Disclaimer: I don't own the Grisha Trilogy and its characters – it belongs to Leigh Bardugo. I do not own the Shadow & Bone TV series, which was developed by Eric Heisserer for Netflix and based on Leigh Bardugo's books.


There is no moon tonight, but Aleksander does not need a lamp to guide his way.

The darkness, the shadows, are his domain, and he picks his way through the dense forest with ease, despite the heavy, unconscious body he has slung over his shoulder.

The route is a familiar one that he has followed regularly for over four centuries now. The forest is relatively unchanging, but even when the landscape alters slightly, Aleksander has no trouble finding his way.

She calls to him, after all, his love. Their connection cannot be severed, not even by death.

He enters her grove and all the cares of his life seem to fall away.

She was always good at that, his Alina, and even the light she wielded so beautifully was eclipsed by her sunshine smile.

It seems like only yesterday that they had exchanged vows with only the trees as witnesses, so in love and full of hope, ignoring his mother's gloomy declarations about the future.

It's hard to believe that at one point it felt as if everything was going to be alright.

And then, of course, it had all fallen apart.


Aleksander has reason to be optimistic.

He has Alina, his destined other half, his Sun Summoner, the love of his life. And now she is his wife, hopefully one day the mother of his children.

He has the Grisha working together, trying to build a safe haven.

He has the promise of Tsar Anastas to provide a home for all Grisha once the war is over.

His castles in the air collapse so quickly.

The betrayal, the ambush, fighting back-to-back with Alina until she is felled by the Grisha steel wielded by one of the Tsar's soldiers, a gift he had given to Anastas in recognition of their friendship.

Grisha steel, the one weapon he has found that poses a real threat to both him and Alina.

Then there is the Shadow Fold, the product of his devastating grief.

And all that is left for miles and miles is Aleksander, weeping, with Alina's cold, still body in his arms.


Aleksander dumps his quarry next to a tree stump, right next to the other five men and one woman he has gathered over the last day, all of them deeply sedated thanks to a little concoction the Alkemi have created for him.

He needs them alive for the moment, but he doesn't want the irritation of having to ensure they are secured and not attempting an escape.

For now, though, he ignores them, focusing instead on the reason this grove is sacred to him.

There is a tree in the centre of the clearing, ancient and strong.

At the base of that tree is a rough-hewn gravestone, with a carving done by Aleksander's own hand.

Alina Morozova, with the symbol of a blazing sun next to an eclipse.

She lies there – beneath the soft earth, shrouded in his cloak, his ring on her finger – and has done since the day the Fold was created. A grave he had dug himself, without use of a shovel, leaving his hands littered with cuts, his nails broken, his skin covered in dirt and blood.

She deserves a shrine, a towering monument, for every man and woman and child to know and love her. Alas, the only two people left who know Alina Morozova's name are Aleksander and his mother.

They had been careful during their marriage, revealing their power only to the Grisha who they trusted. Unlike Aleksander, Alina had given her name freely, still in her first 'life'. His mother had called her a child because she was not yet twenty, whereas Aleksander had lived a century and a half (although no one would have guessed, looking at him).

She should be here, he thinks to himself as he tidies the area around the grave, and pulls out a slightly squashed bouquet of blue irises from inside his kefta to lay them gently on the ground by the stone.

He knows how proud she would be of the sanctuary that the Little Palace has become. It isn't perfect, not by a long shot – they are still called to fight constant battles, to die for a tsar who does not care for them and a country whose people look on them with suspicion – but they are not hunted to the extent they once were, not in Ravka, at least. And he is sure that if Alina was here, things would be even better – they are more powerful, more dangerous, when they are together.

They have effectively been in a holding position for centuries now, awaiting the Sun Summoner.

Even many of the Grisha, his own people, think she is a myth, a legend, a story to give them hope.

How he wishes he could tell them that Alina is real and perfect and everything they could ever dream of.

If only he can get her back.

Tonight, though, is the culmination of all his research, all he has learned from his failed rituals, everything he has hoped so desperately before.

It will work this time. Aleksander is sure of it.


It won't come.

All the power he wielded just hours ago, brought forward by grief and anger, will not manifest even as hot tears spill down his face and he tries so hard to call it.

He remembers all the warnings his mother has given him. Merzost is unwieldy, beyond the abilities of most Grisha, rarely producing the results that are expected or desired.

Aleksander is no ordinary Grisha, though. He is a Shadow Summoner, the grandson of Ilya Morozov, willing to do anything if it will bring Alina back to him.


Seven is a number mentioned often in Ilya's notebooks, considered to be important in a wide variety of disciplines, including the Small Science.

Therefore, he has seven sacrifices for his ritual tonight, each one positioned in the clearing at a point of the heptagon he has drawn out in chalk.

As he tells countless Grisha, the Small Science is not magic, but it is true that Ilya's ramblings translate into rituals that bear a resemblance to the so-called magical rituals that deluded souls believe will bring them what they desire. Merzost is more about desire and sacrifice and power than any particular ritual, but Aleksander thinks it worth doing anything that might help him.

The sacrifices he is using tonight have a great deal of meaning for him. It is his hope that this connection will help strengthen his power, giving him a higher chance of success than if he were using random men and women.

Outside the forest, Ravka is surely in turmoil. After all, they are faced with the sudden disappearance of their Tsar, Tsarina, Tsarevich Vasily and Apparat, as well as the irritating General Zlatan and two particularly odious First Army Generals known for selling Grisha to Shu Han and Fjerda.

In one fell swoop, Aleksander hopes to destroy the current regime and bring back Alina. And then Ravka will have the powerful leaders it desperately needs.

Ivan is watching over the Little Palace in his absence. His right-hand man may not know exactly what Aleksander is doing, but he will keep order in Os Alta with the help of the Grisha and oprichniki until Aleksander returns and the new order can begin.

All that he needs now for centuries of planning to come together is his Alina.


It can be done, he knows it can. After all, the reason his grandfather died was for bringing his otkazat'sya daughter back to life after Baghra's Cut had killed her.

Ilya had never drawn a distinction between the Grisha orders. The phrase "are we not all things?" is littered throughout his writings. Ilya might have been called a Fabrikator, but he clearly had astonishing Healing ability, and his notebooks make it clear he dabbled in all aspects of Grisha power.

Aleksander is a Shadow Summoner first and foremost. Still, he has learned other things. He never knew his father, but he suspects the man of being a Heartrender, for Corporalki abilities seem to come easiest to him after his own Shadow Summoning. These powers are not well-developed like his summoning is, but he has worked, slowly and surely, to improve them.

Aleksander just has to learn more, study and practice until he can wield the power of life and death.

He will do it. He has to. There is no other option if he wants to get Alina back.


There is silence all around him.

No one but him ever ventures into this clearing. The animals sense the stench of death, the unnatural wrongness of the place. Even humans feel a chill as they approach, and they turn away, unwilling to venture further.

Aleksander's shadows form a blade and he uses the Cut on each of his seven victims, slashing their throats open and splattering the ground with their blood.

Then, he lifts his hands high and he screams, primal and loud, hatred and desire and desperation swirling inside him.

For a few moments, there is nothing.

And then there is power.


The clearing is stained red with blood.

Merzost requires sacrifice, after all, and Aleksander is more than willing to give it.

Ten Drüskelle. Ten Shu soldiers. Ten Ravkans from a village that drowns children who exhibit Grisha power.

Throats cut on every one of then, blood soaking into the earth.

The ritual is one of his own devising, created using the scraps of vaguely intelligible information in his grandfather's journals.

For a while, it seems like it is working.

Something is happening, at least.

The air is oppressively thick with shadows. The power is surging outwards.

It isn't enough, though. He realises that quickly enough.

He cannot reach that deep well inside him that he had used when he had created the Fold.

Aleksander doesn't understand it. He was desperate that day, with Alina's body in his arms, and he is equally desperate now, with her buried six feet below.

But it isn't enough.

Fine. He'll try again. He'll try ten, a hundred, a thousand times more.

Whatever it takes.


"AlinaAlinaAlinaAlinaAlinaAlinaAlina."

He can picture her in his mind. Sweet and happy, glowing with her power.

"AlinaAlinaAlinaAlinaAlinaAlinaAlina."

He yearns.


Years pass. Decades. Centuries.

Aleksander does not give up.

He will find a way. Death cannot separate them – he won't allow it.

Hundreds of people die in that little clearing. Mostly enemies. Sometimes friends.

The trees take on an odd appearance, dark in colour, gnarled wood, warped by the shadows that seep into them.

It is worth it. It is worth it. It is worth it.

Alina is worth anything.


Aleksander thinks about everything he has had to repress over the years just to stay sane, and he lets it flood his mind.

The grief. The anger. The love. The loneliness. The pain. The yearning.

He takes it all and he looks inside himself, finds the power within, amplifies it, closes his eyes and searches for the making at the heart of the world.

He takes it all and he directs it into grave that holds his beloved Alina.

He can see black veins on his hands.

A corruption, his mother would say, an abomination.

He doesn't care, just as long as it gives him his Alina back.


He's dreaming.

Alina is sat at the base of a tree, deftly juggling five glowing orbs of light, laughing as tendrils of shadow dance around her.

"Come and sit down, Sasha," she tells him, beaming when he sits next to her, leaning her head on his shoulder as they both watch the light and shadow entwine in front of them.

Aleksander does not look at that, though. He has eyes only for his wife, his sunshine girl.

He leans forward to capture her lips with his own, arms around her, holding her tight, never wanting to let her go.

They stay like that for what seems like hours, no need to talk, just basking in each other's presence.

And then, suddenly, the air becomes cooler.

Alina breaks away from him, stands with a sorrowful smile on her face.

"It's time for you to wake up, Sasha."

"No," he shakes his head, reaching for her, "I want to stay, Alinochka. It's been so long."

She isn't just a dream, he's sure of it. Their old connection hums when he's here in this dreamworld, and his soul is light when she is in his arms.

There is something here, a spark that lives on, held at the heart of the making. He only needs to use it, and Alina can come back.

Alina starts to fade and he cannot keep hold of her.

"You'll figure it out, Sasha," she tells him, "I believe in you. I'll see you again."

"Alina, please don't go."

"Revival, rebirth, resurrection," he tells him, "it is not just I who need it, but Ravka too. Remember that, and you will succeed."

He wakes sobbing, but he knows what he has to do.


Ravka needs a rebirth, just as Alina needs to be resurrected.

The country must be revived under new leadership and the blood of the old order spilled in order to usher in a new age.

He has never lacked the proper desire for Alina to return. He has wanted nothing more than to have his wife by his side. Now, though, he realises that Alina's resurrection will be the catalyst for a new age for Ravka.

Out with the old. In with the new. And the old must die for the new to rise.

So, here he is.

Seven sacrifices representing the old, stagnant leadership of Ravka.

Their deaths signify the death of the Lantsov dynasty. And with it, he will have his Alina.

It near enough kills him.

The line between life and death seems to blur and he is teetering on the edge, unsure whether he will live or die.

And then he feels it, the tether flaring to life, his awareness of Alina growing stronger and stronger.

Aleksander collapses to the floor, breathing heavily, totally exhausted.

He looks at the gravestone.

Watches. Waits. Hopes.

When the ground rumbles and a familiar hand – wearing a ring of Grisha steel – forces its way through the soil, Aleksander smiles.

"Alina."


They are neither of them the same as they once were.

The taint of merzost remains with the faint black veins on Aleksander's skin and Alina's now bone-white hair.

Their connection is heightened, and both find they can call on a shade of the other's power if they wish.

A tether burns brightly between them, a pairing forged in the making itself.

And if there is a little madness in them, if they hold a little too tightly to each other, scarred by their long separation … well, no one is foolish enough to complain about that.

Aleksander and Alina are fearsome and powerful and eternal. They are the future of Ravka.

The reign of the Black Tsar and Sol Koroleva has begun.


Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it.

You can find me on Twitter under the username Keira_63. At the moment I pretty much just post mini prompt fics.