~Zaire~

"Surely, you jest . . . "

Talon's incredulous chuckle grated on Zaire's last nerve, and he only stared at him in response.

"You are not serious," Talon continued, though his statement sounded like a question, and his smirk was faltering.

A trickle of fear slid down the back of Zaire's throat. He shook his head slowly. Talon let out a sharp sigh, his eyes widening as he shook his head back at him.

"No, no. That is an impossibility."

Zaire's jaw clenched and he looked away, disappointment needling his heart. He'd held some sliver of hope that Talon would have some answer for this, some solution he couldn't see, but he was just as scared and confused as he was. A heavy silence hung between them while the pair digested what all this meant. When the silence finally broke, it was Talon who said,

"No one can know."

"I'm aware of that," Zaire snapped, staring out of the window at the passing treeline that marked the edge of the Dark Realm.

"And her? Is she aware that this makes her even more of a target than being your mate?"

Zaire's stomach roiled painfully at his words as well as the change in environment. No longer being fed by the air of the Dark Realm was of little importance - spending so much time on the other side of the Veil was good practice for such an excursion. But there was something about the barren wasteland of the In-Between stretched out before them that raised his hackles and rubbed salt in the wound of being separate from his other half. He suddenly had the overwhelming feeling that he wasn't meant to come here without her.

A dead-zone, everything was dry, grey, devoid of life. The ground was cracked and parched, long fissures extending in every direction, only interrupted by divots and craters which appeared to be etched with runes. The sky was dotted with strange, floating rock formations of all shapes and sizes, each surrounded and interconnected by unnaturally still, twisted loops of pebbles and dust. The Royal Hounds slowed to little more than a trot, immediately succumbing to sluggishness, never before setting foot outside of the Dark. Shimmering in the distance was the edge of the Light Realm, a wintery, mountainous hellscape that reflected so much light that it pricked his eyes even with the slightest glance. He tore his gaze away, swallowing back the bile threatening to crawl up his throat. To think that his father had set foot in the Light Realm - that he had spent days within it and had dared to take a piece of it back with him . . . it was inconceivable. Talon was right. There would be no better retribution for Celeste.

"Something is wrong," Talon's voice was strained with tension as he wordlessly commanded the Hounds to halt. The creatures all but collapsed onto the earth, sending plumes of dust into the air. The same Suspension Aura that held the rock formations aloft in the sky caused the dust to stay in place, rather than settling as it would in any other realm, obscuring the view ahead.

There was no need for him to clarify what was amiss - a shared look communicated all that needed to be said. Perceivably, there were no Light Court Fae stationed to receive them, though that didn't mean that there were none present. While Dark Fae typically used shrouds as their method of cloaking, the Light Fae used a magic known as vergence, which bent and refracted light in a way that was just as effective. And whether they were simply absent or donning vergence, it only meant one thing. This whole arrangement was a distraction, or a set-up.

"Go," Zaire told Talon firmly, sending a shadow to tear the reins from the carriage, freeing the Hounds. One of them had to get back as soon as possible to maintain order and defend the Dark from what was assuredly the beginning of a war. All Talon would have to do is get to the treeline, and he could apparate straight to the Palace. Talon's eyes scanned their surroundings, his expression pained. He didn't want to abandon Zaire for what could very well be a battalion.

"GO!"

The Hounds bolted back the way that they had come, and Talon's resolute nod preceded him tearing after them - likely the fastest that he has had to run in centuries. Zaire shrouded himself and stepped out, focusing only on one thought while he ripped Celeste's makeshift traveling cell from its platform and sent it flying fifty feet ahead. He would do what needed to be done here, and get to his mate before the Light Court did.

A Hound's guttural screech of pain sounded from somewhere behind him, but Zaire didn't look back. He was doubtless. Talon would make it back, even if every last Hound died aiding his escape. He kept his gaze trained on the cell as it tumbled end over end in the air. Once its momentum slowed, it hung suspended, warbling slightly before going still. He skulked forward, eyes peeled for the slightest glimmer, but so many dust moats lingered everywhere, it may as well have been a dense fog. There was no way to know where his assailants were. Every step was careful and slow, so as not to disturb the dust on the ground any more and render his shroud useless in masking his movements.

He unvaulted only a fraction for a possible lure. Whereas the Dark Fae could taste emotions within their vicinity, the Light detected it by aroma. The smallest whiff wasn't enough to trigger an attack, it seemed, because he felt no pull or manipulation. He had dealt with enough of them over the centuries to recognize the sensation of being drained, of that foreign sense of hopelessness injected into him, but those were Fae of lesser power. Surely, Ghast would have been wise enough to send his best. They wouldn't be foolish enough to take the bait so easily. Zaire had to be creative.

It was a blind risk to take flight, not fully understanding of how the Suspension Aura in the air of the In-Between defied reality. The ethereal physics of it could possibly send him in a stationary tailspin, make him both a hilarious spectacle and a sitting duck, trapped mid-air. It was his worst idea, but his only one. He stretched his wings and with one readying beat, he shot upward, holding his breath. Once his feet left the ground, he felt it. It was like plasma, the way it slicked off of his shadows, proving that they were capable of moving in any direction unimpeded. But it worked against his body, not allowing descent, only lateral or upward movement. He wracked his brain for a tactic that wouldn't involve swooping down like a hawk to pick them off. Not like he could do that while they hid behind their vergence anyway.

There was no way to know how many of them there were, and the idea of fifty Light Fae sucking him dry at once had him breaking out in a cold sweat. His natural defense was to use his shadows as weapons, but the skin of the Light Fae exuded a radiance that was nearly invisible to the naked eye, yet powerful enough that it would repel shadows, thwarting them from piercing through it. Which meant he had to use brute force to temporarily incapacitate them, or wraithbane  to kill them, and since this arrangement was meant to be a gesture of peace to ensure a renewed treaty, bringing wraithbane  wouldn't have made any sense.

Essentially, he was fucked. He had the means to escape right then. They had already stolen a day and a half that would have been better spent rallying forces, organizing defense. Their goal couldn't be to weaken and capture him, their goal had to be slowing him down.

Well, better make quick work of this.

Zaire began flying in erratic patterns, opening his vault wide in five second bursts, hyper-aware of the slightest pull on his emotions. Too slowly, he was able to calculate where the majority of them were posted up by that alone, but it wasn't precise enough to get a direct hit on any of them if he tried. He had to hope that at least one of them would be winged and ballsy enough to get close to him, because he was wasting too much time. They weren't making a move, and they had to be aware that he had generally clocked their location. They were just waiting for the perfect moment.

So, he let his shroud fall, opened his vault, and made his wings droop as if he had hit his physical limits. He did his best to falsify the feeling of surrender, to quell any hope that this would work. No longer using his wings to fly, he bobbed in place before hovering in the plasma-like air that refused to let him fall. Within seconds, they were siphoning him with full force from all angles like the leeches they were, and he had to allow it. He didn't have to feign the feeling of weakness, because he quickly felt drugged. He did, however, make a show of letting his chin fall to his chest.

Only then, he finally felt contact - a burning-hot blade pressed against his skin. Oh, what fools! They were practically hand-delivering exactly what he needed to destroy them all. At most, he had been planning to separate them from their limbs, which wouldn't end their lives, but considerably set them back with the time it took to heal. But they had made the mistake of thinking they could threaten him with wraithbane, and what? Force him into the Light Realm to torture? Did they really think they could capture him? Ghast himself wouldn't be able to contain him! What the fuck was their endgame in all this?

"Path-"

Before the name had fully left the Light Fae's mouth, Zaire swiped out blindly with his claws, shredding the vergence and flesh underneath. Blood gushed from the throat of the male in front of him, and it gave Zaire the opening he needed to wrench the sword from him. Garbled hisses sounded from below while Zaire brought the sword down on the center of his skull, just as the wound he'd made with his claws was beginning to close up.

Perhaps he should have let him speak, glean at least a modicum of information before he attacked. Pity. A wicked smile formed on his lips when he saw fresh plumes of dust kicking up in an obvious trail, headed toward the edge of the Light Realm. So much for their vergence, now. They would not be getting away. Jetting after them, he wrapped a shadow around the hilt of the wraithbane  sword and lashed it out like a whip in a wide, sweeping motion. Four vergences were torn, and four heads rolled. He didn't take the time to properly appreciate how their blood seeped into the fissures and solidified like a grout, shimmering silver.

Swinging his sword-tipped shadow whip like a pendulum, he showed no mercy, and only minutes later, bloody torsos and limbs were disintegrating all around, creating more silver veins in the cracks on the ground. He was only vaguely aware of a searing pain in his shoulder and thigh, too consumed with the task at hand. When he was absolutely as certain as he could be that no one lived to tell the tale, he gazed upon Celeste's floating cell. It was odd that ending her life now just felt like like another annoying box he had to check off that would only waste more of his time. It should have been satisfying when he wrenched the door off its hinges and drove the sword through her heart, but it wasn't. Killing her didn't bring back Zyn. It didn't bring back his father. Her miserable life was supposed to be traded for alliance, but instead, the Light was waging war. It was supposed to mean something more than his inner child's need for revenge. It was as if the Oracle was having a laugh at his expense, because nothing could ever be so simple.

. . .

Zaire flew for almost 24 hours straight once he breached the Dark Realm. Sucking in deep lungfuls of the dark energy the atmosphere provided replenished him greatly, but after all the vaulting and unvaulting to pinpoint the Light Fae, the subsequent massacre that took place, and shooting through the sky as fast as he could for hours upon hours, he was still thoroughly exhausted. Dropping down on a tree top, he allowed himself a few meager minutes to rest. Then, he finally noticed the wraithbane  arrows. A low growl rumbled from his chest as he removed the one in his shoulder first. A couple shadows coiled tightly around the wound. It wasn't as deep as it should have been, the archer must have been too hurried in their attempt to defend themselves, but it would still take months to heal, leaving behind yet another nasty scar. The arrow in his thigh was more difficult to pull out, and he cursed at the scorching pain that time. More shadows wrapped tightly around his leg, but the bleeding hardly slowed.

He needed to drink her blood to heal faster and mitigate some of the damage to his muscles, and that realization filled him with a renewed shame for how he had overreacted that night. He was so angry at her for making him lose control, but sharing blood wasn't something he should avoid. The specific matebond they had was meant for that purpose, to heal each other from battle wounds. Considering the situation they were now in with the Light, it was an eventuality that he needed to accept. He had promised that he would never go that far again, drink so heavily from her that the Mark had to repel him. He was afraid that he would break that promise, but he hadn't, yet. Instead, he had broken her heart.

On one hand, he wished that his little doll had found her way out through a seam, and that she was being protected. On the other hand, perhaps it would be safer if she was still stuck between Realms, until it was certain what the Light Fae had planned. No one would find her there. But then she could emerge at any time, anywhere there was a familiar seam, and utilizing sentries to guard every seam she could come through was unfeasible at this point, now that they were at war. She could stumble right into a trap like Zaire and the Dark King just had.

No. Talon was so sure that she would be on one side or the other by now. Zaire traced the Mark on his forearm and closed his eyes, trying to focus on that magnetic tether between them. He had to focus harder than usual to grasp it, after being apart from her for this long. She felt so far away, too far to be in the same Realm. She had to be in the City. If all had gone according to his wishes, Weiss was with her, and that sentry was more than capable. He wouldn't let anything happen to her. Two shallow breaths later, she had traced her own Mark in the same way, and he shuddered, revitalized by her responding touch that emanated through his entire body. If she was acknowledging him, the odds were that she wasn't currently fighting for her life.

With a second wind, he launched himself back into the endless-night sky, ready to use the stolen sword on anyone and anything that dared to come between him and his mate. No matter what the Light wanted, or how the Dark dealt with it, they would face it together. Even if every other living thing had to be rendered to ash.