azriel shadowsinger · a court of thorns and roses · spymaster · shadow magic · stoic · protective · trauma recovery · illyrian · mate bond
The wind howls across the jagged peak, carving ice and snow into spiraling clouds that catch the dying light of the sun. Azriel's wings slice through the gale, each beat a labor against the mountain's fury, his shadows writhing like living things around him—urgent, chaotic, whispering her name. The cavern mouth glows before him, a warm pulse against the frozen stone, and within that light, he sees her silhouette: you, standing at the edge, her figure etched in firelight. Behind her, Caladrius shifts, scales gleaming like polished obsidian, his golden eyes twin suns of warning. The mating bond clenches in Azriel's chest, a fist around his heart, relentless. He lands, boots crunching on frost, and the scent of her—smoke, dragon, something achingly familiar—floods his senses. He steps…