Unreal, Unearthed | Azriel x reader

Chapter II.

CHAPTER II.

Unsteady feet carry you over the threshold of the cabin. The atmosphere is oppressive and the smell of smoke and rain linger there, clinging to the half-eroded stone and decaying wood.

This place had been abandoned long ago.

Now it lies dormant and decaying amidst the climbing ivy and beds of blue bells.

The house stands ominously in memoriam to the tragedy that had befallen your family. And concealed in the heart of the house stands a mausoleum of grief.

The hearth is framed in half-burned candles and garlands of dead flowers litter the floor, their petals convulse and contort like columns of pearlescent seafoam as the breeze sweeps through the house.

As the morning light filters through the scraps of fabric draped over the rotting window frame it casts the room in a comforting golden light and it takes you back to a time when this house was a home. When Rhysand would stumble through the door at midnight, blushing the colour of the dawn sky. When Cassian would barge in, eat his fill then fall asleep in the living room.

And Azriel.

The boy you had loved blindly despite his darkness, maybe even because of it.

The boy who would sit by the fire, staring into the open flame and sing a lullaby so mournful and tender, in a language long dead, that could bring a God to his knees.

The boy who held you as you lay dying, and whispered words close to devotion, spoken in some ancient tongue. Ancient as the earth itself.

It is then that your eyes fall from the speckled sunlight as it spills into the room and to the table.

Standing there in a perfect vase. Three perfect jasmine. Someone still comes here. Lays their offerings at your altar in reverence. It touches you with a strange sorrow, arching on grief.

Cassian seems to catch the sadness that hits you like a wave when he clears his throat and comes to stand at your side.

"It's been a while since we've been up here," he says looking somewhat guilty at the admission.

You shake your head a little then in understanding, waving him off as he brings you into his side in a comforting embrace.

"Azriel has been through." you say, inclining your hand to touch the delicate white petals in the jar but Cassian either doesn't seem to notice or choose to ignore it.

Taking a step back into the hallway, mindful of the way the floorboards seem to creak and wail under your weight, you notice that tucked away in the corner is a chest. It's shrouded by a thick layer of dust but underneath it is a dark walnut with a golden clasp. Opening it tentatively. What is inside almost cleaves you in two.

Inside lies, untouched, your Illyrian leathers still caked in your blood.

Taking your old training leathers you step into them for the first time in almost half a millennia and take care to strap the accompanying dagger to your thigh.

You carefully remove your dagger from its sheath and with trembling hands, you hold it up to the light. It's polished silver in the light, and in the blade you see your reflection looking back at you. The handle is tumbled onyx with silver detailing and an amethyst set in the hilt.

It feels like coming home.

Like being reborn.

Cassian's clasps a big hand wraps around your shoulder, which brings you back to earth.