Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The darkness is impenetrable. A void filled with the wind’s howling and sqrueeching. Sounds like a song of wolves and banshees. Who knows what’s out there, in the never-ending snow deserts?

Aleksander is shaking. He tries not to. Tries not to wake his mother who is sleeping beside him. She would get angry. She would tell him to man up and focus on real dangers instead of on imagined ones.

Making the shadows surround him like a shield, he dares to close his eyes, trying to fade the noises out.

A moment later, he opens his eyes and a pour of daylight almost blinds him. The cave is gone. He’s standing in the middle of a crowd, a hood covering most of his face. Confused, he looks around, trying to figure out what he’s doing here. The people around him are whispering to each other and gesturing at something. His gaze follows their pointing fingers and he freezes. 

He looks at a stake. A woman is bound to it, her face hopeless and her eyes empty. Two men set fire to the pyre underneath her. The crowd bellows.

Aleksander’s heart aches. He knows her. She’s Grisha. She’s … They have spent some nights together. They wanted to leave this town together. He has to save her -

“Don’t,” his mother says firmly, suddenly standing beside her. She grips his shoulder. Firmly enough that her nails leave imprints. “Don’t. Or we’re next. Stupid boy. I told you. Feelings are a weakness. They are dangerous. Do you want to do this again and again? For centuries? Finally do as I tell you and stop wasting your time with things our kind can't have.”

He doesn’t answer. He can’t. His lungs are filled with smoke and his eyes are burning with heat. He watches the woman and she looks back at him, her eyes begging him to do something.

He can’t.

And when she somehow turns into Alina, crying tears of light, he still can’t do anything but stare, stare, stare -

“Darkling?”

Reality tears through the fog of the dream like the Cut. 

When Aleksander abruptly opens his eyes, the boy-king is staring at him, his eyes filled with curiosity. “Did you have a nightmare?”

Aleksander feels irritated about being seen like this. It’s bad enough that he is trapped inside this ill-fitted body. Everything feels foreign. “I don’t have nightmares,” he says, straightening up, his back leaning against the wall of this pathetic prison.

“Of course, you don’t. I guess you also don’t get cold?” Lantsov says, raising a brow. “I brought you a blanket anyway because being here gives me second-hand shivers, look I’m already getting goosebumps again. Also, I don’t like to think I’m a bad host. I have a reputation to defend. Here.”

Between his rambling, the boy-king hands the blanket over. It’s surprisingly soft. High quality. A royal blanket. Aleksander ignores it. Lantsov puts it on the ground with a shrug. “Take it if you need it. I’m quite sure century-old Grisha are not immune to the cold. At least it’s not in any book. Since you said we are going to need you, I feel like it would be quite ironic if we enter one day only to find you have become an icicle.”

Saints. The boy is talking too much. Aleksander feels the need to roll his eyes.

Lantsov finally stops talking and turns to leave. The boy-king doesn’t expect a thank you. He’s not that stupid. 

But he’s soft. Soft, naive and hopeful. Boys like that don’t get far in this world. 

Aleksander might have felt a hint of sympathy for the boy if he hadn’t lived through too many centuries and too many deaths to count to truly care for a human life.

But he takes the blanket anyway after Lantsov is gone.

Chapter Text

"Well. This is unsettling," Nikolai mutters.

He's standing in a vast desert. The milky sky above him is as endless as the plains of grey sand stretching out around him. It looks like ash.

Nikolai frowns and wishes he could remember how he got here. Was it the demon's doing yet again?

He can't be sure. This feels different from the usual nightly trips the demon inside him likes to take without Nikolai's consent

Zoya is going to be so angry.

Nikolai swallows. He doesn't even know which direction he's supposed to go. Everything looks the same. He turns around - and freezes.

He's not alone.

"Lantsov," the Darkling says, looking Nikolai up and down. He's as composed and self-confident as ever, apart from a light frown that indicates a hint of surprise.

"Alright," Nikolai says slowly, more to himself than to the Darkling, who clearly can't be real, cause he looks like he looked before he "died", not like the unfortunate monk who is a vessel for the remains of the Darkling's soul right now. "This is definitely a nightmare."

"No," the Darkling says, raising a brow. "It's not."

Nikolai grimaces. "Great. The nightmare is messing with me. I'd like to wake up now." 

"It's not a nightmare, Lantsov. It's a mental bond. We share this place in our minds. Therefore we can talk to each other. We could even touch."

"What?" Nikolai doesn't like to admit it, but he's at loss for words.

"This happened before," the Darkling says thoughtfully. "With Alina."

"What?!" Nikolai croaks.

"Interesting," the Darkling says calmly.

"Interesting?!" Nikolai echoes, incredulous. "This is not the word that comes to my mind. How about deeply disturbing? How is this even possible?!"

"I think it's the demon inside of you. It's a part of me," the Darkling says, tilting his head as if he's listening to something Nikolai can't hear. "I can feel it. It's calling for me. For its maker." And he smirks, the self-satisfied bastard.

Wonderful ...

"Great. Just great. You are already thinking about how you can use this to your benefit, don't you?" Nikolai says dryly.

The Darkling smiles. "Maybe." 

Nikolai sighs. He can't believe how screwed he is right now. Not only does he inhabit a demon who has a taste for human flesh and likes to fly around at night in all its ugly monster-glory, but he also now apparently shares a mental bond with the Darkling of all people and beings. He does not like this.

Zoya is going to summon a tornado if she hears about this.

"And how exactly do I get out of this very unsettling not-exactly-a-nightmare scenario?" Nikolai says dryly. "I'm sure you know this. Since you are so old and wise."

Instead of answering, the Darkling idly raises his hand and a shadow wraps around Nikolai's neck, who can't hold back a surprised yelp. "Let's try it like this," the Darkling says. And the shadow squeezes.

Nikolai opens his mouth to protest, but he's already sitting on the floor of his room, gasping and reaching for the shadow that is trying to kill him - only it isn't there anymore. 

He's back in the real world.

Saints.

Nikolai winces when the door slams and Zoya storms in - literally - staring at him wide-eyed. "What's going on? You screamed! Is it the demon?"

If only ...

Nikolai swallows heavily. "You are going to hate this ..."

Chapter Text

Nikolai has had a lot of nightmares lately. They are filled with dust and death. Explosions and screams. He wanders through ruins, searching for people he loves, his heart about to burst with pain, regret and bitter guilt.

Finding himself in the ashen desert he shares with the Darkling is a nightmare of its own.

He hasn’t found a way to get rid of the connection. No one has.

And now … Now the Darkling isn’t even contained anymore. He’s out there, already scheming without a doubt. Nikolai curses himself for being naive. Zoya warned him. Everyone warned him. And still, he gave in. Still, he let the Darkling see Alina. Let him get back his powers. Let him escape.

One more enemy haunting his mind. And Nikolai can’t escape. Because they share some kind of mental space. He feels stupid. He feels helpless. He feels … quite stressed. And his demon is pounding on the walls of its cage, probably craving to get back to its creator.

Nikolai feels the childish need to kick the dust his boots are sinking into. The Darkling watches him wordlessly.

"You're having a good time, huh? Yeah. You escaped, got your powers back ... And you get to see my despair as bombs fall on my city, my people ..." Nikolai mutters, turning his back to the Darkling. “Come on. If you want to mock me, do it already.”

“I don’t feel the need to mock realization,” the Darkling tells him. 

Nikolai scoffs. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re at war, Lantsov. I’ve been at war countless times. It’s always the same. Humans are always and will always be the same.”

“Well, that’s just depressing,” Nikolai says, looking up at the grey sky. “Humans are not inherently bad, you know. Most of them want to be good, I believe. A lot of them make bad choices or have their hope taken away. But everyone can change.” 

The Darkling doesn’t say anything to that. But when Nikolai looks at him, the Shadow Summoner is wearing a mildly disgusted expression that almost makes Nikolai chuckle. “Too optimistic for you, huh?”

“Hope is for the foolish,” the Darkling says coldly. 

Nikolai shakes his head. “I don’t think I would be able to live without it.”

“You are young,” the Grisha points out. “You’ll learn.”

“Is that what you are waiting for? Me, giving up and drowning in my despair? Or are you waiting to see me snap and release hell on my enemies? Like you did?” Nikolai asks, curling his hands into fists. “That isn’t going to happen.”

The Darkling hums. “They killed your friends. They destroy your cities. They are targeting innocent people. And they celebrate every killed Ravkan. My own heart aches for this land. It always has. It always will. How many more will suffer before they are brought to their knees? War is ruthless. So you have to be ruthless too.”

“That’s not who I am,” Nikolai says, swallowing down bile.

"Are you sure? There's something inside of you that craves violence. Blood. Vengeance."

"A part of you," Nikolai says knowingly. “A monster.”

The Darkling smiles joylessly. “It might very well be what you need to win this war, Lantsov.”

Saints. Nikolai doesn’t even want to think about that option. “What’s your plan?” He asks. “Are you just going to watch?”

The Darkling shrugs. “I haven’t decided yet. And I don’t think I would tell you.”

“Of course. This is merely entertainment to you, isn’t it? You know what? If your heart really ached for Ravka, you would actually do something to save this country and its people,” Nikolai bites. “There you stand, the oldest and most powerful being in this saintforsaken country without a doubt. And you choose to do nothing.”

The Darkling’s eyes narrow. Nikolai feels a cold kind of satisfaction. Oh, I got you good …

“Why should I move a single finger for the people who hunted my kind, put them into cages and burned them? I tried to change things often enough in various ways. Nothing ever changes. Either they hunt Grisha or they try to exploit us. Why should I try to save this cursed human race?”

“Hope,” Nikolai says quietly. “We could actually change the world, instead of moving in a neverending circle of hate and war.”

The Darkling looks almost pitying now. “You are soft, Lantsov. I feel almost sorry for you. You still have to feel a year’s worth of pain. Be grateful, for you’ll never have to feel the pain of centuries. This world won’t be changed by a single king’s wishful thinking.” 

And the “dream” starts to fade. 

I’ll prove you wrong, Nikolai’s spiteful part that never wants to give up rages. I’ll prove you wrong. I can finish this without losing myself.

Dream on, boy-king, a voice whispers in the distance. 

And dream Nikolai does. He steps right into another nightmare.

Chapter Text

Nikolai has been shot. He doesn’t know how or when it happened. Adrenaline kept him moving until the blood loss made him dizzy. Now, he’s cowering behind some rock and every breath he takes tastes like iron and ash.

Behind him roars the battle. It’s a total mess. The parem-induced Grisha are too strong. Nikolai has no idea where Zoya is. Or anyone else. Desperation tugs at his chest. The demon inside him stirs restlessly, seemingly reacting to the bloodshed around it. 

A shadow steps into Nikolai’s blurry field of vision. He blinks. Is it a Fjerdan, ready to finish off Ravka’s poor excuse for a king? Nikolai tries to get up. He doesn’t want to die like this. Cowering and panting … But it’s not a Fjerdan. It’s the Darkling. In person, this time.

He stares down at Nikolai with his strange new face, that’s almost his but also not.

"Are you here to watch me fail and die?" Nikolai croaks and smiles weakly. "Great timing."

But the Darkling already isn’t looking at him anymore. His eyes are fixed on the Grisha on the Fjerdan side, and what Nikolai sees in those depths is total murder. 

"How dare they,” the Darkling hisses. “How dare they infect my kind with this poison and amplify their powers, only to exploit them and leave them to addiction’s claws that slowly tear them apart from the inside? I will end this. I will end them.”

Nikolai shudders. Even the ever-snarling demon inside him goes still. 

The world seems to turn a whole shade darker. The Darkling takes a deep breath and raises his hands. “I’m not as strong as I used to be,” he murmurs. “But this will suffice.”

Shadows slither over the ground and Nikolai stares as they rip through the Fjerdans, avoiding the glassy-eyed Grisha who don’t seem to comprehend what’s going on. Soldiers’ screams are choked off as tendrils made of darkness fill their throats. Those who see what’s going on at the front turn around in terror, moving backwards.

The Darkling lowers his hands, the muscles in his face tense. He looks even paler than before.

"That was quite spectacular. And scary. Are you done?” Nikolai says hoarsely, his throat sore from all the smoke he inhaled today.

The Darkling glances at him. “This will slow them down. But there’s still enough for you to handle. War grants no time to rest. So get up and go to work, Lantsov.”

“Bossy,” Nikolai mutters, pulling himself up with a grimace. He looks at his side, where his wound still pulses and oozes blood. 

The Darkling moves his hand once more and something like silk covers Nikolai’s injury. It feels … surprisingly warm. And it stops the blood flow. 

“Thank you,” Nikolai says, astonished, carefully touching the magical bandaid. 

The Darkling eyes him with a stony expression. “I’ve been watching you, Lantsov. You are different from the rest of your family. I believe now, that your goals for Ravka are genuine. That’s the reason why I cared enough to show up. But you are going to fail if you won’t put your entire heart into this. To win this war, you have to make sacrifices. Your people seem to trust you. They followed you this far. If you’re lucky, they trust you enough to look behind what’s inside of you.”

“And if not,” Nikolai says quietly, fear tugging at his heart. “If not, they will either kill me or exile me. What will I be able to do for Ravka, if I’m not the King but Nikolai, the feared and banned demon-bastard?”

“Well, I have some experience with that kind of perspective,” the Darkling says mildly. “You might seek me out then, demon-bastard.” 

And with that, he vanishes. Disappearing as suddenly as he showed up. 

Nikolai sighs. He straightens up and looks at the battlefield, where his people are trying to help addicted Grisha and wounded soldiers alike. There is still a lot of work to do. The Fjerdans won’t give up just like that. They are determined and driven by their beliefs. What happened with the shadows might only stir them on more.

The demon rattles the bar of its cage.

Nikolai swallows heavily. Is he really ready to be the monster this war apparently needs?