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Chapter Text

“Dance with me?”

Even after living entire millenniums with him, Alina still feels her heartbeat faster at his words, the sound loud in the quiet around them.

Aleksander’s hand was patiently outstretched, his lips pulled into a gentle smile as he waits for her next move. Alina rolls her eyes as she walks towards her lover, the fond grin on her lips telling him the thousand words she refuses to speak.

You do not need to ask anymore.

His hand was warm against her cold fingers, the simple touch bringing a sigh to her lips as his body relaxed into hers. They fell into a familiar embrace while phantom music played in their minds, their feet following each other’s steps perfectly, bodies and minds alike becoming one under their thrumming bond that brought them closer still.

I am yours.

There was nothing anymore, nothing but them and their silent dances and soft teasing and tender kisses.

I love you—

There was nothing anymore, nothing but memories of what once was, when a boy fell in love with a girl who could make his darkness light up in a beautiful nova.

—for as long as you will love me.

There was nothing anymore, nothing but Alina and Aleksander.

In the beginning, he fell in love with her warmth. 

Beneath the dirt and grime covering her face, there was a fiery determination, a burning fear, a scorching need to run that made him do a double take at the litany of emotions before him. Aleksander was nearly brought to speechlessness by her intensity, mirroring that of the sun itself.

She was nothing but a pawn in his game, then. He let his lips curl in amusement at her narrow-minded antics, hid the growing frustration at her lack of cooperation, and ignored the pull that made him want nothing more but bring her close and touch her once more.

Eventually, she fell for it.

Her smiles grew wider at the sight of him and her body would sway in the slightest until their shoulders brushed. Never had he hated keftas as much as he did then, when they were a barrier between their skin, preventing his shadows from dancing with her light.

It was easy to fool her and slowly mold her into his perfect queen. It was easy, to make her seek his gaze for approval, to make her lean on him for support, to make her weak to his advances.

What he had not expected was how at ease she made him feel.

Alina Starkov, Aleksander quickly learned, was warm in his arms, spreading a comforting heat that he always ached for his entire life.

She made shivers crawl up his spine when her skin finally met his in the privacy of his room, a sharp contrast of temperatures between their bodies that nearly made him gasp in surprise every time they touch.

And when their lips met for the first time, he knows nothing but the feel of her power against his, tendrils of sun coiling around his shadows, and he is lost in the sensation of falling after flying a bit too close to the sun.

Somewhere along the line, he fell in love with her light.

Her eyes would always shine when she smiled, brightening when she laughed with her head thrown back, her skin burning until everything around them glowed with pure gold. His breath would be stolen from wonder at the stunning scene, and he would hold her just a bit tighter, for he never wanted this symphony to fade.

And when his shadows grew too strong, when he became blinded by the tempting whispers of the dark, she was there with her sun, with her light, with her warmth, allowing him to see and feel again.

She would hold him, comfort him, and her touch made him forget all about kings and queens and pawns in the game he tried to play. He forgot about his meticulous plans, about his ambition, about his past. He forgot about being the prestigious Darkling, about being the damned Black Heretic, about being the fearless General.

He only remembered being Aleksander Morozova, a man who inevitably fell in love with Alina Starkov.

There was something that Aleksander quickly learned as he grew up—nothing lasts forever.

Nothing but me, he corrected himself twenty years later, eyes unmoving from the fallen bodies of Grisha that surrounded him. The snow beneath his feet was stained red, and the woman he loved laid dead before him. 

There was another thing he quickly learned after that—loneliness is a burden heavier than the weight of the world.

His shadows expanded and grew until there was nothing but darkness around, the echoes of human cries faded until they came back as shrill screams. Flapping wings would follow him as he left the shadows, but would not follow him as he started on a road illuminated by sunlight.

There was a third thing he learned, when his mother found him clutching his knees to his chest like a child, tears staining his cheeks as he rasped out broken pleas and curses for his immortality—wanting makes us weak.

His mother was not kind with his sorrow, nor was there pity in her voice as she led him towards their new home. Instead, Baghra gripped his chin tightly until their eyes met, dark clashing with dark, and murmured, “It will not become easier, but you will learn to embrace the pain.”

“How?” There was something wild to the way he said it, something that made him a heartbroken boy in that moment, nothing more and nothing less.

“By giving up the things you want,” the grip on his face was painful, but the hurt grounded him, reminded him of the fact that he was still alive. She searched his eyes before adding, “giving up the people you will desire.”

They settled into a new home, in a new village with new names that came from an old wives tale written in an old book that his mother insisted on carrying.

But despite this new life, whispers of the Black Heretic followed him wherever he went, a constant melody of fear from otkazat'sya and Grisha alike that made him sicker by the second. 

“I cannot go on like this,” his pacing around their small house brought another sharp whack against his shin, courtesy of his mother’s alabaster cane. “The burden is—”

“—a burden you brought upon yourself.” Another stinging whack made him finally sit, eyes staring into the flames until his entire front felt singed. “You must atone for your actions, foolish boy. Not run from them.”

“By myself, I cannot.” He shook his head, and that same frustration grew once more. “Nothing I do will ever destroy the fold.”

I feel alone, Aleksander nearly says, but saying so would be admitting to a flaw, and he was taught better than to reveal his weaknesses to anyone (even if that person is his own mother). 

He had long become wary of his desires, had long learned how to effectively separate himself from the dust of humanity left behind as he continued to live without aging. He forgot the names of the men who fell for his service, of the women whose lips found his in moments of carnal ache, of the children who became orphaned after one too many wars razed the lands.

After all, despite having his mother for as long as he can remember, and for a good while longer, her shadows never did anything but make his fear of the dark grow.

No, what he wants (what he needs, he corrects himself) is someone like him—someone who will understand the pain beneath the palms of his hands every time he calls the shadows. He wants someone who is not afraid of the darkness inside his eyes, someone who knows his past and decides to stay either way. He wants  someone who knows his name, someone who finds beauty in the shade, someone who will love him.

Luda had been that someone.

“There is no one like you,” The pointed glance she threw at him made Aleksander remember that this is the same woman who taught him to swim by throwing him to the sharks, the same woman who showed him the beautiful burn of fire by not warning him of the sting of wax, the same woman who has always tried to protect him as best as she could (even if her best was never enough). “And there will be no one like you—not for a long time.”

He knew this already, the conversation they had when he was but a mere boy still engraved into his mind.

Aleksander cannot quite remember all the questions that fell from his lips, his head spinning with at all the possibilities of finding someone just like him, but he could never forget the words of his mother.

“Patience, child.” They had been by the side of a fireplace when Aleksander learned of the myths of another type of Etherealki—a Sun Summoner, who will be his balance, and his only true equal. A partner who will share the burden of eternity with him. “They might not be born for another year, perhaps for another decade, or for centuries. Do not get your hopes up, Aleksander.”

That night, while his mother still listened with careful ears, he whispered to himself, “wanting makes us weak.” But as soon as her breathing turned deep and heavy with sleep, he dared to dream of halos of light, of unfiltered sunlight, and of a warm hand pressed against his. 

Now, if he closes his eyes tightly enough, Aleksander faintly sees strands of white against the dark, guarding him from his own demons.

But by the time he woke up, he would soon forget all about his dreams, and would not remember them until centuries later, when the Sun Summoner opened her eyes for the first time.

Chapter Text

Life was not kind to Alina Starkov.

The burns on the left side of her body still flare up with sudden pain when she remembers her mother and father and their desperate stares as they told her to run. The heat of the sun feels stifling when she remembers the fire that licked her skin as she crawled through the burning ashes of what once was her village. And when she closes her eyes, she still sees the blackened corpses all around, and hears the agonizing screams of those who used to be her neighbors, her friends—innocent lives lost to an unfair war that Alina does not fail to curse every day.

It was only her luck that she escaped one inferno to enter another.

The shape of her eyes brings biting comments and stinging taunts from the rest of the children at the orphanage she was sent to. There, insults of being a half-breed get thrown to her like an Inferni throws flames and mentions of her being a spy follow like her own shadows. But despite the harsh words, Alina is never ashamed of her heritage. After all, it was her mother who gave her these eyes, and from what little she can remember, her mother was the most beautiful woman she had ever seen.

Her relief came in the form of Mal, at first.

He was brought into the orphanage a few months after her, though it did not take long for the two of them to band together against the rest of the world. They were both outcasts, both war orphans, both too weak to fight the bigger and older kids with too much bitterness in their hearts. It only made sense for them to stick together.

After escaping a hoard of girls and boys who chased them with sticks, they stumbled upon a clearing in the middle of the field, far away from the orphanage that there was no other sound nearby but that of nature.

That meadow became their haven, where they could pretend to be something more than just two kids with nowhere to go.

But her own solace was the night, in the darkness where no one could see her, and in the dreams where she could pretend to be something she was not.

Alina was five years old when she began to remember her dreams beyond their usual hazy memories.

As soon as her eyes would close against a flat pillow in the girls dorm, she would be pulled away from the orphanage, away from Keramzin, and into a forest covered in shadows, where only a beautiful stag and herself would form light.

Sometimes, she would try to reach out to caress the creature, to brush gentle fingers against its mane, to wonder at the sturdy horns sitting atop its head. Sunlight would come pouring out of her every being, and it would be on those nights that the other girls would wake up complaining about a heat in the middle of the night that never bothered Alina.

And other times, she would hold herself back, content to simply watch as the stag nosed at the ground before trotting away. 

But her dreams would not end there.

Because some nights, she would close her eyes only to wake up in a different room, elegant and dim where she would not be alone. A young man with eyes as dark as hers would be standing by the edge of a desk, frowning at papers scattered without a sense of organization, while other times he would be by the bookshelves next to a window, sitting on a comfortable chair with a journal propped open in his hands. The moonlight would make his eyes almost grey.

He would not notice her, and she would soon close her eyes and wake up to a new day.

Other times, he would be sleeping, and Alina would try her hardest to wake from her own dreams to give him privacy in these vulnerable moments, only to always fail. Sometimes he would shuffle in the bed, sleeping quietly and completely unaware of the world beyond that of his slumber. But other times, there would be a frown on his forehead, his body twisting and turning almost imperceptibly, and she could do nothing but watch helplessly as he cried out quietly, for she was afraid of getting too close and ruining this dream too.

Those nights, after all, were her only escape from the monotonous life at the orphanage.

Everything changed the day Mal was taken by the First Army, when all he could give her was a tight hug and a confident whisper of the two meeting soon when the sun rose in their meadow. 

Alina could only watch as he was taken away from her, waving goodbye to the only friend and family she had in this gloomy life.

If only I was braver, Alina berates herself as she leans against a tree long after curfew was called, with new bruises in her arms from the harsh grips of the girls under the pretense of comforting hugs. Then maybe I would not have this regret in my chest for not telling him how I feel.

Or for never learning the truth of whether I am—

She falls asleep against the trunk at some point, with the moon winking weakly at her, only to call out once more as she opens her eyes in the familiar bedroom, where a window is open with a clear view of the sky.

Directly in front of her, the young man lays on the bed, inky hair messily spread against the dark pillows, increasingly getting messier as he trashes on the bed, slight whimpers of distress escaping his mouth.

There is no hesitation when she reaches out to the man, placing a gentle palm to an open fist. It does not matter, either way. After all, he was not real, and it was all just a dream.

But as soon as their skin touched, there was an immediate surge of power and a strengthening of a cord she did not know existed. From her hands, light forms into a sphere that shines brighter than the moon.

Perhaps even brighter than the sun.

His tense frame became slack with relief, and Alina smiled slightly before waking with a gasp, shivering under the sudden assault of cold rain on her skin.

For the rest of the night, she would press her hands close together, and try to get the light to rise once more. She would envision the need to help the stranger, the flow of energy when their skin touched, the faint ache inside her chest that has not left her since, but nothing would give.

Who are you? Alina falls asleep with that question in the tip of her tongue, but she receives no answers. And when the sun shines a bit brighter the day, nearly making her skin glow after an entire life of paleness and a sickly complexion, she wonders to herself, who am I?

“She has been born.” Aleksander, now known as General Kirigan, exclaims one night, hands gripping the fabric by his chest as a new ache grows inside. 

Baghra does not need more clarification for her to understand the meaning of his words. She eyes him almost cautiously before biting out, “Do not make any stupid mistakes, boy. You shall not seek her out.” 

“Why?” He demands, grabbing his dark kefta from the chair it laid previously, frantically putting it on. “I must find her.” 

“Sit down, child.” 

“Mother, I have waited for her my entire life.” There is a tremble to his words, a glassy sheen over his eyes that nearly made Baghra gape at the rare sight, had she not seen the same look once before, also at the hands of a woman. “I need to—” 

“You will wait more.” There is a finality to her words that nearly makes him back down, but when has he followed her orders? “The girl is not ready to be trusted into this world.” 

“She is Grisha, she belongs in this world!” 

“I will speak no more of this.” Baghra grips her cane tightly before residing into a deeper part of the hut, where she leaves into her shadows and out of his sight. 

Outside the stifling heat of the hut, Aleksander deeply breathes in the cold air of winter, facing the sky where the sun gently caresses his skin.  

There was no choice to be made now, for it was made a long time ago. 

I will find you. 

His stride bears no hesitation as he walks towards the doors of the Grand Palace, where he is not stopped by the guards standing post, nor by the ones guarding the King. 

They know by now that he cannot be stopped. 

“Moi tsar,” He bows his head despite the disgust crawling up his spine at the slouching, incompetent King before him. “I apologize for the intrusion, but I have a proposal.” 

Reluctantly, the King straightens in the slightest in his throne, looking down at Aleksander. Ignoring the hatred deep inside for this incompetent King, Aleksander begins to lay out his plan, a shortcut to strengthening relations with all Ravka in the wake of riots and protests in the land beyond the Fold. 

“Of course, it’s the plan you had all along, moi tsar.” He wants to rip his own tongue out to have an excuse to not have to say these undignified statements. “I simply recommend a one-man expedition to garner information before sending the armies.” 

“Yes, yes.” The King nods in agreement, lost in the fantasy of his intelligence. “This was another option I was to mention in the tomorrow’s meeting.” 

“Do I have your permission to begin?” Old sot, with or without your word, I will still find her. 

“Yes, Darkling.” King Pyotr leans back, rubbing through the measly strands of his beard. Then, he chuckles, a nod on his face. “Let us bring pride to Ravka.” 

Aleksander bows his head before straightening up, looking at the King in the eyes. “I will depart for Poliznaya right away.” 

With nothing else to say, he leaves the Grand Palace and directly towards the stables. 

I swear I will find you. 

And thus, he traveled. 

Whatever chance he got, he set out on horseback to the very edges of Ravka, to every village and outpost he could find. 

Years passed without any lead of his Sun Summoner. His attention became divided, the King assigning more and more tasks to him while the pressure of maintaining the ever-growing army of Grishas began to wear him down. 

He already had a name for himself, a name that commanded respect and the slightest of dread at the mere mention of General Kirigan. 

But his growing success at several skirmishes near Os Alta began the whispers that invoked pure fear. He knew they told the stories of how he massacred the enemy, his shadows interlacing until they formed a sharp blade that never missed its mark. 

Aleksander never forgot to look for her, but it became harder when the words of his mother resonated in his ears until he could hear nothing else. 

Perhaps she was not ready to be found. 

But that does not mean he is ready to give up.

The first time she saw Grisha was when the testers came to Keramzin in search of more of their kind.

By then, Alina was all too familiar with the bitterness Mal held for the Grisha, a bitterness she did not share nor understood at first.

What have they ever done to you? She wanted to ask, but then remembered the tales Ana Kuya taught her, of the Black Heretic and his greed, of the Fold that split the world and gave rise to the wars that killed her parents, and she does not speak.

And now, she can only watch helplessly as Mal grabs her hands, expression earnest as he whispers, “We can’t let them take us away.”

“But, Mal, what if—"

“Alina, we’re not Grisha.” He shakes his head, his curls bouncing as he looks around nervously.

“Then why do we have to fake it,” Alina began, swallowing nervously as she remembers fragments of her dream, of her hands coming together to form a tiny sun in her palms, “if you’re so sure we’re not Grisha?”

“We can’t risk it.”

Alina did not say anything as Mal brought out a sharp letter opener he must have stolen from Ana Kuya’s desk. She did not say anything when he hissed while slashing a cut down the middle of his palm that quickly opened with blood. She did not say anything when he looked at her expectantly, the letter opener held in his other hand for her to take.

Her hand was heavy as it rose towards the thin blade, nausea growing by the second as she shakily brought the sharp end to her left hand.

For the first time, she was saved by Ana Kuya, whose loud voice behind her made her drop the letter opener in surprise, kicking it off to the side before the older woman could see.

“Here you two are.” She muttered, grabbing their arms tightly as she pushed them towards the dining room. “I was looking all over, the Grisha are ready.”

Alina shared a fearful glance with Mal, who quietly spoke, “Missus—"

“What, boy?”

“I’m bleeding.”

Ana Kuya did not curse, but her grip tightened around their arms until Alina was grimacing at the hold she knew would form bruises the next day.

“Come here, then.” She turned towards another corridor, towards her office with the medical supplies. Abruptly, she let go of Alina, snapping a finger to the hallway they were just in. “You, keep going, girl. They are waiting.”

Alina did not have the time to nod before Mal and Ana Kuya left, Mal turning around to smile reassuringly at Alina.

Her steps were heavy as she trudged towards the dining room, quiet voices growing louder and louder as she neared the Grishas.

For the first time, Alina dared herself to ask, what if I belong somewhere else?

Because despite her dreams never giving tangible results once she woke, the rush when she touched the stag, when she touched the shadowed man, felt real.

But Mal was real too, and Mal was always there when she woke up, ready to give her every smile and embrace she needed. And when she felt a strange loss after failing to summon the light from her dreams, he would be there, ready to take them to the meadow that had become so dear to them.

He felt real when he promised, "We're always going to be family, Alina. Always."

When the dining room came into view, she rounded towards the kitchen instead, looking around before entering the empty room. Her eyes shuffled all over the utensils and plates, settling on a cracked teacup that no one would miss.

With a wince, she let it slip from her hands, quickly grabbing a sharp piece from the floor before an assistant of Ana Kuya entered. Alina was quickly shushed into the other room, where her wide eyes met those of the two Grisha by the end of the room.

“You kept us waiting.” The man had a blue coat and blue eyes. His face was stony.

“I’m sorry.” Alina stuttered, keeping her gaze down.

“No matter.” The woman next to him was his complete opposite, her voice airy and soft. She waved at Alina, and she slowly walked closer, her hands behind her back. “We have time.”

Once Alina was before the two Grishas, she hesitated once more.

What if I am Grisha?

“Don’t worry. If you are not Grisha, nothing will change.” The woman with the red coat (keftas, she would later learn they were called) had a kind smile. “But if you are, there is a whole new world that awaits you.”

There was no one around her to guide her on what she should do, no one to hug her tightly and tell her that everything will be okay.

In that moment, Alina missed her parents more than she ever had.

And in that moment, Alina realized that she never wanted to be alone again.

She held her arm out in front of her, watching unflinchingly as the woman drew a small cut down her forearm with a dagger. When nothing occurred, the Grisha smiled again. “And that’s it. You’ll stay here with all your friends.”

Alina smiled slightly, and quickly hurried off outside, leaving behind tiny drops of blood that fell from her hand still clutching the sharp ceramic.

She was alone in the meadow for a while, long enough that by the time Mal came back with a bandaged hand, she had long cleaned the tears that fell down her cheeks.

He grabbed her wounded hand gingerly and wrapped it with a clean rag he must have stolen from somewhere.

Alina smiled at him, and Mal bumped her shoulder softly.

That night, her dreams returned.

But now, instead of visiting the stag in the forest, she visited the young man. Alina did not even feel when her right hand, still tender with a bright red scar, formed a small orb of light. It left her only to nudge the shadows the young man was forming with his fingertips. He turns around quickly, his eyes meeting hers for a split second before she woke with a gasp.

For the rest of the hours of the night she had, Alina tried and tried to conjure light, envisioning the orb from her dreams.

And when hours went by and nothing occurred, she shook her head, staring at the bandaged hand in something that was quickly turning into regret.

What have I done?

Aleksander finally finds her the night he is not actively seeking her out, when the darkness threatens to consume him once more, and he can do nothing but fall victim to his own power.

Though he is awake, his nightmares are replayed over and over as his vision blackens.

For a moment, there was nothing but shadows all around him, nothing but pain and fear and loneliness, nothing but reminders of Volcra and the Fold and the lives lost that day. 

Nothing but Luda crying out in pain, Luda falling to her knees, Luda bleeding out while he could do nothing but watch the life leave her eyes.

And then, there was light. 

Warmth fills every cold crevice in his being, and there is that feeling in his chest again, a pulsing tether that is familiar and comforting and that can only mean one thing. 

It takes all his strength and willpower to open his eyes in that moment, when all he wanted was to drown in the coils of sunlight that reminded him of all the beautiful things he witnessed in the years he has lived. 

It took him back to the simple summer days of his early youth, when fig juice sweetly dripped down his chin, when easy smiles made his cheeks rosy after learning to control his shadows, when gentle winds and singing birds and vibrant flowers reminded him he had all the time in the world to live just like this.

With a blink, he turns around and meets another dark set of eyes, a gaze that he only sees for a second before it disappears into the night. 

A smile makes its way into his face, and despite feeling the loss of having her gone in that moment, he also feels the soothing heat she felt behind. 

Aleksander does not know it then, but she is closer than he thinks. 

It is only a matter of time before the shadows find its way to the sunlight, and he has his Sun Summoner by his side.