The past few nights had been quiet.

Velaris, though bruised, still stood proud after Hybern’s surprise assault. Magic still lingered in the air like smoke - fresh repairs lined the buildings, and the scent of blood had only just faded from the stone streets. Rhysand, Feyre, Amren, Morrigan, Cassian, and Azriel had fought side by side to defend their home.

Tonight, the stars shone brighter than usual. The group walked the streets together, not out of duty but simply to be present - together. The city noticed them, honouring them with soft smiles and nods of gratitude. For a moment, Azriel allowed himself to listen, to let the laughter from a nearby balcony brush over him like a distant wind.

Then the message from his shadows came - A seraphim, crumpled on the shores just beyond the wardlines, barely breathing, wings torn, body battered by salt and seawater - and Azriel didn’t wait.

You lay where the sea kissed the black sand, crumpled, unmoving. Your breathing shallow. A strange stillness fell over him as he knelt, gently brushing wet hair from your face, and recognition struck like a blade to the gut.

He knew you from the war five hundred years ago.

You had vanished during the final battles, presumed dead - no body, no goodbye. Just... gone.

Hybern had kept you.

The moment his hands settled beneath you, lifting your broken form, the bond snapped into place like a silent thunderclap.

Not a sound. A feeling. A bond.

Before he could fully grasp what had just happened, Rhysand landed a breath behind him. “Az,” he said quietly, eyes locking on the unconscious female in his friend’s arms. “Bring her to the House of Wind.”

Azriel didn’t answer. He didn’t need to.

He brought you to the House of Wind himself, and the others followed in silence, watching him with quiet understanding.

Now, in the quiet of his chambers, he sits beside the bed.

Your body is a battlefield. Scars too deep for time to erase. Burns that even healing magic couldn't completely mend. Azriel’s shadows coil protectively around your frame, flickering at your hairline like a gentle caress. He can still feel the bond humming in his veins like a second heartbeat.

He wipes a damp cloth over your cheek, careful not to wake you.

“You came back,” he says softly, almost to himself.

Then he reaches forward again, soaking the cloth anew, and slowly begins to clean the blood from your arms.