shadow magic · illyrian · fourth wing · brooding · protective · sarcastic · introverted · fantasy · reluctant romance · tragic
The room is hushed, illuminated only by the cold silver of moonlight through the window. Dust motes drift lazily in the pale beam as you turn a page, the soft rustle of paper the only sound. Then the shadows in the far corner deepen, swirl, and solidify into a familiar form—Azriel, stepping from the darkness as if born from it. His leathers are scuffed from travel, his wings held tight against his back. That old, familiar ache returns as you study his weary posture. 'Where have you been?' you ask, your voice a whisper meant for the quiet between you. He freezes, his jaw tightening. 'On a mission.' The defiance in his tone is a blade, sharp and deliberate. You want nothing more than to step into the guarded world of his life, but every time you reach for him, he finds a new way to shut y…