Private Tales Echoes of the Elderglen

[Tsillah]

She’d been halfway through moving again, ready to finish it, to slam the girl down properly this time, when something snapped tight around her limbs. She stopped in her tracks, looking down in utter confusion as it seemed her shadows were attacking her.

"Wh—What the fu—" Her mouth was muffled mid-curse as shadows lashed around her arms, her throat, her face.

These were not her shadows. Not cold and slick like icewater, not the biting, precise tendrils she wove like thread through the dark. These were warm, smoky. His.

Her silvery eyes flared wide in realisation. Then narrowed just as fast. Her growl rumbled low, animalistic, restrained only by the shadow gag. A snarl vibrated from her chest, but she stilled, watching him. Watching the fire dancing in his palm.

Interesting.

She didn’t move as he staggered toward her like a wounded predator, fire raised, protective fury written in every line of his body. She clocked every detail. Her gaze darted to the female, then back to him.

A bonded pair.. Cute.

The panic she’d tasted in the girl made more sense now. How fucking delicious.

Another shadow wielder, and this one came armed with feelings. She scoffed behind the gag, and with a flick of her fingers, her own shadows spiked back to life, slicing through the foreign ones like knives through smoke. They shattered apart in wisps and curled away into the rain-soaked night, leaving her standing free, drenched, and unimpressed.

Hands up, she took a single step back. “Put that away before you hurt yourself, Sparky,” she drawled, voice hoarse with old rage and new irritation.

Lightning cracked overhead. She didn’t blink. Her hands stayed raised, fingers twitching subtly in case she had to throw another strike. But her tone turned lethal.

“And why the fuck should I believe you?”

She jerked her chin toward the alley behind them, where the bodies of her pursuers lay still and rain-drenched. “How do I know you weren’t with those three back there?”

Her expression twisted with suspicion and something more dangerous. Hope she didn’t want, and interest she couldn’t afford.

 

[Vespera]

The world felt wrong. Too still. Too quiet. Like all the breath had been sucked out of it the moment Vespera hit the ground. Her cheek pressed into the slick cobblestones, her nose throbbing as blood mixed with the dirty rainwater in her mouth, choking her senses. She couldn't move yet. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't think through the ringing in her ears and the horrible metallic taste flooding her throat.

Pathetic.

Her Mate is in danger, and she had run at it head first like a fool with no magic, no power, no plan. Just raw, reckless panic that had never been a part of her before this bond. And this was the result. Slammed into the ground like a ragdoll with shadows coiling and slithering like vipers ready to strike again.

Her vision was blurred. She only caught fractured glimpses of the storm above, the hiss of fire, boots pounding in mud and then...Ash.

Vess...

The bond snapped taut again, pulling her back into the thick of it with a gasp. His voice was sharp, broken with fury. But it pierced through the haze. She coughed violently as she lurched upright, rainwater and blood spilling from her lips. Another cough, then another, until the tightness in her chest eased and she could breathe again. Even if it burned. Her fingers reached up, trembling, and gripped his arm, squeezing it.

It was a signal. A quiet 'I'm okay'. She wasn't dying. Not yet. Maybe soon, if the woman sent another barrage of shadows at them.

She blinked and found his eyes, the storms present there just as much as they were in the skies above. The fire in his hand hissed as rain fought to dim it. It only roared brighter, hotter. She nodded once at him, gritting her teeth as she drew her gaze upward. Away from Ash. To Her.

To the woman Ash had called Silo.

And her face twisted- not with pain or fear, but hatred. Pure and cold and laced with something so deep and ancient. The kind of hatred that curled up quietly and crept under your skin like a poison. She tried to stand upright, letting Ash help her. Still, she barely managed as the world spun, blood trickling down from one nostril as lightning cracked again.

And she spat, voice ragged and low but laced with venom. Aimed entirely at Tsillah as she swayed slightly.

"He needs help. Not money." Her words were a curse, a vow. A furious prayer whispered into the storm. Vespera did not care if this shadow wielder was a legend, or dangerous, or broken. She was real. This was all real. And right now, she was staring at some bitch who nearly killed her Mate. The same bitch that might be the last hope they had.

She tried to wipe the blood out from under her nose, smearing it across her face instead.

"He doesn't need your paranoia or your petty little power trip. He needs a fucking miracle. And if you can't give him that, then get out of our way."

 

[Asher]

The world was thick with tension. His heart pounded in his chest, still thrumming with the panic from moments ago, Vespera’s blood smeared across the cobblestones, the terror of watching her fall, helpless in a way he never wanted to be again. How many times had he failed to protect her now?

But the moment her fingers gripped his arm, squeezing, he felt the heat of her pulse against his skin. She was alright, but they weren’t out of danger yet.

The anger that had burned through him moments ago, so hot, so furious, cooled now into something controlled, focused. He could feel the heat from his fire still crackling between his fingers, and his other hand held her with a tight grip, pulling her back into his side as he rose from his knee.

He took in the way she moved, the way she weaved darkness into the air around her like a second skin. But it was more than magic. It was control. A quiet, dangerous power that he couldn’t deny. She knew what she was doing. Too well.

He wasn’t intimidated. If he managed to best his brother, he could best her.

Vespera’s words, strained but burning with a fury of their own, cut through his thoughts. She was right. They needed help, not games.

"Vess…" His voice was tight, still raw from the force of the shadow that had nearly crushed him moments ago. But there was no time for softness. His eyes never left Tsillah as he spoke, the fire flickering dangerously in his palm, "Don’t waste your breath. She doesn’t give a shit about your anger. She doesn’t give a shit about mine either.. We can find someone else." he said, extinguishing the flame to let his hand rest on the side of his mate's head, looking over her bloody face with barely restrained fury.

 

[Tsillah]

Tsillah barked a sharp, humourless laugh, the sound cutting through the rain. She folded her arms lazily across her chest, shifting her weight onto one hip as she stared them down with thinly veiled disdain.

"Do I look like a fucking deity to you?" she sneered, her voice dripping venom. "I'm not in the habit of going around handing out miracles."

Her gaze flicked between them, the way he shielded her, the way she clung to him, trembling but defiant. It made something deep and ugly curdle in her gut. Mated pairs. She loathed them. Rare enough that she could go some time without having to look at their pathetic devotion, but when she did, it made her skin crawl.

Fucking revolting.

"But if you wanna see a power trip, doll face," she snapped, voice low and dangerous, "I'll show you a fucking power trip."

Her silvery eyes flashed with warning, and for a moment the shadows coiled tighter around her like a second skin, an unspoken threat humming in the air. One wrong move and she'd tear them both apart just to make the point.

"Life’s short," she said coolly, turning her gaze back to Asher. "Talk fast, Sparky. What do you want? And don’t leave out the part about what’s in it for me."

The rain dripped from her lashes as she waited, her posture deceptively relaxed, every inch of her poised to strike.