{{Previously titled "The Second Bloom"}}
POST- ACOFAS/ACOSF. SERIES CONTINUATION with multi POV, fixed friendships, flashbacks, back stories, connections, theories, and its Canon-infused.
Featuring Elucien, Gwynriel, Nessian, Brilin, Baltherie, Kall...
Azriel can't help the rage flowing through his veins as he travels through his shadows. He had taken flight the moment he was out of the house. Inky black swirls around him and the cold wind whips around his wings and body, unrelenting. He can't bring himself to care as he springs for the tallest tree he can find and sits on the highest branch. On the inside, he knows he has no right to feel this angry. That Elain is not his mate. That he was not entitled to her just because of her sisters. But knowing that does not translate to his heart; a heart that he is well and sick of repairing for over five hundred years.
Alone in the silence of the woods, he allows the tears to fall. Something he would never let a soul see, not even his brothers. Leaning back against the trunk, he allows himself to breathe deeply and fans out his wings in the sun. Every female he has ever wanted has dodged him. Granted, it's only been two, but that can't be a coincidence.
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Glancing down at the jagged white scars on his hands, he can't help but feel ugly. What female would want these hands on her? What female could see him as anything more than a torturous monster; from where he was bred and raised, to the actions he has taken in his life, from the job he currently holds in the Night Court. What female could trust a male that dangerous, that elusive, that...dark. The shadowsinger. A male whose soul exists within the darkness. He's an utter fool to think any female could love that. Even if he ends up finding his mate in his lifetime, he should prepare himself for a rejection early.
He stretches his fingers out, the bitter cold from being so high up making the tough skin tighter and inducing a painful ache upon his hands. Sighing, he thinks about his mother and how she's doing in Rose Hall. As hard as Azriel's own life has been, he knows his mother's trials were nothing to compare himself to. Being locked in that cell, he had only been able to see her once a week for an hour, and she was always afraid they would cut her off from him for good. Azriel understood her fear, but it didn't make the burden of his heart any lighter, the broken child from back then still struggling within him.
After stewing for a couple of hours, he pushes himself from the branch and takes flight again, deciding to winnow to the House of Wind to see if the females are training today. He hadn't gotten any notice from Cassian, but he's been thoroughly distracted with his new wife and mate. Thoroughly distracted. Az can't help the pang of jealousy that rings through him but he tries his best to push it away. That's what he's best at. Swallowing his feelings and existential denial.
Dropping onto the training ring, he looks around at the empty mats and equipment still in their rightful place. He takes it as an opportunity to let off some steam, glad that there's not a crowd here today. Saddling up with leathers and slipping his armor, body siphons, and shirt off, he gets to work, pushing himself harder than usual, seemingly feeling the rage seeping from his pores along with his sweat.
Az doesn't keep track of time as he lets it all out. His frustration is potent enough that he punches an inky hole in one of the bags, his shadows responding to his stress by showing him how destructive his attitude has been. He grimaces and mutters to them annoyedly.
