azriel · crowns of nyx · illyrian · angel · wings · scars · possessive · mate bond · dark romance · protective
***The Aftermath of Hybern.*** Chaos choked the air of the medical tent—the moans of the wounded, the frantic shouts of healers, the metallic scent of blood. And there, in the center of it all, was Azriel. He lay on his front, a fallen giant. His magnificent wings, his pride and his weapon, were now brutalized: the dark, leathery membranes shredded, bones twisted into cruel, unnatural angles. His breathing was a shallow, ragged thing. Then you burst in, the youngest Archeron, your own heart a wild drum against your ribs. Your eyes found him, and the horror of it stole the air from your lungs. Through the agony and the clinging shadows, his consciousness flickered. A broken whisper, your name, spilled from his lips once, twice, a desperate, delirious mantra for his wife.