—𝙞 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚 𝙤𝙛 𝙥𝙖𝙧𝙖𝙙𝙞𝙨𝙚
—𝑰𝑭 𝑾𝑬 𝑨𝑹𝑬 𝑴𝑶𝑵𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑺
pairing: the darkling x reader
summary: you are not a monster and you never will be, and yet...
warning: death, mild violence, the darkling is a bastard
word count: 5k+
yue’s note: whoo boi this is long overdue and, not only that, but i have to cut some content. like i said before, i have the entire iwam fic outlined so you can expect 20+ chapters of this. i’m working on a debut novel at the same time and plus my irl work i don’t think i can keep to a regular update schedule. but i have some super exciting stuff planned for this fic so i rlly want to get as much chapters in the future. i have a pinterest and spotfly playlists for this baby so i’ll link it once i get a bit more chapters done.
When they find you, you are covered in weeks worth of grime and dirt. You smell like you’ve clawed your way up from a bath of rot. There is fresh blood dripping down your fingers but it’s not yours.
They don’t know the amount of anger and fear stored in your body, yet.
But they figure out you can talk and you’re civilized enough to hold a conversation.
You tell them about yourself. How you feel your scars pulse and listen to the laughter of the dead man as he pinned you down. And right there, you decided he laughed one too many times and something in you cracked open.
The anger spilled out like yolk.
It burned as hot as the sun in your mouth.
Shadow snapped around you and you detach yourself from the screaming man. You felt half delirious and half in shock as the light simmered down with a dead body sprawled before you. A wound blossomed in the middle of his chest with smoke curling out.
The smell of singed flesh choked your nose, making you gag on reflex. And that was when you heard the sound of hooves coming towards you. There’s a man in a red Grisha kefta flanked by two others. His companions wore the uniform of black, with a faceless mask covering their face.
But, you realize, they’re not here to judge your deed nor to punish you.
“Come with us,” the man in red says.
You’ve been warned not to go with strangers as a little girl. So you take your steps forward, swallow thickly, and nod. Only half of your mind is functional and the rest is just a vulnerable mess.
It’s not like you have a choice. If a Grisha wants you to go with them, you go.
Ivan is his name and he’s here on a mission that he doesn’t want to talk about. You realize he’s not the type to make - or even want - small conversations. And neither are you. In fact, it’s preferable that way.
You’re sitting in front of Ivan and you feel his chest press against your back. He tells you that it’s to prevent you from running away, since you did kill one of their own. When you look at that corpse one more time, you realize he’s wearing Corporalki red. Same as Ivan’s. And it isn’t like you never saw those keftas before. You used to live in the servant quarters in the Grand Palace - Grisha were a common sight.
Unease coils inside your stomach. The silhouette of Kribirsk appears on the horizon. You swallow, eyes honing in on the town. There’s no doubt that whoever you’ll be brought to will be within Kribirsk’s confines.
What’s worse is that surely everyone there’ll be a Grisha. You killed one, you might as well have attempted to kill them all. You know that Grishas have a hive mind; they see threats as personal regardless of whether or not it’s directed at them. You flex your fingers and try not to let go of the rein in your hands. Though Ivan’s arms are shielding you, you ready to topple down. Something claws in your throat; it’s a scared animal, or a vicious beast.
Mother told you you have an ill-temper. Both in health and in mindset.
“We’re here.” Ivan nudges you down first and you turn to see the two black uniform-clad guards stand on either side of your horse. He elbows you again, harder this time. Without any other options, you dismount, almost falling on your ass as you reach the ground.
One of the guards reaches out and steadies you. Their gloved hand doesn’t let go after both of your feet are planted on the ground, however. Overhead is a looming black tent, bigger than the rest. All around you are people from the First Army and the Second Army. The latter of which are composed entirely of Grisha soldiers.
Most of them are young - younger than you. But you spot older Grisha too. Some of them give you a curious glance, but others keep to their tasks. You take in a deep shuddering breath as your fingers flex again by your side.
“Wait here,” Ivan says in that same clipped tone. He enters the tent, leaving you and the two guards outside.
Could you make a run for it? There are only two of them near you. Ivan is a Corporalki but he doesn’t look that agile, plus he’s in the tent. The other two probably aren’t Grisha but common soldiers. However, it’s still a big risk. Especially when there are Grisha soldiers all around you. They can easily catch you for them.
But if you run, you can head back to Old Town where your current home is.
Just as you try to formulate a plan to explain to him what happened should you succeed, Ivan steps out and beckons you in. You step forth and enter the tent along with the two guards. Inside, you are greeted by a room that’s bigger than you first thought.
In the middle is a rug that goes all the way over to a raised dais with a long table carved from smooth wood. Several Grisha stand on either sides, their gazes settling upon you as Ivan pushes you forward. Each and every one of their faces are immaculate. Enough so that they don’t look human.
But the person who catches your attention is the one sitting in the chair by the table, with one gloved finger pressed against his cheek. For a moment, you think he’s asleep, but as the Grisha starts murmuring amongst themselves, his eyes open and he rises.
Everyone quiets down all of a sudden. The unease that’s settling within you suddenly bursts and you struggle. The grip on your wrists tightens as your legs kick out, white-hot desperation of a captured prey animal simmering underneath.
All eyes hone in on you as you are being dragged forward. But the heaviest of them all is from the dark eyed man just a few feet away. Right when you’re certain they’ll run you into the man himself, you’re thrown down and your arms pinned by the masked guards.
Heavy footsteps come from behind. You see the swish of a red coat and assume it’s Ivan.
“General, this girl slaughtered the Heartrender Rhesk,” he says. “How will we proceed with her punishment?”
People begin murmuring. You can’t make out what they’re saying nor can you see this general’s face.
“Patience, Ivan.” The general’s voice is as smooth as a storm. He’s younger than you expected, but old enough to be in a position of authority. And yet, you can’t help but feel a twinge of familiarity. Surely you met him before, if only in passing years ago.
You attempt to crane your neck up while baring your teeth. One of the guards press down on the back of your neck.
“Behave yourself, murderer!” they hiss. “This is General Kirigan, the most powerful Grisha here.”
“And he has absolute power over us all,” another pipes in like you’re in a casual conversation.
Kirigan doesn’t seem to acknowledge anything of what the two guards said. Instead, you watch as one of his boots move forward, as if preparing to come towards you. “Ivan told me they saw light surrounding you and my soldier before his body fell - was it true?”
You don’t answer.
“Was the light from you?”
Silence.
Around you, Grisha begins talking amongst themselves, this time not even concealing their volume. But their words die down, just as abruptly as they started it.
Suddenly, you’re hoisted up to your knees. Kirigan’s eyes lock against yours and an irrational feeling of fear claws its way down your spine.
Fear has always been a sort of weapon for you. Because you can turn it into anger. It’s what keeps you fighting. But this...this is something else.
“The Grisha she killed is a ranked—”
Kirigan holds up a hand, silencing them. “Was a ranked Grisha.”
Despite his response, the room stays quiet. Kirigan makes his way forward, his gaze never straying from you. In the silence, you hear the thud of his boots on the rug-covered floor.
Your lips tremble and fingers clench hard enough that they shake. That soldier told the truth: Kirigan holds absolute power - a power you saw by how he silenced the crowd with barely a wave of his hand.
And now he’ll be the one to decide your fate.
Nausea burns in the back of your throat and your mind hides into a corner. You see his pristine black boots in your vision and you look up. His gaze is dissecting you, peeling apart your skin layer by layer.
Tears gather in the corner of your eyes.
“Stand up,” Kirigan says. You flinch as his feet move, thinking he’s going to kick you. But instead he lowers onto one knee. “Stand up, little wolf, it’s no fun talking to you when you’re sprawled on the floor.” His words are icy and cruel, pale lips curling into a brief smirk.
The guards move away and you are kneeling on your own. And though your brain urges you to stand, you can’t. Defying orders is another level of malicious glee, despite the fear working in your system.
Your lips tremble and your fingers dig into the ground. “That’s-That’s not my name.”
“Then what is your name?” Kirigan tilts his head, but you don’t know whether he’s genuinely curious or doing it to mock you.
You don’t respond and look away.
“Come now, little wolf,” he says after a pause, before turning your face forward by your chin. The touch of his glove burns your skin. He leans in until you feel his lips almost brush against your ear. “Even monsters have a name.”
“I’m not a monster,” you respond curtly.
“Not a monster?” he whispers.
The burn of his gloves disappear from your flesh as Kirigan steps away. He’s stripping off one of them, revealing a hand with pale unmarked flesh.
“Then prove you’re not a monster,” he says, voice ringing with clarity in the absence of noise. “Prove you’re someone else - one of us, a Grisha.”
Your fingers flex and something warm tinges your palm. In that split second, you find your focus and you attempt to stand. A hand pushes down on your shoulders, causing you to cry out as your knees hit the carpeted floor once more.
“I’m not a Grisha!” you yell. “I’m not a monster, not like you.”
“Why do you think that we’re monsters?” His voice is calm and irritatingly soft.
For a moment, you hesitate. But then you’re already in the midst of them - why not tell them the truth? “Grishas murder, they are unnatural, they are witches and demons and everything monstrous.” Your voice shook when you spoke, but at least you know what you were saying.
The audience starts talking again and this time you’re able to hear the words being thrown at you.
Traitor. Scum. Murderer.
None of these should fill you with any sort of pride. Right now, however, you pride yourself on one. Murderer. because you would rather kill one of them than be one of them.
Something changes in the air. A potent shift that swirls around Kirigan’s body as he clasps his band behind his back. There’s an inscrutable expression on his face as he studies you.
He leans down and suddenly, the two guards forcefully turn you to face one side of the audience. You grunt and struggle, but Kirigan’s hold on the back of your head proves too strong for you to get out of.
“Then beg for the mercy of the Grisha here, beg for mercy from those who cannot be here because their bodies are rotting away on a stake or left at the bottom of the ocean.” Kirigan’s voice is calm, but there’s a cold viciousness to it that forces you to listen despite your desperation and terror. “Beg the children, the women, and men who died because they were born unnatural. Maybe if they all forgive you, you can live your mundane life and be done with us.”
You can’t see him, but you can feel that smirk on his face. He’s taking pleasure in this, in you groveling before him and his kind. And what can you do? You’re just a girl - a nobody - and you would rather be that. Not them, no, never them.
“What if she’s not a Grisha?” Ivan says just as your forehead touches the ground by Kirigan’s grip. “Perhaps we should test her first.”
“Not yet, Ivan,” Kirigan responds.
Your neck aches from the forceful dip. Grishas start talking and this time, they don’t stop.
Minutes pass, but it starts bleeding into hours in your mind. All you can think about is the festering stench of the makeshift graveyards. Pej and his tavern. Being caked in dried mud and going back to that small cube of a room after robbing the graves dry of everything but bones. Slowly, your mind wanders even further back to the boy you met as a child — his golden hair, his easy laughter, and his brilliant mind.
“I want to go home,” you whisper, more to yourself than to the Grisha around you. “Please…”
Suddenly, Kirigan lifts your head up and the guards pull you back to the center of the carpet. Your knees are sore and the lower half of your legs are turned boneless. The rug burns against the heel of your feet. The thin fabric of your shoes have peeled away.
“If you’re Grisha then you are home,” Kirigan says in a mockingly gentle voice. You watch him move back to your front, dark eyes looking at you like prey animal. His bare hand reaches for your neck, his long fingers digging into pliant flesh. Something stirs beneath your skin, a simmering heat that’s not uncomfortable, but foreign.
A shiver runs down your spine as the heat gathers, becoming warmer and warmer. You remember mom’s cane hitting your wrist at that moment, the cold wood smacking down until pain ebbs forth. But this is different; no amount of pain can stifle the coil snapping beneath your skin.
Bright light surrounds you, capturing the room in its brilliance. Your palm burns with heat, but it’s not painful. Swallowing is hard when you can’t concentrate; your mind is somewhere in the distance. There’s a vague feeling of something soft tapping against your throat, before you realize Kirigan’s hand is still wrapped loosely around it.
Darkness shatters the light into mirror-like pieces, before they coalesce and disappear into the air. People are in awe, talking to each other about the display that they just saw. The two guards that had their hands wrapped around your arms almost loosens their hold. Kirigan’s hand unwraps from your neck, but doesn’t stray back to his side. You’re able to look up into his eyes and notice, to your surprise, a split-second expression.
Surprise? Horror?
No, it’s perhaps....relief.
Whatever it is, he manages to rein it back to that calm and collected look he wears so well. Though you’ve just displayed the power you’ve kept hidden like a dirty secret, you’re thankful he’s not touching you anymore. You know now what he is - an amplifier - which means his status as a general is that much more precious.
With quivering lips you look down and manage to see the flesh of your palms. They’re unburnt, and warm to the touch. The first time you summoned light was the only time you burnt something - your mother’s flower. And from that point on, both you and your mother forbade the power from ever being called. Most of all, you remembered the shadowy cloaked figure that kept watch over you when mother was gone.
Your eyes drift towards Kirigan. The kefta he’s wearing is black, with sleek silver clasps holding it close. He’s tall, a full-grown male older than you. And he’s now looking at you as if you’ve done something he never imagined to see.
His lips curl into a grin. “You want to go home, little wolf?”
A sinking dread fills your stomach once more. You nod.
Kirigan laughs, a soft barely there sound, only detectable by the way his shoulders are shaking. “Your home is with us now—” He leans down and in the most mockingly gentle manner again, takes hold of your chin. “—Sun Summoner.”
The hands wrapped around your upper arm lets you go and you collapse onto the floor before your hand finds purchase, keeping your body up. Your chest heaves up and down and there’s a flurry of movement, the tent flap opens and closes, and people move around you. A painful churning in your stomach causes you to press one hand against it.
It’s not the first time you experienced such pain. Back in the Grand Palace, you felt something similar, but it was tolerable. Your face shakes and for a moment, you think you’re going to go unconscious.
But then someone is hauling you up off the ground. You don’t complain and let them take you out. In the flurry of pain, you manage to keep your eyes to the front.
It’s already night time when they take you out. The cool air touches your heated skin and for a moment it feels good. But then you’re being navigated across tents and all of a sudden you’re in another - albeit smaller - one. Various poultices and mixing bowls are laid out on a rickety desk. Beside it is a cot with a gray blanket laid on top. The guard lets you sit on it, before stepping outside.
You decide to lay down and rest one arm against your chest.
“It’s really her? The Sun Summoner?” An excited voice outside the tent catches your attention.
“Calm down—”
“I want to see her.”
“Vitaly, calm the boy down.” A woman’s voice.
Seconds later, a slim young man with mousy brown curls walk in. He’s wearing the guard’s uniform of dark gray minus the expressionless beaked mask. Following behind him is a woman with long black hair and brown skin.
“Oh Saints.” The young man’s face curls into a smile. There’s a tinge of Fjerdan accent in his voice. Before he can continue, the woman pushes him out. She doesn’t leave, however, and turns to you.
“Forgive him,” she says with a small curtsy. “We’re oprichniki, Kirigan’s personal guards. Most of us haven’t been around Grisha too much.”
“It’s fine,” you tell her. The realization that these people are not Grisha puts your mind at ease, but it’s still buzzing with what just happened. Seeing the woman standing here makes you anxious about your current posture - all laid out looking far sicker than usual.
Seeing you sitting up, the woman raises a hand and says, “Oh please, don’t sit up if you can’t.”
“No, I’m fine.”
She drops her hand and doesn’t say anything. But she still remains here, standing, watching you.
“May I ask if you’ll give us your name?” the woman asks, clasping her hands behind her back. You notice shapes standing outside your tent by the dim glow of fire light.
“Tell me your name first,” you say, rubbing at your aching neck.
“Darya.”
A pause. Then you tell her your name.
“Oh, [Name] huh?” Darya’s eyebrow quirks up as a look of recognition appears on her face. “I trained a wolfhound that shared a name with you.” She laughs, but you find it strange - although not in a bad way. “Kirigan calls you ‘little wolf’ so it’s funny.”
“I guess so,” you say, laughing a little just to stifle the tension.
“And I’m Ruslan,” the boy adds after poking his head into the tent, giving you a little wave as he tucks his other hand behind his back. The uniform he wears is a bit bigger than his frame.
You attempt to sit up and swing your leg to the ground. A nauseous lurch in the pit of your stomach causes you to flinch and stay. “How long will I be here?” you ask, looking at both of them.
“A few...hours maybe?” Ruslan says, staring at Darya. Darya throws a glare toward him, but doesn’t push him away.
“Until everything’s in order,” Darya says. She comes closer and, in a soft voice, says,“But you should not go outside once it gets darker. There could be spies lurking in the corner.”
You look at her, believing she’s going to say it’s a joke. There’s already heavy fortification with this much Grisha soldiers and regular guards around. Kirigan himself is another weapon to use - and the strongest of them all.
Although, you have heard of whispers of Grisha hunters from Fjerda and the scientists from Shu Han who want to experiment on them. Could they have sent Grisha spies on their side to infiltrate this camp? Who’s to say the ones standing before you aren’t spies themselves? They wore masks so they could easily blend in and fool the general himself.
“I can stay and watch,” Ruslan says.
“No.” Your voice was sharp and abrupt. Turning around to look at the ceiling, you say, “I’m fine. Please leave me be.”
There’s no one here for you to trust now that your secret is out. Everyone will want something. Even if they aren’t Grisha themselves.
“Certainly,” Darya says, still maintaining her calm voice. “I’ll fetch a Healer for you.”
Before you can open your mouth to say no, Darya has left, with Ruslan in tow. The boy looks at you with a look of yearning in his gaze before leaving you.
Eventually, exhaustion overrides the anxiety and the numbing pain in your stomach. Sleep takes over, but not for long. Someone comes in, causing you to sit up, eyes wide with alertness. This time it’s a Grisha Corporalki who’s carrying a steaming mug in their hands.
“For you,” they say. “I was told you may be feeling unwell.” Their words were clipped. You take the mug and feel the warmth shifting into your palms. The liquid inside sloshes around as you move your feet to the ground.
“Thank you,” you mutter, eyes casting to the intricate stitchings on their kefta. The Healer sighs and begins to shift around the desk. With their back turned, you begin to take a small sip of the liquid, discovering it’s a strong herbal tea.
It soothes your throat and, to your pleasant surprise, your stomach ache as well.
“Do you want your scars healed?”
Their question catches you by surprise as you place your hand against them. You’ve carried them for so long that these scars are now a part of you. “No thank you,” you tell the Healer. Though you considered it, in the end it’s a reminder for what you endured.
They shrug. “Suit yourself. We’re leaving tomorrow morning, by the way”
Not long after, they leave with the mug you drank from. You wish you had a pot full of the tea by your cot so you can continue drinking it. The soothing feeling is starting to ebb away into the previous discomfort and pain. Your eyebrows furrow and you lay down, eyes staring up at the ceiling again.
Tomorrow morning.
You know where exactly you’ll be taken. To think that just a few hours ago you’re still with your fellow graverobbers.
Closing your eyes, you try to let sleep in again. Instead, it’s the towering image of that general who wore the only black kefta.
General Kirigan.
He and you met before. Somewhere a long time ago within the Grand Palace. He had forgotten - or simply didn’t say anything - but you did. And yet, the problem here lies in the fact that he never changed. Physically he’s the same.
It’s like he never aged.
A shiver runs down your back as you turn to your side.
Your mother had told you of an immortal demon in all-black who will take you if you’re not careful. You saw something covered in black keeping you from using your light the first time you did it before your mother found out.
Thinking about this hurts. But what hurts more now is knowing that you’re alone again.
As a child, you did have a friend who lived in the palace. A prince.
It was a strange twist of fate that led you to meet each other. After that, you couldn’t count how many times he and you stole peaches and sweets from the kitchen where your mother worked. Or the times you listened to him talk about impossible inventions he drew up in his mind while he practiced his swordsmanship with wooden dummies.
Maybe he returned? If he did then it’ll make your stay a bit bearable.
Rubbing your forehead, you start to picture what he would look like.
Soon, you fall asleep.
And fall into a darkness.
Something brushes against you, like a piece of silken fabric. Your eyes open and you sit up, shaking and in layers of sweat. It feels like you’ve only been asleep for a few minutes but you’re not sure.
You step down from the cot and push open the tent flap, cool breeze hitting your face. It feels good outside,
There’s no one around, not even one of those guards you talked to. This would be perfect for a getaway if you’re quiet enough. But just as you try to make your way out, another wave of pain causes you to fold over. You reach out one hand to support yourself against the tent before you slowly move your way against it.
You both see each other at the same time.
“You—” he cuts you off with a long finger against your lips.
General Kirigan shushes you and then with his other, brushes his fingers against your clammy face. “No need to run now, there are Grisha soldiers stationed in every exit.” He sounded so smug that you know it’s right.
So your mouth curls into a frown and you look to the side. “I want to go home.”
“Home? There’s no home for you but with us.” A pause. “Don’t be so stubborn, little wolf.” He’s talking so softly that it almost feels kind.
And yet, you’re distracted enough that all desire to run quickly flushes away. Your muscles ache and the pain within stabs against your stomach. There’s no way you can make it that far out even with no soldiers around.
“I’ll find a way out,” you say, before making your way into the tent.
A hand claps onto your shoulder. Your skin shivers and a feeling of warmth spreads throughout.
“Little wolf,” Kirigan’s smooth words roll through your mind. “I’ve been thinking myself mad, wondering where I met you and now I remember.” You’re not sure if he really said it or it was your imagination.
Before you can talk back, your body pitches forward and your vision blurs until darkness falls.
The next time you open your eyes again, it’s the morning. There are voices outside of the tent and heavy footfalls coming from every direction. You see two shadows standing outside of the entrance again and your body stiffens. As if they know, one of the two guards enter.
He’s an unfamiliar face.
“Wear this,” he says and tosses you a red kefta.
You oblige, pulling on the soft fabric before working on the clasps. It’s a bit bigger than what you usually wear but it’s better than being cold.
The last thing you remember was being outside.
Kirigan must’ve taken you back in.
“Come, Sun Summoner,” the man says as soon as you finish the last clasp. You wordlessly follow him as he takes you outside, where people are running around with items in their arms. It looks like everyone’s packing to leave, as the tents that were here last night were either gone or being taken down. For a moment, your attention was left on the activity around you.
Having grown up in a town that was bereft of much people and activities, you seldom see much. The crisp colors of the Grisha kefta almost looks like a circus trope.
You haven’t made peace with the idea of going back to the palace, no less returning just to live in the same building as the other Grishas. But there’s no way they’ll let you go now. Unless you make a break for it and lose them in the chaos.
Unless—
A hand grabs your wrist. “We’re here, now get in.” The same guard beckons to a black carriage, with two sleek-bodied horses tethered to its front. The Grisha driver tips his hat at you and grins, before returning his gaze to the front.
“Would it trouble you to let me ride on a horse?” you ask.
“Kirigan’s order,” the guard says. His grim face doesn’t drop as he stares at you. You imagine he’s not exactly an easy person to win in arguments so you decide to listen. You step in and see the other guard, Ruslan, sitting opposite of where your seat is. The grim-faced guard slips in and sits beside you. Another person, Ivan, steps in later before closing the door. You didn’t see him when you came inside.
The carriage starts to move. Outside, you hear horse hooves moving around you.
The guard, who introduces himself as Vitaly, tells you about the plan. Kirigan will ride with another group while you and your group take a shorter route.
Soon, Vitaly starts telling you stories with his warm voice of his.
“—Darya culls wolfhounds that are too aggressive, but Ruslan found a way to sell them for profit to the merchants in Os Alta. I raised one for a month before Kirigan found out. Poor pup got sent out of the palace afterwards.” There was regret in his voice. You are leaning against the window, listening to Vitaly speak. He’s handsome, with neat brown hair and a beautiful face.
You smile, one hand still pressed against your stomach.
Ivan’s reading a book, but you notice him looking at you from time to time.
It takes you three days and three nights of travel until you reach Ravka’s capital. And by that time, you have thrown up twice, retched three times, and daydreamed about your childhood.
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