Chapter Text
Sleep was never peaceful for the Sun Summoner. The Sunwrought had never known rest — not while the Scorching Sea existed. Her dreams always start the same, end the same.
It begins with silence — the kind that warps around the house as sunlight peeks through the windows, illuminating floating specks of dust before settling down. The silence that calms the mind, as she looks at the sleeping baby in her arms — broken only by the creak of the wooden floor as arms wrap around her from behind. A head of jet-black hair peeks into the corner of her eye as warm lips press a kiss to her temple, then trail down her shoulder, before pressing a final kiss to the sleeping babe’s forehead.
The action stirs the small one from slumber. Then, suddenly — screams. The light peeking through the window is no longer sunlight, but the blazing fire of burning huts and homes. Her baby cries, shrill and panicked, startling her. The Sunwrought clutches her closer to her chest, trying to soothe the child, praying they won’t be found by their attackers.
But instead of the warmth of a body, she feels another kind of heat — seeping through her clothes, dripping down her hands. When she looks down, she doesn’t see her sweet piece of the sun shining any longer. The little one is drenched in blood, no longer crying, an arrow lodged in her tiny back — piercing straight through her blessed heart.
When the Sunwrought finally looks up, shock and fear in her eyes, she meets a man. Tall. Dressed in black. The same black-haired man who kissed her shoulder now holds a bloody arrow in his hands.
“What have you done?” she screams. “What have you—?”
“They were going to take her,” he whispers. In this dream, his obsidian eyes look straight into hers. “They planned to use her against us. Make her a tool. I couldn’t— I wouldn’t live knowing she’d suffer because of me. Because of us.”
The Sunwrought shakes her head, stepping back, blood-soaked hands trembling as she tries to steady herself.
The scene shifts.
They’re running now — into the forest’s embrace, away from the burning village, into darkness. The man pulls her along, urging her to run faster. Her lungs burn from exhaustion and smoke. Then — he stumbles. An arrow pierces his side. He falls to his knees, shouting for her to go, to keep running. He tries to fight back while Ravkan forces close in.
And she does run. Every step scorches the ground behind her, until her knees give way. The warmth inside her grows too hot, burning through her skin. With every scream, every sob, the heat erupts — until all she sees is light. Blinding, scorching light.
And then she wakes up.
The Sunwrought, Ravka’s Second General and head of the Little Palace, wakes every day drenched in sweat. She sighs as she peels herself from sweat-soaked sheets and walks toward the connected bathroom. She brushes white strands from her face and splashes herself with cold water.
She stares into the mirror — tired eyes looking back — and behind her, a pair of obsidian eyes watching silently.
She no longer panics. No longer startles. She accepts his presence as if he were nothing at all. Because he isn’t real. Just a figment of her imagination.
“Rest,” says the man with obsidian eyes. “You’re going to run yourself thin with how little you sleep. You need to take better care of yourself.”
The illusion’s reprimand earns a scoff. Was she really so desperate for sleep that she’d created a version of herself to scold her? She shakes her head, ignoring him.
Every morning is a series of mechanical movements. Sleep. Dream of the past. Wake up more tired than before. Hallucinate. Sometimes he speaks. Sometimes he’s quiet. Sometimes she talks back. Sometimes she screams and begs to be left alone.
All of it, before breakfast.
“Alina—” the illusion begins, but a knock cuts him off.
“Moi soverenyi, it’s Genya. She has news from Ketterdam—”
The door opens, and a woman wearing a red kefta with golden stitching enters, walking straight to where the Sunwrought is.
“You know,” Alina says, watching Genya’s reflection in the mirror as she enters, a few letters and a plate in her hands, “one day, you’ll knock before entering, and I’ll die of the shock.”
“And deprive Ravka of its beloved Sunwrought?” Genya’s voice is all silk and mischief as she drops a pastry onto Alina’s desk like a peace offering. “Tragic. Truly.”
“Oh no, not the savior of the Second Army. Who would glare the moon into submission if I die?”
“Zoya.”
“Fair.” The Sunwrought chuckles as she walks out of the bathroom.
Genya grabs the robe by the door, helping the white-haired woman cover herself before they discuss the important matters of the day. She leads Alina toward her desk before taking a brush — something the redhead does out of habit.
“Nightmare?” Genya whispers, as if it’s a secret nobody can ever know. The Sunwrought smiles, hands seeking out the other’s as a silent way to reassure Genya that she’s fine.
“I can always knock you out. Slow your heartbeat just enough to put you in a coma for eight hours. Maybe then you’ll finally rest,” she teases, a smirk on her face.
Alina laughs. “Are you sure you’re trying to help me? Because that sounds like an attempt to usurp my position.”
“What? And be the one with no sleep? No, thank you, moi soverenyi.”
Genya’s smirk fades just slightly as she pulls out a folded parchment from her sleeve. “I heard something. From one of Nina’s birds in Ketterdam.”
That gets Alina’s attention.
“If it’s about another idiot selling ‘Shadow Summoner bone dust’ on the black market again, I swear—”
“No,” Genya says, softer now. “They’re saying he’s alive.”
Alina stills, all the humor gone. But it’s Genya’s hand, resting briefly on hers — just one squeeze — that steadies her breath. She doesn’t have to explain why it rattles her. Genya already knows.
When Alina, the Sunwrought, finally acknowledges the presence of her hallucination, she is taken aback. For the first time in centuries, she sees something in the other’s eyes that she hasn’t seen since the attack: fear.
Is it a reflection of what she truly feels?
Is she afraid?
A squeeze on her shoulder startles her. Alina looked at Genya, then back to where the hallucination stood.
Gone.
Alina sighs as she stands up, grabbing the letter to read it for herself, analysing the information Nina gave them. “Call Zoya,” she ordered, “and tell her to ready a small skiff, something nondescript. We’re going to Os Korvo.”
On the other side of The Searing, six people huddled inside the Captain’s Cabin of The Hummingbird, while their captain, Nikolai, paced back and forth in visible agitation.
“I mean—a shadow summoner! Since when were you a shadow summoner? For Saints’ sake, was I even supposed to find out? And you can use it to cut someone, OH MY SAINTS—!” he rambled, occasionally gesturing wildly at his first mate—his former mentor—who was somehow the only one lounging in a chair, feet propped up on the desk, calmly reading a book. The rest of the crew looked either tense, alarmed, or deeply uncomfortable.
“Can you take this seriously, Aleksander?!” Nikolai snapped.
Aleksander sighed, slowly lowering his legs and closing his book with deliberate care. “I remember when you used to call me Captain,” he mused, voice low and fond. “Trailing after me on deck, all big eyes and misplaced admiration. You were rather endearing back then, Sabochka. Whatever happened?”
“You happened!” Nikolai hissed. “This is my ship now, and you agreed to serve as first mate—stop trying to derail the conversation! You just killed eight men using shadows!”
From the couch, Fedyor interjected helpfully, “It’s called The Cut, actually. Just as Corporealki can tear apart flesh with precision, the most advanced Etherealki can solidify their elements to slice through anything.”
“I know what the bloody Cut is,” Nikolai muttered, sounding more like a sulking child than a war captain. “What I don’t know is why you can do it, Aleksander—when the only Grisha alive known to use the Cut is the Brightling.”
“Second General,” Aleksander corrected smoothly. “Or Sunwrought, if you prefer the poetic touch. Titles carry weight, after all.”
“She’s a manipulative, self-righteous poser pretending to be a saint,” Nikolai snapped. “This isn’t about her—stop trying to shift the topic!”
“I’m merely suggesting precision,” Aleksander replied mildly. “You were always fond of accuracy. But I understand—it must be disorienting, discovering what’s been right before your eyes all along.”
Fedyor chimed in again, “Have you truly not noticed? He always lingers in shadow. It’s always darker where he stands.”
The room fell into sudden silence as all eyes drifted toward Aleksander, who sat unbothered, the shadows around him faintly thicker, more defined.
Ivan, seated beside him, elbowed Aleksander with a grunt. “Stop tormenting the little prince.”
Near the door, the twins—Tolya and Tamar—had been watching quietly until now. Tolya raised a hand, speaking with cautious curiosity. “Did you two always know he was the shadow summoner? Because the rest of us finding out now feels… monumental. And yet neither of you look remotely surprised.”
Ivan and Fedyor exchanged a look. Aleksander gave a subtle, dismissive wave of his hand.
“We’ve served under him far longer than under you,” Ivan said with quiet pride. “Switched ships across three seas. Faced monsters people think are bedtime stories.”
Fedyor added, “It was inevitable we’d find out. We learned during battle—our ship shattered by an iceberg, stranded on Fjerda’s frozen coast. Just the three of us survived. Ivan and I kept us warm while Aleksander held off the Fjerdans alone. We had to steal a ship just to escape.”
“I’ve always hated the cold,” Fedyor murmured, shuddering at the memory.
Aleksander offered a faint smile, eyes flicking toward Nikolai with subtle amusement. “Sometimes survival reveals more than trust ever could.”
And he was right. It was the same for last night when Shu Hunters ported at Ketterdam and tried to tow five Grisha from the local brothels. It was almost six when one of them escaped and tried to hide in their ship which resulted in an invasion of some sort.
They were outnumbered by 12 and if it wasn’t for Aleksander, they would have been dead. They paid the escapee handsomely to keep her mouth shut of the existence of the shadow summoner while also freeing the captive grisha, but whispers are starting to spread.
Nikolai is on edge, not just because of the shadow summoner but also because of the fact that if this rumor reached the Brightling’s ears then she’ll send her puppets to investigate, which may lead to them finding out about him.
Silence enveloped the room, eyes alternating between the captain and his first mate.
Nikolai was about to propose they set sail when Alkesander opened his mouth, “She’s coming here.”
“She?” Asked Tamar.
“The Sunwrought. She’s coming here to Ketterdam. Personally.”