Light It Up

A Sport of Stars and Fire

Azriel x Eris | Explicit | lunaophelia 11/21(ish) chapters | 36k words | New chapters on Saturdays

Summary:

Azriel Singer, “Terror of the Montreal Stars," and Eris Vanserra, star center and Captain of the Boston Fire, have been pitted as rivals since the 2009 NHL draft. When Singer stumbles upon Vanserra in a compromising position after a home game, he realizes they may have more in common than he thought. In lieu of an NDA (or a bargain tattoo), Singer gives Vanserra his number. It’s not much in the way of leverage, but it’s all Vanserra is going to get. Or is it?

Or, a rivals-to-lovers Hockey-AU romp with our favorite ACOTAR boys, featuring codependent Azriel & Cassian, modern epistolary romance (a.k.a. sexting, HA), so much yearning, and very little hockey.

Notes:

The title is so camp, I can't even. I was compelled by an unholy spirit. Go with me.

Tag list:

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A Sport of Stars and Fire

Azriel x Eris | Explicit | lunaophelia 9/21(ish) chapters | 28k+ words | New chapters on Saturdays

Summary:

Azriel Singer, “Terror of the Montreal Stars," and Eris Vanserra, star center and Captain of the Boston Fire, have been pitted as rivals since the 2009 NHL draft. When Singer stumbles upon Vanserra in a compromising position after a home game, he realizes they may have more in common than he thought. In lieu of an NDA (or a bargain tattoo), Singer gives Vanserra his number. It’s not much in the way of leverage, but it’s all Vanserra is going to get. Or is it?

Or, a rivals-to-lovers Hockey-AU romp with our favorite ACOTAR boys, featuring codependent Azriel & Cassian, modern epistolary romance (a.k.a. sexting, HA), so much yearning, and very little hockey.

Notes:

The title is so camp, I can't even. I was compelled by an unholy spirit. Go with me.

Tag list:

The night refused to end.

Elain had watched the darkness soften for what felt like an age. The stars had faded to pale pinpricks, the moon had begun its slow descent beyond the white-barked trees, and still the sun lingered somewhere beyond the horizon, trapped behind a veil of silver mist that refused to lift.

To Elain, it felt like dawn should have come hours ago. Instead, the world seemed suspended between one breath and the next. 

She drew her knees closer to her chest and listened.

The forest answered with silence.

Every so often, a breeze slipped through the white-barked trees that ringed the clearing, stirring brittle grass and silver leaves. Even the fire Lethe had so carefully built had long since surrendered to glowing embers. Their crimson light pulsed weakly beneath layers of ash, each flicker dimmer than the last.

Koschei had promised he would return at dawn.

Elain wrapped her arms tighter around herself.

He was late.

She had tried to stop crying.

When she had first opened her eyes, she had found her hands drenched in blood so vivid it had stolen every thought from her mind. She had stared at her trembling fingers, unable to breathe as panic climbed relentlessly through her chest. The metallic scent had filled her lungs. She could still remember the tacky pull of drying blood between her knuckles, the warmth that had lingered against her skin as though it had only just left another body.

Eris.

Before she could gather the courage to wake the others, she had looked down once more.

The blood had vanished.

Elain could not describe it with any other word. It had not been washed away, had not dried into rust-coloured stains.

It was simply gone, as if it had never existed at all.

She turned one hand over in the weak light, looksd at the smooth skin and clean nails, no crimson hidden beneath them.

Her wedding gown bore no trace of it either. She knew she had been desperately scrubbing at the white fabric with shaking hands, trying to wipe away blood that refused to disappear. Now the skirts were merely stained with dirt from the forest floor.

If she had imagined it, Elain wondered why she could still remember the weight of Eris’s drying blood between her fingers. 

Her thumb drifted unconsciously across her palm, searching for blood that no longer existed. She could almost convince herself it remained there, caught inside the lines of her skin. A shiver traveled slowly up her spine. She drew a slow, trembling breath.

"Don’t." The quiet voice sliced cleanly through the silence.

Elain turned sharply, eyes wide. 

Lethe had not moved from where she lay beside the dying fire. One arm rested behind her head while the other shielded her face, though one dark eye had opened just enough to study Elain through lowered lashes. "If Koschei is watching," she said, her voice rough with sleep, "don't give him the satisfaction."

Elain blinked. Only then did she realise fresh tears had escaped her.

Heat climbed into her cheeks. She hastily brushed them away with the embroidered golden sleeve of her gown, pressing the damp fabric against her face longer than necessary. "Thank you," she murmured.

The corner of Lethe's mouth twitched. "Don't thank me." She closed her eye again with theatrical resignation. "Listening to your sobbing was becoming irritating."

Despite everything, the smallest smile tugged at Elain's mouth. Lethe seemed to possess an infuriating gift for making terror feel briefly ordinary.

Beside Elain, Vassa stirred with an unqueenly groan.

Copper hair spilled across her face as she pushed herself upright, blinking sleep from striking blue eyes. She frowned at the dying fire before rubbing one hand over her face. 

"I slept like the dead," she muttered.

Lethe cracked open an eye, raised an elegant brow. "An unfortunate choice of words."

Vassa ignored her. "Did either of you get any rest?"

Lethe made a soft, offended sound. "With your snoring?"

Vassa shot her a look as she climbed to her feet, muttering something decidedly unregal beneath her breath before turning toward the fire. She nudged one of the blackened logs with the toe of her boot. "There won't be much point in feeding it."

Elain frowned. "The sun should be up soon."

Vassa glanced toward the eastern horizon. "It should."

Beyond the trees, the horizon glowed with the soft promise of morning, yet the light refused to climb. It hovered at the edge of the world, trapped beneath the mist like a bird beating itself against invisible glass.

No gold spilled across the forest and no warmth touched the clearing.

The dawn had arrived… only to stop.

An uneasy silence settled over the three women.

At last Lethe sighed. "Perhaps ancient death gods are notoriously poor timekeepers," she offered to no one in particular. 

Vassa sighed. "Must you?"

"Yes I must." If Lethe had not been laying down, Elain imagined she would have crossed her arms and stamped her slippered foot. She snorted, the sound surprised her almost as much as it did the others.

It faded quickly, swallowed by the waiting forest.

She hugged her knees tighter. "He said he'd return."

"He did," Vassa answered, parroting Elain’s words back at her. 

Elain supposed there was not much to add as she looked from the horizon back to the human queen. "So where is he?"

Vassa had no response.

Lethe rose with an exaggerated sigh, brushing ash and dirt from her skirts with meticulous care. She smoothed imaginary wrinkles from the dark brown fabric, as though refusing to allow even an immortal nightmare the satisfaction of seeing her disheveled.

"If fortune has finally taken pity on us," she said, stretching her shoulders, "perhaps he found someone else to torment."

"I don't think beings like him become easily distracted." Elain said, looking up at the other female. 

"No." Lethe glanced toward the trees as she extended a beringed hand toward Elain. "Unfortunately, neither do I."

Elain accepted it. The moment their fingers met, the memory of her dream returned with cruel clarity.

Warm blood soaking into her palms.

Eris and the onyx box. 

Koschei had worn another person's face so perfectly that, for one impossible moment, she had believed it.

Elain’s stomach twisted. She swallowed hard.

A sharp crack echoed through the trees.

Every muscle in Elain's body locked. Lethe's grip tightened around her hand.

No one spoke.

Another crack. Somewhere beyond the clearing. The unmistakable sound of a branch breaking beneath unseen weight.

Vassa crossed the distance between them without hesitation, placing herself close enough that their shoulders nearly brushed.

They stood together without discussing it.

Another crack.

Closer.

The white trunks stretched endlessly into the mist, their smooth bark luminous beneath the stubborn pre-dawn light. High overhead, bare branches intertwined until they resembled pale hands clasping one another against the sky.

Nothing moved, nothing that Elain could see anyway.

Crack.

Behind them.

Lethe turned first. "Either we're surrounded," she murmured, "or this forest has developed a remarkably unpleasant personality."

Another branch snapped.

Then another.

The sounds began circling them.

To the left.

Then somewhere behind.

Ahead.

To the right.

Always just beyond sight, but still close enough to hear.

Elain's heartbeat stumbled into a frantic rhythm. "Do you hear that?" she whispered.

"I'd be concerned if it’s a possibility that only you would be hearing such sounds." Lethe hissed.

Vassa pressed her shoulder against Elain’s. "Stay together."

The breaking stopped, all at once. Silence settled over the clearing with such absolute certainty that Elain became acutely aware of her own breathing and of the pulse beating against her throat.

Movement flickered between the white trunks, so slight she might have mistaken it for the shifting mist.

Elain narrowed her eyes.

Half-hidden behind the smooth bark of a birch stood the outline of a woman.

Relief washed through Elain before reason caught up with it.

Someone else.

Another one of Koschei’s prisoners, she thought, someone else trapped in this terrible place.

The woman stepped into the clearing.

The hope inside Elain withered.

A pale blue nightdress drifted around thin ankles.

One she had not seen in years.

"Mother..." The word escaped before she realised she had spoken.

The figure did not answer. She looked painfully frail.

Blonde hair, once carefully brushed each morning, hung in uneven strands around hollow cheeks. Her skin had taken on the grey pallor of parchment, exactly as she had looked during those final weeks.

Exactly.

Elain's chest tightened so sharply it hurt.

She remembered arranging wildflowers beside the bed because her mother had once loved fresh blossoms.

Her mother's eyes lifted to meet hers.

Elain froze.

They should have been blue. The color of spring skies after rain.

There was no colour left in them now, they were only black, bottomless.

Elain forgot how to breathe. 

"Don't." Vassa's voice was barely audible.

Elain tore her gaze away. Vassa was not looking toward Elain's mother. She stared into the trees opposite them, every trace of colour had drained from her face.

"No," she whispered, a single word. It was filled with so much grief that Elain's chest tightened. Her hand had risen instinctively toward whatever stood beyond the mist. 

Lethe had turned as well, not toward either apparition, but toward the trees behind the dying fire, toward someone else only she could see.

Her expression had emptied completely. She was as cold and unreadable as Elain remembered her when they had first met what felt like a lifetime ago. 

Elain watched as anger flashed across her pretty features. 

"You've got nerve." Lethe’s voice carried easily through the clearing.

Silence answered her. 

Elain looked to where Lethe stared. Nothing was there, only trees and mist.

"I burned my husband's body myself," Lethe continued, each word clipped with exquisite precision. "I watched the pyre until there was nothing left but ash." Her mouth curved into a wolf’s smile. "So whichever game Koschei believes he's playing..." She tilted her head, "...he chose the wrong corpse."

The silence that followed seemed almost offended.

Elain looked from Lethe to Vassa. Each of them faced a different corner of the forest.

Each of them stood before ghosts only they could see.

"They aren't real," Elain whispered.

Neither woman looked at her.

Koschei was not showing them the dead.

He was showing them their dead.

Her mother had not moved. She remained where she stood, hands folded neatly before her, watching Elain with those impossible black eyes.

A second figure emerged from behind another tree.

Elain's breath caught.

Broad shoulders, a weathered travelling coat, a polished cane resting lightly against one hand.

Her father looked older than in her memories, silver threading through chestnut hair, gentle lines marking the corners of what should have been kind brown eyes.

"Oh..." The sound barely left her lips.

One foot shifted forward before she caught herself.

She wanted—

His lips never parted, he did not utter a single word, only stared with that unwavering all-black gaze.

A brittle laugh escaped Lethe.

"I take it," she said without shifting her gaze from whatever stood before her, "that neither of you can see mine."

Elain forced herself to answer. "No."

"Wonderful."

"What do you see?" Vassa asked quietly.

For a heartbeat, Lethe did not answer. When she finally spoke, the words were dry. "My greatest lapse in judgment."

"They're not speaking," Elain murmured.

"They're just standing there," Vassa confirmed. 

"Are they waiting for something?” Elain wondered out loud.

The words had scarcely left her mouth when another figure stepped between the trees. Mist shifted and shapes gathered between the trunks.

A woman with braided grey hair Elain dimly recognised from childhood.

An old gardener.

A maid who had tucked blankets around her and Feyre when storms frightened them.

Faces she had not thought of in years. Some she remembered only because seeing them tugged loose forgotten corners of her heart.

One by one, they emerged from the forest. None of them spoke. None of them blinked. The clearing filled without a sound.

A soft tap brushed against Elain's cheek. She frowned.

Rain?

She lifted trembling fingers to wipe it away. The droplet gleamed darkly against her skin.

Not clear.

Red.

Another landed on the back of her hand. Then another.

The scent reached her before understanding did.

Copper, rich, fresh.

Her stomach lurched.

Blood.

A single crimson bead slipped through the lines of her palm before dripping silently onto the grass. Around her, more drops began to fall.

Slowly at first. Soft enough to mistake for ordinary rain.

The dead did not move.

Another drop struck her brow. Another slid down the bridge of her nose.

Leaves overhead bent beneath the growing weight, crimson gathering at their tips until every branch seemed to bleed into the clearing below. The white trunks darkened by degrees. Scarlet streaks crawled over smooth bark like fresh wounds opening.

No one spoke.

The forest had become a painting washed in red.

Elain wanted to scream, she wanted to go home, she wanted to see Lucien if only for one moment. 

A lone wolf howled in the distance. The sound tore through the trees, a sound so raw it seemed to come from the forest itself.

The three women stood frozen beneath the crimson rain.

Another drop struck Elain's brow.

She lifted her fingers again before she could stop herself. The liquid clung to her skin, thick enough to gather between the lines of her knuckles before dripping onto the forest floor.

Elain's mother lowered her head ever so slightly.

A shiver raced through Elain so violently her teeth clicked together.

Beside her, Lethe wiped blood from her jaw with the back of one hand, staring at the crimson smear across her knuckles with open disgust. "Tell me," she said, her voice unnaturally composed, "that this isn't actually happening."

Vassa held out one trembling hand beneath the falling rain. Another drop struck her skin, lingering in her palm. "It feels real."

Lethe muttered something under her breath that Elain suspected would have scandalized even the most seasoned courtier.

Then another figure stepped into the clearing.

This one belonged to none of them, Elain was certain. 

At first, even her mind refused to make sense of it. It was too tall, too thin.

Its limbs bent at angles no living body should have survived, each movement slow and unnervingly fluid, as though its bones had been assembled by someone who had only heard descriptions of human anatomy. Dark hair veiled its face, falling nearly to its waist, revealing no face beneath.

It took one slow step forward.

Then another.

"Run." 

Vassa did not shout the word, the command left her lips easily, a queen to follow. 

The spell holding Elain in place shattered.

She spun after Vassa, skirts gathered in trembling fists as they plunged into the trees. Lethe fell into step beside them with effortless grace, her pace steady despite the uneven forest floor.

Behind them, nothing gave chase.

Branches whipped across Elain's sleeves, catching on gold lace and embroidery until loose threads trailed behind her like pale vines. Roots thrust through the earth beneath the mist, grasping at her slippers, forcing every step into a desperate calculation.

The blood rain thickened.

Within moments her gown clung heavily to her body, warm crimson soaking through silk until it became impossible to remember its original colours. The metallic scent filled her every breath.

She risked a glance over her shoulder.

The clearing had vanished behind sheets of blood, but the figures remained visible.

The dead had followed them. They moved with dreadful patience, weaving silently between the tree trunks. 

Her father came first, still carrying his cane, his dark eyes fixed solely upon her. He never blinked, never looked away.

Elain tore her gaze forward again.

Her pulse hammered painfully against her ribs.

"They're following!" she cried.

"I noticed!" Lethe replied dryly, ducking beneath a low branch.

"No..." Elain fought for breath. "Not yours."

A humourless laugh escaped Lethe. "I assure you, I know exactly who's behind me."

The answer chilled Elain more than the rain. Whatever ghosts pursued Lethe and Vassa were keeping pace just as faithfully.

Another branch lashed across Elain's cheek, pain bloomed sharp and immediate.

The forest seemed different, she noticed. The white trees rose impossibly high, their trunks disappearing into darkness where the canopy should have been. Mist pooled around their ankles in thick ribbons, swallowing roots, stones, and fallen branches until the earth itself seemed uncertain.

There was no sounds, only the slap of soaked slippers against wet ground and the steady hiss of crimson rain.

Something about the path tugged at Elain's memory.

A jagged scar carved through the bark of a nearby tree.

She had seen it before. "We're going in circles," Elain gasped.

"I don’t think—"

"We've passed this tree." Elain interrupted Vassa.

"There are thousands of white trees."

“No.” The certainty in her own voice startled her. She pointed toward the trunk as they ran. "That mark."

Vassa looked.

The scar ran from shoulder height nearly to the roots, old enough for the bark to have curled around its edges.

Recognition flashed across her face.

No one argued as the realisation settled between them with crushing weight.

Vassa slowed first, scanning the trees with narrowed eyes. "This isn't natural."

"When has anything since yesterday been natural?" Lethe muttered, though even she no longer sounded amused.

The mist ahead began to thin. The white trunks ended as though someone had sliced the forest clean in two.

Vassa stopped so suddenly Elain nearly collided with her.

"What is it?" Elain asked.

Vassa did not answer, she only stared.

Elain followed her gaze.

The world simply... ended.

One step earlier there had been forest, one step later there was only water.

A vast lake stretched before them, black as polished obsidian beneath the crimson sky. It reached so far into the distance that mist swallowed the opposite shore, leaving only endless darkness beyond.

Blood rained everywhere else. It drummed against leaves, darkened the grass, ran in scarlet streams over stone.

Still, the lake remained untouched. Not a single drop disturbed its surface. It lay impossibly smooth, reflecting nothing, not even the three women standing upon its shore.

A shiver passed through Lethe. She folded her arms tightly across her chest, studying the motionless expanse. "I dislike this," she announced.

"Stay away from the shore." Vassa's voice was little more than a whisper.

Elain barely heard it. The lake held her attention with quiet insistence.

It was beautiful.

Its stillness called to her.

A pressure settled behind her ribs, a familiar ache unfurled through every bone in her body.

The Cauldron.

Her breath caught, she had never found words for what it had felt like to stand before it, that impossible awareness pressing against every thought, as though the world itself had opened one endless eye and fixed its gaze upon her.

She had prayed never to feel it again.

Toward her alone.

She took a step before she realised she had moved.

Behind her, Lethe said something. The words dissolved into the distance.

Another step.

The air grew strangely warm, the warmth of earth after rain. 

The forest blurred at the edges of her vision until only the lake remained.

Its surface darkened, but something bright appeared beneath the water.

A glimmer so faint she almost dismissed it as imagination.

Gold.

Far below the water, a single thread shimmered through the darkness, thin as spun sunlight. It drifted lazily beneath the black surface, winding through impossible depths before curving upward.

The thread pulsed.

Memory rushed toward her.

Darkness without end, water pressing from every side, her body dissolving into something she no longer recognised.

And amidst that endless black, there was gold. A single strand of impossible light weaving patiently through the Cauldron’s waters.

She remembered reaching for it, remembered clinging to it. The thread had led somewhere.

To someone.

Her mate.

The thread had found her once, Elain thought, and now it had returned.

Someone called her name.

She could no longer tell whether it came from behind her or from somewhere beneath the water itself.

The golden thread brightened.

The surface of the lake remained perfectly smooth, yet the thread rose until it floated just beneath it, separated from the air by only the thinnest sheet of black water.

Waiting.

For her.

Without thinking, Elain stepped closer. The thread curved gently toward her, almost curious, and she felt the answering pull beneath her heart where the Cauldron had remade her.

For one suspended heartbeat, she forgot about the blood rain and the dead waiting behind the trees. She even forgot about Koschei.

There was only the thread. Only the feeling that she needed to touch it, run her fingers along it. 

"Elain!"

Vassa.

This time she heard it.

She turned her head slightly.

The movement felt sluggish, as though she were submerged already.

Vassa stood several paces behind her, one hand outstretched, blood-soaked hair pressed onto her forehead. Fear transformed her face, her eyes a startling blue peaking between crimson. "Don't move."

Elain looked back toward the lake.

The thread pulsed again.

A warmth blossomed inside her chest.

Another thread answered.

Not beneath the water.

Within her.

It flared to life with sudden brilliance, stretching somewhere beyond the forest, beyond mountains and courts and distance itself.

She knew that warmth.

Knew its quiet, patient pull.

Lucien.

The realisation stole what little breath remained in her lungs.

For one suspended heartbeat she felt him.

The bond hummed softly, as though sensing her attention.

Comfort washed through her, brief and fragile.

The golden thread beneath the water reached upward, following the light of the bond.

Cold spread through Elain's veins.

Hands seized the back of her sleeve.

Lethe.

The fabric strained. For a moment Elain thought the grip would hold.

Then the soaked silk tore cleanly down the seam.

The force vanished. She stumbled forward.

One golden slipper broke the perfect surface of the lake.

The water was warm, warmer than the Cauldron had been.

It welcomed her.

The second foot followed before she realised she had moved.

Behind her, someone screamed.

The sound echoed across the lake.

The water closed over Elain’s ankles.

It should have rippled.

The surface remained smooth, unbroken, as though it had accepted her without disturbance. Warmth seeped through her slippers, climbing her calves in slow, deliberate waves.

"Elain!" Vassa's voice cracked somewhere behind her.

She wanted to answer.

To turn.

To run back toward the shore.

Instead, another step carried her farther into the lake.

The golden thread beneath the surface brightened until it burned like a vein of sunlight trapped behind dark clouds. It wound between her feet, curling around her ankles before slipping away again, coaxing.

She knew this feeling.

The terrible certainty that resisting would require more strength than she possessed.

Just as it had when the Cauldron had called to her.

Just as it had when icy hands had pulled her beneath its surface and the world she had known ceased to exist.

Her stomach lurched. "No," she whispered.

The word vanished into the open air.

The water reached her knees. It was warm, almost comforting.

Behind her came the splash of another pair of feet entering the shallows.

Then another.

"Stop walking," Lethe called sharply.

The command made no sense to Elain. She felt as her lips tugged into a frown. "Why?"

"This is what Koschei wants." Lethe’s words cut through the haze.

Elain blinked. Her thoughts felt thick, slow, wrapped in wool. She forced herself to turn.

Vassa and Lethe were only a few paces behind, the water lapping at their knees. Vassa's face was tight with concentration, every muscle rigid as she pushed against an invisible force. Lethe looked furious enough to challenge the lake itself, the blood on her face making her seem like a long forgotten goddess of war.

"There you are," Lethe muttered. "I was beginning to think you'd decided to drown yourself."

The familiar bite in her voice anchored Elain, only for a heartbeat. 

Then movement caught her eye. Figures stood along the shoreline.

Her mother waited nearest the water's edge, hands folded neatly before her.

Her father stood beside her. His cane rested lightly against one shoulder.

Neither of them looked at Vassa or Lethe.

Only at Elain.

Then Eris stepped forward.

Blood soaked the front of his waistcoat, dripping steadily into the crimson grass. His amber eyes met hers across the water. 

He raised one pale hand, rubies bright on each of his rings. 

His expression held no accusation now, only sadness. 

An impossible ache bloomed in Elain's chest. "I'm sorry," she yelled.

The words drifted over the still water.

Eris did not answer.

Not Eris.

Something wearing the shape of him.

Its face blurred for the briefest instant, features twisting like a reflection disturbed by unseen currents before settling once more into familiar lines.

Her breath caught.

"No..." The golden thread pulsed violently.

Pain exploded through her skull.

The world tilted.

Suddenly the warmth vanished, the lake turned to ice.

Her legs disappeared beneath the surface.

One instant she stood in knee-deep water. The next, the bottom gave way.

Elain plunged.

There was no time to scream.

The lake swallowed her whole, darkness rushed upward.

Water crashed over her head with crushing force, forcing its way into her ears, her nose, her open mouth.

She kicked wildly.

There was no bottom.

No surface.

Only endless black water stretching in every direction.

Her lungs seized.

She reached upward.

Or what she thought was upward.

There was no direction. The water pressed against her from every side, thick as oil and impossibly heavy.

Then it began.

The unmaking.

It started in her fingertips.

A familiar pulling, as though invisible hands had found every thread that held her together and begun patiently teasing them apart.

Bone.

Blood.

Soul.

The sensation was unmistakable.

The Cauldron.

It was as if she was inside it again.

The memory crashed into her with brutal clarity.

Cold hands shoving her forward.

Darkness swallowing her vision.

The impossible silence before the water closed above her head.

The agony of becoming something she had never asked to be.

Every nerve in her body remembered.

She could feel memories unraveling.

The scent of roses in her garden.

Nesta laughing before life became difficult.

Feyre placing paint-stained fingers in hers.

Lucien standing beneath sunlight in the Autumn Court.

Everything drifted away like petals being carried downstream.

No.

Bubbles escaped her lips.

The word dissolved before it reached anyone.

Light appeared.

Golden.

Her thread.

It floated through the darkness exactly as she remembered, brilliant against the endless black. It stretched farther than she could see, humming softly with quiet life.

Hope surged through her.

She reached for it.

The thread answered, it curved toward her hand.

Closer.

Until her fingertips brushed its warmth.

Instantly she felt him.

Lucien.

His heartbeat.

Steady and warm and alive.

The bond blazed between them like the first sunrise after a lifetime of darkness.

Relief flooded her so suddenly tears stung her eyes despite the water surrounding her.

She clung to the thread.

Held it with everything she had left.

It reminded her who she was.

Elain Archeron.

Mate. 

Sister.

Seer.

Alive.

The darkness stirred.

She distantly realised that there was no current, and still something moved.

A shape larger than any beast she could imagine drifted somewhere beneath her, so vast that her mind struggled to understand its size. She caught only fragments.

A shoulder, perhaps, or the curve of an arm.

Something impossibly ancient sleeping beneath the lake.

Its movement sent slow ripples through the black water.

The golden thread quivered when another hand reached for it.

Long fingers emerged from the darkness.

Pale, their joints bent slightly wrong, each movement graceful in a way that made her stomach twist.

The hand did not seize the bond.

One finger gliding lightly along the strand of gold, trying to see where it might lead. 

"No!" The cry tore from her throat.

Water flooded into her mouth, into her lungs.

Fire exploded inside her chest.

She kicked frantically.

The golden thread slipped through her fingers.

The pale hand continued its patient journey along its length.

Elain clawed after it, her movements slowed.

The weight of the water became unbearable.

Her vision narrowed, blackness crept inward from the edges of her sight.

The thread dimmed.

It was moving farther away, taking the light with it. She reached one final time, her fingertips brushed it, warm as gentle sunlight. 

Then nothing.

Her lungs convulsed.

She swallowed another mouthful of water.

Her chest burned so fiercely she thought it might split open.

Somewhere—

Very far away—

She thought she heard someone shouting her name. 

Lucien. 

Hands caught her arm.

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train:

If Eris were being honest, he felt ridiculous skulking around this place. The old books and bits of crumbling paper were far too delicate for magic to be used on them, so everything had to be retrieved manually. He suspected that it was all to be in vain and that the knowledge he sought was likely lost to time if it ever existed at all. Still, he was desperate, and it was far too important to leave anything to chance. As much as he loathed the process, however, there was a certain comfort to being surrounded by it all. He wished he had time to research the things he truly wanted to, not the nonsense he was after just then. 

With a sigh, Eris shoved a scroll back in the slot from which he had taken it, a plume of dust chasing his hand. Barely fending off a sneeze, Eris moved on to the next row, looking for patterns in the text that might lead him where he needed to go. Overstaying his welcome was not an option since he wasn’t supposed to be there in the first place. 

If Helion discovered that Eris knew how to get around his wards, there would be no end to the headache that followed. It could mean a great many things for him, like torture or even death, and would certainly mean imprisonment at the very least. The real threat, though, as far as Eris was concerned, was the amount of time he would lose on this project if he were caught. So here he was, hand-picking through thousands of brittle papers, searching for that one piece of elucidating information that might change everything, and handling it all as quietly as possible. 

As he moved the faelight across the shelves to the next stack over, a shadow moved out of turn. Eris studiously ignored it in favor of pulling a small book out of the corner it was shoved into. He thumbed through it carefully, refusing to acknowledge anything else in the room. Then the book was plucked from his hands by a set of scarred fingers, and Eris had to clench his teeth together to keep from barking out any insults, no matter how pretty they felt on his tongue. The distraction wouldn’t be worth the momentary pleasure he got from making the shadowsinger fumble over himself.

“What are you doing?” Came a velvet smooth voice from somewhere behind him. 

Eris had already moved on, turning the corner only to find the shadows coalescing unnaturally in front of him. He had been doing a fantastic job of pretending he was alone for hours now, but his patience was growing thin. 

“Look at me,” Eris said, stepping around the shadows to continue down to the other end of the stack. “Smoking all of the worms out from their hiding places. Helion should be paying me for my services.”

To his surprise, the idiot let out a rumble of laughter that vibrated along Eris’s bones in a way he forced himself not to think about. 

“Something tells me that paying you wouldn’t be the first thing on Helion’s to-do list if he found you in here.”

“Are you trying to get me caught?” In three quick strides, Eris had Azriel’s back pressed against the nearest bookshelf, a hand clamped tightly over his mouth. 

Humor danced in those absurdly green and gold eyes, and Eris could feel Azriel’s lips curve up in a smile under his hand. The heat from the other male’s breath tickled the tops of Eris’s knuckles, making it difficult to think. 

Disturbed, the dust seemed to dance across the air in Azriel’s presence, and magic felt a little closer than it did a few minutes ago. In the span of a few seconds, impossible things started to feel possible. It was dangerous. 

“Leave.” Eris spat. He dropped his hand like it had been burned and spun on his heel to head the other direction before a blush could color his cheeks. As he walked away, Eris cursed himself for being baited so easily.

“I would love to,” Azriel said, jogging to catch up to him. 

“Wonderful. Goodbye.” Eris dismissed him with a wave of his hand and was startled when Azriel took hold of it, spinning Eris around to face him. 

“As soon as you agree to stop chasing this dead end.” He clarified, backing Eris into a wall. 

A lump was forming in his throat, but he refused to be ruffled just by Azriel’s proximity alone. Eris swallowed and looked directly into Azriel’s eyes. 

“Why should I?” He asked, already knowing the answer Azriel was going to give. 

The male had been making the same argument for a month now, ever since thier bond had presented itself to them. Eris wasn’t going to keep listening to it. He knew what he wanted and wouldn’t let the shadowsinger ruin it. 

“Even if you did find a way to break the bond safely, do you really —” 

“Yes.”

Azriel held Eris’s unwavering gaze and frowned slightly. It was more difficult than Eris would ever admit not to reach up and brush a thumb to the corner of Azriel’s mouth to wipe it away. 

As his lips thinned and Azriel’s face grew hard as stone, Eris knew he was in trouble. A tremor ran up his spine as the shadowsinger leaned over him, lips nearly brushing his ear.

“I think you're lying,” Azriel whispered. 

He shook his head. “I told you before. A bond was never in my plans. I didn’t ask for this, and I don’t want it now.” 

He could tell by the look in Azriel’s eyes that his words were not falling on fertile ground. 

It was all but confirmed when Azriel leaned in to kiss him anyway. It took too much effort for him to turn his face so that Azriel grazed his cheek instead. Only it backfired, and that small brush of Azriel’s lips on his skin sent fire racing down his sternum until Eris could feel the crotch of his pants tighten slightly. 

“What do you want, Eris?” The scent of him drew Eris’s eyelids down like a drug, lashes fluttering uselessly against the onslaught of cedar and musk. 

“Not this.” 

Liar. His mind supplied the damning word before he could stop it. Eris was afraid Azriel could see it buried there beneath his other words.   

Out of the corner of his eye, Eris watched Azriel’s hand raise as if he meant to brush the hair back from Eris’s face or stroke his cheek as they looked at one another. 

“I think—” In a panic, he cut Azriel off from whatever he was about to accuse Eris of feeling. 

“You want me to be lying.” He forced himself to say, pushing back on Azriel’s chest until there was a foot of space between them. “Because the most appealing thing about this is how you get to be with someone who can’t reject you.” 

A quiet devastation rocked Azriel’s features before he shuttered his expression. Face like stone, the male took a step back, wings shuddering slightly behind him. Regret was a living thing beneath Eris’s ribs where it writhed like snakes twisting over themselves to climb out of the dark pit that he had let himself become. As he watched a light gutter and die in that hazel stare, Eris’s fingers twitched at his side, eager to undo all of it. 

He didn’t. 

Eris let those awful words hang in the air between them until his resolve was so sharp it could cut away anything in his path. The only thing that mattered was rescuing what little family he had left from his father and taking back his court. That was it. 

Any distraction would have consequences he couldn’t account for, but a bond was a distraction that could easily devastate everything Eris had worked for his entire life. It wasn’t worth it. 

The traitorous part of his mind, the one that whispered things to him in dreams, reminded him that it also meant one more thing to love and lose if this all went wrong. Possibly, the real reason he needed to reject it so badly was so that the pain happened on his terms.  

“Except that’s not quite true, is it?” Azriel said quietly, turning to leave. “You seem to be rejecting it just fine.” 

‘Rejecting it’, not ‘rejecting me’. Somehow, that distinction hurt more. Eris’s heart gave a painful thud.

“Wait.” Azriel kept walking as if he hadn’t heard Eris’s pitiful plea. Perhaps he hadn’t. As gagged behind fear as it was, perhaps it didn’t deserve to be heard. 

“Good luck in your search, Eris.” 

Silence draped across the library in a slow wave as Azriel disappeared. Shadows behaved like normal once again, and the dust stopped dancing. Eris took one step, then another, away from the wall, from the danger of his thoughts, and the promise of a tomorrow where he might not be so alone.

Holla at ya boi if you want on or off the Azris tag train: