Tonight was different. Arwen had felt it, but she didn’t see the sign. No one did, for no one warned them. When the attack happened in the city of Velaris, many of its residents have been sleeping. Had it not for her night terrors that kept her awake, she wouldn’t have the time to run to Thamrin’s room and snatch him away before fire came burning them alive inside their tiny house.

Dawn was approaching, but instead of that usual peace surrounding the Rainbow of Velaris, the area rich in art and beauty now screaming with terror and approaching doom.

Arwen ran and ran and ran. Thamrin was sobbing. Another snarling sound felt too close behind her. Growling. Screaming on her right. A heartbreaking wails. Angry, determined battle cries. Blood—blood everywhere. Not that she wasn’t used to blood; but the anguish and the anger that accompanied it was something that she hadn’t experience for quite some time now. She wished she didn’t have to anymore.

Arwen tightened her hold against Tham’s small, fragile body. The boy wrapped himself around her like his life depended on it. Oh, the boy was shaking so bad—and so was she. A faerie laid on the ground, blue blood spurting out of his skin. Scaly arms reaching out for help. Anyone. That part of her would always urge her to stop. To help. But she didn’t live for herself anymore now. She had Thamrin, the light of her life, and she couldn’t afford to stop. Not now.

Not even when one of those wicked creatures sailed down from the sky and devour what was left of that poor faerie. The burn in her eyes blurred her vision momentarily. Her lips trembled, and she felt her fear sent tremor down her thighs and legs. But she pushed on. Tham had to live.

She dodged past an incoming creature from hell; sharp talons and teeth bared, aiming towards her and her son. With whatever grace granted her, she managed to get out of its way.

But not for long.

Her shoulders got shoved by the amount of crowd trying to run, get away from that thing that now had circled around them like a pack of wolves on a bunch of deers. Surrounded, they were all forced in the middle of those dark creatures. Running out of options, Arwen fell to her knees and clutched on Thamrin’s small body, using her own body as a human shield.

“Av’osto. Av’osto (Don’t be afraid). Nana is here,” she whispered over and over again like a prayer to her son’s ear. As the hellish creature dived towards the people around her, she prayed to the Mother above to spare his son.

It was a massive execution; a slaughterhouse. Cries of agony and death reached her ears. Arwen told Tham to close his eyes, her arms surrounding his head, his ears—so he didn’t hear.

If she was going to die, at least she will face her death and not shy away from it. Arwen turned her head. A wicked creature with dark, leathery wings dived towards her. Loathing eyes, as dark as a raven’s, locked against her in a predatory way.

This was the end of the line.

Arwen buried her face in Thamrin’s dark hair, closing her eyes.

That deathblow never came.

Ashes rained down on the defenseless people. Then the sound of that mighty flap of wings, and a familiar shadow surrounding the figure—

Arwen never thought she’d be that overjoyed to see the Shadowsinger.

The blue gems on his fingers glowed brightly with power as he hunted the remaining of the creatures that weren’t turned to ash from his magic. One more of those wretched thing dive near her, but Azriel tackled it mid-air before it could reach her. His shadow devoured the creature until it was nothing but ashes.

Those hazel eyes darkened with wrath and death. Arwen should shudder at the sight, yet when the Shadowsinger’s eyes met hers, a flicker of emotion that she couldn’t put her finger on gleamed on it.

For once, she wasn’t afraid of him.

“To the Town House,” he instructed all of them that was still left alive with such commanding power in his voice, “Now.”

No one dared to question him. Arwen pushed her shaky legs up. Move. She readjusted her hold on her son and ran.

Even as they ran towards the Town House, those evil creatures kept on chasing them. But just when they thought they were going to hit, the hellish creatures tumbled as if hitting an invisible wall. Right then she knew why the Shadowsinger told them to run to the Town House. The wards there was still intact.

They are safe. Safe.

Arwen trembled as she hugged her son tightly. She spent a long time like that being on her knees, her wet eyes searching his equally wet face for any sign of harm.

When she was finally able to think clearly, Arwen then dared to look around her.

So much tears. So much blood. Such anguish and sorrow. Some of them were injured badly; some were dying from it. Compassion tugged at her heart. She couldn’t stay and do nothing. Never again.

“Would you be brave for nana, Thamrin?” she asked her son softly.

Little Tham sobbed, shaking still, but nodded. She gave him a pained smile. “Stand by my side. Don’t let go.”

***

By the time they winnowed in, the sun had already been up, and almost one third of the city of Starlight had already been in ruin.

They were too late.

Wicked faeries flew around the city as if Velaris were theirs. That alone was enough to unleash whatever darkness and terror that the High Lord of The Night Court and his family bore within their blood.

The wicked creatures were many; but they stood no chance against the wrath of the defenders of the city. With Rhysand, Cassian, and Mor thrown into the equation with Azriel, the purging of the city was swift and merciless.

The general that led the enemy host knew that this was time to fall back. Knew of his end. But his orders was clear: Send them a message.

A dark, slithering speech muttered through his teeth, the spell enough to taint his blade with dark magic. The wicked general knew better than to attack Rhysand, Cassian or Mor. Instead, he aimed at the one who had been fighting the longest. Alone. Weakened.

A shot of agony tore through Azriel’s throat. A black blade pierced through his right wing. He knew that ash would kill his kind, but never at this rate. Immediately he was rendered paralyzed by a crushing agony. A cold that was colder than the freezing water of Winter seeped into his flesh and bone.

No. He could feel it in his soul. With whatever strength he had left, Azriel fought to flap his bleeding wings, a feeble attempt to keep afloat in the Winter air.

From afar, Arwen saw him. Like a bird being shot mid-air, he flapped his wings weakly, shooting straight down to earth. Crumpled, the Shadowsinger crash landed a distance away from the Town House. Even as he came to a stop, his wings still managed to flap weakly like a flightless bird. Then it came to a perfect still.

Cassian was the first to come to Azriel’s side. Then Rhysand.

The cry of the young fae in front of her brought her back to what was before her. Blood spluttered through her fingers again as the bandage that she made gave out under the pressure of her hand. Arwen pushed away the thought of the Shadowsinger from her mind as she did her best to use whatever fabric she could use from the people as a tourniquet to stop the major bleeding of the artery.

She worked, worked and worked. Her mind slipped into its flowing state as she did all she could for the wounded around her. Her son kept his promise. With a small hand, he clutched his nana’s dress as and stood by her side, watching her work.

***

The layers of wards that protected the city were restored. Rhysand and his family were able to stop the damage done by the enemy host to one third of the city. The rest was untouched, though he couldn’t say the same about his people.

Or Az.

All of them had matted blood and dirt on their clothes and hair as they stood stiffly at the family room of his estate. None dared to move, even just to clean themselves. Not until Madja tell them what they needed to know.

Rhys?

The High Lord turned his weary head towards his mate. Not speaking.

How bad is it?

Even down their bond, Rhysand was unable to answer her. Didn’t have the strength to. Didn’t dare to. All of them were tough; Cassian and Azriel even more so. But he had never seen Az being defeated this way. There was almost no fight as he saw his brother fell from the sky.

Rhysand’s silence, both in person and down their bond told her enough. She scooted towards him and wrapped her arms around him. The High Lord slipped his arms around her waist and buried his face on her neck, silently accepting her comfort.

Feyre felt everything from their bond. That hopelessness. Fear. Guilt. Failure. Loss.

When Madja finally came out, her head was bowed low.

“The blade is not of ash,” Madja began, and some of them seemed to let out a relieved breath, but the healer continued thickly, “But it is hexed with a curse. Something ancient,” the female healer began to lose her professional demeanor. “It is beyond me—”

“No,” cut Mor.

“—I cannot save him.”

“NO!”

Mor yelled, tears streaming down her blood-caked face as she stormed inside the meeting room which table had been made an emergency operating table for Madja to try to patch Az.

A work that she was unable to do.

“There must be something else we can do,” choked Feyre, “Maybe… maybe you just need help from other healers—if we can find them—I can fly—”

“—If Madja can’t save him, then no one can,” cut Cassian with a stiff, broken voice, “How long does he have?”

Rhysand remained paralyzed as he watched Madja with shock. “Minutes.”

Cassian, teary eyed, wasted no more time. He followed Mor into the meeting room, heartbroken and angry. Those centuries together, now Az’s number was up while his wasn’t.

It was cruel. Too cruel.

And he had let himself to be deceived to leave Az to fight alone.

Amren was the one who came to Feyre and Rhysand, silver eyes lacking the gleam of strength that they usually held.

“Let’s come and say goodbye.”

Amren’s uncannily soft words caused tears to spill silently down Rhysand’s face. It made it real, and he felt the agony of losing his mother and sister all over again, for Azriel was more than a friend.

He was his brother.

From the corner of the room, Elain stood, tear streaked faced. She had lost her father. Lost her fiance. Lost her mortal life. She couldn’t bear losing another and wouldn’t admit it. She didn’t have the strength to say goodbye to her friend.

Elain ran out of the estate crying.

***

She didn’t know what power was at work, but Arwen turned her head just as she saw Elain, the High Lady’s sister ran out of the estate with anguished cry shaking her frail body.

Immediately Arwen hasten her work as she bandaged a high fae with an angry gash on his shoulder.

“Keep the pressure on it. Hold it,” she instructed the female next to the wounded high fae. After a brief demonstration, she let go of her hold on him.

She turned to Thamrin and took his hand, leading them towards the dark marble where Elain sat and cried at the front porch of the untouched estate.

Dread filled Arwen when her azure eyes met with Elaine’s blue gray ones. “Who?”

Trembling with sobs, Elain barely managed. “Az.”

She remembered that fall.

“Thamrin, stay here with Elain. I will be back.”

“Alright nana,” obeyed the weary looking child.

She gave him a weak smile before bravely striding towards the estate again. Fighting the memory of her captivity. Of the darkness and hollowness still festering inside her chest. The moment she entered the house, she could feel death lingering around.

Just as Rhys and Feyre about to finally enter the meeting room, they were halted by the presence of the high fae that they thought would never step her foot in that estate again.

“Where is he?”

Arwen never seen the High Lord and the High Lady so broken spirited, so bloodied and grief-stricken. She mostly looked to Feyre, still unable to hold her gaze against those violet eyes of Rhysand for too long.

The High Lord and the High Lady of the Night Court seemed to have lost their voice.

“Where is the Shadowsinger?” she repeated again, and another tear fell from Feyre’s swollen eyes.

“It’s too late,” answered Rhysand, defeated.

Arwen’s heart clenched. There was more than one meaning behind those three words, but she couldn’t comprehend it.

“He died?” she questioned in disbelief.

“He’s going to,” burst Feyre into choking sobs.

Rhysand held his mate, offering comfort just the way she did him before as she cried to his chest.

“He still lives,” responded the Hybern’s Heiress, “There might be hope for us yet.”

Arwen walked past the pair, who shared a slightly confuse, yet not as hopeless as they were earlier. They followed behind her into the room, hand in hand.

When she entered, the crowd gathering around the dying Illyrian warrior turned their heads. Faces filled with anguish, even among the strong. Though not understanding why the Hybern’s Heiress was among them, they parted, making a way for the graceful female.

The sight of the Shadowsinger on his deathbed came into view. Bandaged wings faltered, unmoving. His face was as white as death, a contrast to his dark hair. The siphons on his fingers were dark. From where she stood, she could feel his life force seeping away. Not even his shadow could be found anywhere around him.

“Azriel. Im Arwen,” she inched closer to his side, taking in the form of the dying Illyrian. “Telin le thaed. Lasto beth nîn… Tolo dan nan galad.”

***

[Author’s Note: (Translation to last Sindarin: Azriel. I’m Arwen. I’ve come to help you. Hear my voice… Come back to the light.) I have been waiting for this chapter! What do you think of it? Comment and vote if you like the chapter. Stay tuned for an update! Thank you again for reading, precioussss ❤️]