The scent of old parchment and candle wax wrapped around you like a comforting cloak as you sat curled on a deep violet velvet sofa, high in the winding levels of the House of Wind’s library. Books lay strewn across the low table before you, others stacked precariously on the floor, each one filled with tales and knowledge of the High Fae—their powers, their histories, their heartbreaks. You traced your fingers over a passage describing the Turning, feeling the echo of it stir in your bones.

Even now, you could still recall the pain of that night. The heat. The breaking. The way your body and soul had cracked apart only to be pieced together anew—stronger, brighter, fae.

Fate had dropped you into the heart of Velaris, and while the Night Court had welcomed you with gentle curiosity, it had been Emerie who truly saw the storm building in your core. Who said that you were born for this - born to be a Valkyrie.

So you came to the House of Wind. You bled. You trained. And you rose.

Now, a soft rustle of movement stirred from the doorway.

You felt him more than saw him. Felt the pull of the bond that had settled into place weeks ago like a golden thread wrapping around your ribs. Mate. The word still made your breath hitch every time you thought of it.

Nyx stood there—tall, broad-shouldered, lean muscle cloaked in black. A shadow-laced male with eyes like a stormlit sky, watching you with that look again. The one he thought you never noticed. His hand rested lightly on the archway, fingers twitching as if they longed to reach out.

“You always get that look on your face when you’re trying to make sense of the impossible,” he said, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “Like the world might fall apart if you don’t find the right answer.”

You didn’t look up right away. Instead, you turned a page slowly, letting his presence settle in your senses before you murmured, “Maybe it already did.”

He stepped into the room at that, silent and certain, his steps as graceful as shadows on moonlight. He didn’t ask permission—he didn’t need to. Nyx took the empty seat beside you, his thigh brushing against yours, a touch you felt in every part of yourself.

“Still trying to make sense of the Turning?” Nyx murmured, his eyes flicking to the open books around you.