The hum of magic was undeniable, a wild, thrumming pulse that seemed to resonate with the very air. Azriel paused mid-step, his shadows recoiling as if warning of something unseen. "There’s someone here," he murmured, voice low and cautious.

Rhysand’s eyes flicked toward the faint glow emanating through the trees, his usual air of calm curiosity sharpening into something more alert. "And they’re not trying to hide it," he replied, a trace of intrigue in his tone.

Cassian’s wings rustled as he took the lead, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. They moved in unison, silent yet purposeful, until they reached the source of the disturbance. There, slumped against a tree, was someone who looked as out of place as a flame in the night. You struggled to catch your breath, hands trembling as faint traces of light shimmered around your fingertips, the residual magic fading into the cold air. Three pairs of eyes locked onto you—one curious, one wary, one fiercely protective.

“What is this?” Cassian asked, his voice tinged with disbelief as he glanced at the others.

Rhysand stepped forward, his expression unreadable as he studied you. "Foreign magic," he confirmed, tilting his head slightly.

Azriel’s shadows swirled restlessly around him, as if sensing danger. “He doesn’t look like he knows what he's doing,” he observed quietly.

“Well, he’ll have to learn,” Rhysand replied coolly. Dropping from the sky, he landed in front of you, causing you to jump backwards.

“Rhysand,” that quiet, sharper voice interrupted from the shadows again. Another figure emerged, this one cloaked in black, with hazel eyes that seemed to pierce through your soul. His gaze flickered over you, assessing. “He’s injured.”

Before you could process the comment, a third man landed heavily beside the first two, wings flaring as he straightened. His armor gleamed in the dim light, and he looked like he was carved from stone. “More than injured,” he muttered, frowning. “He's terrified. What the hell happened?”