Aleksander relishes the feeling of not feeling.
The noise in his head has grown quiet, his own torturous voice gone mute. The frustration he's been feeling with himself, the problematic shame and hurt of what's occurred between he and Alina fades into nothingness.
All he feels is fire in his veins and innate need to destroy.
And destroy he does.
The screams of the men he cuts down fill the air like the applause of a crowd. Victory, is what he hears. Triumph. Blood is red, Aleksander knows this. There is no odd stirring at the sight of it, only the confirmation that he has made those who dare defy him hurt.
Like the blood of his foes, the shadows flow form him with ease. As they strangle those around him, he feels the squeeze as if it was his own fists. He doesn't Cut as much, not wanting the quick disposing it is capable of. He wants the damage he inflicts to last and terrorize.
Aleksander feels a maniacal smile grace his face.
A shadow that is not his flashes like a whip in the corner of his eye.
He sees it slash the throat of a Frejdan who had a gun raised in his direction. The man dies within an instant and collapses to the ground like a doll.
Of course, the bullet would have never reached him. He's perfected the technique of having a dark but almost invisibles barrier of shadows constantly whirling around him, thin enough to not see but thick enough to protect.
But, Aleksander supposes, it's the thought that counts.
Adrik, standing a food few feet away, doesn't look so triumphant with his kill. There is no sick pleasure that Aleksander is thriving on right now on his face. No weakness either, though, which Aleksander is happy for. Adrik's face is stoic with determination and perhaps, if one looked close enough, a grim understanding of what he's done.
The battlefield around them has quieted, the Frejdans either mostly dead or retreating in the face of two Shadow Summoners. Their Ravkan forces make sure to secure the area immediately, and Aleksander takes in a steadying breath as they pass him in flurries. Humanity slowly creeps back into him, and the shadows retreat from their menacing stance. When it feels like enough normalcy has returned, he makes his way to his son.
"I told you not to come here today," He states bluntly, his voice that of a general, not father.
Adrik doesn't look any inch apologetic. He swipes at a fallen lock on his forehead, and surveys the sea of bodies around them. "You weren't mean to be here today either."
"I will go wherever I please, as my right," He snarls right back. "You would do well to learn how to take orders."
It takes a great amount of effort for Adrik not to roll his eyes or doing something as equally exasperated. But his father is the King, and does deserve that respect, even in spite of him being so ridiculously rash. "Moi soverenyi," Adrik offers, hopefully conveying enough of a reverent tone. "We didn't know how many of them were hiding in the woods. It was reckless for you to come here without the proper intel."
Aleksander scoffs and turns to glare at the supposed "offending" woods. "Reckless. You dare insult me with such a word? And what of you being here? You are still unseasoned of such affairs, you do well to know your place."
Adrik prays to the Saints for patience. Belatedly, he commends himself for not being so terrified of his father anymore. Not so long ago, such coldness and biting spite would have had him putting as much distance between them. But now, all he feels is frustration. Whatever happened between his parents before they left for war has made Aleksander…off kilter, to say the least. His decisions have leaned heavily into the more violent approach, and he's put himself on the front lines more than appropriate of someone of his station. It's the only reason he came here today. Perhaps, as he is still learning the ways of battle, it was a bit stupid. But Saints, Adrik was actually worried for his father. Not that he would ever say such a thing aloud, but that didn't mean he would act on the feeling. And seeing him like this, so ruthless and almost relishing in the carnage he created, Adrik was right in his fear.
Adrik steps forward and says, as quiet as a shadow, "Papa, this needs to stop."
Shadows and rage creep up Aleksander's back. Defiance is something he hasn't tolerated in centuries. Defiance is something he has killed both men and women for. And right now, the man in front of him has no mercy of being his son. The eerie quiet of the kill he had moments before beings to deafen her ears again. "Watch yourself, boy," He seethes, as deathly low.
Hesitation is weakness, and Adrik knows well his father would pounce on it if given the chance. Though, it is as equally dangerous to provoke him in the moment as well. "Speak to Mama," Adrik presses. "End whatever this is between the two of you. You're not thinking straight."
To hell with Adrik and Alina, Aleksander can't help but think murderously. To hell with them thinking he, a man who has been a General and a King and has seen more war than anyone in this world, is not thinking straight. He'll burn all of Fredja down to show them all. All of it.
Aleksander feels his eyes go black. Feels it and lets his son see it too. "Go back to camp."
"Papa-"
"Go. Back. To. Camp. Now."
At this point, there's no more patience to fight. His father has been pushed to his limit, and Adrik knows no more mercy will be afforded to him. Even when Aleksdander hated him, Adrik had never seen such a look of murder on his face. So, he does as told, and prays to the Saints his father sees reason before things get any worse.
A flare of annoyance for her husband rushes up within Alina before she promptly remembers she is anything but annoyed with Aleksander right now. Still, she can't help but feel when there is a fight to be had, he mindlessly run towards it while she's left with the behind with the odious paperwork.
He always had a more strategic brain than her own, yet here she is corresponding with the Shu, reminding them of their alliance and the fact they need to show some face in the war to hopefully getting Frejda to surrender sooner rather than later. The Shu Queen, though, is throwing pretty words at her with every letter, pointing out that they're not technically breaking their alliance should she send no soldiers.
Alina flings the parchment atop of her desk with a groan. "Jannah"
Her secretary is promptly at her side.
"Please send word to the Shu that I require an actual human present here in Os Alta to continue this conversation. These letters are taking too long and giving me a headache."
The girl bobs her head and walks away dutifully. As she leaves the room, Mila slides past her in the doorway.
"You look tired, Mama."
Alina puts a smile on for her daughter, but she knows it lacks its general shine. "Times like these I wish I wasn't a Queen."
Mila hums and flops down into the seat before the desk. "I got a letter from Adrik," She announces and pulls said document from the pocket of her kefta.
Alina brightens at that. "How is he?"
"Well," Mila begins, but her gaze seems to be fixed on something over Alina's shoulder. "Though he says being at the front is miserable business. He's only gone to fight twice, though. Says Papa won't let him do more. He doesn't sound too upset over the fact, you know Adrik doesn't really like violence-"
"And how is your father?"
Mila bits her lower lip. "Well…enough."
Worry flashes like a cold sweat at the back of her neck. "What does that mean?"
"Adrik says he's…well, been very adamant on joining the soldiers in battle. A bit too adamant."
Really, she tries not to worry, but it's been two months since Aleksander and Adrik had left. Two months the tether between she and her husband has been cold and quiet. She's written him, of course, though tears stained the first page she's ever had to send her husband. Aleksander had replied with something half as long but immensely more cordial and short. She hadn't had the will power to write him again since.
"Your father was never afraid to involve himself in a fight," Alina assures. She or Mila, she's not sure.
Mila frowns down at the letter. "Adrik is worried, though. Says he's never seen Papa like this."
It's useless, but Alina plucks at their tether with a bit of hope.
Nothing replies back.
She feels like crying again but Mila is here, looking close to tears herself. Steeling herself, Alina rises from her seat and rounds the desk, coming to stop behind her daughter's chair. She places a kiss at the crown of the younger girl's head, then begins to soothingly run her fingers through her dark tresses. "Mila, don't let this upset you. Your father gets a certain way in times like these. I know you or Adrik have never experienced it, but I have. War, unfortunately, can bring out a side of us that we don't like to see. But sometimes that's necessary."
"But if he's putting himself at risk-"
"Aleksander has lived for centuries, love. He's knows what risks to take and which not to."
Thankfully, that is enough to placate Mila, who just nods her head and rises from her chair. "I think I'll go for a ride, clear my head."
"Remember your-"
"Guards, I know. As if I could ever lose them." Mila rolls her eyes but smiles as she leaves. "See you at dinner."
Alina waves, but even as Mila disappears she continues to stare at the doors. She can't help but see so much of herself in her fiery daughter. She too had hated the constant presence of guards in her shadow, though Aleksander wouldn't hear of anything different. The riding, though, is from her father. Not that she doesn't enjoy it, but Aleksander finds it much more therapeutic than she ever did.
Oh, how she can't stop thinking of him.
It's the longest they've ever gone not talking to each other. Purposefully, at least.
How can she apologize when he won't let her? How is she meant to make this better?
Again, Alina tugs at the tether, if not more insistently this time.
Again, nothing but silence.
A pitiful-oh so pitiful-noise escapes her throat. She sounds like a whiney dog, desperate to see her master. And that metaphor makes her all the more frustrated. Swiftly moving back to her chair, Alina prays to the Saints that Aleksander would just do something, anything, just so she could feel him-to know he's there hearing her though he doesn't want to answer. At least she could feel him. Know he's well.
Know he doesn't truly hate her.
Aleksander is deep in his bottle when Adrik comes into his tent.
His son's face is perfectly indifferent, perhaps even bored as he surveys the meager surroundings around them. A cot hidden behind a black curtain, scattered chairs circling around a table presenting the area and different stations.
His council had left over an hour ago, at his command, leaving Aleksander to his solitude and liquor. His guards at the door had strict orders to not allow anyone else in, but it seems in the face of their crown prince they dared to defy their Tsar. Well, he'd deal with that later.
"Good evening," Adrik says carefully, like someone needing to tame a wild animal. He halts at the edge of the large table where Aleksander sits across from, slumped in his chair and twirling his glass around.
Aleksander only answers with a nod of his head.
He doesn't want to see Adrik. Hasn't wanted to see him for some time now. It's illogical but looking at his son makes him think of Alina and he loathes thinking about Alina because then that makes him think of the new cracks that have marred his being. Marred his soul, practically.
Aleksander doesn't want to think of any of this.
Adrik looks pointedly down at the map. "We've been winning."
Indeed, the Ravkan tokens have greatly begun to outnumber the Frejdan ones. Yet, the end isn't quite near. Aleksander doesn't feel the need to point this out, as Adrik probably knows this anyways, so he lets silence reign between them.
It can never be easy when things come to the Darkling. Shoulders slumping, Adrik drops pretense and looks at his father as he wishes, imploring. Beseeching. Hell, maybe even desperate. "You've decided to push me away as well then?"
"I've decided nothing," Aleksander replies smoothly and throws back his glass.
"Liar."
Rising from his seat, he lazily drawls, "I've killed men for saying such a thing to me."
"I've lived with the fear of you killing me," Adirk promptly replies. "I can continue to do so."
"Boy, leave this tent. I'm in no mood for company."
"You've been in no mood for a lot as of late. How do you think your behavior is coming off to the soldiers?"
"What," Aleksander says slowly. His fingers twitch against the desire to curl into a fist. "Does that mean?"
Planting that seed of doubt (or anger), Adirk swiftly changes tactics. "You want to go to the front tomorrow. Let me."
Aleksander refrains from rolling his eyes, as it is certainly too childish an act for him to do at his age. Still, he can't help but internally scoff at his son's impertinence. To distract himself from doing both these things, or even more tantalizing, straight out throwing Adrik from the tent on his ass by way of shadows, he stomps over to his liquor table. "You're a child, not a leader."
Adrik flinches, but only barely. "I did not ask to lead, only to be the Shadow Summoner at our soldier's aid."
"They are there at our aid," Aleksander throws back, slamming a glass to the table and gripping a bottle of vodka by the neck.
"Father, please, let me. I have watched you, trained, and I will not be alone. The Frejdan masses have already been reduced since our arrival here. It's only a matter of time before this war is over."
After pouring a healthy amount of clear liquid into his glass, Aleksander lazily goes back to his chair and flops down onto it. "Is that your professional opinion?"
Adrik grinds his teeth. "It's certainly….an opinion."
"And that's how you think a war ends? With a snap of the fingers? With a couple hundred dead bodies?"
"I didn't-no, certainly not. I'm merely stating-"
"Stating unnecessary facts and foolish assumptions to a man who has lived through and fought in more wars then your mind could ever conceive. Don't babble to me about what you think about this war."
"You're drunk," Adrik snaps at him. He's right, sure, but in the quiet of the tent only occupied by their harsh argument, it seems like a petty thing to point out. "You're always drunk or fighting or skulking. Maybe all three."
Aleksander tips his head back for another swig. "Get out."
But it's been all too much for Adrik at this point. Too much of seeing his father made into this pitiful shadow of his self. Of being separated from his mother sister and partner. Of fearing for the lives of those he loves because of this war. Of witnessing the ache that has broken between his parents and only grown deeper and more painful with each passing day. If he could not barter with Aleksander, then he would goad him. "The almighty Darkling, King of Ravka, reduced to this. You're an embarrassment. And all for getting into an argument with your wife."
The wooden chair next to Adrik splinters into a thousand pieces with a resounding crack as a shadow splits it apart. He jumps but represses a yelp, and his own shadows flurry around him on instinct.
Aleksander has barely moved to deliver the blow, vodka not even sloshing in the glass. But his free hand is poised in the air, deathly still and ready to deliver another blow. "You know nothing," He states in a gravelly tone. The liquor drowns his words, but making them even more heavy is an anger and pain he'd rather die than reveal. "You never will. Have you yet to understand how utterly fucked you are in this world? Love and fuck who you want, they're all going to die. You're going to have to suffer over and over again and bury their corpses in the ground."
Adrik's mouth goes dry, Demyan's smiling face flashing in his mind. He's not a fool, he knows that eventually Demyan would die and he would remain. But for now, just for now, it was good and he was happy and he didn't want to think about a grave-
"If you won't think about that unavoidable truth," Aleksander continues, leaning forward and barring his teeth. "Consider mine, then. That I, who actually has an equal and someone to spend eternity with, is scorned by her. That I am able to have that comfort, that blessing, and only be denied it. To look her in the face each day and no she will never truly want you the way you want her. Who is the more miserable between the two of us then?"
It's a confession Adrik hadn't been expecting. For Aleksander to reveal so much of this fear, Saints, even weakness when it came to Alina-he would have never fathomed it. "Papa, no, that's not true-"
Another shadow erupts from his father's hand, but it's a thin one that blows a force of air, pushing Adirk toward the exit. "You've spent the blink of the eye with Alina, don't presume to know her as I do. But, dear son, I can safely say you're doomed to follow in her footsteps. Heed this since you've chosen to ignore everything else I've told you. You will love foolishly, undeniably lose which you cling to, and enter into endless suffering for it. You will spit in the face of reason. You'll be ignorant and foolish, just like your mother."
Adrik grits his teeth. "Don't talk about her like that."
"As I said, you know nothing. You want to take my place on the front tomorrow? Then go. Throw your life away as if it's nothing. Perhaps it would be a mercy for you, for it all to end on the battlefield."
Silence stretches between them.
It has been so long since Aleksander openly showed his disregard for Adrik's life. It's a wound the younger Shadow Summoner believed had closed enough that it no longer stung when touched. But whatever ways of healing that the past years had brought felt undone within seconds. His father's words acted as a blade that tore along Adrik's barely healed scar, making it anew and allowing fresh blood to seep out. Again he was a boy whose father did not cared if he lived or died. Again, unloved and unwanted by the man that had created him.
As always, the Darkling wins.
Adrik feels all fight and care leave him. His body feels light and shaky, unsure what to do but certain it will crumble under the weight of another word from the man across from him. He steps uneasy to the flap of the tent, ringing in his head making him unfocused. But there is something, one more thing he has to say.
Because maybe his father his right. Maybe tomorrow will be the end of it all.
"You're wrong, you know."
Aleksander's eyes close, and a sigh wearily escapes him. "And how's that?"
"I won't be alone. I have Mila, and Mama. And I thought I had you."
But Aleksander doesn't open his eyes to see his son. Doesn't do anything to acknowledge what he's just said.
"If I should return, think better of me, Father."
Alina continues to feel restless with each day.
She misses Aleksander. Misses Adrik. Is bogged down with paperwork and all that needs to be done behind the scenes of this war. Everyday feels like she gets nothing done. Everyday feels like the last.
On one particular night, alone in the War Room with a glass of wine and dying fire, Alina feels
particularly frustrated. They're winning the war, on paper, and yet it goes on and Fredja has showed no signs of surrendering. They have safely secured their borders, at least had prevented any invasions, and Aleksander and his regiment has taken the brunt of the Frejdan offensive and kept them at bay. It looks like a standstill, really, with Ravka about to push into the enemy territory at any point.
Alina briefly wonders if Aleksander would dare. She had convinced him, long ago, it was good for the countries to be separate. That alliances would instead better foster friendly relations between peoples than hostile takeovers. But who knew what was going on in Aleksander's mind now a day. Certainly not she.
Before she humored that dark thought any further, Alina again turned to he reports. Something wasn't making sense. If only she could just figure it out…
Through the door echoes the sound of a glass shattering.
Alina frowns looking up.
A servant making a mistake? No other noise follows, not even hushed whispers or hurried footsteps to fix the mess. She's about to go back to her reading when there's another shatter, closer this time, and she's about to go and investigate herself when the doors burst open in a flash of red and puff of smoke.
Alina gasps and throws her hands up, light coming forth but it's nothing but a flash as something sharp pinches into her right shoulder.
Numbness immediately freezes her blood and muscles, and like a hapless doll her right arms falls dully to her side. Her left arm follows soon after with another pinch to her skin, and Alina falls to her knees under the weight of her own limbs dragging her down. Then there are bodies rushing into her room, knocking over furniture and surrounding her. A particularly large man goes to her back and ties her dead arms behind her, gagging her as well.
"What about the other?" A feminine voice to her right asks.
"Should be getting tied up as we speak," The large man grunts as he forces Alina to her feet.
Rage burns with the ferocity of light Alina is unable to call.
They're talking about Mila.
Tomorrow, is in fact, early morning for Ravka to push back at Frejda once more.
So early it is still dark out, sunrise not for an hour or so, and Adrik wonders the point as the element of surprise certainly is not on their side. None of this makes much sense, though, but Aleksander made it certain he cared little for Adrik's opinion. Fredja has been pushing back at Ravka like a wave against a rock. Constantly crashing against them, but inevitably retreating back to gather more force.
Were their people so expandable? Their battles plan so futile? It seemed his father was content to massacre as many as he could. Maybe the war meant little to him now, and what remained was only the twisted pleasure of causing destruction.
Everyone is readying their positons when Adrik notices a certain lack of authority present. "Where is the General?" Adrik asks a soldier who runs past him.
"Not present, sir," He calls over his shoulder and continues on his way.
Not present? Even though Aleskander was meant to head this charge, Maxim should have been here. It's been his place to be next to his sovereign since coming to the front. Where the Saints
was he now?
Adrik keeps scanning the flurry of movement around him, but can't make out the large figure of the General. "Captain," He calls out and is immediately answered with a "Yes, sir?" The Captain appears at his side, looking flustered and out of breath. The strap to his gun is sliding off his shoulder and his uniform looks barely buttoned up. Even the laces of his boots look like they're about to undo themselves.
Adrik eyes him wearily. "Is there a problem?"
The young man, who had to be around Adrik's age, shook his head vehemently. "No, sir. I apologize for my appearance, it's just last night I had been told we wouldn't start our offense until later in the day. My fault, of course, sir, I should have tripled checked before going to bed. I hadn't realized the General-"
"Where is the General?"
The Captain grows more flustered. "Apologies, again, I'm not sure, sir. I haven't been able to locate him. I take full responsibility for all of this, of course-"
Something is wrong. Very, very wrong and if it was a smell in the air, Adirk is nauseous with it. "Find him, now. I want no one moving forward until we do. There will be no attack until-"
An explosion, then a scream, and dust and dirt blacken the air in a hurricane of smog. Then there is another explosion, and another, and another. The ground is unsteady beneath Adrik's feet, he falls with a particularly harsh vibration. The Captain is lost in the ilk of the explosions, and Adirk can't even hear himself yell for the other man with all the screaming going on.
Then there is fire flinging through the early morning sky. Wind howling with fury. The signs of their Grisha fighting, followed by the sounds of guns and bullets.
But the General isn't here, nor is Aleksander.
Adrik wipes his hand across his forehead, and it comes back hot and wet. I comes back red.
No one here to lead but him.
Mila flattens herself against the wall of a hallway closet her guards haved shoved her into.
Walking down the hall on the way to the kitchen, spurred by the need for an afternoon snack, they had heard the commotion of some attack before seeing anyone. Her guards had moved swiftly to get her out of sight, the closet being the closest thing to hide her away in.
Mila was grateful for the chance to hide, but also feel utterly useless for it to. A Princess and Sun Summoner and here she was crammed next to cleaning supplies. She didn't even know what the commotion was or who had started it.
But then her guards started shouting and Mila ceased to breathe.
Guns went off, large things were thudding to the floor. Bodies? The yelling continued but it grew distant with the other nosies. Where her guards leading whoever it was away? Are were her guards the ones to have fallen to the ground?
Only silence answers her unasked questions, and each passing second weighs down heavier and heavier on Mila's lungs. There's a drop of sweat trailing down her cheek, but her hands won't seem to move off the wall.
Then there is a tug of….something, that make her whole body stutter.
She grasps at her chest, checking to see if her heart hadn't literally burst out from beneath her flesh, and is met with the echoes of its frantic beating.
"What the Saints-"
"Hold her down!" A voice shouts from outside the door.
Again, there is the sound of some struggling, feet frantically pounding on the tile floor and a grunting that refuses to stop. Then there is a large bang of metal crashing into something, and someone cursing.
"Isn't she meant to be some old hag?" Someone asks.
"Don't look like it to me," Another answers. "She's thrashing around like some young bitch."
A snicker. "Well, she certainly will be put down like a dog, won't she? Come on your Majesty, you want to see your daughter one last time, don't you?"
Now, Mila feels her insides simply drop down to the floor.
They have her mother.
Something deep and hot rushes up like a volcano, something so strong it hurts even though it's coming from Mila. It rages into a fire till its explodes through the pores of her skin and explodes through the closet door.
Adrik can't stop coughing.
The air is too dirty, the heat too oppressive, and Adrik can barely focus on keeping himself alive with his shadows. Hopefully he doesn't die from smoke inhalation later on. Hoepfully he doesn't die from a lot of things.
There is the flash of a Frejdan uniform ahead of him and Adirk sends a Cut it's way before the blur vanishes. But it disappears just the same, maybe form Adrik's blow and maybe not. It's impossible to tell.
Everyone is too scattered, the mayhem too much to process. His father isn't here, and neither is the General. He needs to do something and do it quick or the killing would just keep going on till everybody dropped. But, a Sun Summoner would have been very useful at this moment, not a Shadow one. Adrik chastised himself. That was unhelpful thinking.
Finding a good enough ditch to fall into and not hurt himself, Adrik took a moment-just a moment-to get himself together. To assure himself he was alive and that he had to come up with something to sway the tides here. Or at the very least, save as much lives as he could at this point.
Shadows harmed more than they helped, it had been one of his first lessons. Taught in different ways from his mother than father, but the truth still rang true. What could he do on a large scale to help the Ravkans? To protect them?
Then he remembered protecting Mila in the training yard, how his shadows in cased her light to defend against his father's onslaught. Could he envelope the battlefield with his shadows? Could he feel the difference between Frejdan and Ravkan?
He would have to try.
With one last intake of breath, Adrik centered all his power, might, and emotion within. Felt it grow and grow, felt his body shake under the weight to keep it within, his mind pounding with a increasing buzzing.
Then feels something…different. A quick lick of comfort against the boiling ferocity of his power.
Then it's gone and Adrik dismisses it.
Once the growing darkness within feels like it's going to kill him if it its continued another second, Adrik plants his feet in the ground and then extends his arms with a scream. The shadows burst through him like water through a damn, ferocious and unstoppable. Now it is true darkness on the battlefield. One no Grisha or soldier can possibly stop or see through. None but Adrik.
So he focuses. He desperately tries to feel the bodies now swimming through his power. Tracks their movements and decipher their allegiances. It's something he hasn't done before, and the strain to keep his shadows flowing is catching more of his focus than he has to spare. But there, just like that, there is the feel of something different. Of power. It's scattered and Adrik realizes it's the Grisha he is sensing.
Next to them are something less bright, more dull even, and it must be the normal humans. They must be Ravka, being so close to the Grisha. They must have held their ranks as much as possible.
Which meant the ones keeping their distance where the Frejdan.
Saints, he hoped so.
But maybe, if he was making a mistake, he didn't have to kill these bodies. Just, subdue them. Suffocate their air till they passed out.
Yes, that could work.
Adrik flexes his hands, focuses on the bodies he needs to, prepares to intensify the shadows there.
And then-
All the sounds around him cease to exist. Darkness bursts into light. The dirt beneath Adrik's feet harden into something else, something stronger. His shadows are gone and he sees…he sees home. He's back at the palace-but how…had he died? What-
Then he sees his sister, her mouth open in a scream that doesn't come out. Only light comes out. From her mouth, her eyes, her hands. It's bursting like a sun over a mountain peak and shining on-
Then Adirk sees the bodies.
He doesn't know who they are, only that they are suffering. Squirming on the floor like broken toys, their skin melting off their muscles before they too begin to rot. And the noises they're making…Adrik shutters and takes a step back. Something moves, something not on the floor, rising slowly up to stand straight.
It's Alina. She has her palm raised, not toward Mila, but to protect herself with her own light. Then she says quietly, Mila.
The younger Summoner flickers like a lantern. As strong as it came, it diminished just as quick, and Mila falls to her knees with exhaustion. Blood treks like tears from her eyes. "Mama?"
Alina rushes forward and huddles her body close. "Shh, dear. It's okay. We're okay."
Mila sniffles, and wearily raises her head up. She looks straight at Adrik, tears and blood marring her vision, but she sees him. He knows she sees him. Her brow furrows. "Adrik?"
Alina pulls back with a frown. "Adrik?"
Behind his mother and sister figures rush down the hall. They're not guards, or Grisha. Adirk spots them first, realizes who they must be with weapons drawn like that rushing toward the royal family with snarling faces.
But Mila is starring at him and Alina at she, and they're just not paying attention-
"Mila lookout!" Adrik screams as an arrow whizzes down the hall and plants it's self right into his sister's elbow.
With a scream, Mila crumples forward and then Alina yells something but the sound is going again. Everything is vanishing. Melting from the white of the palace to the dark of the battlefield. The last thing he sees is two more arrows flying through the air, his mother barely being able to turn around to face them in time, blood gushing from Mila's shoulder-
Then it is gone and he is left with his shadows.
Frejda had attacked the palace. They had done so today, while they had launched this surprise attack. A move to destroy the royal family in one fell swoop. Perhaps a mad thought, but had they been successful Ravka would have undoubtedly crumbled without their monarchs.
They came for Alina.
For Mila.
His sister was on the floor bleeding out right now, miles and miles away from him.
His shadows thicken with his anger. Adrik feels them grow taught like a rope, gripping the soldiers within their grasp. Grisha too. And Ravkans. Frejdans. All of them. He wants them all dead. No one could be left alive, no mistakes could be make.
Adirlk screams again and whatever restraint he had been using breaks away.
Now everyone screams along with him.
Now everyone will suffer along with him.