The world began to bleed before Elain realized she was dreaming.
She stood in a gardenābut it was not her own. These roses were a bruised, sickly hue, their petals so dark they bordered on obsidian, and the thornsā¦ the thorns pulsed. They beat with a heavy, visceral rhythm, as if the earth itself possessed a heart. Above, the sky was no sky at all, but a veil of eternal twilight, thick enough to press the air from her lungs. She inhaledāand tasted iron. Blood. It was always the scent of blood.
Beneath her feet, the roots shifted. Not a mere movement, but a hunt. They coiled around her ankles, tightening, claiming her, as if the soil meant to drag her down into the dark. Elain tried to pull away, but the garden answered with violenceāthorns tore into her skin like feline claws, and flowers bloomed with a frantic, sickening speed, splitting open like raw wounds.
āNoā¦ā Her voice was a frayed thread, distant even to her own ears. āPleaseāā
The shadows arrived before the panic could fully swallow her. First, a whisper of cold. Then, a touch. Gentleāalways so devastatingly gentle.
The roots hesitated for a heartbeat. It was enough. The shadows slid around her like a protective shroud, pushing back the encroaching thorns, soothing the jagged growth. They werenāt the shadows of her nightmareāthey were his
Elain didnāt need to turn to know. But she did anyway.
Azriel stood there. He didnāt look as he usually did in the halls of the River Houseāsolid, silent, a watchful sentinel. Here, he was sharper. More ancient. So charming. It was as if this dark, twisted realm recognized something in him that the waking world dared not name. His wings were partially unfurled, great spans of midnight, and shadows danced along his shouldersārestless, tethered, but utterly devoted.
āYou shouldnāt be here,ā she whispered, even as relief seeped into her marrow like sunlight.
He studied her, his hazel eyes weighing secrets he didn't want to name. āNeither should you.ā
The roots surged again, more vicious this time, sensing the intruder. The garden did not like his presence. Or perhapsā¦ it feared it. Elain swallowed hard as the thorns began their climb once more, reaching for her trembling hands.
āI canāt stop it,ā she admitted, her voice breaking. āI triedāIāā
The first note struck before she could finish. Low. Deep. A sound so hauntingly beautiful she thought sheād imagined it. Azriel closed his eyes, and thenāhe began to sing.
It wasnāt a song Elain knew. It had no words, it was more feeling than sound. An ancient melody that vibrated inside her, anchoring her soul to the earth. His shadows moved with the music, swaying, wrapping around her limbsānot to restrain her, but to keep her from shattering.
The roots stilled. They seemed toā¦ listen.
Something deep within Elainās chest responded. Not to the fear, not to the painābut to the song. Her heart tightened as she realized he wasnāt trying to break the gardenās will.
He was reaching for hers.
āStay with me,ā he murmured between the notes, his voice rough and realātoo real for a dream. āNot with this.ā
The flowers hesitated. Their colors began to bleed, shifting from that violent crimson to something softer. Elain closed her eyes. For the first time, she didnāt fight the vision; she leaned into it. She felt the earth, the growth, the agony, and the lifeāall tangled together in a messy, beautiful web. And thenāwith the care of a gardener planting a seed in winterāshe chose.
The roots receded. The thorns withdrew. And the flowersā¦ they bloomed. Truly bloomed. When Elain opened her eyes, the garden was still there. But it was no longer against her.
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