#zahrya

Destruction like this was foreign to even him. The Inferno was no stranger to violence and bloodshed, but the raw and undaunted power that the Titan exuded was beyond anything that Alastor had bore witness to before. Gray, scaled wings unfurled as hellfire washed across the city, breathed from the demonic manifest's maw as he protected the base of the mighty Titan with visceral need. Alastor could feel the chancellors contesting within, melded together as one as their flurry of conflicting emotions and ideals resounded into something purely chaotic and destructive. Nine days but still all too soon, the creature fell apart and Alastor swooped in to catch his falling Spring king, Zahrya. Depleted, the demon had never felt so little magic within the other, all the more reason to hold him that much closer. "How was it?" Alastor inquired, they'd reunite with the others shortly, for now they remained airborne. "Tell me everything, describe it to me." You better not be having someone else's baby again.

"Why Zahrya you're-" Soranus' features softened as he looked upon the chancellor, the elf was radiating. Warm and glowing, he'd heard about the miracles that the chancellor had produced, even now as cold winds blew in from the mountains of the Lunar court, life was springing forth again. It was worthy of celebration. "Zahrya, you're glowing." Soft hands cupped the chancellor's cheeks, he was beautiful, perfect in every way. His mother would have been proud. "Can I meet them? Your children? I'm sorry I've been away I-" Changed. "I've missed you."

Jacarandas fell around the two of them, but this was the border between the Dawn Court and the Daemon Court, as ordinary perhaps as it could be. Meryasek no longer wished to be king of the Elves, creatures that would never accept him for the other half of what he was. Archfey and archfiend, he stood there now, reunited with Zahrya once more. They hadn't talked much since Mery had tossed the elven crowd and burned it in his hellfire. He'd created a new one, fit for the daemons of his court as he let his wings stretch wide. His horns still shined beneath his curls, his irises flashing red as he stood with his old friend, "Well? What do you think? Spring may not answer to me anymore, but I thought I'd fill this section with my favorite tree." His song still held power, and while he was more fiend than fey, Titania's fondness for these things still ran through his blood.

This forest was supposed to have houses and shit, though Micah hadn't seen much but trees yet. Maybe he'd taken a wrong turn, his clairvoyance wasn't working that well anymore and after a few twists he could have sworn he'd passed that same tree about a dozen times before. "Oh hey," Micah said as he saw someone that he vaguely recognized, "I uh, I almost didn't know it was you. You look different." Zahrya had given birth to three children, underwent a metamorphosis, and was now an elf instead of an eladrin. "Looks good on you man, say, do you know how I can get back to lycanville?"

“I thought of a way that you can help me.” Alek offered as the Spring chancellor approached, the lycan sat hunched on the bench of his tent, wounds patched over but still raw even as his accelerated healing worked to mend them over. At Zahrya’s approach he found he could think more clearly, though by now he’d come to terms with why that was: some spell of the mind that confused his senses, dulled them to that of whatever dimwitted pup would suit the chancellor’s needs. It was alright, Alek appreciated the peace that came with the simplicity of the other’s presence. He was, after all, the only one who’d come looking for him when Alek was gone, the only one who’d called to him when he was trapped in the bowels of the beast. “I met someone,” he thought of Lain, “who mastered himself by eating the heart of a changeling.” He remembered the beasts that stalked Zahrya’s forest and knew from the masquerade that the creation of these monstrosities was within the realm of the fey’s magic. “I’d like one.” 

While Zahrya preferred that all things were about him, Alastor had to commend the chancellor for not demanding that Aurora's birthday be about the coming Spring, or that the wedding not be a celebration of fertility. Even this party was not to the chancellor's usual behaviour, but Alastor had dragged him out while the changelings watched the children at home. "Tell me you're having fun," his hand moved protectively over Zahrya's stomach, "we can stay as long as you want." Elves, vampires, witches, demons, druids, and more - the party was a cornucopia of copulation, dancing, and joyous revelry. It felt good to see everyone joined so closely together.

The Spring chancellor had been in full bloom, literally, he’d dissipated into like... Wind and flowers and floated around the city. It was nice, for Zahrya anyways, Alastor supposed he could feel the eladrin at the tips of his fingers but that hardly compared to actually having the other’s body pressed against his. The feel of the chancellor’s lips against his own. Alastor was... Addicted, in love, and ready to start the family that Vivianne had promised. There was a conversation that he needed to have with the Spring fey, a question to put forward, and some news that Alastor wanted to share. A vision of the future and the children that the two of them were going to have. He knew it was delicate, but the deed was done, and if not then - then the next time or the time after that. Alastor wanted a family now, just as much as Zahrya did. 

Each step was a labour, but Alastor just kept putting one foot in front of the other as he made his way up Velian Hill towards the ruined temple of Venus. Sweat pooled from his frame as Spring officially swept across the city, bringing with it the preceding temperatures of Summer. Alastor intended to bring Zahrya to Dante’s after this, a bloodbath of festivities was something that he was certain that Zahrya would enjoy. Perhaps, when they were done, they could find someone new for the garden: fresh fertilizer, as a treat. 

Alastor grunted as he gripped tighter onto Zahrya’s thighs, the eladrin was basically solid muscle and he’d only filled out further with the definition of Spring. Denser mass with an added layer of foliage that sprouted here and there. Vines and flowers and weight. Alastor was strong, but he’d been carrying Zahrya on his back since they’d left their private garden. Still, he would not have had it any other way. “We’re almost there,” Alastor breathed, “can you see the top yet?” 

Blood ran from his lips as the familiar washed himself in the sins of the sacrificed, he felt powerful and changed: opportunity opened up in front of him now, unfettered by the limitations of his connection Alastor could go anywhere and his powers would not diminish. He was free to live and torment however he chose, but all he really wanted was to go home. Before dawn the song of the satyrs took hold and Alastor went from soaked in ichor to his version of full formal attire, without question he went looking and found his chancellor with ease. "You should come home-" Alastor said plainly as his hands found his lover's waist, "why did you ever leave?." All the demon knew was that Zahrya's place was with him, they were meant to be together: not apart.