A/N: This story takes place at the end of A Court of Wings and Ruin, if you haven't made it that far there will be slight spoilers.

"Speaking"

Thinking

Disclaimer: I do not own The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess nor the A Court of Thorns and Roses series. They belong to their respective owners Shigeru Miyamoto and Sarah J Maas.

A Court of Shadows and Twilight

Prologue: The Rift

The Cursebreaker absconded through the narrow steps of the stairwell deep within the mountain that made up the Court of Nightmares. Her breathing was ragged and uneven as she ascended the thousand steps that made up the distance between her and the Ouroboros. She nearly collapsed once she finally arrived in the chamber where the ancient mirror slumbered. But what kept her body from slumping over was the bitter cold air from the snow that bathed the room.

Moonlight filtered through the windows, causing the flurries of ice crystal to twinkle under the ethereal glow, only adding to the mystical atmosphere as she beheld the mirror before her. The perimeter of the looking glass was made up of an unrecognizable alloy that twisted into an unsettling image of a serpent devouring its tail. While the mirror itself was like staring at a massive slab of polished obsidian.

Feyre's teeth chattered as she approached, contrasting with her quiet and purposeful footsteps against the snow. Once she was in front of the mirror, her breath formed a thin mist on the onyx-like sheen of the surface, which fogged until her reflection, obscured by a cloudy film, appeared back at her.

One moment she was looking at herself, the next she was staring at a magnificent blue-gray-eyed beast amidst an unfamiliar world without light. The world beyond was coveted in black particles that floated in the sepia sky, a masterpiece of dread that she would title:

The Hour of Twilight

That is if she had the chance to paint it.

Primal energy emanating from the ancient being crackled through the war-torn landscape of Prythian. Its mighty wings carried it through the devastation in a calculated sweep, razing Hybern's forces scattered throughout the rocky terrain.

The Cursebreaker could only observe the bloodshed with wide eyes as she witnessed the true nature of the ever enigmatic, Amren. Everything she passed; ethereal white flames followed, like the searing flash of lightning tearing through a storm, leaving nothing except silence and ruin in its wake.

Finally, when Amren circled the sea and the last wisps of her power faded behind the mighty rays of the sun, it was over.

Feyre finally let out a sigh of relief she didn't realize she was holding.

'Amren served her purpose…she's gone, and the war with Hybern was o—'

Before she could finish her thought a loud crack immediately drew her attention from the battlefield to the ancient stoneware…or what was left of it.

"The Cauldron…" She breathed out as she gaped at the sight of the ancient relic broken into four huge fragments, and in between the shards was a rift. The fissure radiated the same ancient energy that Amren possessed, far removed from the magic in Prythian.

As Feyre took a tentative step towards the growth, familiar calloused hands clasped around her wrist. She whirled around to find the High Lord of the Night Court, his face and body covered in the blood of his enemies. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" He took her face into his talon-tipped hands, his piercing violet orbs thoroughly examining her.

"I'm okay…just a little disoriented." She voiced before letting him into her mind to replay all the events leading up to seeing the rift in the fabric of their world. As she allowed him to see pivotal moments that shaped the outcome of the war, she couldn't stop the tears that were streaming down her face from the losses she experienced.

The High Lord's eyes darkened with a mix of anger and concern as he felt Feyre's pain through the bond they shared. When the final images from the war faded away, he removed his hands from her cheeks and enveloped her in a tight embrace. "It's over," he murmured against her hair, holding her close. "We've won."

The tang of metal and sweat burned her nostrils as she buried her face into the hard planes of his chest. Despite the impending threat of whatever was beyond that rupture, she permitted herself to melt into her mate's arms. "My father…Amren…Bryaxis…the Bone Carver…" She sobbed as her torrents of grief wracked through her body. So many lives have been claimed on the battlefield, far worse than the attack on Velaris that happened months ago.

Rhysand whispered words of reassurance as he unfurled his wings and wrapped them around her in a protective cocoon. The world fell away, leaving them in a fleeting moment of solace amidst the remnants of war. He felt the weight of her sorrow and the pain of all those lives lost. His chest ached with the knowledge that he couldn't shield her from the grief, but he vowed to carry it with her, to support her through the weight of their losses.

He gently brushed his thumbs over her cheeks, trying to soothe her through the bond. "I'm here," he murmured, as he placed a soft kiss on the top of her head. "I'm here."

But reality swiftly returned in a heartbeat.

In that instance, the rift began pulsing an otherworldly glow of tangerines and obsidians and then the chasm expanded. The solid earth beneath them crumbled, dragging down the Cursebreaker along with the Cauldron fragments, into the maw of the rupture.

"Feyre!" Rhysand shouted and instinctively tucked in his wings as he lurched forward to follow her into the depths.

"Rhys!" She cried as she reached for him despite the rest of her body succumbing to gravity. In return, he outstretched his hand until he was close enough to where his fingertips grazed hers. However, the brief contact ended when a falling Cauldron piece made an impact with her head, knocking her unconscious.

The collision seemed to only accelerate her descent, because the next thing the High Lord knew, she was meters away from him. Rhys tried to winnow, to do anything to close the distance, but the magic in the rift rendered all their powers useless and she was plummeting too fast for him to catch up. Dread began to pool in his gut when he realized whatever attempts he made to save his mate were futile. The only thing fueled with magic in this descent was…

The Cauldron fragments!

He extended his wings and surged towards a piece that whizzed past him, in hopes that the shard would have any means of saving his mate. But as soon as he grasped the fragment, it summoned a powerful updraft that propelled him skyward, back towards the surface of the rift.

Rhysand's hands desperately clutched at the Cauldron fragment, his eyes fixated on his mate's unconscious form falling through the ether of the rift. His heart raced as he held onto the ancient relic, summoning all his strength and will to stop the whirlwind that threatened to drag him back up.

"NO!" He bellowed against the force of the updraft, his wings powerfully fighting against the current. He couldn't lose her, wouldn't lose her. Not like this.

The High Lord's frustrated roars echoed through the abyss as he found himself getting farther and farther away from his mate until she was swallowed up by the darkness. The bitter feeling of helplessness gnawed at his core as he continued to be forcibly wrenched away from Feyre by the currents of air against his wings. When he unceremoniously landed back at the mouth of the rift, his first instinct was to go back down there. But before he could commit, a voice shattered his frantic thoughts:

"Rhys…wait!"

At that moment, Rhysand was torn between the desperate need to follow Feyre into the dark and the command of the voice that stopped him in his tracks. His chest heaved with exertion and frustration as he clutched the Cauldron shard in his hand.

He finally tore his gaze off of the rift and whirled around to find the remaining members of his Inner Circle, the Archeron sisters, and the Solar courts in the aftermath of the battle against Hybern. But the sight that made his blood go cold was the inky black void that consumed parts of the seasonal courts.

"What's going on?" Rhysand finally found his voice after scanning through the devastation. He was still shaken from losing Feyre, and the hollowness of the world only added to it.

"It's the Cauldron…without it, our world will cease to exist." Helion, the High Lord of the Day Court spoke up. "The seasonal High Lords and their courts…they were pulled into the rift."

Upon hearing that information, Rhysand felt bile rise to his throat. In the measly minutes, he spent in that abyss trying to save Feyre, four courts that made up Prythian were gone, reduced to cavities in the grip tightened on the fragment of the Cauldron he held, the jagged edges of the piece digging into his skin as he processed Helion's words. The implications of what they had just witnessed and the loss that it entailed hit him like a ton of bricks. "We must go back. We have… We need to find Feyre."

"You weren't able to retrieve the High Lady?" The Shadowsinger asked, his usually stoic face flickering with surprise.

"No. I thought maybe getting one of the pieces would change the outcome, but it just blasted me back to the surface." Rhysand sighed as he looked over at the cursed Cauldron piece. The damn thing was eerily quiet as if it didn't just prevent him from saving his mate.

"First Hybern and now this rift that just swallowed up our High Lady and the very thing that keeps us tethered to this existence; this day couldn't get any better." Cassian managed to let out a wry chuckle as he held onto the eldest Archeron sister to keep him upright.

Of course, his brother would try to make light of the situation, but Rhysand wasn't amused. The Night Court superior cast a glare at the Illyrian general before his eyes met the stormy blue ones of Nesta Archeron then Elain's. "Do you still feel your connection to the Cauldron?"

"It doesn't matter anymore; we're all going to die anyway." Came her usually frigid retort that was immediately glossed over by Elain's hopeful one. "Yes…I believe that piece is the only reason why our world hasn't been fully consumed."

"So this fragment is keeping this world alive…If that's the case then to restore our world we have to find the other shards beyond the void." Thesen, the High Lord of the Dawn Court deduced based on the information. Rhysand exchanged knowing glances between the solar High Lords before turning back to the Archeron sisters.

"Then it's settled where going down there," Rhysand said, determination strengthening his tone. "The Archeron sisters are crucial to the task. They were Made by the Cauldron, so if anyone can find the fragments, it's Elain and Nesta."

Nesta instinctively moved in front of Elain in a protective stance. "Don't even think about asking me to scry or about Elain's visions."

"Do you not even care about what happened to your sister?" Rhysand growled, his wings flaring out in frustration as he took a step towards her, his imposing figure towering over hers. He knew that Nesta had very valid reasons for refusing to cooperate considering the Cauldron has taken so much from them, but he couldn't find the means to be sympathetic in this situation.

Nesta just shrugged and held up her chin defiantly, "Not the first person I lost today."

Rhysand's eyes narrowed at Nesta's obstinate answer. Anger and hurt flared in his veins as he took a step closer, wings spreading wider. "And yet, you're willing to let Feyre become another one?"

His question hardly did anything to break Nesta's icy exterior. She just rose her chin higher as if her father's death and potentially losing her youngest sister didn't phase her one bit.

Rhysand nearly lost his restraint and almost added another number to the death toll, but Morrigan ever the mediator spoke up. "Enough. We need to tend to the hurt and help restore whatever we can." The High Lord gratefully nodded to his third for her intervention.

"I agree." Helion added, "We need to address the damages in Prythian from the war before we can even begin to think of diving into the rift to retrieve the Cauldron pieces and your mate."

The Night Court High Lord took a slow, shuddering breath as he tried to regain control of his flaring wrath. He knew Mor was right; tending to the wounded and what remained of Prythian was the top priority. But the thought of Feyre down there in gods knew what other world… it was maddening.

He let out a long exhale, and then begrudgingly assumed his role of High Lord and started to figure out some semblance of order.

Feyre's eyes snapped open, and she greeted reality with a gasp. She instinctively reached out for that ever-present entity in her mind, the mate bond, only to be met with a silent void.

"Rhysand?... Rhys?" She frantically called out but then reeled at the sound that passed through her lips. Her once comprehensible voice was diminished to a dog's incoherent barks and whines. She hesitantly peered down to discover that her phalanges were replaced with massive paws, and along her arms was a thick layer of fur.

She scanned the unfamiliar dark room for dense shadows, glowing runes, and anything that may signify that she was exposed to danger, only to figure out that she was in a dungeon. She wasn't a stranger to being kept as a prisoner, so her first instinct was to find any means of getting out of there.

Her muscles strained as she forced herself to stand on her four legs, still unable to wrap her mind around the idea that she was reduced to a canine. Once she grasped some sense of control over her new body, she padded over to a puddle near the set of bars that kept her hostage and really looked at herself.

All she saw was the same beast that night in the Ouroboros chamber.