Chapter Text
The Darkling escapes the Fold to the east.
He pushes himself to the very edge and, feeling the warmest gust of wind hit his face, collapses with the relief that he's truly made it through.
It may be night. Or early morning. He can’t tell, nor does he want to focus on anything but getting air into his lungs. Aching lungs. His face on the sand stings, deep and startling. Everything hurts.
Eventually, he puts his palms to the sands and pushes himself up, one foot at a time.
At the twist of overworked muscles, the Darkling winces, and holds his scarred hand to his side. A new tear adorns the kefta. The stinging over his face hasn't stopped either. He still feels the claws that ripped at skin, so close to his eye.
He is ruined.
But he survives.
The Darkling glances behind himself at the wall of black.
Too many volcra stood at the barrier of the Fold, keeping him from escaping west. They understood they would not be able to follow past their dark domain, and so desperate, they chased and hunted him in the opposite direction. To tire him out. Catch his weakness. The beasts were clever in their organized assault.
A whirl of shadow peals off from the Fold. It crawls, amorphous, to him, as another leaps free on bend, shifting legs. Shadows that exist of their own accord.
The volcra succeeded in the chase, but never in their hunt.
The two shadows, born of abomination, grasp around his legs. Winged, clawed, jagged-mouth. Alive. They are whatever he wants them to be. Everything—and Nothing.
The Darkling takes a step, hobbling and slow. The shadow-nothings carried him when he could no longer run. Protected him when he could no longer summon. Because of them, he survived. And so have Alina and Mal, in fleeing.
It is a distance away, but the Darkling can faintly see Kribirsk and the telltale flags of grisha camps. He begins the grueling walk to reach them, shadows dancing to hold his weight when it becomes too painful.
I can bear it, he thinks, and the shadow-nothings slink back. They are his will made physical.
I can bear it, and the shadow-nothings stand their full height to follow.
His hand falls from his side. Everything's changed. The Shadow Fold almost broke. Somehow, with him there to amplify Alina, she had the power to do it. If it weren't for his quick reaction, it might have cracked open towards the sky, spilling eroding light into it.
He cannot let that happen again.
For now, his Sun Summoner runs free with her tracker, far from the Darkling's sphere of influence. Together, Alina and Mal will forge steel—iron and carbon melted together to make a stronger, tougher bond. They'll strengthen, and Alina will want to come back to finish what she'd almost started.
He has to claim her again, before she can try. Track her. Find her. Claim her and Mal both—as one naturally follows the other. Like steel. Inseparable.
Twin metallic voices warble in agreement, his will made physical.
The Darkling will have them, at whatever cost.
Whatever happens now, happens.