Chapter Text
Aleksander paces the familiar length of his quarters in his tent in Kribirsk, once again unable to rest. The ache in his feet doing little to distract him from the tightness in his chest.
Of course, it is only to be expected on the morning of such a momentous day as this.
The day of reckoning.
The day of victory.
The day he makes good on the vow he committed after those lost children had tried to harvest his bones for their own survival.
He glances at the sleeping blonde taking up the right side of his luxurious 4 poster bed, the silk sheets hiding the band of red and orange feathers around her left wrist but not the fetter of scales on her opposite hand, nor the points of antler resting on her collarbone.
In exactly one hour his sun summoner would be awoken by Genya, kit in hand, ready to be dolled up and dressed in finery for the most important moment of her life. Not that she believes it to be. Despite knowing his plans to their full extremes, Svetlana never seemed to grasp the gravity of what is about to occur. In her simple mind the massacre of Novokribirsk might as well be an anthill he wishes stamp out. If anything she seemed excited to wear her shiny golden kefta and bask in her newfound sainthood.
Not that her opinion matters. He's seen firsthand how she can tout the basic rhetoric of 'necessary sacrifice' and 'greater good'; managing to be both narcissistically patronising and nauseatingly sanctimonious- her pale hair and milky skin blinding the common fools into thinking her humble and sincere. So long as he keeps showering her with pretty trinkets and flattery, her callous nature is only more convenient for it meant she would never so much as lift a finger to challenge him.
He almost can't believe how the stars had aligned so perfectly to ensure his victory. He can almost fool himself that fact alone is the cause of his unease.
In reality, he cannot stop his mind from drifting to the initial sun summoner (he refused to even think her name).
From their first conversation on the road to Os Alta to their... outing by the fountain, Aleksander had feared he'd have to abandon every scheme in his arsenal to keep her close. For how could he possibly subjugate someone so insubordinate and headstrong?
She would never agree to this willingly. She would be yelling, fighting, looking for a better way. One that would inevitably fail and leave them in a worse position than they already are. He winces thinking about the very real possibility she'd end up losing her life in the process- just like Luda.
Though even if she did survive, he couldn't imagine her failure would bring her around to his way of seeing things. No- she'd stand by her naive principles and keep protecting those who would see her burned at the stake the moment she ceases to be useful to them. He needed his sun summoner either weak and obedient or hateful and bitter. This kind-hearted survivor was neither of those and likely never would be.
So, once the Fjerdan doll had come along, he rejoiced at this second chance he'd been given and quelled the part of him that had liked it- liked her. Shut his eyes to her simple beauty, silenced the voice that whispered she'd made him feel more alive than he had any right to feel. Endeavoured to ignore repulsive longing that left him bereft and aching when he'd severed her affection for him like grisha steel through a chrysalis.
When she'd run away- no doubt in search for that grubby, undeserving, first-army tracker- Aleksander been beyond furious. Heart shatteringly, mind numbingly, red-eyed furious. A Grisha outside the Little Palace will always be a target; even now she could be being dissected in some Shu lab or at the mercy of Drüskelle thugs. Again, he refused to dwell on what drove her to run in the first place and instead let the white hot burning in his chest drive him towards his true goals. He told himself the frantic worry in his cadence, his near constant erratic heartbeat and recent short fuse whenever she was brought up was a deception to ensure no one doubted his devotion to all Grisha. Even ungrateful deserters.
For why else should he be concerned the lesser summoner had vanished when he had a living Saint at his side? Perfect in every way. Obedient to a tee. The envy of every woman in Ravka.
He sent out frustratingly small search parties, planned to send battalions once he rose to power.
Of course, it may turn out to be a blessing in disguise. Let her hide away in some hovel in the woods; once he's Tsar he'll be able to redirect every resource at his disposal to find her. And once he has her, he'll be sure to never let her go again. He'll make her regret ever thinking of leaving in the first place. And then he'll make her see how reasonable he was all along.
---
Standing at the bow of the newest Ultralight sand skiff, the Black General prepares to set sail. On the deck stands several foreign diplomats, the first army Major General and around 20 of the best Grisha soldiers in the Second army- intense anticipation the only thing they all have in common.
"Are you ready, moi lyubov?" Aleksander asks, already knowing the response his obedient little sun summoner will give.
Svetlana looks up at him through long fluttering eyelashes "I am, Moi Soverenyi."
Giving the signal to release the sails, Aleksander has never before felt such a sense of destiny. For the first time in over four centuries he is going to enter his creation and finally finally use it as it was always meant to be used. Today the grisha take what has been denied them since the dawn of time. Victory. Liberation. Vengeance.
The road to this moment had been long, arduous and filled with sacrifice; but in a few hours it will all be worth it. Seeing the look on the king's hideous face as he kicks the overgrown child off his throne. Bringing the fat lords and ladies- who had so often worked to undermine his authority and deny Grisha their well earned privileges to line their already overstuffed pockets- to heel. Forcing the useless princes to swear fealty to his rule- he'll decide whether to subject them to indentured servitude or simply remove their heads based on how pathetically they beg for mercy. Ensuring every Grisha across the lands will know their rightful place- elevated above the muck that is the otkazat'sya race.
These were the things that kept him going. That justified his actions. That let him get some semblance of sleep at night where his mind would otherwise drift to the things he'd done to ensure this victory.
In the end it will all be worth it. It will.
With his hand on her shoulder, Svetlana's light begins to expand outward in a magnificent dome encompassing the entire skiff. While most Grisha have gotten used to her many shows at the little palace, the diplomats stare reverently at the dazzling display. Their Sankta tilts her chin up and basks in their admiration with false humility- Aleksander has to resist the urge to dig his fingers in hard enough to bruise.
Part of him wishes he could join them. That he too felt the same awe towards Svetlana's demonstrations as he did when she burned a hole in the roof of his tent over a year ago. But it is better this way; the fact that they are distracted while he is focused proves once again he's made the right decision.
That is, until they reach the 5th marker.
Looking back, he'd marvel at the fact that both Svetlana and Alina had proved their true worth at the exact same point in their journey through his creation.
Alina had lit up the dark and blown a hoard of starving Volcra to dust before succumbing to her injuries; Svetlana cowered in the corner like the worlds most useless nightlight while her fellow Grisha screamed and fought around her.