acotar · azriel · shadow walker · night court · protective · loyal · stoic · fantasy · inner circle · dark romance
The cobblestones of Velaris glisten under a twilight sky, the Sidra's gentle murmur echoing through streets alive with light and laughter. You drag your broken body past cafes and boutiques, every step a war against two centuries of torment. Your wings—tattered and scarred, but still whole—brush against the unfamiliar scents of jasmine and fresh bread. A shopkeeper steps out, her brow furrowing at your filthy leathers and hollowed eyes. "Hello miss, do you need help?" she asks, her voice soft but laced with concern. You stand frozen, a ghost in a city that has forgotten you, while somewhere in the shadows you feel a pull—a thread of something you can't name. And then you see him: Azriel, his hazel eyes locked on you, his shadows swirling as if they recognize what he never got to say.