One | The First Threads | Circle of Us
Pairing - Inner Circle x Platonic reader
Word count - 2.8k
Warnings - None
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The Inner Circle was infamous throughout Prythian—spoken of in hushed, reverent tones, feared in equal measure for their power and adored for the unbreakable loyalty binding them together.
A family forged in fire, sacrifice, and secrets.
And somehow by luck, by fate, or by the Mother's twisted sense of humour they became my family.
My brothers and sisters in all but blood.
All stories begin somewhere And mine began centuries ago with one boy, one arrogant, sharp-tongued, violet-eyed boy who would one day become the most powerful High Lord Prythian had ever seen.
Rhysand. I met him first, long before courts rose and fell, before wars reshaped the world.
Back when we were children, when titles still meant everything, and I was expected to bow to anyone with more power, more jewels, more shadows at their back.
My father's voice still echoes in my mind.
"Be polite, be quiet, and for the love of the Mother do not—do not—cause trouble for the High Lord." His tone was clipped, already fraying with the knowledge that my simple existence constituted trouble.
I sniffed, adjusting the stiff dress he'd stuffed me into. "You act as if I'm going to throw myself out the nearest window."
My father shot me a glare so sharp it could have carved stone. "Yes. Because you have, in fact, done exactly that—more than once."
I waved a hand. "That was an accident."
He snorted. "You climbed onto the ledge voluntarily."
"Accidents come in many forms," I muttered.
We moved through the Moonstone Palace, its corridors glowing with soft lunar light, elegant and cold. The air always smelled faintly of frost and starlight, like the place itself was holding its breath.
"Explain to me again," I grumbled, "why I must attend this meeting when you're the one doing business with the High Lord?"
"Because," he said through clenched teeth, "it is time you learned how alliances work."
"What if I don't want to meet them?"
"Then pretend you do," he hissed.
But the moment he stepped into the throne room, bowing deeply and reciting pleasantries, I slipped away swift as a shadow, taking a sharp right down the nearest hallway.
If I had to endure being dragged to this palace like some polished ornament, I could at least find a corner of it worth exploring.
I was halfway through planning my glorious escape when I collided violently with something solid. No, someone.
I stumbled back, blinking stars from my eyes.
Violet eyes. Inky black hair. Golden-brown skin. A jawline forged by the gods purely to inspire trouble.
The boy looked down at me as though I'd personally offended him by existing.
"Watch where you're going," he said, brushing invisible dust from his immaculate clothing.
I bristled. "Watch where you're standing." I pushed myself upright, glaring. "Who do you think you are?"
His brows rose, equal parts disbelief and intrigue. "Rhysand. Heir to the Night Court you're currently standing in."
I blinked once. Twice. Then I smiled sweetly in the most insincere way imaginable.
"Lovely. The future High Lord is an egotistical asshole."
For a heartbeat he simply stared. And then he laughed. Not a polite chuckle. Not the restrained, practised amusement of a court-raised son.
A real laugh. Warm. Surprised. Sharp with delight. It echoed through the moonlit hallways like the chiming of distant stars.
"You're not afraid of me," he said, sounding almost bewildered.
"Should I be?"
"Most would bow."
"I'm not most."
He grinned then, slow, wicked, like he'd just discovered something precious. Like I'd stepped across some invisible threshold neither of us could return from.
"Good," he murmured. "I hate bowing."
"What a coincidence," I said, crossing my arms. "I hate arrogant heirs blocking hallways."
His grin widened. "Come on. If you keep wandering like that, you'll get lost. Or worse—end up in another meeting."
"Tragic," I deadpanned.
He extended a hand, palm open, eyes bright with mischief and possibility. "What do you say? Want to escape together?"
And that was how it started.
Two children sneaking away from their fathers. Two stubborn souls refusing to bow. A spark that would one day grow into something vast and unshakable.
Rhysand didn't know it then. Neither did I. But that moment was the beginning of a bond that would shape centuries.
The beginning of my place in the Inner Circle. My home. My family.
And if Rhys had been the door into that world, Morrigan was the warm, golden light waiting on the other side.
I met Mor next obviously. Rhysand made sure of it.
By then, he and I had fallen into a rhythm my father pretended to approve of.
We spent more and more time together though not in the dignified, politically advantageous way he hoped. There were fewer lessons in diplomacy than there were daring escapes, arguments about nothing, magical mishaps, and Rhys teaching me how to steal pastries from the kitchen without getting caught.
For the record, he was terrible at it. I was much better.
So when Rhys insisted practically demanded that I meet his cousin Morrigan, I agreed immediately.
He'd said it with such certainty, too. "You and Mor... you'll understand each other."
He hadn't been wrong.
The day I met her, sunlight spilt through the Moonstone Palace windows and turned every dust mote into drifting gold. Rhys led me down a quiet corridor, humming with excitement that he tried and failed to hide.
"She's not scary, is she?" I asked.
Rhys snorted. "Mor? Scary? Only if you're a pigheaded male with the emotional depth of a puddle."
"So... most males?" I teased.
He grinned. "Exactly."
He pushed open a door to a sitting room warm with afternoon light. And there standing near the window, a book abandoned on the sill was Morrigan.
Morrigan of the Night Court. Morrigan of golden hair and molten honey eyes. Morrigan who looked like she'd been carved from sunlight and laughter and something unbreakable.
She turned as we entered.
And the very first thing she ever said to me without hesitation, without even blinking was "Mother above, you are gorgeous."
I froze. Rhys groaned into his hands.
But she meant it, every word shining in her eyes like starlight.
I blinked once, twice, then managed "Says the literal goddess standing in front of me."
Her smile... it was like the world brightened just for her. Warm and bright and mischievous, as if she had been waiting, truly waiting, for someone to say exactly that.
She crossed the room in two strides and took both my hands in her own, examining me like a jeweller inspecting a priceless stone.
"Has Rhys been treating you well?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him.
"No," I said loudly. "He's been insufferable."
Rhys spluttered behind us. "Excuse me—"
Mor waved a dismissive hand. "He was born insufferable. It's not your fault."
And just like that... we were laughing. A soft, bubbling laughter that melted the last of my nerves. The kind you only shared with someone who felt familiar and safe despite having known them for all of five breaths.
The kind you shared with a sister.
We spent hours talking that day. Mor asked about everything, my likes, my dislikes, my hopes, my fears, my dreams. She listened as if every word mattered.
She teased Rhys relentlessly, much to my delight. She told me stories of Velaris, of star-lit streets and hidden cafes and quiet corners she swore she'd show me one day.
And beneath all of it, beneath the radiance, there was a shadow in her eyes. A bruise made not of skin but of soul.
Keir. I didn't know the details then. I only knew hurt when I saw it. The kind that didn't fade with time, the kind pressed into bone.
She hid it well. Too well.
And maybe she saw the same reflection in me, my own fractures, my own loneliness, the cracks my father pretended not to see.
We fit together seamlessly. Two girls from gilded cages, finding freedom in each other.
Years passed just like that.
She was the one who held me when my father died, her arms warm around me, her voice strong even when mine wasn't. She stroked my hair and whispered promises that I wouldn't face the world alone, not ever again.
And I held her when they dragged her broken and bleeding from the border of the Autumn Court, left for dead by the male who called himself her father.
I stayed by her bedside through every nightmare, every tremor, every tear she tried to hide. I reminded her she was more than the horror she'd survived. More than Keir's cruelty. More than her scars.
We saved each other, again and again.
Sisters by choice, not blood. Sisters by battle, by laughter, by loss. By love.
Mor was the second thread woven into my life, golden and fierce and unbreakable. And even now, centuries later... I cannot imagine who I would be without her.
Azriel and Cassian came next. Together, naturally, because where one Illyrian went, the other followed.
It happened the same way everything with Rhys happened, with absolutely no warning.
One morning, just as I was enjoying the first quiet moment I'd had in days, Rhys burst into my room like a bat out of the Cauldron and said, "Get up. I'm taking you to meet my brothers."
Before I could protest, argue, or even finish glaring at him, he'd scooped me straight into his arms and launched us into the sky.
I screamed the entire time. Rhys laughed the entire time.
And somewhere in the middle of all that chaos, he kissed the top of my head and said "You'll like them. Just... be yourself."
Which, coming from Rhys, was both a compliment and a warning.
The Illyrian training camp was a sprawl of mountains, wind, and raw muscle. The air tasted of cold iron and the metallic tang of adrenaline. Warriors sparred in the distance, their wings catching morning light like blades.
And right in the centre of it, shirtless, sweaty, smirking stood Cassian and Azriel.
Cassian noticed us first.
The moment Rhys landed with me still clinging to him because I refused to let my death be because I fell from two thousand feet due to pride, Cassian whistled so loudly half the camp turned to look.
"Well, well, well..." he drawled, swaggering forward. "Rhys, you dog. Who's the beauty? New lady friend? New lover, perhaps—"
I cut him off so fast Azriel blinked. "That is vile. Do not finish that sentence."
Cassian's eyebrows shot up to the Mother and back.
I continued, sweetly venomous, "I would rather recite a vow of celibacy than let Rhysand near me with his... thing."
Rhys sputtered behind me. Cassian choked on air, I think before bursting into a bark of laughter.
"Cauldron take me," he wheezed, wiping his eyes. "She's got claws."
"Not claws," I said. "Standards."
That only made him laugh harder.
He planted his hands on his hips, wings flaring with interest. "Alright, sweetheart. What about me? I'm taller, stronger, better looking—"
"No."
He blinked. "Just—no?"
"Correct."
Cassian stared at me like he'd never been refused in his entire immortal life. Then he did something I will never forget. He grinned. Not offended. Not wounded. Delighted.
"Mother above, I like you already."
And just like that, Cassian, chaos incarnate, decided we were friends.
Azriel, on the other hand... was quiet.
He approached with the grace of a shadow slipping into place at your back, silent, controlled, powerful. His golden-brown skin glowed in the morning sun, siphons gleaming like captured starlight.
Shadows curled lazily around him, studying me with far more curiosity than he showed.
He stood a few feet away, wings tucked neatly, eyes calm and unreadable.
But I wasn't fooled. He'd been listening the entire time. His voice, when he finally spoke, was smooth and low.
"So you and Rhys... are not together."
"No," I said instantly.
"Not even a little?" he pressed, head tilting, expression still unreadable.
"If we were the last two in Prythian and the continuation of the realm depended on us, I would simply die."
Behind us, Rhys groaned into his hands.
Azriel stared for a long moment. Then so subtle I almost thought I imagined it, the corner of his mouth lifted. A faint, rare smile.
"Good," he murmured. "I prefer you alive."
Cassian nudged him. "See? Told you she's trouble."
Azriel replied, "You say that like it's a bad thing."
And something warm curled in my chest. Different from Rhys. Different from Mor.
Azriel wasn't loud or playful or dramatic. He was quiet warmth. Steady strength. The kind of presence that made you feel... guarded, even before he ever swore to protect you.
His shadows twined around my wrist, curious, testing, then slipped away as if satisfied.
"She's not afraid of you," Cassian observed, crossing his arms.
Azriel's eyes glimmered. "Good."
And that was that.
Cassian adopted me loudly. Azriel adopted me silently. And I felt something like belonging settle into my bones.
Four threads woven together now. Rhys. Mor. Cassian. Azriel.
And somehow... I was part of it. Part of them. Part of the family that would one day save me and that I would bleed for without hesitation.
Amren, naturally, was the last one I met.
Not out of avoidance, at least not on my part. It simply... happened. She was elusive, unpredictable, too ancient and brilliant and terrifying to be summoned by something as mortal as convenience.
But the day I finally met her? Oh, I remember every second.
It began with a question I regretted as soon as it left my mouth.
"So... she drinks blood?" I asked Rhys.
Cassian and Rhys were arm-wrestling on the dining table, again, so Rhys only grunted in acknowledgement, too focused on beating Cassian to spare me a glance.
"Yes," Rhys drawled. "She does."
I blinked. "What kind of blood?"
"She could drink yours if she felt like it," Azriel replied calmly from the corner, sharpening a dagger with the kind of quiet menace only he could pull off.
My entire soul left my body. "Azriel," I hissed, "that was not reassuring."
He shrugged, shadows curling lazily around him. "You asked."
Part of me knew they were messing with me. The other part was currently planning my will.
"Okay," I said slowly. "But what happens if she hates me? And decides today's the day she wants a snack? A quick sip? A little taste—"
"No one is drinking your blood," Azriel murmured, eyes flicking upward only long enough to keep track of who might win the arm-wrestling match.
Mor, lounging like a queen on the sofa, gave a solemn nod. "I would drink your blood if you asked me to."
My heart softened. "Thank you. I love you. You're my favourite."
Cassian groaned. "Sweetheart, please get off the table so I can finally prove to Rhysand that he is not as strong as he thinks."
"I need to know if Amren will—"
I didn't get to finish. Because a voice, smooth, feline, and sharp enough to cut bone, purred from behind me.
"If Amren will what?"
The entire room fell silent. Even Rhys and Cassian froze mid-arm wrestle.
I turned slowly because of course I did, to find Amren standing in the doorway as if she'd materialised from thin air.
Silver eyes. Dark hair perfectly arranged. An expression that said she tolerated our existence only because destroying the building would be inconvenient.
She stepped inside, gaze slicing through the room like a blade.
Rhys, traitor that he is, took the opportunity to mutter, "She's afraid you're going to hate her."
Amren didn't even blink. "I do," she said casually, sweeping past us. "I dislike everyone."
She sat at the farthest possible seat from us, legs crossed, looking both bored and ready to commit homicide.
I cleared my throat. Loudly. "Right. Good talk," I said. "Um. So... I brought you something."
Cassian immediately perked up. "Wait—she gets a gift?"
Mor sat up straighter. "I thought I was the favourite."
Azriel didn't move, but his eyes sharpened with interest. "You brought Amren a present?"
"I literally got body-slammed by her last week," Cassian added indignantly. "If anyone deserves a gift, it's me!"
I ignored them all, hopped off the table, and retrieved the small velvet box I'd been hiding for two days, debating whether offering a gift to an ancient, possibly god-borne being was a sign of respect or a declaration of war.
I walked toward Amren slowly. Carefully.
She watched me with mild curiosity, as though I were a particularly amusing insect she hadn't decided to crush yet.
I opened the box and presented the necklace. A silver chain holding the largest, brightest amethyst I could find, cut so sharply it seemed to glow from within.
Amren said nothing. Her silver eyes flicked from the gem to my face... and back again.
The room held its breath.
Then, delicately, she lifted the necklace with two fingers and examined it, the gem catching and scattering light across her features.
Her expression didn't soften but something shifted. A twitch at the corner of her mouth. A glimmer in those predatory eyes.
"Then perhaps," she said, voice silken as smoke, "I do not hate you after all, girl."
Cassian dropped his head onto the table. Rhys groaned. Mor squealed. Azriel's shadows twined around him in quiet amusement.
Me? I let out a breath I'd been holding since sunrise.
Because in Amren's language, in the language of ancient terrors not hating me was the highest compliment I could ever receive.
And from that moment on... she tolerated me. Which, for Amren, meant she liked me. Loved me, even though she'd never admit it out loud.
And I—foolishly, blindly, wholeheartedly, loved her right back.
A/n - First part and we're starting with how she met everyone in their own chaotic ways!!
I hope (and pray) that everyone feels in character—I spent an embarrassing amount of time debating dialogue, timing, and vibes... and exercising an incredible amount of self-control not to add a love interest :)
There isn't a strict overarching plot. This is more a collection of moments, memories, and little snapshots of what it's like to be a part of the Inner Circle x
Thank you so much for reading <33
Circle of Us tag list - @sophieliz @azrielblue @whump-loverz @galacticoceans @lilah-asteria @niiickelodeon @justtryingtosurvive02 @rosie-posie08 @mis-lil-red @dnfhascorruptedme @jugodeshadowsinger @cardiganconfessions @hyruledemigod20














