The key to deceiving people is believing your own lie. And Adara Vanserra had spent years – centuries – perfecting this ability. She knew how to make anyone see what she wanted them to see.
So how was the Night Court’s Spymaster able to read her in a way no one else could? And why did she want to abandon her carefully constructed mask around him?
Azriel hated working with others, especially those he didn't trust. And there was no way he could ever trust a Vanserra. Even one as captivating and infuriating as Adara.
So why did working with her feel as easy as breathing? And how did she get under his impenetrable armour so fast?
This fic is a long slow-burn, set during ACOSF, focusing on Azriel and the mysterious Adara Vanserra, Eris' own spymaster. Each chapter alternates POVs between Azriel and Adara, following their internal struggles as their tense relationship slowly evolves into something more. I have already written all 60k+ words in twenty-two chapters, so updates will be coming regularly! You can also find it on Ao3 here.
I've been working on this fic for months and months, and I am so excited to finally share! (I will still be writing and posting smaller fics for other fandoms and characters while these chapters come out).
TW: There will be canon-typical violence, but also mentions of childhood trauma/abuse and past SA. Please only read what you are comfortable with!
Friendly Reminder (spoilers for throne of glass series)
Sam cortland was tortured, whipped, beaten, his eyes gouged out etc but he was okay with it because he thought celaena was okay.
Aelin Ashryver Galathynius is currently being tortured, whipped, beaten, cut up etc but she’s okay with it because it means Rowan is okay.
Also, sam and celaena’s relationship was 2 months, 3 days and 8 hours. Almost the same amount of time Aelin was tortured. If celaena had gotten there one hour earlier, Sam would be alive. If Rowan got there one hour later, Aelin would be dead.
Summary: Azriel saves a mute fae woman left for dead after an ambush. Haunted by her silence, he finds himself drawn to her, not out of pity, but recognition. She reminds him of something he lost… and something he never thought he'd find again.
Warnings: Mentions of past abuse & torture (non-graphic but emotionally heavy), trauma responses including selective mutism, violence, aftermath of assault, PTSD, survivor's guilt, anxiety, grief and loss of family, slow emotional healing and intimate recovery scenes, soft angst + comfort
Word count: 12.6k
A/N: Hi! Thank you so much for reading 💛 English is my third language, so if you spot any grammar mistakes or odd phrasing, please be kind! I’m doing my best. Feedback is always welcome, especially if it's helpful and respectful. This fic is really close to my heart. It’s about healing, trust, and connection without words and I hope it speaks to you, even if it's quiet.
masterlist
Smoke still clung to the charred ruins of the village, curling through the early dusk air like ghostly fingers refusing to let go. The ground was slick with soot and blood, a patchwork of scorched cobblestones and scorched earth. The scent, acrid, raw, was more than just fire. It was despair, clinging to the bones of the place like a second skin.
Azriel stood beside Rhysand and Cassian at what had once been the village square, soldiers and warriors surrounding them. Now it was just rubble. A well had collapsed inward, blackened beams jutted from the earth like broken ribs, and half-burned furniture lay strewn about, a child’s wooden toy horse among them, snapped in half. It was quiet now, but not peaceful. Too quiet. The kind of silence that hummed with what had been done.
“They came through at night,” Rhysand informed everyone, his voice low and tightly leashed. “Wards were weak, barely held together. Half the villagers were Fae with lesser magic. Some couldn’t even defend themselves. The males who led the attack… they didn’t just want to kill.”
Cassian’s jaw flexed. His wings twitched, as if he couldn’t decide whether to fold them in or unfurl them in rage. “They weren’t just soldiers. They were predators.”
Azriel didn’t speak. His shadows slithered around his boots, darting in agitated wisps toward the edges of the square, as if still seeking out threats or witnesses. They found neither.
“The ones we caught,” Rhys continued, staring at the wreckage like it personally offended him, “are in chains. The rest… fled before we arrived. The survivors, the ones hiding, have been found. Healers are seeing to the injured. Children have been taken in by the temple elders from the northern hillside.”
Azriel’s shadows whispered again. A soft, mournful hum.
“It’s done,” Rhys said, scanning the hollowed shells of cottages and shattered windows. “Everything that can be done, has been. It’s over.”
But it didn’t feel over. Not to Azriel. Not with the metallic tang of blood still staining the air. Not with the look on that elderly female’s face when she had asked them, in a broken voice, “Why didn’t anyone come sooner?”
He hadn’t had an answer.
Rhysand glanced between Azriel and Cassian after the soldiers left, noting their silence. His own eyes, usually glowing with a spark of slyness, were dull. Exhausted. “You can rest now,” he said. “Or go home.”
Azriel looked past him, to the tree line beyond the village where the smoke thinned into mist. He caught a glimpse of a child sitting on a stone step, clutching a burned blanket, eyes hollow. The child didn’t cry. Just stared.
Rhys would return to Velaris. To Feyre. To warm arms and gentle laughter. To peace. But Azriel and Cassian… they had always found peace harder to carry. Harder to believe in.
“I’ll fly back in the morning,” Cassian said, rolling out his shoulders. “Want to make sure the families here have shelter. Food. Some of them don’t even have shoes.” He paused. “It still feels… raw.”
Azriel gave a quiet nod. “I'll stay here, too.”
Rhys hesitated, as if he wanted to protest, to pull rank. But then he just studied their faces and sighed.
“Fine. But rest, both of you. You're of no good use if you overstrain yourself,” he said softly. Then he was gone, winnowing in a shimmer of darkness and violet starlight.
The world felt heavier once he left.
Cassian turned toward a row of broken homes and muttered, “I’ll check the supply wagons again, make sure nothing’s gone missing.”
The village quieted further without him. Just the sound of crackling embers and murmuring healers in the distance. Cassian broke off to check the perimeter, but Azriel lingered by the outskirts, near the forest line.
The temporary camp had been set up just beyond the village outskirts, a collection of tents pitched beneath the shadow of the pines, where the smoke from the ruins thinned into something cleaner, but not quite peaceful. The sky had bled into twilight, bruised and streaked with orange. The smell of fire still lingered on the wind.
Azriel stepped into the tent he shared with Cassian, a canvas shelter thrown together more for function than comfort. His leathers creaked as he unbuckled his chest plate, his siphons clicking faintly as he set them down beside the low cot.
Cassian wasn’t there yet, probably still helping rebuild the central well, or lifting logs like they were made of kindling. Azriel rolled his shoulders and sat down heavily, stretching out his long legs and leaning back against the support pole. For a moment, he let the silence settle around him. He closed his eyes. Exhaled.
Then a shadow darted into the tent like a dagger. Fast. Sharp. Urgent.
Azriel’s eyes snapped open.
He didn’t need words. His shadows never spoke in them, not truly, but their intent thrummed through him like a pulse. There’s another. A survivor. Still out there. Still in pain.
He was already moving.
Armor forgotten, he strapped his siphons back on with swift, practiced movements and swept out of the tent without a word. No time to tell Cassian. No time to alert the others. His shadows were already leading the way, slithering ahead of him like smoke toward the trees.
The forest was dark, dense. Pines loomed like sentinels, and the path was barely a path at all, just loose soil and patches of moss tangled with roots. Azriel moved like a ghost, silent and fast, eyes trained ahead, shadows feeding him flashes of what they’d sensed.
Fae. Alive. Hurt. Alone.
He ran deeper, branches clawing at his shoulders and wings, the shadows growing sharper in their urgency. The quiet of the woods wasn’t peaceful, it was stifling. Suffocating. No animals moved. No birds cried.
Something clenched in his chest.
Then, a scent.
Blood. Faint, old. Human-like, but Fae.
His shadows curled tight around a cluster of trees, and Azriel slowed. Stepped carefully now. Each footfall deliberate. His siphons glowed faintly, casting a subtle blue hue against the undergrowth.
And then he saw her.
She was barely a shape in the gloom, slumped against the base of a thick pine, her body partially hidden by brush and shadow. A small Fae woman. Her wrists were bound cruelly above her head, tied to the tree with frayed rope that had cut deep into her skin. Her dress was torn, legs smeared with mud, face streaked with dried blood. One of her ankles looked swollen.
Her eyes were closed. Chest rising shallowly. Not asleep, not unconscious, just… still. Too still.
Azriel’s heart lurched. For a split second, he feared she was already gone.
He was beside her in a blink.
“Hey,” he said softly, dropping to one knee, his siphons dimming as he reached out. “Can you hear me?”
Nothing. Not even a flinch.
He hovered a hand near her cheek, not touching, not yet. “You’re safe now. I’m not here to hurt you.”
Slowly, slowly… her lashes fluttered.
She didn’t open her eyes, but her body tensed. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came.
Azriel felt it then, not just the physical damage, but the weight of something deeper. A silence that had settled into her bones. Not shock. Not in this moment. This silence was old. Familiar.
He reached for the ropes carefully, cutting through them with a dagger he pulled from his belt. The bindings snapped with a dry crack, and her arms slumped forward, too weak to catch herself. Azriel caught her gently, cradling her body with one arm as he sliced the rope from her wrists.
She didn’t try to pull away. But she didn’t relax either.
“You’re okay,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”
She blinked again, just once, then lifted her hand weakly, her fingers twitching in the air.
Signing.
Clumsy. Slow. As if she hadn’t done it in years.
Azriel’s breath caught. He understood.
“Don’t hurt me.”
He remembered the signs from centuries ago. His throat worked around the knot forming there. He shook his head, voice a whisper. “Never.”
Another flicker of fingers.
“I couldn’t scream.”
She wasn’t just mute from pain. It was something older. Deeper. She hadn’t screamed because she couldn’t.
Azriel gently gathered her into his arms. She was light, too light. Starved and cold. Her fingers clutched weakly at the collar of his leathers as he stood.
“I’m taking you back,” he said, already moving through the trees. “You need to see a healer."
And though she didn’t speak, he felt it, a shiver in her body. Not of fear, but something near it. Not trust, not yet. But recognition. A thread, fraying and fragile, tying her to this moment.
To him.
His shadows twined around them both as he carried her toward the broken village, a silent promise echoing in the night: Never again. Never left behind.
Azriel moved quickly through the woods, his steps fast but careful as he cradled the small Fae female against his chest. Her weight was next to nothing. Too thin. Her head lolled weakly against his shoulder, but every now and then, he felt her tense-sharp flinches whenever his boots crunched too loud, or when a branch snapped somewhere nearby.
Trauma lived in every muscle of her body.
“You’re safe,” he murmured again, more for her than himself. “Just a little longer. The healers will take care of you.”
She didn’t respond, didn’t sign, didn’t lift her head, but he felt her heartbeat flutter like a bird’s wing, fast and erratic against his arm.
The treeline broke, and the village came back into view: still smoldering, still broken. Torches burned in a quiet perimeter around the camp. The night had deepened now, casting everything in a dull, aching gray.
Azriel descended the last rise toward the path leading to the camp when a familiar voice called out.
“Az?” Cassian emerged from around a pile of crates, brow furrowed. He froze mid-step as his eyes landed on the figure in Azriel’s arms. “What the hell?”
“She was in the woods,” Azriel said without slowing, his voice clipped but steady. “Tied to a tree. Alive. Barely.”
Cassian’s face darkened. “You’re serious?”
Azriel gave a sharp nod, eyes flicking down to the female in his arms. She kept her face turned inward, buried against his shoulder, as if the mere sight of another male might break her.
Cassian stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Where exactly did you find her?”
“Half a mile east of the perimeter,” Azriel said. “Tucked into a tree line past the ravine. They left her there.”
Cassian’s fists clenched. “Left her?”
Azriel didn’t miss the way her shoulders flinched again. He tightened his hold around her protectively.
Cassian’s expression softened just slightly as he crouched to her eye level. “Do you remember who did this to you?” he asked gently.
She stirred then. A hand moved hesitantly from Azriel’s chest, slow and trembling, as if even that effort cost her. Her fingers began to move, barely forming a sign before faltering.
“She can’t speak,” Azriel said quietly, his shadows curling around her like a shield. “She’s mute. I think she always has been.”
Cassian blinked, stunned. “Shit.”
“She couldn’t scream,” Azriel went on, his voice sharper now, more bitter. “That’s probably why they left her. Grew tired of her when she didn’t make enough noise while they—” He cut himself off, his jaw locking. “The marks on her body… they didn’t come from the ropes alone.”
Cassian swore under his breath, eyes flicking with a warrior’s rage and a male’s sorrow. “Monsters.”
Azriel looked down at her. “She needs a healer. Now.”
Cassian nodded immediately and moved aside, clearing the path ahead. “Go. I’ll make sure they know to expect you.”
Azriel strode past him, his steps swift as he made his way to the makeshift healer’s tent at the edge of the village. It was lit with soft blue faelight, quiet voices murmuring within. He ducked inside.
The healers, two older Fae females and a half-Illyrian male apprentice, looked up in surprise.
“She’s injured,” Azriel said. “Badly. Found her just now.”
One of the healers, a calm-eyed woman named Thera, stepped forward and motioned for him to lay the girl down on the cot. “Bring her here, carefully.”
Azriel hesitated only for a second. He turned to the girl in his arms, his voice soft. “You’re with healers now. No one will hurt you. I promise.”
She looked up at him, finally meeting his gaze.
There was nothing left in her eyes, no fight, no anger, not even fear. Just exhaustion. And behind it, buried deep, something older. A wound without a name.
He set her down gently. Her fingers twitched, but she didn’t pull away from his hand until the healer nudged him back.
“We’ll take it from here,” Thera said gently, already unfastening the remnants of the ropes from her wrists.
Azriel didn’t move far. He stayed just a few steps away, arms crossed, shadows flicking around him protectively like they were refusing to let go of her.
Cassian appeared in the tent’s entrance, arms crossed, watching her with the same quiet horror Azriel had swallowed down moments before.
“She’s lucky you found her,” Cassian said after a beat. “Another night out there and…”
Azriel didn’t look at him. His eyes stayed on her face, on the way she winced at every touch, even the gentle ones. “It’s not luck.”
His voice was low. Absolute.
“She was meant to survive.”
────────────
Warmth.
That was the first thing she noticed.
Not the cloying, suffocating heat of ropes cutting into her skin or the rank, sticky breath of her captors. No. This warmth was soft. Dry. Almost… clean.
A blanket. Someone had tucked a blanket around her.
She blinked her eyes open. Faint blue light bathed the room, soft and shifting like water. The ceiling above her was canvas, not sky. She was lying on a cot. Her arms, for once, were free.
Her throat tightened.
I'm not tied up.
But her wrists still ached. Her whole body felt stiff, like her bones had forgotten how to lie still without pain. The pressure at her ankle pulsed in slow waves, wrapped now in linen and balm. She smelled herbs. Clean ones. And something else, leather, faint smoke, a scent like fresh wind after a storm.
She turned her head. He was there. The male who had found her. The quiet one. The one made of shadows.
He sat just beyond the edge of the cot, wings tucked in tight, shadows flicking softly around his shoulders like living smoke. His siphons gleamed blue in the faint light. But he was sitting like a sentry, not a predator.
He was watching her without staring, his expression unreadable. Not cold. Not cruel. Just... steady. A pillar in the storm.
She tried to move her hand. It shook.
The blanket slipped off her shoulder and panic rose like bile in her throat. She flinched, curling slightly, waiting for the blow, for the sneer, for the voice that would growl “Don’t waste my time again, mute girl.”
But nothing came. The shadows stirred. Not toward her, around her.
A gentle breeze kissed her temple. Not wind, not air, shadow. It felt like someone brushing hair from her face.
Her vision blurred. She blinked fast.
The last thing she remembered clearly was the sound of boots. Loud. Heavy. She'd kept her eyes closed as the footsteps approached the tree, too exhausted to move, too broken to care. She had thought, truly, deeply, this is the end. The males who left her had no interest in finishing the job. They just didn’t want to look at her anymore. She hadn’t made enough noise for them.
So she stayed silent. Even when it hurt. Even when the ropes cut skin. Even when she bled. And they’d left her. Forgotten. Until him.
She turned her head again. Looked at him. His shadows stilled. Not gone, never gone, but quiet. Curious.
She lifted her hand. Slow. Trembling.
Signed: “Thank you.”
His head tilted slightly, and to her shock… he understood. He nodded once, low and firm, and murmured, “You don’t have to thank me.”
She stared at him.
Another sign: “You know?”
A pause. Then: “I do. A long time ago.” His voice was a whisper. Rough and soft at once. “I used to know someone like you.”
The words made her throat burn. Something inside her cracked open a little, not wide enough to be a wound, but enough to let air in. Enough to breathe again.
Her hand fell slowly back to her chest, the simple motion of signing already exhausting.
But he didn’t look away.
Azriel’s shadows curled faintly, retreating to his shoulders like they were giving her space. His wings shifted slightly, and then, with a quiet rustle, he moved closer. Not looming. Not hovering. Just near enough that his voice could stay low.
“Do you have a house here?” he asked, careful and quiet, like he was afraid to press too hard. “I could check. See if anything’s left.”
She looked at him for a long moment. Then, slowly, painfully, her fingers began to move again.
“I saw it burn.”
Azriel’s breath caught, but he didn’t interrupt.
“My sister was inside. I couldn’t—”
Her hands trembled too much to finish. The signs faltered and fell apart, and her throat clenched in frustration. Not being able to scream was one thing. But not being able to say it, even now, made the grief coil tighter around her chest.
Azriel didn’t ask for more. Didn’t demand she finish.
“I’m sorry,” he said instead, his voice rough. He shifted again, closer but not touching, and added, “You’re sure you’re alone now?”
She nodded once. It was the hardest motion of all.
For a long moment, neither of them said anything. The healer’s faelight swirled around them, blue and soft. Outside, the quiet hum of the camp settled into the air — the distant sound of Cassian’s voice barking orders, wood being stacked, water poured.
And still Azriel sat with her.
Then he spoke again. “We’re going to rebuild the village. All of it. We’ll keep it safe. I promise you, this will never happen again.”
She looked at him, not with hope, not yet. But with a fragile thread of belief. Not because she trusted easily, or because his words were sweet. But because his eyes didn’t lie.
Because when he said we’ll rebuild, she knew he meant every stone, every broken family, every shattered soul, including hers.
And he wasn’t promising to fix her.
He was promising that she wouldn’t have to do it alone.
────────────
The war room in the House of Wind smelled of parchment, cedar, and the faintest trace of lavender, likely from something Feyre had left behind. Morning light streamed through the high windows, catching on the scattered maps and marked reports laid across the obsidian table.
Rhysand stood at the head, fingers steepled under his chin as his violet eyes swept over the latest reports.
“They’re calling it Emberon now,” he said at last, tapping a finger to the northern ridge of the map. “The villagers decided on it a few days ago. Said they wanted something that acknowledged the fire, but didn’t let it define them.”
“Emberon,” Cassian echoed, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed. “Has a ring to it.”
“Poetic,” Azriel added, though his voice was low, contemplative. His eyes lingered on the spot on the map, far beyond the borders of Velaris. The smoke and ash had long since cleared, but the memory remained vivid, especially one particular memory.
Rhys nodded. “Most of the homes are rebuilt. They’ve started clearing out the western fields for planting again. The last supply drop from Velaris got there two days ago. But I want to see it myself.”
“You’re going?” Cassian asked.
“I’ll only stay for the day. Feyre’s painting again, and Nyx has been using my leathers as a canvas. But I want to speak to the village leaders in person. Make sure they have what they need.”
“I’ll come,” Cassian said immediately. “I want to see the families again. The way they bounced back from that mess…” He trailed off, eyes hardening. “They deserve everything we can give.”
Rhysand turned to Azriel. “You?”
Azriel didn’t answer right away. His shadows curled thoughtfully across his shoulders, stirred by something quieter than words.
In truth, he’d been thinking about that village for days. Ever since the last courier had brought back news of a functioning market square and newly laid stone paths, a thread of thought kept pulling at him.
The girl.
The one he’d found bound to a tree, all bone and silence, eyes hollow from more pain than any person should endure. She hadn’t spoken, couldn’t speak, but her hands had told him enough.
He never got her name.
She’d stayed in the healer’s tent the last time he saw her, still too weak to walk. When he and Cassian had flown back to Velaris days after the attack, she hadn’t woken to say goodbye.
He hadn't expected her to. But he had thought about her far more than he admitted, wondered if she had a roof again, if she still flinched in her sleep. If she still signed “thank you” with trembling hands.
Azriel looked up. “I’ll come.”
Cassian raised a brow. “Didn’t think you’d say yes. Thought you were brooding too hard in your tower lately.”
Azriel gave him a flat look. “I’ll be brooding in the skies today.”
Cassian grinned. “That’s the spirit.”
Rhysand just offered a small nod. “Then we leave within the hour. Bring warm gear, it still gets cold up in those hills.”
As Rhys vanished to prepare, Cassian stood and stretched with a dramatic groan. Azriel remained seated, tracing his gaze over the inked lines of Emberon on the map. It wasn’t just a village anymore, it was a scar turned to a seed.
He wondered if she was still there, among the rebuilding. If she had a home now. If her silence still felt like a prison, or if it had started to feel like power.
He didn’t know what he hoped for.
But he knew this: when he set foot in Emberon again, the first person he would look for was her.
The wind was brisk over the hills when they crested the last ridge and Emberon came into view.
It looked nothing like the place they’d left behind.
Where there had once been scorched timbers and the ghostly remains of shattered cottages, now stood a patchwork of new roofs, whitewashed stone, and garden plots with sprigs of green clawing their way through the thawing earth. Smoke curled from chimneys — not the smoke of ruin, but of hearths. Cooking fires. Blacksmith forges. Life.
Children ran between homes, their laughter carried on the wind. Baskets of bread and vegetables sat outside doors. Bright scraps of fabric fluttered on clotheslines like prayer flags.
A rough wooden sign greeted them at the edge of the road: Welcome to Emberon Forged by Fire - Reborn by Choice
Azriel’s shadows stilled around him as they landed at the edge of the main square. He wasn’t the only one surprised.
Cassian let out a low whistle. “They’ve done a gods-damned miracle here.”
Rhysand didn’t respond immediately, his violet gaze scanning every face, every movement. Then he gave a quiet, satisfied nod. “This is what rebuilding should look like.”
The square was buzzing with activity. A group of Fae elders spoke quietly at a stone table under a tree in bloom. Two younger males carried buckets from a well. And off to the side, a tall healer was speaking with a few villagers, nodding in approval at someone’s bandaged arm.
But Azriel wasn’t focused on any of them.
His shadows had stirred again. Not warning, guiding.
They pulled softly at the edge of his coat, brushing his neck and nudging his gaze toward the far side of the square. Toward a small communal garden fenced with woven branches.
And there she was.
Kneeling in the soil, sleeves rolled past her elbows, dark earth streaking her hands and forearms. A loose braid of hair hung over one shoulder, strands escaping to catch the sun. Her face was turned toward the raised bed, her expression hidden, but there was something different about her now.
Not fragile.
Focused.
She moved carefully, planting tiny seedlings into the soil with practiced care. Around her, several others worked, older women, a pair of teenagers, but even in the crowd, Azriel saw her as clearly as if she stood in a spotlight.
He felt it again, that thread, that invisible pull in his chest. It didn’t ache like it had before. Not grief. Not guilt.
Just a quiet, steady certainty.
She was alive.
He hadn’t imagined her resilience, her presence. She wasn’t still in a healer’s cot, curled into herself. She was here. Rooted.
Cassian followed his gaze, and a small grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Is that her?”
Azriel didn’t answer.
Because in that moment, she looked up.
Her eyes met his across the square, not startled, not afraid, just still.
Recognition flickered there, followed by something gentler. Like the first breeze of spring brushing across old wounds.
She stood slowly, wiping her hands on her apron. And though she didn’t smile, didn’t wave, didn’t move toward him… she didn’t turn away either.
Azriel’s shadows curled like smoke around his boots. “She’s stronger,” he said quietly, almost to himself.
Cassian clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Looks like someone’s been taking care of her.”
Azriel nodded once. “Or maybe… she’s been taking care of herself.”
Across the square, she tilted her head, just slightly, and lifted one hand. The sign was small. Barely a motion.
Hello.
And for the first time in weeks, Azriel felt the corners of his mouth lift. Not a smile, exactly. But something close.
Hello, he signed back.
Azriel crossed the square with deliberate steps, not because he feared startling her, not anymore, but because he wasn’t sure how to approach her. Not because of any distance between them, but because he had grown used to watching her from a distance, giving her the space she needed to heal.
As he neared the low fence, she noticed him. She straightened, brushing her palms against her apron once again. There were faint traces of dirt on her cheeks, and her hair was loosely braided, a few strands escaping as she worked. She didn’t seem startled by his presence, but instead looked at him with quiet curiosity, the same way she had the first time he had found her in the woods.
When Azriel reached the edge of the garden, he stopped. He gave her the choice, as he always did, waiting to see what she would do next.
She tilted her head, just slightly, and then without a word, she stepped through the small gate, closing the space between them.
Azriel stood still for a moment, taking in the changes he could see in her. Her face had filled out with strength, the faint weariness in her eyes replaced by something more like calm determination. There was a quiet confidence in the way she held herself, the way she moved between the rows of plants, even as the shadow of her past still lingered in her gaze.
When she stood before him, she didn’t look away. There was no tension in her body, no unease, just an understanding that they were both in this moment together.
Her hands moved, slow but steady. “You came back.”
Azriel’s voice was soft, low. “I wanted to see the village. And see if you were still here.”
For a long moment, she didn’t respond. Then she signed again, more slowly this time, as though careful with her words. “I never left.”
Azriel’s chest tightened at her words. He didn’t know what he had expected, but there was something in her response that settled in him, a quiet kind of peace, maybe. That she had stayed. That she had found a way to stay.
She hesitated, fingers trembling ever so slightly before continuing. “You never asked for my name.”
Azriel felt a pang of realization. He hadn’t asked for her name, hadn’t thought to ask it before. The moment of crisis, of survival, had taken away the small things, the human things. He hadn’t asked, because there hadn’t been space to.
“I didn’t want to ask until you were ready,” he replied quietly.
She regarded him for a long moment, her eyes studying his face, then placed her hand gently over her chest.
“Y/N.”
Azriel repeated the name in his mind, letting it settle like a new melody in his thoughts. He nodded, though his voice was quiet when he spoke again. “Azriel.”
There was no smile, but her lips twitched, almost imperceptibly, a flicker of something there. Maybe it was acknowledgment. Maybe it was relief. Maybe it was both.
She then turned slightly, gesturing to the garden around them. “Do you want to see?”
Azriel nodded and followed her through the rows of plants. She led him from one raised bed to the next, pointing out herbs, vegetables, and flowers, thyme, rosemary, young lettuce, and the beginnings of carrots and squash. With every motion, she signed the name of the plant, and Azriel followed her hands, his gaze not on the plants but on the rhythm of her movements. The way her hands danced through the air as if she had been doing this all her life.
At one point, Y/N handed him a small wooden trowel, her expression one of quiet challenge. Azriel accepted it, and with a slow, deliberate motion, crouched beside her, taking his time as he began to dig gently into the earth. Together, in silence, they planted a row of small sprouts.
There was no rush. No expectation. Just the quiet work of two souls who, for this moment, shared something that wasn’t spoken aloud but was understood.
After some time, Y/N stood and wiped her hands on her apron. She didn’t look at Azriel immediately but glanced down at the garden, a small flicker of something passing over her face. When she finally did look back at him, there was no sadness in her expression. No fear.
Just quiet contentment.
Azriel’s shadows, which had settled low around him, shifted lightly at his feet, as if aware of the change in the air between them. The space between them felt less like distance, less like hesitation, and more like a soft, growing connection.
For the first time since he’d found her in the woods, Azriel allowed himself to believe in the possibility of what could come next, in the small, steady steps forward, and in the quiet trust that was beginning to blossom between them.
The village of Emberon was slowly coming back to life. The faint hum of hammers and chisels filled the air as more homes were rebuilt, children played in the dirt streets, and the scent of fresh bread wafted from a small bakery on the corner. Azriel walked beside Y/N, his shadows swirling at his heels, as she led him toward the place she had called home since her recovery. It was a modest house, but to her, it was a sanctuary. The early evening sun bathed the streets in golden light as they made their way through the village, Azriel glancing at the quiet houses and newly constructed buildings.
"I can't believe it's finally coming together," Azriel murmured quietly, his tone soft as he looked around at the rebuilding.
Y/N gave him a smile, though it was subtle, and motioned toward the direction of her house with a small wave of her hand. She signed quickly, and Azriel nodded, catching the gist of her words. "I’m proud of it. Of what’s been built here."
They had been walking in silence, and Azriel found comfort in the stillness, the sense of normalcy beginning to return to the village. His mind drifted as they walked, but it was broken by the sound of raised voices from down the street. His sharp eyes cut through the crowd, and he spotted Cassian and Rhysand talking to a tall fae male, a general from another region, right outside one of the shops. The conversation seemed to be heated, and Cassian’s boisterous voice was hard to miss even from a distance.
Y/N hesitated for a moment, then gestured for Azriel to follow her toward the group. She wanted to show him her new home, but there was no harm in saying hello. As they approached, Cassian turned and spotted them immediately, his grin widening at the sight of Y/N.
“Well, well, look who it is!” Cassian called, his voice booming across the street. He took a few steps forward, his eyes scanning her, noticing her calm but wary demeanor. “How are you?”
Azriel stood back a little, watching as Y/N stepped forward to respond. She raised her hands, signing rapidly, and Azriel moved closer to her side. His shadows drifted around her, a constant comfort, as he translated her words for Cassian.
Cassian nodded, his expression softening. “That’s good to hear. You know, we’ve been working hard to help everyone here. You’ve got a good home now.”
Y/N signed again, this time more slowly, and Azriel watched as her hands moved fluidly. He translated for her again, the words flowing as she spoke.
“She’s thankful for everything that’s been done,” Azriel said, glancing back at Cassian. “But she still remembers everything. It’s hard to move past it all, even if she has a place of her own.”
Rhysand, who had been quiet up until now, stepped forward, his violet eyes locking with Y/N. The breeze shifted as the power of his Daemati abilities sparked in the air around him. Without a word, Rhysand reached out, connecting with her mind. Azriel’s brow furrowed as he watched, instinctively stepping back, sensing the power at play. He couldn’t hear their conversation, and neither could Cassian, but it was clear what was happening.
Y/N’s eyes softened as Rhysand’s voice entered her thoughts, and Azriel felt a strange mix of emotions as he watched her respond, her lips moving slightly, but not making a sound.
“You’ve helped so many here, Rhysand,” Y/N’s voice came, quiet but clear in Rhysand's mind. “Without you, and without Azriel and his shadows, I probably wouldn’t be here.”
Azriel felt the weight of their conversation in his chest, but he couldn’t hear what they said. He didn’t need to. The connection between the two of them, that subtle shift in her expression, told him everything he needed to know. There was a tenderness in the way Y/N held herself, a gratitude so deep that Azriel felt it resonate with his own heart.
Suddenly, Rhysand broke through the mental connection, his voice cutting through the air for all to hear, loud and firm.
“It’s our responsibility,” Rhysand said, his voice carrying over the conversation. “To protect, to help, and to make sure this never happens again. We will rebuild this place, just like we’ve rebuilt so many others.”
Azriel stood still, his eyes focused on Y/N’s reaction. She blinked, as though Rhysand’s words were just as powerful in her mind as they were in the air, and she gave a small nod. It was as though she had heard it all before, and yet, it still made a difference to her.
Y/N turned to face them, her hands moving again. She signed with slow, graceful gestures, her fingers weaving through the air as she asked Azriel to translate.
“She’s offering us food,” Azriel said with a small smile, his voice quieter now. “She wants us to come to her place. A quick meal.”
Cassian raised an eyebrow. “I’m not turning down a free meal,” he said, his voice teasing.
Azriel glanced at Y/N, who smiled at Cassian's words. Then, with a subtle nod, she turned toward her home, motioning for them to follow.
Rhysand’s eyes lingered on the village for a moment before he turned to follow them. “Lead the way, Y/N. We’ll be happy to join you.”
Azriel, trailing behind, allowed his shadows to flow around him like a cloak. He could feel the weight of the day lifting, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of the meal or because Y/N had invited them into her world. They had done what they could for her, for the village, but it was clear that her journey was far from over. Still, there was a small flicker of hope in the air, a belief that maybe, just maybe, she could begin again.
The inside of Y/N's house was simple, yet welcoming. The small kitchen area had a hearth where a pot of stew simmered on the flames, filling the air with a savory aroma. The furniture was modest but carefully placed, and the warmth of her home was a stark contrast to the cold, barren village Azriel had found her in all those weeks ago. The stone walls were lined with fresh herbs, and small touches of color from woven fabrics gave it a sense of life.
Rhysand, Cassian, and Azriel stood near the entrance, surveying the space. Cassian was running his hand along the rough wooden shelves, his eyes scanning the room for anything that stood out. He noticed a few things still left unfinished, some shelves that weren’t fully mounted, a small pile of firewood in the corner that needed to be stacked.
Rhysand’s eyes were softer than usual as he observed the place. The High Lord of the Night Court was always in command, always exuding a certain distance, but here, in the quiet of Y/N’s home, something in him softened. He turned his attention to her, and his voice was gentle as he reached out to her mind.
“Y/N,” Rhysand’s voice was like a whisper in her thoughts. “Would you like us to help finish anything here? We could take care of the shelves or the firewood, whatever you need.”
Y/N paused for a moment, considering the offer, but then signed in a quick, dismissive motion as she shook her head. She wanted to refuse, her hands moving gracefully in the air as she said to Azriel, who translated for the group.
“She says she couldn’t possibly ask for the High Lord of the Night Court to do something like that,” Azriel said with a chuckle, his voice warm as he glanced toward Rhysand. “She’s too proud.”
Rhysand raised an eyebrow, letting out a soft laugh. “Don’t worry, Y/N,” he said aloud, his voice echoing in the small space. “I won’t put my hands on anything. But Cassian over here”, he grinned slyly, “he’ll do all the work.”
Cassian’s eyes widened in mock horror. “What?” he grumbled. “I don’t even know how to-”
Before Cassian could protest further, Rhysand just waved a hand dismissively, clearly enjoying the banter. Azriel couldn’t help but grin a little as he watched the two of them, but his attention soon shifted as Y/N turned back to the stove, checking on the stew.
Azriel gave the room one last sweep and noticed that Y/N had already begun setting the table for the meal. He could see the care she’d put into everything, but there was still a certain sense of unfinished business, the house wasn’t quite complete, and the simple details spoke volumes about how much she had left to do.
He moved toward her, not wanting to stand idle. “I’ll help with the stew,” Azriel offered quietly, his voice low but steady.
Y/N glanced at him, a smile playing at the corner of her lips before she nodded. She handed him the ladle to stir the pot, and Azriel did so with ease, his attention on the bubbling stew. He caught the faint scent of vegetables and spices, his mouth watering slightly. The sounds of Cassian and Rhysand’s conversation in the background faded as he focused on the simple task of preparing the meal.
Once the stew was ready, Y/N began ladling it into bowls with precise, careful movements, her hands flowing through the motions as if she had done it a thousand times. Azriel stood by, ready to help, and as she placed the bowls on the counter, he moved to take them and set them on the table.
But just as he was about to move, one of his shadows seemed to get in his way. It darted out from behind him, swirling in front of his hands like an unruly piece of cloth. He tried to move past it, but it lingered, twining in front of him like it had a mind of its own. His focus was split for just a moment, and before he realized it, the stew spilled over the edge of the bowl, splashing onto his hands.
Azriel cursed under his breath, grimacing as the hot liquid seared his skin. He jumped back, quickly wiping his hands on the towel he had nearby. The sting of the burn made his jaw tighten, but it wasn’t unbearable. He muttered a curse to himself, knowing it was his own fault for not being more mindful.
“Damn shadows,” he told them, low and to himself, not realizing how loud his thoughts were as he cursed.
But then, just as he was preparing to move the bowl again, a cold, wet cloth pressed gently to his hand. Azriel froze, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looked up to see Y/N, who had come to his side without him even realizing. She was focused, her hands working quickly to press the towel to his injured skin.
Azriel blinked in surprise. “How did you-”
Y/N’s gaze met his, and she tilted her head, her brow furrowed in concern. She seemed to sense his confusion and signed back to him, her hands moving slowly and deliberately as she explained.
“I heard you,” she signed carefully. “I could hear you talking to yourself. I thought... I thought you were in pain.”
Azriel’s breath hitched. He had been speaking to himself, yes, but there was no way she could have heard him. Wasn’t it just his internal thoughts? She couldn't have—
“Wait,” he asked, his voice a little unsure, his eyes narrowing slightly. “You... you heard me?”
Y/N nodded, a flicker of confusion in her own eyes. She signed again.
“You were talking to your shadows. I heard it. Are you okay?”
Azriel’s mouth went dry, and his mind raced. He had been speaking to his shadows, sure, but the fact that she could hear him... that was something else entirely. He had never imagined that someone who couldn’t speak could somehow hear his thoughts. It was impossible... but then again, this was Y/N.
Azriel paused for a moment, staring at her, trying to process everything. “Can you hear... my thoughts? Like how Rhysand can?”
Y/N’s brow furrowed even more in confusion, and she signed again, this time slower, as if trying to make sense of it herself.
“I don’t know. I just... I could hear you. In my mind. Can you hear me, too?”
Azriel blinked, feeling the faintest ripple of something he couldn’t explain, something new between them. “I... I think I can.”
He wasn’t sure how it worked, or why it was happening, but as he stood there, with the cold cloth still pressed to his hand, a strange connection started to form. He could hear her in his head, her thoughts were as clear as if she had spoken aloud.
Azriel’s mouth went dry as he turned to her, unsure whether to be thrilled or confused. “This... this is new.”
Y/N’s lips curled into a small, unsure smile. She signed once more.
“Maybe it’s something we share now. I’m not sure.”
Azriel smiled faintly, looking down at his hand, which no longer burned from the hot stew. His shadows had settled, and his mind was still spinning. But in that moment, he felt something shift between them, something tangible and warm.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly, feeling more at ease than he had in weeks. “Together.”
Y/N nodded, and Azriel couldn't help but feel a flicker of hope rise in his chest. Maybe this was a new beginning, one where she didn’t have to remain silent anymore.
────────────
The sun had already dipped behind the hills, casting the village in soft lavender hues when Azriel knocked gently on Y/N’s door. A cool breeze stirred the leaves in the trees outside, rustling just loud enough to be noticed. Her home, tucked between two larger cottages near the outer edge of the rebuilt village, was bathed in the golden light of a few lanterns within.
Y/N opened the door before he could knock again, her expression neutral at first, but softening immediately at the sight of him. She stepped aside wordlessly, inviting him in.
Azriel stepped inside, the warmth of her home wrapping around him like a soft blanket. It smelled faintly of dried herbs, pinewood, and something sweet.
“Would you like some tea?” she asked him, speaking gently into his mind.
He nodded. “Sure. Whatever you’re having.”
A flicker of warmth crossed her face as she moved into the small kitchen area, setting a kettle on the iron stove. From a wooden drawer she pulled out a small tin and opened it, releasing the delicate fragrance of her favorite blend, peppermint, chamomile, and rose hip. The colors were beautiful in the low light: deep green leaves, pale yellow petals, rich crimson fruit. She dropped them into a small teapot and poured hot water over them.
Azriel watched her from a nearby chair, silent, but something about the domesticity of it, her careful movements, the quiet ritual of preparing something comforting, felt oddly intimate. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed this kind of quiet.
When the tea had steeped, she poured two cups and handed him one. Their fingers brushed briefly. He muttered a soft “thank you,” and she nodded, taking her seat by the hearth, gesturing for him to join her.
They sipped in silence for a few minutes, letting the warmth of the drink settle into their bones. Then, she looked up at him, her gaze sharp but kind.
“You’re troubled,” she said into his mind, gently, without judgment.
Azriel leaned back, his fingers wrapped around the cup, wings slightly hunched behind him. “I’ve been thinking. About… this. You and me. Whatever this is.”
She didn’t interrupt. Just waited, eyes steady on his.
“It’s not a mating bond,” he said slowly. “At least, I don’t think it is. I’ve read everything I could find on the subject over the years. I thought… I hoped I’d recognize it instantly, if it ever happened. I would know. But this...” He paused. “It feels different.”
Y/N’s eyes didn’t leave his. Her mental voice was quiet, steady. “It’s not a mating bond.”
Azriel stiffened, then nodded once. “You’re sure?”
“I had one once,” she said. The words slid gently into his thoughts, but their weight landed heavily. “A true mating bond. I rejected it.”
His brows drew together. He set the cup down, leaning forward. “Why?”
“Because he was cruel. Manipulative. He wanted to break me, not cherish me.” Her hands remained folded in her lap, but her voice in his head was calm. “The bond was there, yes. But I would rather walk alone than be bound to someone like him.”
Azriel’s chest ached. He shifted to sit across from her now, elbows on his knees, hands clasped. “And yet,” he said, “you and I… we have something.”
“We do.”
“I can speak to you without sound. You can answer. It’s not like what you have with Rhys, I can’t do that with anyone else. And you can’t do it with anyone else, either, can you?”
She shook her head. “Only you. And Rhys, because of what he is. But with you… it’s different. Easier. Natural.”
He studied her face, her stillness, the way her shadows always seemed to draw nearer when he was near her. “Maybe it’s the shadows,” she offered softly. “They understand me. I’ve always felt like they listened when no one else could. Maybe they… carry me to you.”
Azriel looked down. His own shadows curled at his ankles, one brushing the hem of her skirt. They didn’t pull away. If anything, they seemed... content. Restful.
“You might be right,” he admitted. “I’ve never known them to behave like this before. They whisper to me, warn me, guide me… but they’ve never connected me to someone like this.”
She leaned forward slightly. “Do you think they’re giving you something you didn’t know you needed?”
The question was quiet, but it dug in deep. Azriel looked up, met her eyes, and for a moment, it felt like she’d peeled back every layer he spent a lifetime guarding.
“Maybe,” he said finally, his voice low even in his own mind. “Maybe they are.”
Y/N’s lips curved faintly, not quite a smile, but something just as kind. She reached for the teapot, poured them both another cup.
And as they sat there, in the fading evening light with the scent of peppermint and rose hip between them, neither spoke aloud.
They didn’t need to.
The air between them shifted, thick with unspoken words. The warmth from their tea had settled into the bones of the small cottage, but Azriel couldn’t shake the feeling that something heavy lingered in the space between them. He’d always known Y/N was a survivor, that there was more to her silence than met the eye, but he hadn’t pushed, until now.
The shadows at his feet coiled tighter, drawn to the quiet stillness of the room. He could feel them, just as he could feel the weight of her presence. She was stronger than she realized, but there were cracks in her walls. Azriel’s mind lingered on those cracks, and the realization hit him hard: She has a story. And I need to hear it.
“Y/N,” Azriel began, his voice quiet but steady, “You don’t have to tell me anything you’re not ready to, but... I need to ask. Were you always mute?”
She paused, her fingers gently tracing the edge of her teacup. Her eyes fell to her lap, and for a moment, he feared she would close off completely, retreating into herself. But then, slowly, she looked up at him. The silent communication between them was a delicate thread now, one she grasped without hesitation. And for a brief second, Azriel saw the rawness behind her calm facade.
“No,” she said, her mental voice soft, laced with pain. “I wasn’t always like this.”
Azriel leaned forward, sensing that this was the moment where the walls would either crumble or solidify. He said nothing more, allowing her the space to share her story on her terms.
She inhaled deeply before speaking again, her voice now shaking, though still only audible to him. “I was born into a family that was... never safe. My parents were good people, I think. But the world around us was always breaking, always trying to tear us apart. I was just a little girl, caught in the chaos.” Her mind drifted for a moment, eyes looking past him, as if seeing something Azriel couldn’t.
“When I was young, our village was attacked, too. They came at night, burning homes, ripping families apart. My parents were taken from me, pulled from my arms while I was screaming, too loud, too helpless. They told me to be quiet. They told me that if I made a sound, I would die like them.”
Azriel’s heart twisted painfully at her words, at the way she spoke with such quiet certainty of loss. But what struck him the most was the calmness in her voice, as though she had long ago resigned herself to the horrors she had lived through.
Her mind continued, and the weight of her trauma filled every thought. “After they... they killed them, the others came for me and my sister. They said they’d cut out my tongue if I ever screamed. They said I was worthless if I didn’t learn to obey, to shut up. And they made sure I understood by threatening to do it right there.”
Y/N’s eyes squeezed shut, the pain almost palpable even though it was confined within her mind. Azriel could see the shadows at her feet, as if they, too, felt her anguish. He reached for his own, needing the connection, needing to hold something tangible as her memories bled through their shared silence.
“They locked us away. Kept us in a room, chained to a wall. And every time I tried to make a sound, anything, there were punishments. Whips. Swords. It didn’t matter. The message was clear: Don’t speak. Don’t make a sound. And after a while... I couldn’t anymore. I was so terrified. Every time I tried, it felt like my voice was gone.”
She paused, the heaviness of her confession suffocating the air between them. Azriel could feel it, could see it in her eyes. The tears that had never fallen, the silent scream she could never release.
She looked at him now, her eyes full of something else, resignation, but also a quiet, unyielding strength. “It’s like my voice was stolen. It’s not just fear anymore. It’s like my body just... refuses. Even now, if I try to speak, nothing comes out. And I don’t know how to fix it.”
The silence that followed was deep, and Azriel felt like the room itself had stopped breathing. His hands clenched into fists, the sharp ache of helplessness pulling through his chest. What she had been through, what she still carried, was unimaginable. And yet, she was still here. Alive. Still fighting.
Azriel didn’t know what to say, didn’t know if there were words to make this right. Instead, he took a slow breath, pushing through the growing ache. “You don’t have to fix it, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice rougher than usual. “You don’t have to speak for me to understand you.”
Her eyes flickered with something like relief, but she didn’t respond. She just closed the space between them, a tentative touch to his arm, her hand resting there, silent but full of meaning.
“I just…” she thought, her mental voice hesitant, “I want to be heard. In my own way. To be understood.”
Azriel reached up slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. He didn’t need to speak aloud. He didn’t need to fill the silence with words. Instead, he let her know, through the bond they shared — through the shadows and his steady presence — that she was heard.
Azriel sat in stillness for a moment longer, watching the way her fingers curled around her teacup as if grounding herself through the warmth. The weight of her story still hung in the room, but there was something new now, a vulnerability she hadn’t shown before, and the trust it took to reveal it.
He shifted slightly, resting his arms on his knees. His voice came quiet, thoughtful, each word etched with a heaviness he didn’t try to hide.
“Aren’t you afraid,” he asked gently, “that something like that might happen again?”
Her head lifted at that, her eyes meeting his, not startled, not offended. Just honest. He hesitated, then continued.
“It happened again, Y/N. Just a few weeks ago. That night I found you... bound, bleeding. Alone.”
The shadows at his back flickered restlessly, echoing the unease he barely contained.
She was quiet for a long time before her voice slipped into his mind, soft and sure. “Yes. I’m afraid.”
She didn’t try to hide it. And the admission, simple as it was, carved deeper into Azriel than any scream ever could.
“But I trust Rhysand,” she added. “This village matters to him. To you. I believe he’ll keep us safe.”
Azriel’s jaw flexed as he looked at her, at the softness of her features, the hard-earned strength beneath. The shadows whispered against his skin, tugging at him, as if echoing what he was about to say.
He took a breath, ran a hand through his hair, and then asked what had been weighing on him since the day he left the village: “Would you come to Velaris?”
Y/N blinked, taken aback, her fingers going still against her cup.
“It’s safer there,” Azriel said quickly, before she could answer. “The city is protected. Guarded. No one would touch you. I could take you there. You’d be safe.”
He didn’t say I’d sleep better knowing you’re behind those wards. He didn’t say I think about you more than I should. But it was all there, in the way his voice dipped, the way his shadows hovered near her like they were drawn to her pain, her quiet strength.
Y/N’s thoughts reached him after a moment, hesitant but clear.
“I can’t abandon them.”
Azriel frowned slightly, but said nothing as she continued.
“These people… they stayed. They rebuilt this place together. With blood on the ground and ash in their mouths, they still stood. I can’t leave them behind.”
He nodded slowly. He understood, more than she could know. Still, he leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper. “But you can’t scream for help.”
He hated the sound of that truth aloud. “If something were to happen again-”
“Then maybe,” she cut in gently, “you could teach me how to stay safe.”
Azriel blinked. Her eyes met his, unwavering. There was no fear in them now, only quiet determination.
The shadows stilled.
“You want me to train you?” he asked, surprise flickering through his voice.
She nodded. “I don’t want to be helpless again. I don’t want to rely on someone hearing me. I want to be able to protect myself… and others too.”
Azriel’s mouth curved — not quite a smile, but something close.
“Alright.” His voice was gravel and warmth. “Then tomorrow, we begin.”
And even though she said nothing aloud, he felt the quiet warmth ripple across their bond, gratitude, fierce and radiant, and beneath it, something new: Hope.
────────────
The sun had just begun to dip behind the Sidra, painting Velaris in shades of gold and lavender as Starfall’s first shimmering streaks whispered across the sky.
At the House of Wind, laughter and warmth swirled through the grand dining hall like old music. Lanterns floated gently above the long table, casting soft hues of blue and violet over wine glasses and golden plates. The Inner Circle was gathered, every one of them dressed in star-kissed silks or tailored leathers, the room buzzing with anticipation, except for one lingering question.
“Why aren’t we eating?” Nesta asked, arms folded, her patience thinning as she eyed the untouched food on the table. She looked radiant tonight, as always, in midnight blue, like she belonged among the stars themselves.
Rhysand, lounging at the head of the table with Feyre nestled beside him, smiled with that infuriating calm of his. “Because,” he said smoothly, “Azriel is picking someone up.”
Cassian, who had just downed a sip of wine, leaned back in his chair and smirked. “You mean Azriel and his girlfriend.”
Mor nearly choked on her drink, eyes sparkling. “Wait, seriously? Are they…?”
She left the question open, eyebrows raised toward Rhysand.
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he glanced toward the open balcony, where the night sky had begun to stir with faint threads of starlight. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, thoughtful. “I don’t know what to call it,” he said. “But I can feel it. Whatever is between them, it’s real. And different.”
Amren, perched near the end of the table, narrowed her silver eyes. “He shares something with her he doesn’t with any of us. That much is clear.”
Feyre nodded softly, brushing her fingers along the stem of her glass. “I’ve seen it, too. The way his shadows behave around her, like they’re part of her now.”
The conversation faded into a hush as a faint sound stirred from the hall, the rustle of boots on stone, the quiet press of wings folding behind them.
The door opened, and Azriel stepped inside, dressed in soft black, his Siphons gleaming like frozen stars on his hands and shoulders. At his side walked Y/N.
She wore deep forest green with a shimmer of silver woven into the fabric, nothing elaborate, but breathtaking in its simplicity. A small braid was pinned behind her ear, and her gaze moved over the Inner Circle with a calm steadiness that held no fear. Only curiosity. And quiet strength.
Azriel kept close beside her, a shadow brushing along her arm like it was anchoring her, or maybe the other way around.
Rhysand stood first, his smile genuine. “Welcome.”
Y/N bowed her head gently in greeting, and though she didn’t speak, she didn’t need to — the way her eyes met each of theirs, full of quiet warmth and gratitude, said enough.
“Thank you,” her voice echoed gently into Rhysand’s mind. “For letting me be here.”
Rhysand inclined his head with a smile, then turned toward the rest of the room. “Shall we eat now, Nesta?”
Nesta rolled her eyes, though a smirk played at her lips.
Cassian was already rising to his feet, nudging a chair out beside him. “Come sit, Az. And Y/N, we saved the good bread for you.”
Mor beamed as Y/N took a seat beside Azriel, the shadows around him curling like smoke in moonlight, peaceful for the first time in days.
And outside, the stars began to fall, like silver rain from the heavens, silent and endless.
Dinner was laughter, the clink of glasses, warm candlelight, and the shimmer of magic laced in the air.
Y/N sat quietly between Azriel and Feyre, a faint smile on her lips as she watched the easy rhythm of the Inner Circle, the way Cassian teased Mor with flicks of bread rolls, the way Amren rolled her eyes and muttered about “children,” even though the corners of her lips were quirked in amusement.
“Did Azriel tell you,” Cassian said mid-chew, gesturing toward Y/N with his fork, “that he threatened three construction workers last week for letting a hammer fall too close to your garden?”
Azriel, without looking up from his plate, said calmly, “I told them to be more careful.”
“You said,” Mor mimicked in a deadly-serious tone, “‘Drop that again and I’ll rip your arms off and bury them in the herb bed.’” She grinned at Y/N. “We were all there.”
Y/N’s eyes widened slightly in amusement, then her hands moved, quick, fluid gestures of her fingers.
Feyre laughed, translating instinctively, “She says the hammer didn’t even touch the ground.”
Azriel didn’t argue. He just raised a brow and flicked a shadow toward Cassian’s wine, tipping the cup ever-so-slightly.
Y/N caught the movement and bit back a laugh, shaking her head as if to say boys.
The Inner Circle was basking in warmth, and Y/N felt the unfamiliar but comforting sensation of being part of something, even if she mostly listened. Still, she didn’t feel apart from them. Not tonight.
Azriel stayed close at her side, his shadows uncharacteristically calm. Every so often, he’d lean in, not out of necessity, but as if it was simply his instinct now.
When Cassian launched into another embellished story about Mor and a bakery brawl years ago, Y/N turned slightly toward Azriel and caught his eye.
“Are they always like this?” she asked in his mind, her tone dry, amused.
Azriel’s lips curved faintly. “This is tame. Wait until Cassian’s had three more glasses of wine and starts dancing.”
She laughed silently, a soft sparkle lighting her eyes.
“You’ve changed,” she added after a moment, more hesitantly now. “Since the night you found me. You seem… lighter.”
Azriel turned his head to her, searching her face in the flickering glow. “Maybe because you’re here. And safe. It’s easier to breathe when I know that.”
Across the table, a pair of sharp silver eyes were watching them closely.
Amren said nothing. She swirled the deep red wine in her goblet and observed the pair, the way they seemed to speak without a sound, how Azriel’s shoulders loosened when he was with Y/N, how Y/N’s expressions shifted as though full conversations were happening in silence.
There was something deeper there. Not a mating bond, she’d known enough of those to recognize it, but something… older. Stranger.
When dessert arrived, Amren stood without a word.
Feyre glanced over. “You’re not staying?”
“I have something to look into,” Amren replied, her tone clipped as always, though her eyes flicked once more to Azriel and Y/N before she turned. “Something I should’ve thought of sooner.”
And then she was gone, shadows slipping behind her as she vanished from the dining hall, no doubt heading toward the library’s oldest corners.
Back at the table, Y/N noticed Azriel watching Amren leave. She nudged his arm gently, tilting her head.
“Everything alright?”
He shook his head once. “With her, who knows.” But his eyes softened when he looked back at her. “You okay?”
Y/N nodded. “I’m more than okay. This is the first time in… years… that I feel like I’m not surviving. I’m just living.”
Azriel blinked slowly, something fierce and fragile sparking behind his eyes.
Then, almost without thinking, he reached under the table, just a brush of his pinky finger against hers, a quiet promise. She stilled, and then wrapped her fingers around his.
Later, when most of the Inner Circle had drifted to other corners of the House of Wind, some to sip wine by the fire, others to dance beneath the starlight, Azriel and Y/N slipped away to one of the balconies.
They said nothing for a while. They didn’t need to.
Y/N leaned against the stone railing, gazing up at the stars as they fell in slow, glowing streaks. The sky shimmered with ancient magic, vast and silver-blue and full of unspoken dreams. Her hair moved gently in the breeze, and Azriel, standing just behind her, watched as one of his shadows twined itself around her wrist like a ribbon, then flitted away as if shy.
She turned to him after a moment, her voice touching his mind in that soft, singular way.
“Is it always like this?”
Azriel shook his head. “Some years, the stars fall slower. Sometimes the wind carries them in spirals. This… this is rare.”
She smiled faintly, her eyes reflecting the light. “Then I’m glad I’m seeing it like this. With you.”
A pause.
He looked at her, really looked, as if this was the first time he could, uninterrupted by fear or pain or the weight of everything else they’d survived.
“I thought I knew what I was looking for,” Azriel murmured. “All these centuries. I thought I’d know the shape of it when it came.”
Her brows lifted, curious.
He stepped closer, slowly, giving her time, space, always.
“But this,” he said, voice lower now. “This wasn’t what I expected. It’s not a mating bond. It’s not fire. It’s… quiet. Like peace. Like my shadows finally have nothing to warn me about.”
She didn’t speak to his mind immediately. Instead, she reached out, just barely, and brushed her fingers against his.
Azriel’s eyes darkened as they held hers.
“Then maybe,” she said gently in his mind, “you weren’t looking for fire. Maybe you were always looking for quiet.”
The words landed like a balm across a scar.
Slowly, deliberately, Azriel lifted one hand and cupped her jaw. His thumb skimmed the curve of her cheek, the corner of her mouth. Her breath caught, eyes wide and shining.
When he leaned in, it wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t claimed. It was reverent.
Their lips met beneath the falling stars - soft, slow, warm.
Y/N exhaled into him, and Azriel breathed her in like he had waited a lifetime to do so.
Above them, a shooting star blazed past, brighter than the rest. And for a moment, time stilled.
When they parted, Y/N rested her forehead against his chest, her mind brushing his again with a whisper: “You make me feel safe.”
Azriel’s hands trembled just slightly where they held her.
“I will always keep you safe,” he murmured aloud. “No matter where you are.”
The stars were still falling when the soft click of the balcony door stirred them from their shared silence.
Azriel turned first, instinctively, his shadows twitching before settling as the figure stepped into view.
Amren.
She looked… different. Not in appearance, still timeless, still clothed in midnight silk and draped in something sharper than elegance, but there was an intensity in her silver eyes that hadn’t been there at dinner.
“I thought I’d find you two out here,” she said, folding her arms. “You’ve become rather inseparable.”
Y/N straightened slightly, unsure if she should step back from Azriel, but his hand remained gently over hers, grounding, not possessive. She didn’t move.
Amren strode to the balcony’s edge, glancing once at the sky, then at them again.
“I saw the way you were interacting tonight,” she said plainly. “The way you speak without sound, how your magic knows each other before you do. It reminded me of something I once read. A long, long time ago.”
Azriel narrowed his eyes. “You went to the library.”
Amren’s mouth twisted into something half-smirk, half-snarl. “Of course I did. I don’t like mysteries I can’t name. And what you two have-” she waved a hand vaguely between them, “-is not a mating bond.”
Y/N’s brows drew together. Amren turned her gaze to her.
“No, girl, it’s not a bond of body or desire. But it is powerful. And old.”
She paused, and for once, the silence was heavy.
“It’s called a thirren bond,” Amren said at last, voice quieter. “From a language lost before Velaris was even built. It only happens under very rare, specific circumstances. Two souls, both fractured, but not by fate, like mates. By experience. By grief. And sometimes, when the cracks align just so…”
Her gaze swept between them again, sharp and unreadable. “They fill each other.”
Azriel’s voice was low. “And what does that mean, exactly?”
Amren tilted her head. “It means you share more than thoughts. You share… knowing. Not just emotions or whispers. You don’t complete each other. You comprehend each other. There’s no hierarchy. No instinct to dominate or claim. It’s a conscious harmony. A chosen one.”
Y/N stared at her, mind gently spinning.
Azriel was quiet beside her, shadows curling slowly at his feet.
“But it’s rare,” Amren continued. “Rarer than any mating bond. Most fae don’t even believe in it anymore. Because it requires pain. It requires survival. And a willingness to connect that deeply without being compelled.”
She stepped back toward the door, her words falling like stones.
“So whatever this is between you,” she said, “don’t waste it trying to label it with something lesser.”
Then she turned and disappeared into the hallway, her scent fading with the soft click of the door.
Silence fell again.
Azriel looked over at Y/N.
Her eyes were distant, thoughtful.
“Do you believe her?” he asked gently, his mind brushing hers.
Y/N looked at him then, searching his face, the raw honesty in it, the care.
And she nodded once.
“I think we already knew. We just didn’t have a name for it.”
Azriel stepped closer, reaching for her hand again.
And this time, when their fingers laced together, it felt like confirmation. Not the beginning, not even the middle, but something ancient finally remembered.
The night air was cool, laced with starfall’s faint shimmer. They stood close, quiet in the wake of Amren’s revelation, both of them turning it over in their minds like a precious, fragile truth.
Y/N’s gaze lingered on the distant hills beyond Velaris, her expression thoughtful but unreadable. Then, finally, she turned to Azriel.
“What does this mean for us?” Her mental voice was soft, tentative. “This… thirren bond?”
Azriel looked at her for a long moment. His shadows were quiet now, as if they, too, were listening.
“I don’t know exactly,” he admitted, brushing his thumb gently across her knuckles. “But I know what it feels like.”
He searched her face, his voice a low murmur in her mind. “It feels like I’m not carrying the weight of the world alone anymore.”
A soft, trembling smile curved Y/N’s lips, and her eyes flicked down to their hands, still laced together.
“I feel that too,” she said. “But it’s not just the bond.”
Azriel’s head tilted, curiosity blooming in his features.
She looked up at him then, eyes lit with quiet fire.
“I think I’m falling in love with you,” she said. “Not because of the connection. But because of you. Because of how gentle you are with me. How patient. How you see me without needing me to explain every broken piece.”
Azriel stilled, just for a breath, shadows curling gently at his shoulders, like they’d heard something sacred.
Then he stepped a fraction closer, his voice brushing against her mind with warmth.
“I’m falling too.”
Her breath caught as he reached up to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear.
“I’ve been trying not to rush,” he whispered aloud this time. “Trying to give you space, especially after you said you didn’t want to leave the village.”
Y/N gave a small, almost sheepish smile — the kind that crinkled the corner of her eyes and made something bloom in his chest.
“Maybe I changed my mind,” she teased softly. “Maybe I want to come to Velaris. To be closer to you.”
Azriel’s heart stumbled.
“You do?”
She nodded, her smile widening just a little.
Azriel let out a breath, more like a laugh, really, one of disbelief and gratitude mingled, before he cupped her cheek in one hand and leaned in.
This kiss was slower than the one beneath the stars earlier. Deeper. A quiet promise shared under falling starlight, between two people who had once lived in silence and shadow, and now found peace in each other’s presence.
When they parted, their foreheads resting together, Azriel whispered, “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”
“I think I do,” Y/N whispered back into his mind, her fingers brushing his cheek.
They stayed like that a while longer, wrapped in each other, beneath the gentle rain of stars, knowing that whatever this bond was, it was theirs to define.
