/AN: i just couldn't do it linearly, that's probably what hold off my Muse for so long! ch.8 was a glimpse of that's to come i think somewhere in the middle of this arc (a very mean glimpse!) and ch.9 begins eight years after ch.7, just so we're clear. hopefully you'll recognise the flashbacks (i'll do double breaks for them if i won't forget :P) and (also hopefully) u won't mind them too much. As usual, do not hesitate to tell me what u think, especially if you're a new reader – then it's not just this update that i crave your opinions of, but also the whole fic. if you want to comment, of course (please do!)

two years earlier

Sometimes Alina couldn't believe it's been only eight years since she'd graduated from the Little Palace and miraculously became part of the Darkling's squadron. So much has happened, but here she was again at the Fjerdan front, where her career began. No matter how many times her Inferni and Materialki teamed up or how many soldiers of First Army they led on the nearly insane missions into the base of Fjerdan garrison, the northern border of Ravka was still the most dangerous.

Perhaps she was closer to the Shadow Fold when sitting uselessly at Os Alta.

But here was her family – Ivan was as inseparable from the Darkling as ever, and David seemed to take the unyieldingness of Fjerdans as personal offense after all this time.

Lost in thoughts, Alina almost trampled a young cartographer – she twirled away from the girl with an apologetic smile and was promptly ignored by other soldiers of the First Army. At this point everyone seemed to know – or know about – captain Alina Starkov, the chaotic Inferni who first came up with some dangerous ideas that were now implemented all over the northern front. She was glad she managed to convince the General to force much closer relations between two Ravkan armies – or at least soldiers up here. At this point Grisha walking between brown tents of otkazat'sya was nothing uncommon, and some took the cooperation really… seriously – Alina threw an amused and a little bit mean smile in the vague direction of Zoya Nazyalensky, currently curled up on the lap of one of the trackers. If Alina squinted she could swear she recognised-

Squaller pretended not to notice her, so Inferni shrugged and stole a cup of kompot on her way out of the camp. She made sure nobody followed her or saw how she rummaged nearby the supply station. The mass of metal and wood, located at the very edge of the camp and the furthest from the border, was the perfect place to exercise. Leakproof outer walls prevented the light from being seen from the inside or from the camp, and the worst she could do would be frying nearby produce prematurely. Alina made some mistakes at the beginning of her... independent training, but those days were long gone. The Darkling stopped believing in rumors about those magical bursts of light coming from the woods a long time ago anyway, but being cautious would never hurt.

At the mere thought of their fearless leader, Alina's hand glowed wistfully. She sighed and shook off the feeling. One would think that eight years of exposure would make her stronger, but it lately seemed that she just couldn't control herself when feeling his power. Thankfully nothing compromised her yet, but it felt like it was only a matter of time. She needed to do something with her outbursts for sure – there was no way she could avoid the General as one of his closest associates.

Alina began her Summoning routine while taking a walk around the back of station – any stray guard she would outmatch by making herself invisible, a trick she subconsciously perfected during her years of raiding the kitchens of the Little Palace.

Her hands moved smoothly, surely, forming orbs of light, twirling them into various shapes, and finally performing the toughest trick of them all –the Cut. The tiniest of the most concentrated bits of pure sunlight, Summoned to make almost unnoticeable cuts in the trees. At the beginning, she did waste some precious weight in wood, but she still felt lucky she didn't destroy the whole forest back then.

Practicing the Cut in hiding was so painfully precise, so headache inducing, it made her wish she came out to the Darkling. But no – Alina will keep her secret as long as she can. Despite all the experience she got so far, she still felt inadequate and definitely not ready to take over the world, and according to the Darkling himself, that's what the Sun Summoner would be after once they were properly trained. He only told it to her in confidence, though. They did mention Sun Summoners vaguely in a few of their most interesting conversations. There was no doubt who he saw as their savior's teacher, and to say Alina felt tempted to the core would be saying mildly.

Their soveren... Alina couldn't help a wide smile that took over her face. If someone told her only a few years ago that she would find a worthy companion in their Black General, she would laugh them out of court, and yet... Just one week earlier she overheard someone call her the Darkling's Inferni. They might have reasons for that.

Dear Diary... Today was the first false alarm in years. I feel devastated but also going insane here. The odds of finding an equal – and a way to harness my old mistake – seem to be getting lower and lower every century, and each time someone makes a bigger bonfire, I lose control. This must end...

One of the many benefits of claiming black keftas for himself was that Aleksander needn't worry about ink stains. He happily kept on writing in his newest journal, his cheeks stuffed with painfully sweet cake (he needs to see the Healers about this left upper molar...), licking off the crumbs when he heard Ivan fake coughing. He placed a stack of his old notes on Sun Summoner in Heartrender's open arms and sent him away with a nod. Then he went back to writing. On top of writing in old Ravkan, he'd also used cryptonyms for all the most important pieces on the board. He had a feeling that his latest addition would be just that, and Aleksander already came up with a perfect codename.

... the presence of Phoenix excites me, it seems that they are even more promising than I could have ever imagined...

It took the Darkling two days to notice that Ivan and Fedyor were combining their Heartrending efforts during the meetings to make sure Alina doesn't burst out with something indecent, like questioning their General or asking pointed questions. Not that she blamed them – a part of her, especially after the attack, was painfully aware that when it came to war she was practically a newborn – but she still decided to reward the Darkling with a brief smile when he forbade them from continuing it. Once Alina was free to – well, be her annoying, authorities-opposing self – the Darkling did score some points by not showing any signs of regretting that order. He answered patiently all her questions, listened to her ideas with interest, chided Zoya softly for mocking Alina's inexperience... and overall gave that impression of a wise mentor figure that was all that her ten years old self imagined.

It made Alina extremely suspicious – for all his powers, the Darkling had no business speaking like an ancient soldier and a four hundred years old who saw it all. He was no Black Heretic, no matter how much he could try, and she was determined to prove it. Of course, that didn't stop her from mocking Zoya herself (albeit sneakily), soaking up all the advices that he gave, and even basking in their soveren's attention (just a little bit!). Old love doesn't rust so easily, the old grannies' saying rang truly, even when it seemed to include a puppy love as well.

But Alina Starkov has been called a fiercely determined young woman for a reason, and no puppy love would stand in her way, not even her own.

She was going to beat the Darkling on a field that he must have always seen as his own – the Shadow Fold.

It's been six months already, and while Alina slowly but surely gathered both war experience and a sneaky-Sun-Summoning one, she still hasn't heard from the Darkling about the one thing that interested her the most, which was, of course, the Unsea.

The meeting started late already, everyone was tired and agitated with the recent loss against Fjerda and another unsuccessful retaliation. David was already plotting something related to the latter under Alina's very own and very dangerous suggestion and thereby was absent, but the most crucial members of the Second Army were here to witness Alina's boldest move so far.

Tonight she was standing almost on the opposite of the Darkling's chair. As simple as it was, it was still the only one in the War Tent – the campside version of his study at the Little Palace – and no one has ever protested. Even for Alina it seemed fitting that their General had some kind of throne: she was the last to admit it out loud, but despite his flaws the Darkling still deserved leadership more than any Lantsov at their best ever could.

The sight of that improvised throne – or rather: of the man sprawled on it - made Alina's palms sweat and she wiped them more or less subtly on her blue kefta. She was so not nervous. Not at all. It was finally her chance to prove to herself that their Darkling was nothing special, unlike his ancestor. Already, a mere thought of her Black Heretic made Alina's heart lighter and her tongue bolder. Ivan - vigilant as ever - reached abruptly towards Alina, but it wasn't enough to stop the disaster he felt coming. She already spoke.

"What are you going to do about the Usea? Moi soverenyi," she added as if in afterthought.

Her words stopped half of them in the middle of a heated, albeit fruitless in her opinion, discussion on rapidly improving Fjerdan weaponry. With any Inferni instinct she had so painfully developed, Alina could practically feel the air in the tent turning colder within a moment.

Everyone stared either at the Darkling or at her. Ivan's face turned red that humbled any Healer's kefta – Alina knew she was gonna get a lecture if she left that tent alive. She probably would… right? The look on the Darkling's face right now made her question the chances.

"And what does the Unsea have in common with Fjerdan aggression, dear miss Starkov?" His voice was deceptively calm, sweet almost. (If he smiled right now she would run the Fold away, any bold plans be damned.)

Alina ignored the stares of all the other Grisha and focused solely on the dark man in front of her. She leaned her hands heavily on the round table and said in a clear voice that trembled only a little, "All these years Ravka has suffered, weak and divided, because of Grisha!" She ignored the look of rage and pure indignation on their General's stupidly beautiful face and continued her practiced tirade.

"All of it because of our own fear and incompetence. We have a terrific, ideal weapon within our reach, the gift of our ancestors!" the trembling was gone, and she got louder to outshout the whispers of others. The Darkling cut her off when she stopped to take a breath, "So you're saying that we should... Use merzost, an incredibly draining and most unpredictable force?"

She honestly didn't know what he thought. His face was perfectly blank, his voice calm or even passionless, his eyes darkened and unreadable. Still, merzost wasn't what she had in mind... Yet.

Alina let her left eyebrow rise mockingly.

"What small science cannot create on its own, it can manipulate. And with a little bit of planning we could manipulate the Shadow Fold itself, use it to our advantage! Aren't you the Shadow Summoner? Not only-"

All these voices were too loud to call them whispers anymore, but they were silenced when the War Tent darkened violently.

"Everybody out," the Darkling's voice was ice cold when he spoke for the second time. He sat straight on his throne, the shadows were circling him vigorously, and as if that was not enough, his eyes shined dangerously. The tent was empty in a blink of an eye, and to test what he meant by 'everybody', Alina slowly turned to the exit...

There were delicate tendrils of darkness in front of her immediately, cutting off her way out, and she felt an unexpected thrill. 'Stupid', she chided herself mentally, ignoring the strange feeling at the bottom of her abdomen, and turned back to watch the Darkling stand up and beacon her with his long, pale fingers. She prayed to anyone and anything that listened for her hands to remain empty of light. Alina moved slowly towards the Darkling, watching him cautiously, and he watched her closely in return.

Has she gone too far? Was he going to Cut her in half for the insubordination, or just wrap her in his shadows and-

He brought his chair closer to her. "Take a seat, Alina."

She obeyed. Alina had never heard him call her by her name. It was always mockingly "miss Starkov", teasingly "Inferni dear" or just simply "soldier". She had never seen him look at her or anyone really with such an open, fascinated face. Almost awed, even... hopeful.

The Darkling leaned on the table next to where he seated her. Cheeks slightly blushed, eyes half-lidded, with a face that let down its usual guard – he looked nothing like a Black General. And he sounded nothing like himself when in a voice filled with longing, he asked her, "Tell me more, Alina Starkov. Tell me more..."

/

Darkles: tries (85% honestly) to make up for his mistakes

Alina: *suspicious immediately*

Alina: *begins to overthink like every baby Slytherin does*

/

my research for the II arc so far: "english idioms with laugh" + "executions in tsarist russia"

these are not connected Your Honor

/

also i have finally used some of the stuff i had handwritten half a year ago. a few lines, yes, but still. feels good