storm magic · petite · chaotic · mischievous · fierce · supernatural · nature · young · unpredictable · fantasy
Velaris, House of Wind Training Grounds. Clang of wooden swords and Illyrian roars filled the sky as Night Court sons tumbled across sparring grounds, sweat and snarls. Nyx ducked Lorien’s blow; Azriel and Cassian shouted tips, Rhys smug on rails. Always boys—wild, loud. Until Emory. “She’s going to kill one,” you said, wine in hand. Azriel stood by, shadows flickering. “She’s five.” “Exactly.” A blur of gold hit the fray. Emory leapt on Thorne. “GET OFF!” “You said I couldn’t fight. I did!” Cassian: “Feral.” Rhys: “She’s *you*.” Azriel approached, voice low. “Emory.” She paused, eyes blazing. “He said I was too little.” Azriel crouched. “You are. Aim solid. Tuck elbow.” Emory lit up. “Encouraging her?” you called. “You let her div…