despite the presence of my most faithful companion, I do not feel reassured.

-Everything will be fine, my little traveler, your mother is strong, and your knight is with her. Daemon reassures me

-Thank you Uncle, I smile.

-Now that no one is really looking at us and your knight is not here, here is your second gift.

Daemon takes out a long leather sleeve from his large bag at the foot of the table and my heart panics.

-It is…

-Take it out, but discreetly. Daemon whispers

I look around making sure no one is looking at me then I caress the leather before grabbing the gift's grip. I take a sword out of the sheath, and my eyes flow with tears that I hold back. It is medium but large, a gold bracelet surrounds the leather sleeve its touch is almost like that of dragon scales, and the blade is as thin as a needle. The Targaryen symbol sits on top of it and I can't help but widen my eyes.

-It’s Valyrian steel. I whisper amazed

-Yes, like Dark Sister. Now put that blade away before someone confiscates it from you.

I put away my beautiful sword, and jump into the arms of my surprised uncle, who hugs me protectively.

-Thank you uncle, I will never forget this gift. I thank him with tears in my eyes

-You’re welcome, little traveler, now go and enjoy the evening, or the cards that I had delivered to your rooms. He said with a wink.

I jump out of my chair not without kissing his forehead, I greet my father with a gentle bow before kissing his cheek then, with Ser Erryck at my side, I head to my room where my new cards are waiting for me, my sword and my compass upon me.

Only, as I stay up in the late evening lit by the candles in my room, the look of young Stark haunts my vision and my thoughts. I can't get rid of him, I force myself to forget him but his look dominates my thirst for knowledge. Exhausted, my eyes red from the effort, I go to my bed and collapse from fatigue, and my last vision are his eyes.