Chapter Text
The nightmare never announced itself.
It slipped in on familiar seams of memory—on the creak of wood and the weight of too many hands—and suddenly she was there again, pressed face-first against a table rough with old splinters, her cheek burning where it met the grain. Laughter followed, cruel and careless, male voices tangling together as if this were a game, as if her terror were something to be shared and enjoyed.
There was the metallic clink of a belt buckle.
The sound echoed too loudly, too sharply, ringing through her bones.
Pain came next—white-hot and endless—followed by the copper taste of blood flooding her mouth. Everything hurt. Every breath scraped. Her body felt distant, reduced to sensation alone, to the knowledge that there was no room left to run, no space left to fight.
And then—hands.
Large. Scarred. Familiar in their brutality.
Gwyn woke with a sharp gasp, her body jerking upright as if she’d been struck.
Her sheets clung to her skin, damp with sweat, her nightgown twisted around her legs. For a moment she couldn’t tell where she was—only that her heart was racing, her breath coming too fast, too shallow, as though she’d run a great distance without moving at all.
Her Bedchamber came back to her slowly. Stone walls. Soft light. The faint, ever-present hum of magic beneath it all.
She pressed a hand to her chest and forced herself to breathe in through her nose, out through her mouth, counting the seconds the way Clotho had taught her. The terror loosened its grip, though it never fully released her—not anymore.
Something cool brushed her cheek.
Gwyn stilled.
She turned her head slightly, eyes scanning the dim room, and that was when she noticed it—the shadows near the corner, pooled thicker than the rest of the darkness, shifting as though stirred by an unseen current. They withdrew the instant she focused on them, retreating into stillness so complete she might have imagined it.
She swallowed and swung her legs over the side of the bed.
The sky beyond the window was just beginning to pale, dawn stretching in soft gradients over the mountains. Night loosened its hold reluctantly, shadows thinning as light crept in. Gwyn watched it for a long moment, grounding herself in the simple fact of morning—of survival, of continuation.
Another breath. Then another.
She rose and crossed into the bathing chamber, splashing cool water onto her face until the remnants of the nightmare dulled to a manageable ache. Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror—eyes too bright, skin still flushed—but standing, whole, breathing.
She dressed in her leathers with practiced ease, movements steady even as her thoughts wandered.
Catrin came to her then, as she so often did in quiet moments.
Her sister’s smile. Her voice. The warmth of her presence that still lingered like an echo beneath Gwyn’s ribs. She met her own gaze in the mirror and allowed herself a small, wistful smile.
Look how far I’ve come, she thought.
I wish you could see me now.
There had been a time—longer than she liked to remember—when the library had been the only place she could exist, its depths both refuge and boundary. Now, she could leave it. Not without effort, not without fear, but she could climb the stairs into the House of Wind, train until her muscles burned, laugh through girls’ nights with Nesta and Emerie until the sound felt natural again.
Progress did not erase the past.
But it made room for the future.
The nightmare still clung to her, a weight pressing between her shoulders, and she knew the day ahead would be a difficult one. Even now, two years after Sangravah, the dreams had not vanished—only softened, reduced to a couple of nights a week instead of every one. They still shook her to her core when they came, leaving her raw and unsteady in their wake.
She tied her hair into a high ponytail, fingers quick and precise, and fixed a smile in place—not false, exactly, but chosen. Armor of a different sort.
The library greeted her with its familiar hush as she passed through, rows of books standing sentinel in the early hour. She paused at Clotho’s desk, greeting her. The other Priestess lifted her chalk, and wrote a neat greeting upon the slate.
Good morning. I hope you have a peaceful day.
Clotho’s smile was gentle, reassuring, and Gwyn carried it with her as she pushed through the doors and began the long climb upward.
The stairs were quiet, the House still mostly asleep, though the air grew cooler as she ascended. Outside, the day was waking in earnest. The sun crested higher, spilling warmth across stone and mountain alike, though the breeze remained sharp, tinged with the promise of lingering winter.
Spring was coming. Slowly, stubbornly.
The training ring came into view, and with it familiar figures already gathered there. Nesta stood tall and unyielding as ever, Emerie beside her, posture relaxed but ready. Mor lingered nearby—and Gwyn couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her mouth when she noticed how often Mor seemed to be the one escorting Emerie to Windhaven these days.
Some things, at least, were moving forward beautifully.
Gwyn drew in a steadying breath and stepped toward them, letting the warmth of the sun and the presence of her friends anchor her, even as the echoes of the night still whispered at the edges of her mind.
She stepped up beside Nesta just as the other female finished tightening the straps on her bracers.
Nesta’s gaze flicked over her once—quick, sharp, assessing—and her mouth twisted.
“You look like shit.”
Gwyn snorted. “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”
Emerie failed to suppress her laugh, ducking her head as Nesta shot her a glare that held no real heat.
But Nesta’s expression shifted almost immediately, the sharpness smoothing into something quieter, more intent. “You alright?”
Gwyn waved a hand, light and dismissive. “I’m fine. Just the usual.”
The two of them didn’t look convinced.
She felt their eyes linger, weighing her words against what they saw—the tension she hadn’t quite shaken, the tightness around her smile. Gwyn laughed softly, the sound a touch too quick, too practiced.
“Really,” she said, forcing more brightness into her voice. “I’m great.”
There was a beat of silence before Mor clapped her hands together. “Well, as riveting as this is, I have to go—someone has to keep the High Lord and Lady on their toes.”
She squeezed Emerie’s shoulder gently as she passed, and Emerie flushed a delicate pink that crept up her cheeks.
Gwyn caught Nesta’s eye and lifted her brows. Nesta smirked back.
“Oh, stop it, you two,” Emerie muttered, though she was smiling as well.
They giggled—soft, unguarded—and something inside Gwyn eased, just a little. The tight coil in her chest loosened, the weight of the morning lifting enough for her to breathe more freely.
Cassian’s voice cut across the ring. “Alright, Valkyries—on me.”
Gwyn stepped forward with Nesta and Emerie, joining the group of females already assembled on the worn stone. Her gaze swept over them, and warmth bloomed in her chest as she realized how many there were now—more than there had been two months ago, more than she’d dared hope for at Solstice. They were still learning. Still healing. But they were here.
Beside Cassian stood Azriel. He was all coiled power and shadows, muscular arms crossed over his chest, wings relaxed but unmistakably present. Darkness clung to him like a second skin, the early light unable—or unwilling—to chase it away.
His gaze found hers instantly. A corner of his mouth tipped upward. “Berdara.”
She smiled back, though she knew it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Shadowsinger.”
For a fraction of a heartbeat, his expression faltered.
Concern flickered there—quick and sharp as a blade—before it vanished beneath practiced neutrality, the smirk settling back into place as though it had never left.
Gwyn looked away.
Cassian clapped his hands together once, sharp and loud. “Alright—warm-ups first. Novices, you’ll pair up. Advanced fighters as well.”
Movement rippled through the ring as the females shifted into place, some nervous, some eager, all of them focused. Gwyn fell easily into step beside Nesta and Emerie, the three of them exchanging a brief look of understanding. There were no words needed—there never were with them anymore.
They were Valkyries.
They would take turns sparring with one another, rotating through drills and strikes, pushing and correcting and holding space when needed. Gwyn rolled her shoulders as she loosened her muscles, stretching into familiar motions, grounding herself in the solidity of her body.
As she moved, she felt it.
Azriel’s gaze.
It pressed against her awareness—not invasive, but insistent, assessing in that quiet way of his. Gwyn kept her eyes fixed on the stone beneath her boots, refusing to meet his stare. She didn’t want him to see the remnants of the nightmare still clinging to her, didn’t want him to read it in her eyes the way she suspected he could.
Cassian wandered over just then, arms crossed, a grin already pulling at his mouth. “You know,” he said conversationally, eyes flicking to Nesta, “all this training really does wonders for your ass.”
The impact came fast and unyielding—Nesta’s elbow driving into his lower gut with brutal precision.
Cassian doubled over with a wheeze. “Mother above,” he groaned, clutching his side, “the things I endure for love.”
Emerie snorted. “Truly tragic. Must be exhausting, being mated to such a looker.”
Cassian straightened slowly, smirk firmly back in place. “It’s a burden I bear with grace.”
Gwyn’s lips curved faintly at that, though she didn’t offer a comment. The effort felt heavier today, the words lodged somewhere behind her ribs where she couldn’t quite reach them.
Cassian shot Emerie a wink, then gave Nesta a swift smack on the backside before leaping out of reach. “Alright! Enough flirting—get to it.”
Nesta swore. Emerie laughed. The ring shifted into motion.
Gwyn stepped into position opposite Emerie, her feet finding their stance automatically, muscles remembering what her mind didn’t need to command. She inhaled deeply, feeling the cool air fill her lungs, then let it out slowly as she centered herself.
I am the rock against which the surface crashes, she told herself.
Nothing can break me.