The Squad

Aelin Dayilhin
Full Name
Aelin Dayilhin
Fair, Fate, the.
Equine / Fae (Pegasus)
Almost idyllic.

She thrived among the trees and slept beneath the stars, and her heart was so open, so kind, that she never met a stranger. Aelin lived a carefree life beneath the subdued weight of insecurity, trapped in the gaping hole ripped in her by the loss of her family. But oh, how she thought it was contentment—to be alone within the woods and the thicket, to want for nothing, to be ensnared in the web of forced smiles.

That was before fate reached out, grasped the pegasus by her cerulean wings, and dusted the gold thread of destiny in blue stardust.

That was before she was made a queen, a lover, a friend. And above all, the mother of a child that she would inevitably lose—that was before she knew what happiness truly was, and what it was to lose it all over again, and again, and again.

"And it all shone for her, as bright as it could, in the hopes it might catch her eye."

Liathe x Fletcher (Adopted by Avallac'h)
Randhir, Leovys, Jahra (Adopted)
Aehra, ✝ Caelan
Aelin Fletcher Avallac'h (Adopted) Unknown
Hälla (Adopted) White Lie
Liathe Ranwar Unknown
Skadi Unknown
Design by Owlunai Appearance
Bathed in moonlight, Aelin is the daughter of the stars. Her withers are forged of cracked opals: gemstone rivulets of blue and purple that cascade down her shoulders in fine, tapering lines. From these lines grow two wings, impressive and cerulean, fading at her choosing and pulsing a faint blue light. They are translucent in appearance but carry a willowy strength, like the indomitable limbs of some archaic tree. The appearance of Aelin's wings are directly affected by the amount, and type, of light hitting them. They are most prominently visible under moon and starlight, and appear as a deeply vibrant blue. When the daytime skies are overcast or she stands in shade, her wings appear somewhat translucent. In direct sunlight, however, Aelin's wings have a paper-thin appearance, and may even seem invisible depending on the time of day (at noon, for example, her wings might seem to be completely gone.) No matter the current opacity of her wings, they are always tangible and Aelin is always capable of flight.

From her crest spills a silver mane, long rivulets that curl and wave with the breeze. Each strand is clearly untamed, evidence of her gypsy heart and her wild spirit. In the right light, they seem to carry an iridescent lavender color. Her tail reaches the earth as she walks, carrying along with it souvenirs of the world around her in the form of branches, twigs, and flowers. She has no complaints about this, a woman all too happy to share in the bounties of the forest.

Built in the robust nature of any stock type horse, she boasts fairly long legs that taper into rose-grey stockings, as well as dark points around her hip, muzzle, and back. Her barrel and neck are thickly muscled, though her head is refined and slender. Her eyes, (one gold, and one lavender,) are framed in thick white lashes, as though snow mottles her visage.

Sturdy, perfectly rounded hooves sustain her weight, shaped by endless travel and tireless exercise. Her left front hoof is painted in the same opalescent decor as her withers, a strange continuation of the abnormality that glitters dazzlingly in the moonlight. For all intents and purposes, she is born of midnight, of milky constellations and pools of white light.

There is a perpetuating softness to her expression, a look that indicates anyone is welcome in her proximity. She is void of judgment or ill-contempt, a proprietor of all things good, and an eager hand to coax in omens of wealth and prosperity. A deep kindness resonates from her soul, painted over her features; a smile constantly tugs at her lips, a love for laughter and happiness.

The silver woman is anything but flawless, but from a distance, one might be stricken to lay eyes upon her ethereal blue wings pulsing in and out of existence, or the rolling splendors of her white mane.

Once, there was a silver mare who dwelled upon the fringes of society. A young woman of the wilderness, hardened by the road and walking upon calloused soles. She thrived among the trees and slept beneath the stars, but her heart was so open, so kind, that she never met a stranger. Aelin lived a carefree life beneath the subdued weight of insecurity, trapped in the gaping hole ripped in her by the loss of her family. But oh, how she thought it was contentment—to be alone within the woods and the thicket, to want for nothing, to be ensnared in the web of forced smiles.

That was before fate reached out, grasped the pegasus by her cerulean wings, and dusted the gold thread of destiny in blue stardust.

That was before she was made a queen, a lover, a friend. And above all, the mother of a child that she would inevitably lose—that was before she knew what happiness truly was, and what it was to lose it all over again.

She met the influence of fate with stubbornness and uncertainty, petrified by the mantle placed upon her shoulders, yet bolstered by the supportive hands of those that would become her friends. Her love for her companions is bottomless, and having their faith in her is enough to warm the cold that sometimes wraps around her heart, saturating her in fear.

And so, it was with friends that she grew into queenhood, her confidence still timorous, but enough. Through routine, and the goal of protecting the places she calls home, she settles into even the most challenging of situations.

After spending her adolescence learning of herbs and alchemy, her desire to become a healer has never been lost on her. Indeed, she may not have ever resided within the apothecary’s quarters as she’d once wanted, but her daily efforts over the years have been spent catering to the wellbeing (both physical and mental) of others. Her compassion is limitless, and few to none are excluded from her care. Even, sometimes, to a point of annoyance.

Over the seasons with Eventide, Aelin became a creature kinder than she had perhaps ever been before. Duty suited her well, and she acclimated within a few week's time. The reservoirs of her incensed passion became bottomless, as did her love for her people. Indeed, it was not long before she would die for her home and for her herd. Moments spent with them were prized, and she held the family she’d never had close to her heart. Loyalty is a trait that has bled over from this, and to the people she calls kin, she would give her all to them.

But her place as Warden never detracted from her sense of humor, and her capacity to be witty and coy seemed to only grow. Indeed, without the weight of aimlessness upon her shoulders, Aelin became vivacious, and she truly learned what it meant to be a carefree dreamer. Slowly, Aelin learned to open up to counsel members, to friends, and to share in what her hopes were.

She has always prized novels, theater, music—but she did so even more within the comfort of a “home.” In her free time, Aelin educated herself on the various cultures and the ancient tribes of her homeworld. Moreover, she studiously went over the languages she’d encountered and did her utmost to learn all that she could. Intelligence became a matter of importance to her, and she was resolved to never be stumped into silence again. Rather, Aelin makes a point of being clever and intelligent.

Furthermore, Aelin has always been transfixed on the grey areas of life. She has never believed in black and white, good or bad. Since childhood, Aelin has possessed a strong moral compass—but stronger still, she has possessed a stringent desire to understand before she judges. Believing saint and sinner is interchangeable, Aelin is understanding to a fault, and there are few lines drawn to be crossed.

That being said, Aelin’s forgiveness has never existed in abundance. Her trust, once lost, is lost forever.

Through all her desire and attempts to be perfect over the years, Aelin severely lacks in how personable she can be.

Where once she was hollow when it came to romance, she now possesses a deeper understanding of the belonging of her heart. There's a certain fulfillment to her relationships that she once otherwise lacked, and while she once perceived the giving of love to be obligated by necessary mutuality, she now understands that it isn't a currency to be bartered.

Experience has given her a grain of distrust, and she is guarded when it comes to her walls. She understands now that friendship is a treasure to be earned and fought for, and that loyalty must go beyond the realms of duty. Moreover, she knows with greater proclivity than before that the desires of others are not always as innocuous as they seem and that she cannot rely on her trust in the goodness of the world as she once did.

But Aelin’s fatal flaw is, inevitably, her selflessness. Her unwillingness to open up brings about an implosive nature, one that festers overtime before bubbling over. That isn’t to say that she is closed off to everyone, but admissions of her feelings are often met with guilt and a reluctance to burden others. Instead, Aelin copes through distraction; whether that’s flying until her lungs might burst or babbling about the weather to an unfortunate listener, her mechanisms of survival are arbitrary and bizarre. Furthermore, she falls deeply into pits of her own emotions. Incensed with passion, she feels everything strongly and is easily crippled by loss or hurt.

Because of her self-imposed martyrship, Aelin is all too willing to take the fall. She shoulders blame heavily, burying herself in it, and would take bullets for strangers. Her mistakes overwhelm her, and only through force does she manage to trust in herself.

After miscarrying her son and fleeing Eventide, these feelings were only amplified.

Ultimately, Aelin is a creature comprised of genuine kindness, laughter, and femininity. She is artistic and free, as wild as the wind, and yet fettered to the ground by her self-sacrificing nature. She longs for love and for happiness, but the closely guarded gates of her heart deny her both.

She is pious, but she is not pure. She is amicable, but she is not always honest.

I. The Stolen Scion

In a kingdom of ash and toil, there lived a couple. A greying warrior with scars both physical and not, the heir apparent to a throne he did not know was his, and his beloved wife, a former slave of smoldering warmth and kindness. And through the ruins of their life, they found happiness in one another, in their twin sons, their friends, and their home. And they fought for it—with tooth and nail, they clawed for the life they, their people, deserved.

And through the chaos and the bloodshed, they fought for one another. Their sons trained as healers and warriors, both bearers and menders of the blade, and were taught compassion and kindness above all else.

There were days of quiet, when the scuffing of hooves did not upturn quite so much dirt, and when the grass did not feed upon the blood of the fallen. There were nights were soldiers gathered around campfires, and the royal couple huddled beside them, whispering stories to their sons’ delight.

And then there were evenings spent in the intimate shadows of the quarters, with hushed whispers and rare moments of solitude. And, from one such night, came a dream that was frightful in the midst of war—a pregnancy, a daughter. But as much of a blessing as a new child was, the parents to-be dreaded the woes of the world around them. The birth of their twin sons had been treacherous enough outside of war, but now? Now, they were destined to rule a kingdom at odds, and bounties were placed upon their throat. What would come of their unborn princess?

But the pregnancy was carried to term, though the expectant queen stayed within the barracks of wounded soldiers and contributed through her healing powers, never one to remain on the sidelines. And then, on an autumn night beneath the stars, the family welcomed a moon kissed daughter into their arms.

Her name was to be Aelin, daughter of Vritra, Stardust of the ashen valleys—and she was loved. By her parents, her elder brothers, by the soldiers that fought alongside her father. Oh, how loved she was.

But their contentment was not to last.

News of this newborn child spread quickly, and it was not long before the chink in the King’s armor was realized. His sons knew enough to keep themselves safe, to remain wise to threats, but a post-labor mother and a newborn babe? The princess was swaddled in vulnerability, and the enemy knew this well. Nearly three months passed before the assault came, an attack overwhelming, but harmless, enough to be no more than a distraction. But that was all it would take for a family of seeming-peasants to lead their Queen to safety, to draw the mother into her home and to subdue her with a blow to the head, and then to rob her of her precious daughter.

They fled with her, across borders and through portals, until their soles knew nothing but running. A simple man and his wife, penniless but aware of their crimes, bribed into an abduction meant to throw the King and Queen off-kilter, to send them into such mourning that their forces would be crippled. The enemy could never know how drastically their plans backfired.

Fleeing to the land of Nordlys with their infant babe, the couple warred with their instructions: murder the princess, and the princes will one day be next. Could they do it? They had longed for a child of their own, they would be massacred by the King should they ever return to his realm… perhaps it would be better to stay, to masquerade as lowly travelers with their child. They were plain people, and their stolen daughter was a gem of ivory and opals, tell-tale signs of her heritage.

But the Nordlysians, nor Aelin herself, would never be able to guess.

And so they raised her, and even without their influence, she grew into her mother’s beauty and compassion, her father’s selflessness, and iron will, and the intellectual curiosity of her brothers. She would never know, but they were with her still—in her eyes, in the bright blue rivulets on her withers, and in her translucent wings.

But oh, how she loved the thieves she called parents. Her mother and father, who gave up everything to care for her, who she tried desperately not to be a burden for. She loved the road for them, ached to hear her father’s stories every night, and to see her mother knit in the firelight. Their lifestyle of freedom was idyllic, and she could ask for no more, even as her dreams were filled with the melodious voice of another woman, singing her to sleep.

But dawn drew one morning, and she was alone in the sand. The embers of their campfire flickered wearily, and only scattered hoofprints surrounded her. She would never know that her thieving keepers had drugged her tea before bed so that she might sleep through their fleeing, nor would she know that they ran from her true sire’s men—nor that they had hidden her so expertly, her true parents could not hope to find her.

And so she wandered, on and on, day after day, with an aching heart and a lost soul. Damned to wonder and to wander, while the liars that stole her fell headless beneath her father’s blade.

II. Warden of the Isles

But this... this is the lie that Aelin knows. That she was born on the roads of Nordlys to two gypsy parents who moonlighted as artisans and merchants. Her mother and father were often grimy and penniless, but there was no expense too great for their single child, yet Aelin wanted for nothing. Her childhood as a wanderer bred a deep love for the world, and inherent compassion for all its creatures. As an adolescent, she had a penchant for craftsmanship and gardening and often did her best to gather useless herbs for their travels.

The woman's childhood was idyllic; placid, even. She had no friends, yet she hardly minded. The days they would travel to Morthalion, the capital city, were always her favorite. Her father would mutter obscenities beneath his breath as they shouldered through crowds, but his silver daughter would coo over the sweets in shop windows and stare wide-eyed at the elegant clothes of noble ladies. But the people? The people were always her favorite. While her mother and father made illicit barters in the night, the girl would often perch upon the rooftops of buildings and watch denizens of the city go by, her cerulean wings dusting the earth below as she sat like the moon in the sky.

Perhaps the road was not the kindest thing in the world, but Aelin never minded. She grew into her splendid colors and her tumbles of white hair, and though she was not quite one of the ladies she often saw in Morthalion, she was content with the flowers and twigs that tangled in her tail on her journeys.

It was only in her late adolescence that her contentment drew to a sluggish close, like the grinding of a steel grate, scraping over granite as it closed. The impact of her parent's loss was jarring, and to this day, she does not understand it. She remembers falling asleep, huddled around their small caravan, and the smoldering embers of their campfire. Never did she stir, nor wake to the sound of scuffles--but when dawn came, hoofprints lead from their encampment, and her mother and father were nowhere to be found.

For years she was haunted by their memory, cursed to wonder and to wander. It was only when she was taken into the tutelage of an elderly mage named Veda that she felt she could breathe. Initially, she was callous and mistrusting, but over the span of months, she took kindly to the gritty old stallion. She was certainly old enough to take care of herself, yet she could not shake that he may have needed her as much as she needed him. And so, with only some reluctance, she aided in his numerous and bizarre projects. Aelin, ever the eager disciple, obliged Veda by studiously gathering what he instructed she find, and pouring over the books he brought her to read. When he inevitably decided to draw out magic within her that he was certain existed, however, he failed.

They kept one another's company for nearly two years before the old stallion could no longer go on; and in the peace of an autumn night, Aelin lay quietly beside him as he passed to the gods.

Once more she was alone, and once more she set to her aimless quest to find her parents. Her journey was aimless, directionless, with no evidence to bring to guards and no money to hire investigators. And so she grew complacent--aching and lost.

It was on one spring day when she returned to the grand city of Morthalion that she inadvertently attended the King's crowning day. Hessander; the grand overseer of Nordlys. She did not know it then, but his announcement would change the course of her life forever: the Wardens were dead, murdered the shadowy Snatchers of the night--forsaken creations of the God. She remembers the chill that shot through her spine that day, and though her life had been spent as a Wanderer, she could not resist the ache to seek out a new place for herself. And so, with Hessander's decree to scout the lands, and his demand for new Wardens, Aelin set out.

She had never thought kindly of the King and his reign, yet her choice to scout Nordlys in his name is not something she regrets, as she might have never met Campion. She remembers the bay stallion fondly, their profound friendship, and the day they first met on the shores of Grimnodas. She had been louder then, more vivacious and talkative, and he had been quieter; a listener that stood with his hushed smile. Inevitably, they made their way to the herd of the Archipelago together. The Eventide of the Witchwood; healers and scholars that lived beneath the mountains of Ard Maleficar.

They traveled together for weeks, making their way across the precarious land bridge of Halla's Path. She could fly, but Campion could not, and so no matter how her soles ached from the saturation of seawater, she remained steadfast beside her landbound companion. Together they arrived, and it was by pure happenstance that they would meet their future Warden: Aelgrimm, the Kirin of the Deepwood. Aelin would not learn until later that Campion, too, had petitioned the crown for the position, but Aelgrimm had won the vote.

And so they situated themselves within the meager sum of people gathered upon the island beneath Aelgrimm's role. For a season, they did their utmost to thrive, listening attentively to the shadows. And at the apex of Spring, one of the Totems, children of the Gods, stirred Aelin from her slumber. Eska, the owl, the Totem of the Archipelago. She remembered her father's campfire tales of the Totems, and the deities, Halla and Cosmos, but never had she expected to be summoned by such a creature. And so she was set on a quest by the Totem. Eska woke a small, flickering flame within the woman: and suddenly the world unfolded around her as it never had before. She was to seek out three individuals, and with her new powers, put to rest their uneasy hearts.

And she did. Among them was the stallion Avallac'h, a wizened stallion who reminded her enormously of her father. He found her, wounded from a thoroughly battering spar with Campion, leaning against a tree on the outskirts of the mainland. Eska's quest had seemed so simple, and yet when her empathic soul reached out to cradle his, she found only numbness. Pain that had been long since forgiven, yet lingered on; and she understood at last what it meant to move on. Her relationship with the wandering warrior remained, even as she returned to Eventide in the wake of meeting two others, and she felt wholler than she had before.

Her life took yet another unexpected twist as spring faded and summer brought in its warm breeze. Upon one sleepless night, she found herself with the spread of a firefly lit glade, gazing at a small pool of water just on the outskirts of Eventide's encampment. Unknowingly, she was trailed by Campion, and when he joined her on her midnight escape, she never would have anticipated the words he spoke. Long since fearful of love, she stood stiffly as he proclaimed his affection for her and his desire to pursue her.

Apprehensive and unsure, she was taunted by her wish for intimacy--for a family. Perhaps she did not feel strongly for him then, but she had hoped she would come to. And so she shared in a night with him, unknowing of what their tryst would entail.

Days passed, and she avoided the stallion as she grieved her mistake, knowing her body had lied about her heart's intentions. It was only when a trumpeting call resounded within the Witchwood that she was forced to face him as they answered in tandem: arriving to the sight of... a goddess. The mother herself: Halla; the painted elephant and her tapestries within their beloved Witchwood. And oh, the news she came with. News of Aelgrimm's disappearance.

And if a goddess could not find him... who could?

In a moment that Aelin often reflects over, still feeling the same potent uncertainty, she recalls how Halla called her and Campion to her side. Tentatively, she'd joined the goddess and quaked with trepidation--only to feel her knees quiver even more at her proclamation. She and Campion were to be the Wardens of Eventide. More than that, Aelin was pregnant. She stared wide eyed as her friends gathered around, witnessing Halla's will, and pronounced their congratulations for the couple. The couple.

Within a matter of days, her wishful hopes to become a promising apothecary within Eventide had spilled more than she could have ever bargained for: she was a Warden. She was to be a mother.

She came to love her child and, while scouting the coasts of Nordlys’ continent, she met a number of faces that came to be precious. Through her journeys, she whispered to her unborn of the delights of the world. No matter her hesitations with Campion, her love for her child ran true, and ever-growing obligation prevented her from speaking her heart to the father to-be. And the Totems shared their congratulations when Leif called upon her, summoning her to his mountain gardens with yet another quest: the quest to find her soulmate.

In retrospect, she would have never expected the other half of her heart to be a panther. Indomitable and dark, the ferocious prowlers of the jungle shadows. And yet it was somehow fitting that a native creature of Eventide would be her destined companion. With the help of Avallac’h and Melot, a star-forging warrior of another herd, she set upon her tasks to find her panther. Only after the heart-pounding job of convincing his clan of their bond was she to meet him: Naquilel. A panther of Maleficar, only upon the cusp of adulthood when she met him. And from that point on, they were inseparable.

The feline remained her steadfast companion throughout the remainder of her pregnancy, alongside a young scholar who had joined Eventide at the beginning of summer. Jahra was her name, a native of one of Nordlys’ many tribes, and who had yet to learn the common tongue. Their bond grew quickly through the laughing hours they spent together, teaching one another their language, and her gratitude for Jahra’s companionship was boundless.

But it would seem her cursed family would haunt her forever. Weeks turned to months, and her belly grew heavy with child before the inevitable morning came, and with it, the loss of her beloved son; well before his time.

The rest of her sorry tale unfolded rather quickly. Her devastation from the loss was incomparable, and she could speak no words to her island friends before departing. With no more than a note to Campion of the tragic reasons for her departure, she left both herd and heart behind. For weeks she traveled, drinking the salt of her tears, with only Naquilel at her heels. Without the cat, she might have simply starved herself, or lay in her own filth until the end came. But his white eyes gave her courage, reminding her that she was a woman born of the moon; afraid of nothing, capable of everything.

On and on they walked, until at last they discovered a port. With the few coins she’d brought, she’d scrounged together fees for their passage. Then, together, they fled the place they’d both called home.

III. The Fair Fate

The coastal air was a balm, the salt and brine of the wind mussing her white curls with tenderness—a mother’s caress for an errant daughter. The stomach-turning rock of the ship had made her grateful for her empty, rumbling belly, and her azure wings seemed sullen at her side. She had never been made for the confines of a wooden ship. No; she was a creature of infinite skies and white clouds, frothy and free against Heaven’s blue. She was made to streak through the heavens, to frolic among the stars, and to soar effortlessly alongside the midnight moon.

But Aelin did not know if her wings would lift her at all. Not anymore.

The anguish of her lost child encased her in drapes; a perceptible, self-imposed seclusion that warded her fellow travelers away from her. Aboard the vessel, she had been a self-made pariah, radiating such utter dismay that her peers must have thought she was diseased with sorrow. And so she’d traveled in silence, with no more than her rampant thoughts as company, as tempestuous and feral as the sea. Do they see me at all? She had wondered. Had she merely been a ghoul, stowed away with the rats and the fleas? It did not matter now, with the wooden docks underfoot and the town spread before her. The ship was already long behind her—a forgotten, transient memory.

She stood among the disembarking crowd, some as forlorn and detached as she, while others bustled about and rambled unremittingly of the city's beauty. Indeed, it was splendorous, and she might have smiled had her spirit been lighter. As it was, her eyes were lifeless, her cheeks gaunt, and her lovely, white curls hung limply around her eyes. Nevertheless, Aelin took in her surroundings, her chest tight as she drew in a breath.

At her side loomed a panther, as black as spilled ink, and his ebony coat rippled as he brushed his side along her knees. His tail unfurled, coiling around her hocks, and Aelin exhaled. Naquilel. As steadfast as ever.

A fountain bubbled in the distance, gurgling noisily as hooves clattered by; younglings in their surcoats tittered while fastened to their dam’s side, merchants shouted through the square, and the babble of bartering resonated in her ears. Aelin watched in silence, as unmoving and still as the triplet statues upon that fountain.

This town was to be the cover page of her new home, and oh, how she feared to thumb through the pages. How could she go on with the loss of her unborn—how could she go on knowing she’d left Campion behind, as lost and wounded as she?

For a moment, it became difficult to breathe.

Do not be afraid, she swallowed thickly, her head tipping skyward, as though the breadth of blue might offer her answers. It was silent and still, but she thought she felt her mother's eyes upon her, smiling and sincere.

With a sweep of her tail, Aelin began to walk. One step after another, until the clip of her hooves beat in time her heart. She murmured breathless hellos to passing strangers, her throat dry, and she drowned in the taste of salt on the air.

It reminded her so much of home.

Upon arrival to a mist-shrouded island, Aelin used the sparse contents of her coin purse to purchase board at a small, ramshackled inn. Naquilel warded off the hungry stares of native rogues, and the two of them companionably shared their confining quarters in the hopes of sleep.

It would never come, Aelin was certain.

And so that first night she walked, wandering the streets beneath the stars in the hopes that moonlight might ward off her nightmares, her memories. Her panther remained steadfast at her side, an indomitable shield against the outside world, before they settled on the docks to watch the sea water slosh. It was here that she met Neroxym, a quiet stallion that shared in her grief, and likely changed the course of her life. For, had he not approached, she might have very well thrown herself into the vicious sea. Unbeknownst to her, she was meeting the Just Fate of Sovereign, the embodiment of purity--but not knowing did not detract from her appreciation of the encounter.

After a quiet conversation, Nero showed her the streets of Hesperia when there were not quite so many people - unknowingly saving her from the wrath of the sea, and the turmoil of her thoughts.

"Is there perhaps a flower stall you might show me?" her voice had grown substantially quieter, and even Naquilel seemed hushed of his jocular mocking. "And, perhaps, a way out of this city?" Ideally to a meadow, crested by evergreen trees and rolling mountains.

A place to put the memory of her child to rest.

Alongside her beloved Naquilel, Aelin claimed the shores of Hesperia as her second home, beginning a chapter of her life filled with both love and tragedy. ...

IV. Chained

And with tearfilled eyes, she cast a glance to her beloved, bloodstained people. Their screams curdled her moonlit blood and set her soul alight with the wrath of a vengeful goddess. The undulating Darkness roiled: hissing, taunting—and she beat her blue-feathered wings against the black sky. She raged, undying and unstoppable, and she plunged for the Shadow; a spear of light against the perpetuating dark.

On the eve of her nation’s fall, the Fair Fate gave herself to the Darkness, and she fell to unthinkable horrors within the cloud of night. Her body gave first, crushed to broken, crimson-coated pieces; fettered to the ground by the limpness of death. With her immortal soul in the hands of the devil, the Fair was bound by the chains of the underworld and caged within the heart of the afterlife.

And there was no heaven, no god, awaiting her—only the shadow, only the blade, as her porcelain spirit was subjected to their tortures. Whipping, biting; gnashing teeth, and tearing claws. She was hounded through the enflamed woodlands of hell, chased, like a doe, through the winding trees and the roads of decay.

Among the thousands of faces that the insatiable maw of Darkness had swallowed, Aelin fought for survival—she fought for sanity. Until at last, her cracked heart succumbed to the whims of monsters, and her broken soul subjected itself to the torments of demons. Within the bowels of the Darkness’ hell, Aelin’s soul was tortured, flayed of its piety for nearly three months. Where her brethren on the surface had escaped the island only a day before, the Silver Woman had been devoured by shadow for what felt like a lifetime.

And it was there she stayed—stripped of her will, denied her liberty—until she awoke, memory-less, within the cold waters of Edana.

V. Remembrance

Summary: After arriving on Edana memoryless, she was taken in as the ward of a man named Angvar and given the name Lekha. Ignorant to her true self, he fed her lies of her past that she digested with ease. It was simpler, after all, than believing the nightmares.

At the behest of flashbacks and the intervention of loved ones who recognized her, Aelin slowly regained her memories and was inevitably freed from her ties to Angvar by Lumaris, herself.

Slowly but surely, Aelin was set upon the path of rediscovery. Reuniting with those she loved, meeting her daughter for the first time, and doing her utmost to fight for what was right.

VI. Healing


VII. Now


Characters and concepts © 2021 Rayoflight. Art belongs to credited owners.
Powered By MyBB, © 2002-2021 MyBB Group.