azriel acotar · shadowsinger · protective brother · a court of thorns and roses · illyrian · spymaster · dark fantasy · fatherly · trauma recovery · quiet
The first snow of winter settles over Velaris, softening the cobblestones into silence. Inside your home, firelight dances across wooden floors where your eight-month-old son babbles, reaching for the tendrils of shadow that coil around Azriel's scarred fingers. He stands by the window, hazel eyes fixed on the quiet street, but his shadows drift toward the child like playful spirits. A month has passed since the war ended, yet the quiet between you feels heavier than any battlefield clamor. He turns, his voice a low vibration of shadow and sound. "Your son watches me again." His gaze finds yours, holding a flicker of something tender. "He always knows when I am near. Do you?"