A/N: Nala's new looks up top, just imagine that her eyes are still a burning amber

Nala stood at the heart of the sacred grove, the silver light bleeding through the canopy, casting shifting patterns across her skin. The air hummed with an ancient power, the boundary between realms thinning with each breath she took. The Bone Carver loomed nearby, his skeletal grin unwavering as he watched her struggle to balance what she had become.

She was no longer the girl who had once been half-human, half-Fae. That mortal part of her—the human fragility, the blood that had once tethered her to something ordinary—had been burned away in fire, seared into nothingness by her father's magic. What remained was something new, something neither fully Fae nor wholly divine, but something beyond. A demigod. A being of power, of raw, untamed force forged in the crucible of elemental magic.

"You are not what you were," the Bone Carver said, his voice like shifting bones. "You are not what they think you are. But power without control is destruction. Again."

The training was relentless. Fire lashed at her skin, but she no longer flinched. She stood at the edge of a chasm, the wind howling around her, forcing herself to bend it to her will rather than be cast into the abyss. Her body trembled as the earth split beneath her feet, demanding obedience. Water coiled around her arms, resisting, testing, but she fought back with unyielding force. Every lesson burned through her, reshaping her, reforging her into something more than she had ever been.

Each failure was met with pain. The Bone Carver was merciless, his methods designed to strip away hesitation, to forge instinct where doubt once lingered. When she faltered, the fire seared her, the winds crushed her, the earth tried to swallow her whole. But she endured. She adapted. She commanded.

Her divine Mother's gift manifested in ways both beautiful and terrible. She could see magic and time not as a linear path but as woven threads, each strand calling her, waiting to be plucked, unraveled, and rewritten. Her words carried weight beyond mere sound, able to shape fate itself, to call forth life where none should exist, or to strip it away with a whisper. The golden sigil on her forehead shimmered, proof of her divine heritage, The Mother's mark ensuring that all who looked upon her would know what she was.

***

The sun had barely set when Nala had touched down in Velaris, her wing tired after several days of being tortured into controlling her new divinity. 

"He does need unusual amounts of coddling." She heard Feyre say teasingly as she opened the balcony door. 

"Are we truly surprised?" Nala spoke up and all of the Inner circle whipped their heads towards Nala with wide eyes. 

Amren was the first to move, stepping forward with a rare softness in her ancient gaze. She placed a hand over Nala's heart, feeling the pulsing power beneath. "Still you," she murmured, a satisfied smile touching her lips. "And still bound to us."

Azriel, silent and watchful, moved closer. The moment their gazes met, the bond between them flared—a golden thread of fate that had not been severed, despite all that had changed. His breath hitched, shadows curling at his fingertips as he reached for her hand. When their fingers touched, the connection roared to life once more.

"You're still mine," Azriel whispered, the words carrying more weight than mere possession. Relief, awe, something unspoken passed between them, deeper than words could hold.

Nala exhaled shakily, the truth settling into her bones. "And you're still mine."

Amren gave an approving nod. "Good. You belong here, Nala. Don't ever doubt it."

Later that night, as the Inner Circle gathered in Rhys's townhouse, laughter and warmth filled the space. Amren handed Nala a glass of wine, grinning. "You've been through hell, but you came out stronger."

Cassian draped an arm over Azriel's shoulder, smirking. "And Azriel hasn't stopped staring at you since you arrived."

Azriel shot him a warning glare, but Nala only smiled. She reached out, intertwining her fingers with Azriel's, feeling the steady thrum of their connection. Wrapping Amren into her side with her left wing. 

"I'm home," she said softly, and the words settled something deep within her.

For all the power Nala had inherited, all the magic she had become, some things—some bonds—could never be burned away. And as she stood among them, laughter ringing through the air, she knew without a doubt that she was exactly where she was meant to be. She only needed the last bit to anchor the last of her infinite magic. She still needed her third mate, and she would have him.

"You look much different now," Feyre spoke, her voice low and hesitant. Her smile was small and uneasy, almost like she was scared that her sister was no longer that. 

Nala simply smiled, before stepping out of her mates' hold and walked across the room to her sister, ignoring the man at her side snarling as she gripped her older sister in a tight hug and felt Feyre melt against her. She to was ignoring the snarling High Lord at their side.