Chapter 101 – Dain
DAIN
Asudden commotion in the corridor jolted us all. Footsteps—too many, too fast. The door slammed open. Every head snapped around. For a moment, the world held its breath.
Azaria walked in, supported by Kalias—human now, shirtless, his arm locked around her waist. Behind them, a dark-haired man in a bloodstained coat stepped through, knives glinting at his belt, magic clinging to him like smoke.
Darann.
Azaria looked like she’d crawled through seven layers of hell.
Her clothes—the ones she’d worn this morning—were tattered, soaked in blood.
A bandage wrapped her throat, already seeping red at the edges.
Sweat glistened at her temples; her face was too pale, her breathing too quick. But her eyes were clear. Alive.
She took one look at the war room—maps spread across the table, weapons stacked, the squad armed and ready—and her voice cut through the silence.
“What’s all this?”
Veshar’s command cracked through the air like a whip. “Stop right there.”
Azaria froze, hands lifting slowly, palms out. Kalias’s grip on her waist tightened, his silvery-blue eyes sweeping the room with predatory focus. A low growl rumbled in his chest—human, but no less dangerous.
Darann didn’t stop. He stepped to Azaria’s other side, casual, hands loose at his sides. Ready.
A nervous, desperate energy shimmered through the squad. Zeph’s lips parted on a breath—“Captain, is that really you?”
Quin took a step forward, jaw working, voice ragged. “Azaria, fuck…”
Eyes darted between her face and mine, hope and terror clashing. Lirael half-rose from her chair, hands trembling, but none of us dared move further, pinned by Veshar’s order. We all wanted to run to her, to cross the space and reach for her, but suspicion and fear held us in place.
Was this truly her? Or was that another trick, another wound waiting to happen?
My gaze moved over her, desperate for any sign, any proof. Something in her presence felt… wrong. An odd shadow clung to her, a subtle coldness that wasn’t there before. It was as if the darkness had gone inside her and stayed.
Veshar’s eyes locked on Darann. His voice went cold. “You. What the hells are you doing here?”
Darann’s smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Saving her life. You’re welcome, by the way.”
“I didn’t ask for your help,” Veshar snapped. “And I sure as hells didn’t authorize you to?—“
“Veshar,” Tywin cut in sharply. “Not now.”
Veshar’s jaw clenched, but he turned back to Azaria. His voice was tight, controlled. “Dain, you know what to do.”
The command cut me open. He meant mind bending—right here, right now. I was supposed to force my way into Azaria’s mind to prove she was really her. The thought made me recoil. To do it from this distance, with her already so fragile… it could break her even more.
Dain, it’s all right.
Her voice, gentle as a breath of wind, filled my head. Relief hit so hard I nearly choked. It was her. My Azaria, my Captain, my friend. I didn’t want to do this, didn’t want to risk hurting her, didn’t?—
“Do what you must,” Azaria said aloud, steady as stone. She still hadn’t moved, her hands remaining raised.
I swallowed and forced my legs to obey. One step, then another. Anything to make this easier on her. Kalias’s eyes followed every movement I made. Darann shifted his weight to her other side, not threatening, but watchful all the same.
“Breathe,” I murmured.
She met my eyes and gave a small nod. I lifted my hand between us, power gathering there as white light began to bloom at the edges of my vision. A single thought moved through me, close enough to a prayer: please, let me not hurt her more than she already is.
And then Azaria’s mind opened to mine at once. There was no resistance. No darkness. Only open space and memory.
I didn’t linger. I didn’t need to. Everything the memory crystal had shown us was there, but from inside her. The alley. The dark force. Torven’s voice. Waking bound and bleeding in the ruins. Every taunt. Every blow. The confession about Eris. Then, the blade across her throat.
Pain seared through me at that moment. My hand flew to my neck. You can amend memories, but you can’t fake pain, not like this. Torven did it. He cut her. There was no illusion, no trick.
I pushed past the parts I already knew and found what I needed—what happened after.
Darkness. Cold. The Undercurrent answering her call, wrapping around her like a living thing. Biscuit coiling tight against the wound, desperately trying to stem the bleeding. Her hand, weak and trembling, pressing to the tattoo on her wrist.
Heat. A thread of magic pulling taut. The world tearing open. Plush rug. The smell of firewine and ink.
“Fuck—AZARIA!”
Darann’s hands on her face, her throat. Enchanted cloth pressed hard against the wound. A healer stitching torn flesh back together. Biscuit on the map. Thalor. The southern fissures.
The Undercurrent again—violent this time, Darann’s arm locked around her waist. Landing hard outside her house. Kalias charging from the darkness. And then here.
My mind pulled back as gently as I could, air shuddering in my lungs. My hands shook.
“Az…” My voice cracked as I crossed to her. I didn’t care who was watching; I gathered her into my arms, fingers weaving through her hair, hand steady on her back, grounding myself because she was here. Alive.
“Fuck, Azaria, I’m so sorry,” I choked, pressing my face into her hair, barely holding it together.
We saw everything. Torven sent the memory crystal… we saw what happened. The thought reached out, soft, for her alone.
She kept her mind open, letting me in. I’m sorry you had to see this, she answered, her mental voice was small and tired.
Somehow, in the last few weeks, we’d been able to converse this way. Or rather, Azaria had learned to project her thoughts into my head. I didn’t care how or why. I was grateful for any piece of her that survived.
I pulled back enough to look at Kalias. “Elaria?”
“Safe,” Kalias said at once. “I took her back to the palace.”
Azaria’s arms stayed tight around me, but she was barely standing.
My mind bending had taken more from her than I meant—it always did, but now, with so much blood lost, she was trembling against me, weaker than I’d ever seen her.
The healer’s basic magic had stitched her up, kept her alive, but it couldn’t give back what she’d lost. She needed Myrin. She needed help, and soon.
Careful but urgent steps brought Reyna and Kael to our side. I loosened my hold just enough to steady Azaria as she turned toward Reyna. Reyna lifted both hands to frame Azaria’s face, her own already wet with tears.
“He will pay for what he’s done,” she managed, each word shaking with the force of it.
Azaria nodded, voice hoarse but certain. “He will.”
Reyna made a broken sound and pulled her in at once, with Kael folding himself around both of them a second later. The three of them clung together—Reyna trembling with relief, Kael pressing his forehead briefly to Azaria’s temple, tears running openly down his face without a shred of shame.
Lirael and Zeph came next, wrapping Azaria in a quieter, fiercer kind of embrace. For a moment, she just stood there with her eyes squeezed shut, head bowed, leaning into them as if she needed the contact to remind herself they were real. Her breath caught once, then steadied.
When Thorne stepped forward, the room shifted with him.
He said nothing. Hugging was not his way.
Instead, he extended his massive forearms, palms up, in the old earth-mage greeting.
Azaria answered at once, setting her own forearms across his and curling her fingers into his skin.
Thorne lowered his head until their foreheads touched.
I felt the quiet thrum of his earth magic pass between them—gentle, grounding, intimate enough that the rest of us fell still around it.
Something silent moved there, understood without words.
When they finally drew apart, Thorne dipped his head in quiet respect, and Azaria returned the gesture with one of her own.
Then her gaze found Lyra.
The girl had folded in on herself completely, shoulders shaking, every attempt at composure gone. The moment Azaria saw her, something in her face gave way.
“Lyra…” she whispered, crossing to her.
She wrapped her arms around the girl, holding tight, stroking her hair, rocking her gently. “Shh, it’s all right now, sweetheart. I’m all right. I’m here. I’m right here.” Azaria’s touch never stopped, pouring comfort into every stroke.
Elias hovered at the edge, uncertain, then stepped in, gathering both Azaria and Lyra into his arms, enfolding them.
Azaria leaned into him, almost hiding herself and Lyra in his strength.
I’d never seen so much raw emotion in his face—relief, fear, something close to love.
He bent, pressed a kiss to the top of Azaria’s head, holding her as if he might never let go.
Quin stood apart, eyes wide and shell-shocked, hands fisted at his sides. He watched Azaria, every breath ragged, every muscle taut. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He drank in every detail, as if trying to convince himself she was real.
Only when Lyra’s sobs quieted did Azaria gently pull away, stroking her cheek, murmuring soft reassurances.
At last, Azaria’s gaze found Quin. He was breathing too fast, his shoulders trembling like he was holding himself together by force alone.
She crossed to him slowly, without hesitation, and the second her hand came up to cradle his face, whatever control he had left gave way.
He pulled her into him in a rush, his hands moving over her—her arms, her back, her face—as if touch was the only thing keeping him from losing her all over again.
“I thought I lost you,” he choked, voice raw. “Gods, Azaria, I thought?—“
She cupped his jaw, voice gentle, unwavering. “I’m right here, my Love. I’m right here.”