the letter is given to zora demirel during one of her visits to the summer court, it is shortly after deron had left velaris under the cover of night. a week or so post his departure. it is carefully, almost painstakingly, written on warm parchment paper. the paper is littered with cross outs and indecipherable words along the margins, as if he'd been in great thought while writing it for her. along with it is a tiny, leather pouch that contained two smooth palm sized stones that smell of river water and campfire. they are a cloudy amber color. / letter to @faebanes. ( zora demirel )
𝖙𝖔 𝖒𝖘. 𝖉𝖊𝖒𝖎𝖗𝖊𝖑
it appears as though i shall be predisposed of for the forseeable future , therefore unable to attend to my duties and responsibilities regarding your establishment - nightshade. i fear i am uncertain when i shall return, so there shall be no promise of taking up said position once more.
i wish i had not left , i regret not saying . i apologize for leaving while you slept, the thought of telling you farewell. it is my hope that sibusisiwe gifted you this letter with little fanfare and the small pouch i sent along as well. i found them in the rivers outside of the dawn court, i shan't say where precisely, but they reminded me greatly of your eyes you.
perhaps you may hold them when you find your shoulders heavy with burden. think of me holding you instead. i find that imagining you beside me does wonders for the uncertainty in my chest.
the current whispers to me at night that you remain well, safe, and protected. i shall choose to believe them till the next time you grace me with your words, zora.
delivered to deron during his mercenary duties, a few days after his first one arrived. most of the paper is new, crisp, though some spots are slightly warped and discolored, as if they'd been splashed with water and left to dry in the sun. the ink seems to have pooled at the ends of certain letters, certain words, as if she had paused just a second too long to figure out what to say next. there is a small, burlap pouch with it, a single pearl nestled inside and a small container of balm. her sign off is sealed with a red lip print, hommage to familiar fondness.
𝒎𝒓. 𝒅. 𝒉𝒂𝒏,
it is most unfortunate to hear you're unforeseeably indisposed, as i'm positive i will be hard pressed to find a bartender quite like you. the customers shall miss your aversion to watering down their drinks in spite of my insistence, though i suppose they'll have to make do in both of our absences. i fear i'll be having hot - cold flashes for a long while, myself. better than the bog in the middle, i suppose.
i wish i could have seen you off, that it wasn't your cool sheets that greeted me in the morning. both arrived safely, thanks to sibusisiwe's kindness, as i hope my response has made it to you with minimal teasing. don't let her rile you up too much. the stones are beautiful, i've been carrying them in my pocket since i got them. it feels like having you close.
i miss you your endless collection of stones, perhaps you'll show me where, one day. and i know a pearl is not quite a river pebble, but i hope you'll enjoy it anyway. i almost kept it, i was pretty proud to find it myself after all, but the ocean is not the same as the river. lacks a familiar nymph, i'm afraid.
there is not a moment i don't think about you, or that it doesn't bring me comfort. you can trust in the currents, for it brings me the same whispers of your well - being. though do not let them whisk you away before i can attest to that myself.
i hope you're remaining safe, only picking necessary fights. be comforted by the darkness. they're not my shadows, but let them kiss you alongside my words until i hear from you again.
𝒂𝒍𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓𝒔,
𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒅𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒉
p. s. don't eat the balm. it's for your wound. i'd hate to for it not to continue healing properly simply because you had to leave in a hurry. do not make me confine you to bedrest again when next we meet.
closed starter for @faebanes ! | set after all the nonsense deron goes through during the fight.
the dust had seemingly began to settle, or maybe that was just the fog that settled over deron's brain to disguise the pain that was blossoming across his chest. unsteady feet carried him, more stumbled, without him even having to think about it. as if his body refused to rest until he had returned home once more. there'd been a concerned look in the guards that came to their rescue, but he'd brushed them off - knew that their attention was better spent on caring for sibusisiwe. that the fae mattered more in the moment than deron ever would. handed her off to them and shambled up like a shaky skeleton walking a death march. pressed a reassuring, promising kiss to her forehead that he'd return this time. most likely.
how many times had deron promised that to someone? enough times that he'd never swear it, less the cauldron or mother tear him apart over it - again and again.
deron hadn't dared to shout the words to zora when the violence tore them apart, as if his soul knew that voicing them would bind the pair together. tainted her beautiful soul with lies that she'd carry until the day he actually drifted away into the wind. or worse, forge a pact that neither of them could take back once it'd set into the air of the universe. yet even without the oath, the promise, the old magic bind, his feet still carry him in her direction. they use any energy that remains within his exhausted, torn body to make certain that deron returns to her. to fulfill the unspoken vow that he cannot remember making, but knows will haunt him no matter where he may stray on the continent. like the ocean returning to kiss the shoreline.
she appears suddenly, as if the cauldron heard the devotions he was whispering and answered the prayer. her eyes landed on him, the bloody mess of a being that deron feels, and he cannot help the way his mouth forms a smile. the pain matters so little now, lurching forward till he is falling into her arms, chin hanging over her shoulder. " zora," he breathed, trembling arms weakly raise to embrace her. " i found you."
the sounds of fighting still filled the cavernous underbelly of the mountain, though no longer a cacophony of noise, a dull roar when compared to when the fighting had first started. every fiber in her body ached from the fighting, despite the familiarity that came with swinging a blade. metal into flesh, metal into flesh — it was hard to tell what blood was hers and what was the enemies. and zora had not allowed herself enough time in the fray to take stock of any injuries, it wouldn't matter anyway, the wounds would heal eventually, a rare occasion in which she cursed herself for being only half high fae. there were far more important people she had to worry about the well - being of, the inner circle she loved so dearly, the mortal she'd managed to lose in the fray, deron.
deron, whose face lived behind her eyelids every time she closed them, about whom any number of terrible scenarios ran through her mind. zora had known the likelihood of them ending up separated had been high, impossible to avoid really if they were going to ensure them and their friends made it out of this alive. but that hadn't stopped the thoughts of him that filtered through amidst the chaos, as if in reassurance that she'd find him whole at the end of this, that same ferocity in his eyes — the fire she knew so often simmered beneath his cool nymph exterior.
how easily she could feel the thrum of his body, some unseen, untouched, tether between them, one she was too keen to attribute to knowing him as well as she did. for as long as she had. that comfortable familiarity, and that same tether that drew her in search of him amidst the rubble, the dust and bodies scattered along the ground. zora prayed the mother would not let her find him among them, or subject to some fate unknown.
the mother offers her kindness one more time of her own, palpable relief breathing into her as he stumbled into view. she scoffs a laugh, broken and unbidden, at the smile he offers, for only he could give her that look in a battlefield and get away with it. ❝ deron, ❞ she answered, a soft exhale as gaze refused to leave his face, arms wrapping around him instinctively. the ' you're alright ' dying on her lips as the copper scent of blood filled her nose, not the same tinge that filled the room already, but this was fresh, overwhelming, still wet where her hands pressed against his body. she can't bring herself to look, yet. ❝ what happened to coming back to me in one piece, huh ? my terrible fool, ❞ but her arms tighten around him, face pressed his shoulder as if confirming he was well and truly there.
catrin's every instinct had screamed at her to run from the moment the fighting started, no destination in mind and nowhere near the people she was far too keen to cling to. nowhere was safe, not when she already trusted so few and knew even fewer, and this place was about as foreign to her as the rest of prythian had been when she'd first arrived. when she'd been saved from hybern's clutches the first time. but the cauldron - made fae was no fool, and his henchmen hadn't been shy about the way they seemed to gravitate towards her whenever they got their sights on her. and while she was no fighter, by any means, she was a good runner, and elysia had been kind enough to give her a blade, only really capable at swinging it towards anyone that got too close. and she'd been doing real good until one had managed to grab her from behind, pale wings all she could see as they dragged her with far too much ease towards the mountain opening.
though she writhed in their grasp, whatever had their hold on the peregryn wasn't relenting, and catrin could see every bit of peace she'd built for herself flash before her eyes as cool night air hit her skin. they were going to take her. they were going to take her again, take her back to hybern and let her be his trophy experiment. tears pricked her eyes, cheeks already damp, and she loosed a small shriek they lifted from the ground, every effort she'd put into digging her heels in now futile. though she hadn't quite forgotten her first experience in the air, she was certain she preferred it to this one, being dangled above the ground that grew father away more and more rapidly. ❝ let me go ! let — me — go ! ❞ she screamed, each word punctuated with a flailing limb against whatever she could reach, twisting in their grip much easier in the air than on the ground. catrin wasn't sure she'd have much success, but something to seemed to cause their concentration to falter just slightly, enough for her to fight her way free at last — at the consequence of her now being painfully high in the sky and no way to slow her fall. cauldron cursed her and couldn't even give her wings for all her troubles. ❝ please ! ❞ another pitiful attempt to call for help, voice already terribly hoarse and coming out like a broken sob. ❝ anyone ? ❞
the fighting was a cacophony of sounds in her ears, each one just as brutal and harsh as the last. catrin was many things, but someone suited for the rage of battle was not one of them. she hadn't been during the war, and she certainly wasn't after the fact, each clashing of blades and echoing scream sending a new wave of panic through her. she wondered if it was somehow made worse by damned fae senses, every sound sharper and closer than they could've ever been when she was still a mortal, and she'd never thought there'd be something more she missed about her life before it had been ripped from her.
when chaos had broken out, she'd become so disoriented, she'd lost sight of the winter court — her familiarity, her comfort, the closest thing she'd had to family in a long time. she wasn't trained to fight, was lucky she could wield knitting needles with any real dexterity, and every instinct in her body told her to run but there was no where to hide for someone like her. she kept seeing those terrible crowns atop the mortal queen's heads, felt that familiar and dreaded pulse of cauldron magic, and all she'd been able to do was cling to the rock face of the walls, head snapping around as if it would truly be able to warn her of any danger.
if anything, all it did was let her catch sight of the fae and the attack rapidly approaching his back. before catrin can think otherwise, weigh the pros and cons, she's reaching for his arm. some instinct to protect someone else when she could barely catch herself. she might be foolish enough to chalk it up to that glimpse of what looked dangerously like her sister — impossible, wasn't it ? a later problem, if nothing else, just like her tattered outfit and the scrapes across her arms. ❝ careful ! cauldron above, they're relentless ! ❞
𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭: as zora & deron lose her , cerys bumps into maxon , who helps her find a secluded corner .
her body is rolling against the cavernous floor , bumping into other limp frames . the warm hands of her friend no longer cradling her broken figure . each whimper seems to escape on their own volition , searing pain of her leg has her body curling into itself . deron and zora are nowhere in sight , far too preoccupied by the blades of silver marked with blood of their own . her stomach heaves in worry at the thought , not at all concerned for the imminent death that awaited her as she lay amongst the corpses that welcomed her home . the human has already resigned herself to a gentle surrender , accepted her fate graciously . just as a protagonist , a hero ─ someone she'd hoped to be in another life ─ would've in one of her novels . she doesn't flinch at the looming body above her , the expansive wings behind them only obscuring her view of the battle she knows still wages on . ❛ do you think the mother would laugh ? ❜ stifles the groan at the throb in her thigh , trying not to think of how his hefty sword would feel piercing through her skin . ❛ to know that an angel is delivering the killing blow . terribly ironic , isn't it ? ❜
the screams that fill his ears are all too reminiscent to those of the war, the ones that echoed no matter how much he tried to forget them. the seraphim was certain that no time would erase those memories, and certainly not when the fighting seemed endless even still. wings are kept tucked against his back, shielded as much as possible from the onslaught of arrows and blades — some of which he can feel the sting of along his skin already. something draws him further through the throng of bodies, cries of pain and the scent of mortal fear, an urge to find the source and ease it still. maxon nearly stumbled over the girl's cowering form in his search for the source, grip tightening on his blade of light if only in preparation to cross foe and not friend, though it slackened as gaze swept her features. something protective settled over him, though it's all too easy to attribute it to his worry for tyrian, for neve. it's impossible to stop the dry laugh, wings fanning out to shield her fragile form from the destruction erupting around them. ❝ the mother would never send an angel to kill another angel, ❞ he hummed softly, kneeling down in front of her, ❝ her humor is not quite so cruel. ❞ though the seraphim had thought differently on more than on occasion. ❝ i would be a poor male to leave you injured and alone. ❞
the nymph cared little in the moment to dwell on anything but the immediate need of maintaining the safety of those they had brought with them from their court, shoved any fleeting thoughts of the lingering words seren had said out of his mind. there was a precision to the way which he carved a path forward for the pair, slicing through those they charged to attack them with no regard for the their humanity or the morality of it all. a luxury that deron could not afford for himself, not with zora pressed tightly against his back - their bodies synchronized with fluid movements to cover the other's blind spots. few words had been spoke between them when the fighting began, both sets of eyes searching rapidly for that flash of crimson within the mass of bodies and spraying blood. a fleeting touch to his hip, enough of a signal to deron that zora had found cerys, following after the wraith with a blade that shielded her from any stray attacks. the sight of cerys on the ground, the scent of her tears within the air, breaks the distant, cold demeanor he'd worn once more. his teeth grit with rage, flickering gaze around at any place that may offer them sanctuary - a healer. " and where shall we take her, zora?" he snapped, eyes falling to their friend. softening the slightest amount, let's out a tired sigh quietly before he sheathes his blade. " this is going to hurt, cer." the only thing he speaks to her before he slides an around under her knees and under her back. bites back the wince of the pain he knows it must cause. " we can clear a path, establish a vantage point for you both to remain safe." he rose once more, nodding in the opposite direction of where they came from. " i'll find the others after." it goes unsaid that it means he'll have to leave them both, that they cannot waste the resources to hide in a corner till it cleared once more.
she'd always known there was magic in the life around her . in the way that shadows seemed to emerge so effortlessly from zora , or the way she'd heard rumors of azrael's misting abilities . but she thinks ─ as zora's fingers graze her battered skin ─ perhaps this was the real magic . how her family had sought her out , even through the chaos of it all . oh , how she'd wished for this same rescue so long ago , as the phantom that had once haunted her mortal estate , a slave of a wife to an unkind man . feels hysterical at the memory , at the dream she'd held so tightly to her chest , blossoming into reality . ❛ you're wielding a sword , der [ ... ] ❜ cerys muses , absently , raising her arms to allow him a better hold on her frail form . her own wail of pain reflects the cacophony that surrounded them , an orchestra of anguish and death . but she can hardly keep track , not with the way her head sways with vertigo . ❛ how can you wield a blade with , ❜ in her delirious stupor , she brings her hands up , motioning to the space between her fingers that lacked the webs deron held between his . her head lulls to the side , growing heavier with each moment , even as jaded cerulean gaze stretches to zora's magnificent physique who carved through their enemies with skilled perfection . ❛ have you two ever entertained the idea of mating with one another ? ❜ wasn't sure how that act worked here , only aware of the terminology .
zora trusted deron at her back without question, the same way he trusted her at his own, and there's few others better suited to fighting at her side. she's certain they make quite the pair, half - breeds prone to violence softening in the face of their frail mortal. teeth bare in answer to deron's question, though more out of uncertainty of the answer rather than the way he snaps it towards her. ❝ anywhere but the throng of battle, deron, ❞ she snapped back, all too aware of how dangerous fae weapons and fae hands were to mortal bodies. wounds were bad enough for them, without the same healing abilities as full fae, but any more would be fatal to cerys, and zora would be damned if she lost her, too. snort of laughter follows the musings of their friend, dry and devoid of humor as they fluidly switched positions as sword wielders. blade swings with a practiced ease as they keep close to the wall, attempting to minimize the angles they had to protect from. his words cause a familiar frown to tug at her lips. ❝ we can get her to safety, but like hell am i letting you find the others on your own. ❞ not that he wasn't capable, but something terrible tugged at her very being at the prospect of something happening to him, too. cerys' statement echoes in her head as blood continued to spray into their path, shaking her head slightly. she knew what the mortal meant, though the answer she provided suggested otherwise. ❝ most people just call that sex, cer, and i think we're both a little busy to entertain that right now. ❞
𝐩𝐥𝐨𝐭: zora & deron find a broken cerys amidst the crowd , attempting to bring her to safety .
oh how naive she'd been . to think she would ever be safe in anyone's hands but her own . something of a pipe dream that only ever expanded during her residence in the night court . but the searing pain she feels in her leg , feels oddly familiar . a pain that she finds herself sinking into , as if a nostalgic memory of her life before prythian . the tears have already begun their stream down her cheeks , back digging into the cavernous wall behind her . hands attempting to stabilize her leg , in an effort to pull herself to her feet again , but to no avail . in another time , cerys had been no stranger to violence. but this , this was nothing short of a massacre . frightened hands raise when a body approaches at an inhuman speed , but as she awaits the final blow , those sad , lost blue hues look up in questioning . only seeming to water even more at the sight of zora , deron guarding her back with blade she never thought she'd ever see between his normally gentle hands . ❛ zo ? ❜
it had been foolish to think this gathering would have been the peaceful endeavor they had hoped it to be. though zora had been on edge since they'd arrived, she should've known something was amiss, and she'd kick herself for not being more prepared later. but as fighting thrummed around them, steady in time with the adrenaline coursing through her veins, there were far more important things for her to worry about, including looking out for the well - being of the court that was her family. there is a part of her that is acutely aware of the male fighting at her back while sharp gaze flitted across the colliding bodies, looking for the most fragile of their family, blade digging into soft skin with fervor as head of red hair finally entered her view. relief is short lived, of course, seeing the state that cerys was in, and her heart ached with a protective rage, and a guilt that she hadn't done her job of looking after the mortal. ❝ we're right here, cer, ❞ words offered softly in stark contrast to the way she usually was, the wraith bent down to gently touch her face. ❝ her leg's broken, deron, she can't stay here. ❞ neither could they, not for long.
✧ ˚ · . the continent welcomes MAXON LAVIER of THE DAY COURT, the SECOND IN COMMAND of THE DAY COURT. when the SERAPHIM is glamoured, he bears a resemblance to REGE - JEAN PAGE. the 32 / 547 year old CIS MAN is reputed to be ALTRUISTIC and ERUDITE, but a decade of war has left them WARY and IMPASSIVE. if created by the cauldron, they would be made in the likeness of GREAT WHITE WINGS SPREAD TO BASK IN WARM SUNLIGHT, IMPISH GRINS OFFERED OVER THE TOPS OF ANCIENT TOMES, & A STOIC FIGURE SILHOUETTED AGAINST THE RISING SUN. whispers throughout prythian claim that their allegiance lies with THE DAY COURT, where they conspire to SUPPORT THE RULING FAMILY AND RETURN DAY COURT TO ITS FORMER GLORY.
pets. a young pup name solara that he came across last winter and who trots at his heels endlessly now .
languages spoken. the common tongue .
allegiance. the day court .
APPEARANCE .
hair color. black .
eye color. warm amber .
height. 6 feet / 182 cm .
scars. a jagged scar along his chest, a handful of spots along his wings from the war where feathers don’t grow quite right anymore .
style. loose, light - colored ( often creams, whites, and tans ) clothing ; favors a lot of button - downs that are always shamelessly partially, if not half, unbuttoned ; wears a lot of items with gold trim, as well as several golden rings, bracelets, and necklaces .
MISCELLANEOUS .
alignment. lawful neutral .
strengths. altruistic, erudite, passionate .
weaknesses. wary, impassive, over - protective .
aesthetic. great white wings spread to bask in warm sunlight, impish grins offered over the tops of ancient tomes, stoic figure silhouetted against the rising sun, golden rings twisting absently as gaze sweeps a room .
media inspiration. anthony + benedict bridgerton ( bridgerton ), maxon schreave ( the selection ), tba i’ve never consumed media in my life .
BIOGRAPHY .
trigger warning for : abuse, death during childbirth, war mentions, parental death .
your parents met long before your birth, settled on an island in the erythrian sea, a pair of seraphim that thrived amidst a community of faes of all types and mortal company, and though not mates, loved each other more than words could ever describe.
they traveled frequently, many of which landed them on day court shores. enough so that they’d eventually come to settle there, warriors hoping to find peace in the land of fae. your father took to apprenticing along the renowned inventors, and your mother spend day after day in one of the many libraries.
well received, it was almost a century before your mother fell pregnant with you, a blessing for both your parents when they hadn’t been trying, then more than eager to welcome you into the world, into this new life that they’d built.
but as it progressed, it became a much harder pregnancy than anticipated, and though it should’ve been a simple birth, there had been too much blood loss trying to get you into the world and your mother never got the chance to see the light she’d created, and you hold no memories, no knowledge of her bright eyes and too - knowing smile.
your father was not an unkind man, and he tried to hold onto that love for your mother, that love for you that he still held when she carried you, but you were not foolish enough to miss the way his gaze could grow cold, distant, or the way words came out harsher than they should’ve.
you grow up spending hours in the great libraries, and beyond teaching you how to fly, to strengthen your body in the same way you strengthen your mind, your father distances himself. he pours more of himself into his work than he does your relationship and as the decades and centuries pass, it is all but non - existent.
he raises his hand against you only one, in the middle of a heated argument in your youth, declarations of how your mother would hate the man he had become in her absence enough to earn you a split lip and a black eye. he doesn’t apologize, and neither do you, and the fissure between you only grew.
you become well - known around the court for your charm and flirtatious attitude, for the way it hides that ache of loneliness that comes from the lack of family you seem to have. it’s a reputation of note, but there are a select few that see the soft heart and kind eyes beneath the cocky attitude.
perhaps it’s why you find such a home in the company of the ruling family, the siblings you never had, the family you didn’t have to walk on eggshells around knowing you were the blame for all the existing cracks. you found a home, and before long, a place in their inner circle, too.
second is a position you wear with pride, a promise to protect the only home you have every known, and the family that nearly treats you as their own. you take it very seriously, even if that cheeky attitude never fades, and many find it easier to become endeared to it than anything else. it even becomes something of an asset when it comes to working with the other courts.
when the war came, you fought diligently alongside your court, alongside the mortals, aiming for their safety and the peace, and for it, you earn the scars to tell the tale, despite how gallantly you fight with your seraphim blades. a jagged wound across your chest from a foolish close range attack in the height of battle, and a handful of spots along your wings from attacks that ensured the feathers do not grow quite right. nothing that affected your ability to fly, but certainly enough to make it hurt like hell for a while.
and when your father dies during the war, you cannot bring yourself to mourn him, more stranger than he ever was a parent, even if his loss is still a continuous ache in your chest.
TLDR .
seraphim born and raised in the day court, dead mom facilitating life - long daddy issues. has six big sexy feathered wings, tends to keep them all tucked as close to his body as he can, tends to only have two on display at any given point in time ( save for special occasions ). massive flirt, big little shit energy, can and would do anything for the people he cares about ( including being willing to lay down his life because what does he have to lose ). is trauma coded, but also wholesome supportive brother coded, and has a good heart underneath it all. has sexy glowing seraphim blades.