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The chamber was freezing, smelling of old parchment and the metallic tang of blood. In the center of the gloom The Darkling, Aleksander ,was a collapsed shadow on the floor.
Alina had seen him twice before in these vision-states, ghosts of light and dark reaching for one another. But the third time, the sight of his torn Kefta and the jagged, weeping gashes across his torso broke something inside her. The desperation to reach him, to heal the wound, pulled at the very fabric of the world. With a sound like a catching breath, she simply was there. No longer a projection, but warm flesh and bone.
"Aleksander!" she cried, her knees hitting the stone floor.
He flinched, his eyes unfocused and glassy. "Alina? Another phantom..."
"I'm here. I'm real," she hissed, grabbing his shoulders. He was heavy, his skin clammy. With a strength born of pure adrenaline, she guided him toward the remains of his bed.
She didn't wait for permission; she began peeling away the ruined silk of his shirt, her breath hitching at the sight of the Volcra’s handiwork. The claws had raked deep across his torso.
"I don't... need this," he wheezed, his pride a brittle shield. He tried to shove her hands away and stand, intent on reaching the dresser for his kit. "I am the Black Heretic. I do not... fall to scavengers."
He made it two inches before his knees buckled. Alina caught him, her small frame straining under his weight as she lowered him back to the pillows.
"You are a stubborn fool," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I felt you dying, Aleksander. I felt the pain, and then I was just... here."
She turned, grabbing the first aid tin. As she sat back down and emptied its contents onto the bed, she soaked a cloth in stinging alcohol. Suddenly, his hand shot out, fingers clamping around her wrist. His grip was weak, but his eyes those ancient, weary eyes locked onto hers with terrifying intensity.
"Why?" he rasped. "Why come back to a monster?"
Alina lowered her hand, her gaze softening with a heavy, mournful clarity. "I never thought you were a monster, Aleksander. My opinions were not my own from the start, they were poisoned by others who never really saw the man beneath the shadow. I was told what to see, but I’m looking now. I’m finally looking."
He searched her face, a grimace of pain tightening his features. "Then I want you to see the truth I have lived, breathed, and seen," he whispered, his voice jagged. "See the 'righteous' King you were meant to serve."
He sat upright, wincing at the effort, his breath hitching as the movement pulled at the raw gashes. He reached out, his hand trembling as he touched her temple. The connection between them flared, unbidden and raw. He didn't speak the answer; he showed her.
The memories crashed into Alina’s mind like tidal waves, far more visceral and gore-slicked than words could describe. First, she saw Genya, vibrant, beautiful Genya reduced to a shaking ghost in the King’s chambers. She felt Genya’s bile-soaked terror as the King’s bloated, greedy hands bruised her skin, the sound of tearing silk echoing like a scream. She saw the blood from where Genya had bitten her own lip to keep from crying out, a betrayal of every duty a ruler owed his people. Alina’s stomach turned; the respect she held for the throne vanished, replaced by a cold, searing disgust.
Then, the vision shifted. She saw Mal and Zoya. It wasn't just a kiss; she felt the heat of their skin, the scent of the grass, and the casual, sickening ease with which Mal discarded Alina’s memory for a moment of flesh. It felt like a serrated knife dragging through her chest. She saw the truth. The world she fought for was rotting, and the boy she loved was a ghost of a life she no longer lived, a ghost of a woman she no longer was.
Mal wanted to protect a girl who didn't exist anymore; Aleksander wanted the woman who could command the sun. She didn’t need protection; she needed acknowledgment of what she was capable of.
She looked back at Aleksander. He didn't want a puppet, he wanted an equal. He saw her potential when everyone else saw a tool.
As the visions faded, Aleksander slumped back, the effort of the mental link draining his last reserves. Alina moved dutifully. She pressed the alcohol-soaked cloth to the wound. He let out a sharp, hissing breath, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the bedsheets, while she cleaned each gash with the utmost care.
"Almost done," she murmured, her heart aching for him. "You're doing so well."
He let out a weak, dry chuckle. "High praise... from a girl who fainted... the first time she saw me perform ‘the cut’."
"The middle gash needs stitches," she warned. With light precision, she began to sew. She was so gentle, her touch so light, that he barely felt the needle's bite. She worked until the wound was closed, her movements full of a newfound strength.
Finally, she set the needle aside. He was pale, his breathing shallow and his skin clammy. Alina reached out, running her fingers through his dark, tangled hair, her thumb tracing the heavy shadows beneath his eyes.
"Have you even been sleeping?" she asked softly.
“Like a baby, you know,” he quipped, though his voice lacked its usual bite.
"Your dark circles tell me otherwise, Aleksander."
His eyes widened just a bit, but she noticed.The fire in them burning deep.
"Say it again..."
She leaned closer, cupping his face in her palm. "Aleksander... you need rest." She made a move to get up and go sit in the chair, but he grabbed her wrist.
“Wait—” His grip softened instantly, moving to hold her hand gently. “Please don’t go. If—if this is a dream, please indulge me a few moments more with your warmth and light.”
She moved to sit next to him on the bed, her heart swelling. “Oh Aleksander, it’s not a dream, my stubborn shadow summoner. But I will stay until you fall asleep and wake again, I promise.” Her hand floated through his hair, soothing the tension from his brow.
The tension left his body. Under the steady rhythm of her hand, the Black Heretic finally succumbed to sleep.
Alina was exhausted. The materialization had drained her light until she felt hollow. Seeking warmth, she curled into his side. Instinctively, even in sleep, his arm draped over her, pulling her flush against his side as if terrified she might vanish back into the light.
Aleksander woke with a gasp, his heart hammering. The nightmare was always the same, centuries of loss, ending with an arrow through the chest of his first love, but now it was the Sun Summoner’s chest. He felt the phantom blood on his hands. He felt her last breath leave her lips, the light in her eyes vanishing along with the last pieces of his soul. She tormented him even in his sleep.
He winced as he moved, the pain in his torso grounding him. Then, he felt the weight of something next to him. Alina was there, fast asleep, her black hair spilled across his furs. It hadn't been a fever dream. Moving a stray hair from her forehead, his fingers lingered on her skin.
She stirred, blinking up at him with those wide, dark eyes. "Aleksander... are you alright?"
He was breathless, the sight of her actually being there more overwhelming than any wound. "I—I am... you’re actually h-here."
"I am," she said firmly, sitting up slightly. "I finally realized what you’ve been trying to tell me. The King didn't want a Heretic; he wanted a little weapon he could control, and me a little saint. He couldn’t control you anymore, and he was ready to discard you the moment you didn't fit his mold anymore. He's a parasite, Aleksander. And he won’t stop till you are dead."
They lay there for a long time, the silence of the room heavy and intimate.
Alina spoke in low tones, telling him of the Little Palace's schemes, the creepy Apparat’s whispers, and the plans to ruin him. "We will counter them, I know all their plans," she promised, her voice hardening with a cold, beautiful edge.
He tried to sit up, his lower back killing him. Frustrated by his weakness, he lurched forward, but a sharp pop echoed in the brief silence. He groaned, feeling the heat of fresh blood.
"You tore the stitches!" Alina scolded. She looked at the wound, then at her own hands. A strange thought struck her, The Little Science, the fundamental nature of the world. "We were born of stars, Aleksander. Humans... and stars are born of light. I summon the light to do my bidding. Why shouldn't it mend what is broken?"
She placed her hands over the torn flesh. She didn't call the sun; she called the essence of the light. A blinding, pure radiance erupted from her palms. Aleksander grunted in pain as the light seared into his skin, knitting the muscle back together.
But the price was immediate.
The way balance demanded from the world. As the wound knitted together, though not entirely, leaving a red and half-healed wound.
Alina’s hair began to drain of color, turning a shocking, snowy white. A thin trail of blood leaked from her nose.
"Alina, stop!" he roared, catching her as she swayed.
"I'm okay," she whispered, leaning into him as he frantically checked her pulse and the blood on her face. "I'm just... a bit drained. But you're almost whole again. It worked!"
He beheld her, his Sun Summoner, her hair like winter frost, having given her own vitality to mend his. He pulled her back down into the bed, his movements deliberate but careful.
He tucked her head under his chin, kissing the crown of her now-white hair, his voice thick with a mix of horror and profound awe.
"You are remarkable," he whispered into the dark.
"My Queen. My equal”.