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vewyscawywriting · 1 year

Text

Boundless Pleasure

Fandom: League of Legends

Pairing: Unbound Thresh x F!Summoner!Reader

Wordcount: 4021 words

Tags: Edging/orgasm delay, overstimulation

Summary: You sneak off with Thresh and experience a night at the inn. It goes different than what you expected as Thresh is playing annoying games once again.

Summoners weren't allowed outside of the Rift or the Summoner building, but when Thresh himself had allowed you to come with him as long as you didn't interfere or annoy him, how could you possibly stay in your room. You were sure if the Institute were to find out punishment would be worse than just a simple ban, but your disguise was perfect, and as long as Thresh knew what he was doing you'd be fine. Surely. You had escaped punishment with your outing with Draven as well, so you weren't too scared.

You took a carriage through a city somewhere in Noxus, sitting quietly opposite Thresh, who didn't pay you any attention, just scheming by himself, so you decided to look outside the window. The view was... quite something. Even though you took the backstreets, you could clearly see the Immortal Bastion towering over all the buildings. Just the fact that you, a Summoner, were in Noxus right now was quite overwhelming. The sudden halt of the carriage made you fall forward, right on top of Thresh, who immediately looked down on you with one raised eyebrow. Well, fuck you sideways.

"I'm so-"

"Always so clumsy. I can't understand how someone can live like this, but this quite explains some actions on the Rift." he said with a sigh, not helping you up, but not pushing you off as well. You tried to get up quickly, face heating up at the notice of your position on his lap, and as the horses that drew the carriage stepped forward another step, the carriage jerked, making you fall back down again. You groaned. Whyyyyy...

"Now, we don't have all day. I'm sure they'll have a room for us in this inn where you can throw yourself in my lap if you really can't help yourself."

You finally got up, indignant. Brushing imaginary dust off yourself you straightened your cloak before you very carefully got out of the carriage, making sure not to do something stupid again.

...

Bort, the poor man. You felt for him, truly! However, your promise to Thresh had made sure you couldn't really say a word to him, either in warning or to comfort. You could only try to convey things with your gaze, but the cursed man never looked in anyone's eye. Honestly it was for the best, just observing what the sadistic wraith would do was better than any movie.

...

The door closed with a soft click behind the two of you, a silence falling over the room as you awkwardly walked towards one of the single beds in the room.

"You're gonna kill them all, aren't you?" you asked the man who stood still in the room, a brooding look on his face.

"Oh, of course," he said as he finally faced you, chuckling, "It's what they deserve."

"And even if it wasn't, you'd still do it, of course."

"Of course."

His eyes glowed with a strange light as he looked at you, excitement, bloodlust, sadism, you could read it all, and you shivered. You recognised that lust was probably not what you should be feeling at this time, but damn if you weren't turned on right now.

As a matter of fact you had been quite... affected all evening. You liked Thresh a lot when he was still in his true form, but now that he had chosen this more human appearance, you liked him differently. Where before the only thing that could be understood from his skeletal expression was sadistic pleasure, there was so much more to be gleaned from his new human face. And fuck if it wasn't a handsome face as well!

"Does that make you feel sad, Summoner?" he asked, as if you weren't actively anticipating what he'd do. Somewhere in your mind you realized you should feel bad about all these people dying to him, but you somehow couldn't emulate the feeling. You decided it had to do with that you were a Summoner, not an active participant in this world, just an observer. And not because your morals had become quite skewed. No, you had morals damn it, you were a good person... maybe.

"No." You told him honestly, "Not really. Honestly, I like to observe you in your element, so to speak." Damn, you were really honest, huh. Then again, these were your true feelings, and why would you hide them? After all, it's not like you didn't have sex with Thresh before, so you could afford to be a little open with your feelings. Probably.

Especially if you wanted to get laid again tonight. And this time he'd be in his unbound form. You couldn't help a small moan escaping you at the thought, and of course he heard it, closing the distance between you in a couple of his large strides.

"You're quite desperate aren't you? Well, I suppose I can indulge you for a couple of hours."

"Don't ask me to beg," you whispered as you were pushed down onto the slightly uncomfortable bed, memories of last time resurging in your mind, and you really didn't want to go through that whole power play ordeal again.

"I've already given up on your compliance, Y/N." he said with a sigh, pinning your hands above your head with one hand. He was, of course, still in control. You'd get him under you one day, for sure. But not now, not yet.

His hands were under your robes, mapping your body, and you sighed as you opened yourself to him. His gaze promised pleasure and pain, but you were accepting of it all if it came from him. Blunted nails dragged down your skin, down to your jeans that he swiftly unbuttoned. There was too much fabric between you and him, the cloak you had worn to hide your features lay discarded, but both of you were still dressed, and that was just no good. Your hands seemed to have a mind of their own, pulling at his coat, which he shrugged off as he kissed you forcefully. Breath became scarce, but he did not pull back as he slowly, oh so slowly, undressed you fully. The moment he finally pulled away, a wicked smile on his thin lips, you gasped out for air as if you were drowning just moments before.

His fingers were on your thighs, holding you down with bruising strength, but you wished his fingers were elsewhere. You were throbbing under him, trying to invite him to you with your body, and he moved his head down, nosing your crotch.

"Fuck," you cursed, the stimulation driving you insane as you heard him chuckle at your desperate reaction.

"Still struggling with patience, I see," he said, chuckling more at your response to his hot breath hitting your weeping slit. "You have to learn, dear summoner, that all good comes to those who wait."

"I am waiting," you ground out, "I am waiting very patiently right now for you to shut up and eat me out already."

One of his eyebrows raised as he stroked your thigh gently before biting down on the tender flesh, making you yelp out. His thin fingers went back to stroking the irritated spot afterwards as you cursed and groaned at him. "There, there," he coo-ed, one finger running up your lips as you were held down from bucking up by his hand on your hips, nails digging into your skin as you couldn't stop yourself from trying. "Very soft and so very mouthy. I could break you with my pinky."

You couldn't stop the words from tumbling from your mouth. "Then put those fingers of yours to use and make me fall apart, Thresh." This man was going to tease you to death, you were sure of it. A chuckle was your reply as he eased his pinky finger inside of you.

"Well, is this what you wanted then?" He purred, knowing that there was no way you'd be satisfied with just that. "I'm not hearing a thank you."

"Oh, go to hell."

"Already been there, dear summoner," he purred against your skin, moving up to bite at your stomach as you tried to keep your noises down. His voice dropped further to a threatening timbre and you shivered against your will. "And I'm willing to show you what it's like-"

You barely had time to register those words as he suddenly stopped with a snarl, turning towards the door and freezing in his movements. You were about to ask him why he stopped, but before you could the door swung open violently. Two burly men stepped inside, followed by a woman skittishly looking around and closing the door behind her before checking the hallway one last time.

A condescending whistle came from one of the men as Thresh slowly got up, turning their way as you scrambled to hide your naked body from their eyes. Luckily he had only taken off his coat, and he was free to face the two men that had invaded your privacy.

"To what do we... owe this pleasure," Thresh said, voice low, but a smile was on his face, and it was slowly dawning on you that he had hoped for something to happen. Maybe not in the middle of your lovemaking, but the way his hands twitched by his side as if reaching for his hook and lantern told you he was waiting for them to make a move so he could pounce on his prey.

"We saw something real interesting at dinner tonight," one started as he cleaned his nails with a large gleaming knife, "Didn't we, fellas?" He turned to the other man who chuckled, showing his own weapon as even the woman glanced their way and cracked a smile, before hissing a "hurry up" at them.

"And what would that possibly be?" Thresh's voice was melodious as usual, but the edge of danger in his words made you shiver. His eyes were on them like the eyes of a predator on a prey, despite the fact that it was 2 vs 1, and it didn't seem like he had any weapons on him.

"Don't play dumb, man," the second guy said, stepping to the left as the other guy stepped to the right, surrounding the warden who seemed unperturbed. "You're in the outskirts of Noxus, we don't go around giving golden coins out to random inn workers. No one unless they're not native and filthy rich. So hand over all your money old man."

Thresh seemed to narrow his eyes at the mention of him being an old man, but it seemed to be out of humor rather than offence. A chuckle escaped him as he replied: "You're right, I am old, and I am not from around here... but had you known exactly what it is I am you would not have come inside this room so brazenly. It's honestly quite refreshing." The smile disappeared from his face. "However, you came at a very unfortunate time, as you can see. I am in a good mood, though, and I'm going to give you a chance to walk away."

This was met with laughter from the men and another hiss from the woman telling them to stop playing around and just get the money before someone would come.

"No one's gonna come," one man replied, "No one cares about a foreigner like this. He's only good for the money in his pocket... which will be ours soon. Now hand over all your money quickly before we hurt you, and no more playing big in front of your whore. We all know you don't mean it." At this statement you made an indignant sound, a "You wouldn't let those ugly pieces of shit insult us like that, would you?" on your lips, but before you could utter the sentence everything seemed to explode into action.

The two men jumped forward with ill intent, weapons gleaming in the light of the candles and oil lamps, moving ever so quickly closer to Thresh' exposed neck who seemed to stand perfectly still.

"Just kill him!" The woman snarled from the doorway, seemingly out of patience, and as the men did just that the sound of metal slashing and a loud gasp filled the room. You hadn't averted your eyes, not even for a second as you saw what happened almost in slowmotion. Thresh had stood still, taking the attack head on without moving an inch. And the blades had moved almost simultaneously, swiftly ridding Thresh of his precious head... or so they'd thought. At the realisation that the weapons had moved straight through his neck without any resistance the two men paled, moving in for the kill again and again as a low chuckle, barely even heard over the sound of the weapons clashing together, slowly rose in crescendo until a loud, cruel laugh was all that filled the room.

"Oh, you are so dead." You muttered from the bed, seeing Thresh transform into his true form in front of your eyes, and knowing what the fate would be of the people in front of you.

...

"Dear Bort, there's life... there's death... and there's me," Thresh cruel voice came from the end of the hallway where he talked to the poor worker that had been bullied so intensely before. You could not see the warden's face from your place in the doorway, but the way his voice lowered to an almost threatening purr made an image of the man's expression spring into your mind all the same. Bort was the only one remaining after Thresh' killing spree, and you were glad for it. Unsure about his future under Thresh thum, but it would probably not be worse than the life he was used to... probably. It's not like he really had a choice.

A wry smile was on your face and you felt your heart squeeze painfully as you heard him agree, seeing Thresh transform his soul in front of you.

...

And back you were inside of the carriage. Now drawn by ghost humans instead of horses, but you didn't dwell too long on it, hearing Bort laugh and have a good time from his new place as the coachman. Thresh didn't even think about spending the night in the inn now that he was done with his business there, but as you sighed for the umpteenth time he finally addressed the issue of your... well, coitus interruptus.

"I am quite satisfied," he said, the grin on his face as big as the moment he'd left the inn, and you gaped at him.

"Well, I'm not!" Was your indignant reply, and honestly, there was no way he was either. He seemed pleased enough, judging by the expression on his face, but there was something down there that still required attention. You were sitting so close together in the carriage, your knees practically touching, and if you reached out just slightly... so that's what you did. A sly, tentative hand reached out for his thighs, the touch so soft and quick you saw his eyelids flutter just slightly at the feeling. You didn't voice that you knew he was lying, but moved your hand to his crotch where you found him very unsatisfied still. A small sound escaped you as your other hand joined your first, enjoying the texture of his pants under your fingertips as you ghosted your digits over his still throbbing erection. Your hornyness had died down a little, but came back full blown at the sigh that came from him as he opened his legs further for you.

You were thinking it was time to return the favour for him teasing you so much earlier. Deft fingers made quick work of his pants, and he didn't stop you from undressing his lower half entirely. His dick, almost strangely human now that he was in his disguise, was like you remembered it, except less... glowy and green. Without hesitation you ran a finger across the length of it, following a prominent vein from balls to tip, eyes on his face as he gave no overt outward reaction of his pleasure. But the way you noticed his eyes lose focus was enough of a tell for you to continue your ministrations. A finger became two, until you had your entire hand wrapped around the base, slowly moving up and down as you kept your eyes on his face. Pleasure soon enough made way for frustration as you kept up the snails pace, a grin growing on your face with every slow, gentle pump.

"I see." He said as he opened his eyes. "This is payback, hm?"

"Exactly," you replied, a teasing lilt to your voice as you tried to maintain your slow pace. You were absolutely soaked meanwhile, but you hoped you hid it well. If he realised how much you wanted him he'd take advantage of it. Your pink tongue peeked out to wet your lower lip, and you saw his eyes focus on it instantly. The grin on your face widened, as you slowly moved in to give a small kitten lick to the tip of his leaking member.

He actually groaned your name at this, and you felt yourself practically leak a puddle on the floor. If you weren't fully dressed again you might have done exactly that, but now all you did was make an uncomfortable wetness spread in your panties, ruining the fabric and chafing your skin. You held strong though, moving in to lick the tip again before moving on to the vein you had so lovingly traced earlier. He twitched, and globs of precum dribbled along the shaft for you to lick up. His knuckles were white as he held tight to the seat, but his patience was running low.

"Enough," he suddenly barked, grabbing your hair tightly in a fist, pulling you up to his face and gritting out: "Your mouth or your cunt, which one?"

Your eyes widened at this, but your mouth was faster than your brain when you cried out: "Fuck me stupid already! I've been dripping since that fucking inn!"

Barely realising you said this quite loudly and Bort had let out a small yelp from the other side of the carriage walls before minding his own business quite quickly, you were quickly manhandled onto Thresh's seat as he reversed your positions. This time you were undressed much more quickly than earlier though, while you only managed to get his coat off, again. He was already bare to you though, and the way he rubbed himself against your thighs and pussy lips was driving you crazy.

"You weren't lying about being soaked." He commented between devouring your lips, "All this from some playing around at the inn and then servicing me?"

No response was given as you'd rather put your energy and focus into kissing back and wrapping your legs around his narrow hips, pulling him closer. He rubbed against your lips one more time, head catching on your clit as you mewled out for him to put it in, which he did. With a firm thrust he was all the way in and you gasped out with no sound, eyes unfocused as you took in his entire length. The speed and bumps of the carriage still speeding through the streets of Noxus made sure neither of you was able to stay still for long, the vibrations running through you both, intensifying the feeling as he started moving, grunting in your ear how fucking tight you always managed to be. He pulled out almost all the way before thrusting in harshly, pummelling inside of you as if his life depended on making you break. Unable to stay quiet, noises tumbled from your mouth until he covered your mouth with his hand. "Now we don't want the entirely of Noxus to hear what we're doing in here, would we?" He purred at you, punctuating his words with hard thrusts that made you see stars. "Violating Bort's ears is more than enough." Groaning you realised you could never face the man after this without feeling extremely embarrassed, but it was too late now. You tried to keep quiet, you really did, but even with his hand covering your mouth you were louder than you wanted to be, and you saw him sneer with every moan or high pitched mewl that escaped you.

"Poor little soul," he purred, a little sigh escaping him as you tightened after a particularly well placed and powerful thrust, "Look at you, completely at my mercy and so, so drunk for me." His thrusts slowed a little as a devious plan formed into his brain. "Think you can hold out until we reach our destination?"

The words registered slowly. "No please, I'm so close, we've waited so long already-" you cried out against his hand, but he wouldn't take no for an answer, slowing his thrusts significantly as your pleas were silenced by him. You had been so close, so close to release, and he took it from you swiftly, as you felt the burn inside of your core dim to smouldering embers. He finally removed his hand, and you took this to tell him how much of a piece of work he was. He took it with a sharp thrust that had you shut up quite quickly, stoking the flames inside of you ever so often as you climbed to your orgasm only to have him withhold it from you. Tears were starting to leak from your eyes, against your will, but you were just so frustrated, and you had been so close. Unsure if you were even able to orgasm at all after all the edging, his thrusting almost bordering on overstimulating now that your orgasm was ruined so many times.

"How... far..." you cried out, shivering against him as he chuckled and wiped away the tears from your cheeks with deceptive care.

"Not very far, sweet soul. Hold on for me, will you?"

You wouldn't be surprised if he just had Bort ride forever at this point; there was no destination, was there? Anger filled you as you grabbed the warden by his long hair, the ornaments digging into your palm as you pulled him close to your face only to hiss: "Enough now." He chuckled up a storm, but rewarded you with a finger against your clit, rubbing you quickly.

"Ah, poor thing, wouldn't be good to break my summoner." He said as he picked up his pace, finally going back to the deep, hard rhythm he had before, "even though I'd love to." Was added under his breath, but at this point the carriage had slowed down, and you had held on admirably. Also he wasn't sure how long he could hold out either, your constant tightening around him after each ruined orgasm had him on the very edge as well, and he was too prideful to come before you.

The carriage stopped, but no sound came from outside as Bort didn't speak until he was sure you two were done in there.

"We're there," you cried out, almost delirious as you climbed again towards an orgasm that if he ruined it again would have you cry for real. "We're here, please, please, please-"

The feeling inside of you reached crescendo as Thresh finally fucked you to orgasm, the feeling overwhelming you so much you were sure you ruined the carriage forever. "Fuck. Thresh." You cried as you doubled over, eyesight going dark as your orgasm washed over you.

Unable to hold on himself Thresh spend himself inside of you as well, letting out a sinful groan that would have you ready for another round if you weren't so absolutely fucked out.

It was silent for a little bit as both of you caught your breath. You were absolutely exhausted, unsure if your legs could even carry you to where the carriage had taken you, so you just closed your eyes, hoping Thresh would do something about it.

"We've... we've arrived, sir." Came Bort's small voice from outside, and Thresh chuckled above you, slowly pulling out as you whined from the feeling.

"We sure have."

#thresh x reader #unbound thresh #night at the inn #champion x summoner #my work #smut #nsft #x reader #league of legends #lol

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nomie-11 · 2 days

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Chapter 11 - The Awakening of a Life Weaver

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The sun is bright and welcoming, a warm breeze lifts her hair.

An older woman is standing in front of her, a red poppy in her hand. Her smile is familiar, her laugh is contagious, and as Genevieve looks at her, she can see that the woman in front of her looks like her too.

She opens her mouth, but nothing comes out. She moves to take a step forward, but with each step, the woman takes another step back.

They’re in a field of flowers. The flowers are soft and the grass is lush, while the mountains roll behind them. Snow covered peaks give way to the spring streams, and the green dress the woman wears is covered in white lilies.

The woman opens her mouth, and speaks. “Wake up,” She says, but Genevieve nods her head no. She can’t respond, but she never wants to leave. She’s home. “Wake up.” She says again.

Genevieve’s voice returns to her. “Mother,” she whispers, reaching out to the woman in front of her. “I don’t want to wake up.”

Her mother opens her mouth once more, but the voice that comes out is no longer hers.

“WAKE!” The voice bellows. It’s Tairn.

But why is he here? Genevieve looks at her hands, and she knows that she is young. Far too young to even know about the possibility of her bonding a dragon. But then her hands are red, covered in blood, and the voice screams out once more.

“Wake before you die!” The mountains rumble, and suddenly her mother’s green dress is covered in blood. “Now!”

Her eyes fly open, and she gasps as the last remnants of the dream disintegrates. She’s not in a field of flowers, she’s in her room in-

“Move!” Tairn bellows, and Genevieve shoots out of bed, her hand stealing the dagger from under her pillow as she moves.

“Fuck! She’s awake!” Moonlight reflects over a sword that is now impaled into the bed where Genevieve once lay. She stumbles, her movements still clouded by sleep. As her knees hit the floor, she unsheathes another dagger from under her mattress.

She scans the room from her point on the floor, blowing the now grown out hair from her eyes. Her eyes meet the eyes of the unbounded first-year, but he’s not the only one. There are seven cadets in her room. There are four men, three women.

The door slams behind a girl as she runs out of the room. It clicks in Genevieve’s mind, she’s the one who opened the door.

The rest are all armed, all determined to kill an unkillable rider. Her hand tightens around the hilt of her daggers and her heart rate skyrockets.

“This was a stupid mistake,” Genevieve says, her eyes glistening with the thrill of the kill. “Guess it won’t do much good to ask you to leave nicely?”

“Get away from the wall! Don’t let them trap you!” Tairn’s echoing, commanding voice resonates within her. She moves, but there isn’t much room for her to move.

“Damn it! I told you she was fast!” Oren hisses from the other side of the room, blocking Genevieve’s exit.

“Violet should have killed you during Threshing,” Genevieve barks, her voice loud and commanding. She knows that if her voice is loud enough, someone will hear, Liam is just across—

A woman lunges for her, and she dodges, sliding along the icy pane of her window. The window!

“It’s too high. You’ll fall to the ravine and I cannot get there fast enough!”

“No window. Got it.” Another woman throws her knife, rending the fabric of Genevieve’s nightshirt sleazes as it lodges in her armoire, but she misses her actual flesh. She spins, ripping the rest of the sleeve off, lunging her own hands towards the girl.

The hit lands, her dagger plunges down into the torso of the girl, and a surge of adrenaline.

The girl collapses to the floor, her weight trapping Genevieve, and her body feels as if she was dead. Scrambling out from under her, Genevieve’s breathing is ragged.

“Fuck! You have to go for her throat!” Oren shouts, registering the sudden death of his companion. “I’ll do it myself.”

“She’s dead,” Tairn confirms, and another surge of adrenaline flies through Genevieve. It feels as if lightning was dancing across her skin, burning her, boiling her blood. Genevieve is panicked, but she moves her dagger to fend off an attack to her left, slicing down a forearm, and then another to the right, stabbing into a man’s thigh.

“Use your brain!” Tairn bellows, and she lands an awfully hard dagger to a man’s gut. He collapses down to the floor as well, his sword tumbling after him. But now she’s cornered between the desk and the armoire. There are too many of them. They all rush in at once.

In her state of overwhelming confusion, the daggers are snatched out of her hand with appalling ease, and her heart seizes as Oren grips her throat. Another attacker is pinning her hands behind her with a torn blanket. She attempts to sweep for his knees, but her lifts her off the ground and she never makes contact. She’s too far away for anything.

“No. No. No.” She repeats over and over in her head, digging her nails into her palms, puncturing her skin as she attempts to claw free. His grip never eases as he crushes her throat. Air. There’s no air.

“He’s almost there!” Tairn promises, panic lacing his tone.

He who? Genevieve tries to respond, but she can’t breath, can’t think.

“Finish her!” The one who’s hands pin Genevieve’s hands behind her back yells. “He’ll only respect us if we finish her!”

They’re after Tairn.

His roar of rage fills Genevieve’s head as Oren lowers her body, flipping her around as he curls his arm so her back is against his chest. She can feel her feet back on the ground, but her vision is dark, her lungs fighting for oxygen that isn’t there.

The greedy eyes of a bleeding first year stare back into Genevieve’s blank face. “Do it!” She demands.

“You’re dragon is mine,” Oren hisses in her ear, and his hands fall away, replaced by a blade.

Air rushes into her lungs as cold metal caresses her throat, the oxygen flooding her blood and clearing her head just enough for her to know that this is the end. She’s going to die. From one heartbeat to what will probably be her last, an overwhelming feeling of

sorrow seizes her chest.

What about Violet? Does she graduate? And Rhiannon, Ridoc, and Sawyer? Do they survive too? And Xaden, does Xaden regret not kissing me once more?

The knife tip touches her skin.

Her bedroom door flies open, the wood splintering as it slams against the stone wall, but she doesn’t have a chance to turn to see who is standing there before a harsh yell pierces her vision.

“Now run!” Tairn screams. Skin-prickling energy zings down her spine and through her arms, then rushes to her fingertips and toes.

A man to her left lunges at her, sword in full motion, and she’s dagger-less.

In a last resort, she snaps the blanket that binds her hands, and holds them out, hoping to stop him in his tracks, but she doesn’t. Her hands make contact with him, and immediately he freezes, falling to the floor.

“Go!” Tairn demands.

She blinks at the man who has seemingly died from her touch. He isn’t breathing, isn’t moving. He’s dead.

And before another one can take a hit on her, Genevieve darts to the door, nearly slamming full force into Xaden, who fills the doorway like some kind of dark, avenging angel, the messenger of the queen of gods.

He’s fully dressed, his face a mask of veritable rage as shadows curl from the walls on either side of him. Relief immediately floods Genevieve’s mind, she feels so relieved that she could cry.

“It’s about damned time,” Xaden’s gaze snaps to Genevieve, his onyx eyes flaring in shock and relief for a millisecond before he strides forwards, his shadows streaming before him as he stands at her side. He snaps his fingers, and the mage light illuminates the room around them.

“You’re all fucking dead.” His voice is eerily calm and all the scarier for it.

Every head in the room turns.

“Riorson!” Oren’s dagger clatters to the floor.

“You think surrendering will save you?” Xaden’s lethally soft tone sends goosebumps up her arms. “It is against our code to attack another rider in their sleep.”

”But you know he should have never bonded her!” Oren says, putting his hands up, his palms facing them. “You of all people have reason to want her dead!”

“Dragons don’t make mistakes.” Xaden’s shadows grab every assailant but Oren by the throat, then constrict. They struggle, but it doesn’t matter. Their faces turn purple, the shadows holding tight as they sag to their knees, falling in an arc in front of her like lifeless puppets.

Xaden prowls forward as though her has all the time in the world and holds out his palm as yet another tendril of darkness lifts Quinn’s dagger out from under the first girls’ body.

“Let me explain.” Oren eyes the dagger, and his hands tremble.

“I’ve heard everything I need to hear.” Xaden’s fingers curl around the hilt of the dagger. “You’re lucky she only had two daggers on hand, or you would already be dead. But I’m here to kill you now.” He slashes forward so quickly that Genevieve barely catches the moves, and Oren’s throat opens in a horizontal line, blood streaming down his neck and chest in a torrent.

He grabs for this throat, but it’s useless. He bleeds out in seconds, crumpling to the floor. A crimson puddle grows around him.

“Damn, Xaden.” Garrick walks in, sheathing his sword as his gaze rakes over the room. “Morning Genevieve,” He nods. “No time for questioning?” His gaze sweeps over Genevieve, cataloging her injuries, catching on her throat.

“No need for it,” Xaden counters as Bodhi enters, saying the same greeting, doing the same quick assessment that Garrick had.

“Let me guess,” Bodhi says, rubbing the back of his neck. “We’re on cleanup?”

“Call for help if you need it,” Xaden answers with a nod, and suddenly, Genevieve is swept out of the room as she follows Xaden to his quarters silently.

——————————————————————

Sitting on the bed in the center of his room, Genevieve rests her head in her hands, her breaths shallow as if she was still being choked.

I’m alive. I’m alive. I’m alive.

“Yes. You’re alive.” Xaden steps closer to her as he sits next to her. Her entire body shakes like a leaf as the adrenaline leaves her system, leaving her tired and hurting.

“I didn’t realize I said that out loud,” She says, her tone an attempt at joking.

A few seconds pass in silence, just the sound of her breaths coming in short wheezes that Xaden can only describe as painful resonating in the walls of Xaden’s dorm. She shoves herself off of the bed quickly, muttering a quick apology as she nearly launches herself onto the trash can.

She throws up once, then dry heaves for a moment. Xaden immediately is next to her, his hand warm on her back.

“It’s just the shock,” he says, his hands soft on her back. “Are you hurt?” His words are clipped, but they’re gentle, and the pain in her body ebbs forward at the reminder that it's there. Every breath feels like she’s shoving broken glass into her lungs, but she doesn’t say anything.

“I’m still angry at you.” She whispered, her voice hoarse and dry after throwing up.

“Come on, Gen,” Xaden mutters, lifting her up off the floor next to the trash can and putting her gently onto the floor. “Tell me where you’re hurt.”

The blood of the three cadets Genevieve has killed has dried underneath her finger nails, staining her hands red as she looks at them. Xaden killed three cadets, too, but he doesn’t look nearly as shaken as she does. Quinn’s dagger glitters on the table next to the door, but its blade is covered with blood, accentuating the ruby in the hilt.

Genevieve can barely breath, her lungs burning with pain and fire. His fingers are warm under her chin as he tilts her head up so she’s looking at him, instead of her blood-crusted hands. “You’re breathing like crap, so I’m guessing it has to do with your ribs?” He says, his voice comforting as a hint of panic swirled behind his eyes.

“I’m fine,” She lies.

His focus snaps back to her eyes, his gaze no longer soft.

“Don’t lie to me,” He says it with such ferocity, bit out through gritted teeth, that she can’t help but nod.

“That’s rich coming from you,” She snaps, but her voice is too soft to have any real bite, and for some reason Xaden knows that Genevieve doesn’t mean it. Not right now, at least. Xaden’s eyes are trained onto hers, begging to know what’s wrong. “It hurts,” she finally admits, her voice so quiet he can barely hear her talk.

“Let me see.” And she nods, so he pulls her nightshirt over her head, gently pulling it off so as not to shake whatever is hurting more than it already is. Their eyes meet, and a warmth flutters through her stomach. But the moment is gone as quickly as it came, and inspecting her right side, fingers gently stroke over the bruising on her ribs from when she clattered to the floor.

“You have one hell of a bruise, but I don’t think they’re broken.”

“Thanks,” she murmurs, her voice still quiet.

“Come on, let’s go,” He says, and all of a sudden, when Genevieve turns around to grab her boots, he kneels on the floor in front of her, boots in hand. “I need to take you to the flight field.”

“Why?” She asks, and Xaden can’t help but feel like it’s almost as if she was a child again. Her voice is soft and innocent like a young girl who hasn’t seen anything, but he knows that when she wakes up tomorrow morning, refreshed and strong for the day, she’ll be back to normal. She’ll be back to ignoring him and casting him glares whenever he tries to give her pointers.

“You and I need answers,” He says, finishing up her boots before handing her the cloak he must have grabbed when ushering her out of her crime scene of a room. “That was one hell of a signet if that's what that was.”

Oh right, she can feel herself remember what she had just blocked out. The whole touching people and then they die thing.

“And we have to ask Tairn what the hell just happened,” Xaden’s jaw flexes. “And I’m not just talking about the attacks. How the hell did they get past your locks.”

Genevieve stumbled, her legs weak as she tried to fall into step beside Xaden. His arm snaked around her waist to keep her steady.

“I don’t lock my door,” She said, her voice soft but the words rang clear.

“Sorry?” Xaden says, his tone indicating that he wants her to try again. To say something else. Anything else. “You don’t lock your doors?”

”I don’t lock my door.” She repeated, not changing. “It scares me. I don’t like being behind locked doors.”

“You know it locks from the inside, though,” Xaden says, dragging her down one confusing hallway after the next. She’s lost all sense of direction as mage lights flicker on and off above her. “You’re not going to be locked in.”

Genevieve’s breath hitched as she tried to keep up with Xaden’s long strides. Every step jarred the ache in her ribs, but she bit her lip, refusing to let him see just how much it hurt. She wasn’t fragile. She had survived worse—much worse.

”I know,” she whispered, her voice sounding distant, like it was floating from someone else. “But it’s not the same. The feeling is the same.”

Xaden’s brows furrowed as they walked. His face resembles concern and confusion. His hand still anchored at her waist tightened slightly, keeping her upright.“What do you mean?”

Genevieve inhaled shakily, avoiding his gaze. Her mind raced, flashing back to the darkness, the dungeon, the cold stone walls that seemed to press in on her from all sides. The memory of Lilith’s mocking voice, the rattle of chains as she was left alone in the pitch-black cell with nothing but the sound of her own ragged breathing, clawed at her insides. Locked doors were cages. Locked doors were suffocating.

She cleared her throat, willing herself to focus on the present. “I don’t like the idea that someone can lock me in, even if I’m the one doing the locking.”

His grip on her waist loosened as the words sunk in, understanding flickering in his dark eyes. He took a breath, as if searching for the right words. “You’re not there anymore, Gen. No one’s locking you in.” His voice was quieter now, and it had an edge of softness she hadn’t expected from him.

For a brief second, she almost believed him. Almost. But the remnants of fear still clung to her chest, suffocating her almost as much as her buried ribs. The weight of it all—the kills, the literal blood on her hands, the secrets—was too much. She couldn’t afford to feel safe. Not yet.

She quickly broke her eye contact with Xaden, moving away from him, “I know.” She said, and her voice was strong. “Let’s just go to the flight field now.”

The ground shifts beneath her feet as though it’s rocking, but she knows better. It’s her head, the rust of the pain and the stress, and now the reminder that this happened because she was too weak to even lock her doors. Her breath catches, and her steps wobble.

Xaden moves next to her again, steadying her. They just continue down the pathway in a silence she can’t find herself to try and break. He just stands next to her as they walk down the cold stone corridor.

“Why are you taking me to the flight field?” She asks again, her voice now clearer than before. “Because I can talk to Tairn whenever I want to, so unless you want to talk to him, there’s no reason for this.”

Xaden stayed quiet, but his eyes watched her sharply.

“You’re insane,” Genevieve said, her voice dropping to a tired murmur. “I can’t believe you want to talk to my dragon.” Her words were a mix of frustration and disbelief, but there was something else beneath it—something softer. Maybe even relief.

Xaden didn’t respond, just continuing to take her farther and farther down the hall and then to a stonewall end of the tunnel. A few hand gestures and then another click sounds before he pushes open the door. They step into the crisp, freezingly cold November air.

“What the hell,” she whispers. The door is built into a stack of boulders on the eastern side of the field.

“It’s camouflaged.” Xaden waves a hand and the door closes, blending into the rocks as if it’s a part of it. “When you get better at lesser magic, I’ll teach you how to use this door as well.”

As they walk towards the center of the field, the grass grows behind her every step. It turns a little greener as she moves closer, and browns as she leaves, almost as if she was breathing life into the winter stricken earth with every step. Flowers bloom behind her movements, red poppies and white lilies spring across the field, illustrating her path.

But Xaden and her don’t notice. They’re just focused on her hands, on the death that sprang from them.

There’s a sound that she now recognizes as the steady beat of wings, and she looks up to see two dragons block out the stars as they descend. The earth shudders as they land in front of them.

“I’m guessing the wingleader wants a word?” Tairn steps forward and Sgaeyl follows, her wings tucked in tight, her golden eyes narrowing in on Genevieve.

“Yes, I want a word. What the hell kind of powers are you channeling to her?” Xaden demands, staring up at Tairn like he isn’t… Tairn.

Yep. Ballsy. Every muscle in her body locks, sure that Tairn is bound to torch Xaden for impudence.

“None of your business what I choose or do not choose to channel towards my rider,” Tairn answers with a growl.

This is going well.

“He says—” She starts.

“I heard him,” Xaden counters, not sparing Genevieve a glance.

“You what?” Her eyebrows raise so fast they nearly hit her hairline. Dragons only talk to their riders. That’s what Genevieve was taught. Despite whatever mate bond they have going on, Tairn should only talk to her.

“It’s absolutely my business when you expect me to protect her,” Xaden retorts, his voice rising.

“I got the message to you just fine, human.” Tairn’s head swivels in the snakelike motion that puts Genevieve on high alert. He’s more than agitated.

“And I barely made it.” The words come out clipped through clenched teeth. “She would have been dead if I’d been thirty seconds later.”

“Seems like you had thirty seconds gifted to you.” Tairn’s chest rumbles with a growl.

“And I’d like to know what the fuck happened in there!”

Genevieve inhales sharply.

“I may hate him right now, but you said you wouldn’t flame him,” Genevieve reminds him, her words begging. “And he just saved me.”

Tairn grumbles in response.

“We need to know what happened in that room.” Xaden’s dark gaze cuts through Genevieve like a knife for a millisecond before he glares back at Tairn.

“Don’t dare to try and read my rider or I, human, or you’ll regret it.” Tairn’s mouth opens, his tongue curling in a motion Genevieve knows well. She steps between the two, her gaze narrowing.

What in Malek’s name does that mean?

“He’s just a little freaked out. Don’t scorch him.”

“At least we agree on something.” A feminine voice sounds through Genevieve’s head.

Sgaeyl.

In awe, she blinks up at the navy blue dagger tail as Xaden moves to Genevieve’s side.

“She talked to me.”

“I know. I heard.” He folds his arms across his chest. For a moment he understood her second of frustration because that was his dragon, his beautiful blue dragon. “It’s because they’re mates. It’s the same reason you can feel my emotions. The same reason I’m chained to you.”

“Don’t make it sound so pleasant.” She quips, her eyes never leaving Sgaeyl.

“Gen, don’t do this right now,” he turns to face her. “But you and I are exactly that, Gen. We’re chained. Tethered. You die, I die, so I damn well deserve to know how one second that cadet was alive and the next he was on the floor dead as if his life was taken from him. Is that the signet power you’ve manifested with Tairn? Come clean. Now.” His eyes bore into hers as she finally moved from Sgaeyl.

“I don’t know what happened,” She answered honestly.

Xaden’s frustration simmers, his gaze sharp as he watches her, watches the flowers that seemed to have spring from the frost coated ground around her, the vines that snake up her legs. “You’re telling me you don’t know how you killed someone just by touching them?”

Genevieve shifts uncomfortably under the weight of his stare, her ribs aching with every breath. She truly didn’t know how to explain it. One moment she was fighting for her life, her body reacting on instinct—then there was a hold of energy, like something had snapped within her, and everything had unraveled. The cadet had fallen at her feet, eyes wide and unseeing.

“I didn’t mean to,” she murmurs, her voice barely more than a whisper. Her mind replays the scene-the surge of power, the warmth in her hands, the sudden absence of life. It hadn’t felt like her. It had felt other. A force she had no control over.

Xaden grits his teeth, but before he can respond, Tairn lets out a low rumble that reverberates through the ground beneath their feet. The dragon’s golden eyes flicker between the two of them before settling on Genevieve.

“It was your signet,” Tairn’s voice echoes in her mind, deep and resonant. “You are a life-weaver, Genevieve.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the sound of his words. Life-weaver? She had heard of rare signets that could manipulate the life force of others, but they were legends—whispers passed down by riders who had never known anyone strong enough to possess such power.

Xaden’s hand reached out to her, and panic immediately flashed through her eyes. She took a step back, shaking her head.

“No, no, you can’t touch me,” She says, her voice rising in panic and fear. “I don’t know what will- I didn’t mean to—” Her words falter as her gaze drops to her hands, still stained with the blood of the cadet. The memory of that fleeting connection with his life—how it had pulsed and then slipped away like sand through her fingers—burns fresh in her mind. She had taken it, without even realizing it.

Sgaeyl shifts, her broad wingspan stretching, casting a shadow over the group as her voice cuts in, smoother and more refined than Tairn’s. “Your power, Genevieve, is not just in taking life. You can give it as well.”

Her brows furrows in confusion, her heart pounding. Give life? The concept seems too foreign, too overwhelming. she had always seen herself as someone who had survived by taking—taking control, taking lives, taking what was necessary to keep herself from falling apart. The idea of giving, of restoring life, feels impossible.

“How… how do you know that?” She asks, her voice small.

Sgaeyl’s eyes gleam as she tilts her head, her voice patient but firm. “It is in your nature, Genevieve. You want nothing more to live, and signets are manifestations of a rider's truest desires. In time, you will learn to control it.”

Xaden is still beside her, his expression unreadable as he watches the exchange between Genevieve and his dragon. He seems torn between awe and concern, his dark eyes glancing between Tairn and Sgaeyl before settling on Genevieve once again.

“And what happens if she doesn’t?” Xaden asks, his voice low. There’s a tension in his tone, a hint of fear that Genevieve hasn’t heard before.

Sgaeyl’s gaze sharpens, her voice no longer gentle. “If she cannot master her power, the consequences will be devastating. For her and those around her.”

A chill runs down Genevieve’s spine. She can feel the weight of the warning in Sgaeyl’s words, the unspoken danger lurking beneath the surface of her newfound abilities. If she couldn’t control this power—this ability to manipulate life and death—then every touch, every moment of weakness could mean someone else’s end. The thought makes her stomach twist.

“How do I control it?” She says, and she hopes her voice hasn’t cracked to give away the vulnerability she’s trying so hard to suppress. “How do I make sure I don’t hurt anyone else?”

Tairn steps forward, his massive form towering over her as he speaks. “You will learn, Genevieve. But it will not be easy. This power comes at a cost—every life taken, every life restored, will demand something from you.”

Xaden’s eyes darken at Tairn’s words, his protective instincts flaring. “What kind of cost?”

Tairn’s tail flicks, his eyes narrowing on Xaden before turning back to Genevieve. “That is for her to discover. The balance between life and death is delicate, and every choice will weigh on her soul.”

Genevieve swallows hard, her mind racing. She wants to scream, to push the dragons and Xaden away, to shut out the overwhelming reality that her signet might be something far darker and more dangerous than she ever imagined. But there’s no escaping it now. This power is a part of her, whether she likes it or not.

Xaden steps closer, his gaze softening as he looks down at her. “You don’t have to face this alone,” he says quietly. “Whatever happens… we’ll figure it out.”

She looks up at him, her chest tight with emotion. The weight of what she has done, of what she might do in the future, threatens to crush her. But in his eyes, she sees something else—trust, perhaps, or maybe just a flicker of hope. Something she hasn’t allowed herself to feel in a long time.

“I’m not ready,” she whispers, her voice trembling.

“You don’t have to be,” Xaden replies softly. His hand reaches for hers, and when his fingers lace through hers, she feels a warmth—life, not death—flow between them. But she immediately retracted hers, and watched as a flash of hurt echoed over his eyes. “We’ll take this one step at a time.”

Tairn and Sgaeyl watched silently as the two stood there, connected by the fragile thread of shared understanding. Neither dragon speaks, but Genevieve can feel their presence, a steady and unwavering reminder that her journey has only just begun. She isn’t alone, not anymore.

———————————————

The next morning, Liam Mairi was added to Genevieve’s squad, his own squad being dissolved as a result of him being one of three left. Amber Mavis was executed by Tairn’s fire for organizing an attack on a sleeping cadet, and Genevieve found herself face to face with the horrified eyes of her own squad mates.

“So you killed them?” Sawyer asks, trying to get his facts straight. “With no weapons? Just your hands?”

“No,” Genevieve corrected. “I only killed one of them with my signet. The other two I stabbed. If you're going to look at me like I’m a monster, at least get your head out of the clouds and be realistic.”

Sawyer glanced up and down, his eyes traveling from the unnaturally lush grass at her feet to her white hair. “What even is your signet? And what happened last night?” He asked again.

“My signet is Life Weaving,” she said again. “Don’t ask me what it means, I have a day until Professor Carr starts training and then I learn what Life Weaving really is. And for the last time, I was attacked in my sleep by Oren and Amber Mavis and five other cadets. Two of them I murdered with a dagger and one of them I murdered just by touching him.” Her tone was final, and left no room for argument. “Now can you stop asking me? And I don’t like the face you’re making!”

“Gods, Genevieve,” Ridoc said, his voice low with a mix of admiration and fear. “You show up on the craziest dragon and now manifest the craziest signet?”

Genevieve stared at Ridoc, her eyes cold and calculating. His tone was laced with a sense of awe and apprehension, which only served to amplify her discomfort. She could sense the shift in the atmosphere around her squad—whispers and sideways glances punctuated the air as news of her signet traveled from person to person. They were both intrigued and frightened, and Genevieve didn’t need to be an inntinnsic to understand why.

“Don’t get too caught up in the spectacle,” Genevieve said, her voice cutting through the murmur of the squad. “It’s not a show. It’s survival.” She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She could feel the vines growing up from her feet, twisting and winding up her legs and around her. The weight of her own abilities and the consequences of her decision were heavy on her shoulders, almost as heavily as Xaden’s gaze.

Liam, who had been silent until now, still getting used to the squad, getting acquainted with the new people, nodded slowly.

“You did what you had to do,” He says, and a flower blooms in the palm of her hand accidentally. “You didn’t want to kill them but you had to. And you’re alive now, isn’t that what matters?”

“Exactly. I did what I had to do,” She shot a glare at Sawyer. “Now stop looking at me like that!”

“Sorry! Sorry!” He says, putting his hands up in mock defense. “I just didn’t know everytime I high-fived you I was risking my life.” His voice carries a tone of joking play.

Genevieve’s eyes narrowed at Sawyer’s attempt at humor, the flicker of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth despite herself. The tension in the air eased slightly, though the discomfort lingered beneath the surface.

Liam’s thoughtful observation had brought a moment of clarity amidst the chaos, and Genevieve could see how the squad was beginning to adjust to the new dynamics. The lush grass beneath her feet seemed to pulse with the lingering energy of her confrontation from the night before, a reminder of both her power and her peril.

Sawyer cleared his throat, his playful facade faltering as he looked around at the other squad members, their expressions a mix of curiosity and unease. “Alright, alright. I get it. No more questions about the ‘craziest signet.’”

Ridoc, still with a glint of respect in his eyes, stepped forward. “We should focus on what’s ahead. We’ve got new training sessions starting soon, and we need to make sure we’re all on the same page. We go to the archives tomorrow, and then Genevieve and Sawyer start in Professor Carr’s class, so hopefully we can get some information on their signets.”

The group nodded, everyone in agreement with the plan.

“Alright team,” Rhiannon continued, stepping forward with her usual blend of authority and empathy. “Let’s put the past behind us and focus on the present. We need to be prepared for what’s coming. Signet training with Carr is going to beat Genevieve and Sawyer’s asses, so let’s get to it!”

Her words hung in the air, and for a moment, the squad was united in their resolve. The previous night’s chaos had shaken them, but now there was a shared purpose in their eyes. Genevieve, though still reeling from the events, felt a flicker of something she hadn’t fully acknowledged—hope. It was a small, fragile thing, but it was there, nestled among the cracks of her hardened exterior.

The squad’s camaraderie was palpable, a shared commitment to overcoming their trials together. the tension in the air began to dissipate, replaced by a cautious optimism. The lush grass around Genevieve continued to grow, a visual testament to her power and the new path she was forging.

As they began to disperse, preparing for the day ahead, Genevieve felt her head clear for the first time since the attack.

Life really does go on after signet manifestation.

——

Violet sat across from Genevieve at a secluded table in the archives, scribes that Violet knew, bustled around them, but Genevieve’s eyes were trained on the single book in between them.

“I searched the entire archives and I could only find one thing on Life Weaving,” Violet says, “and it's from a guy who lived 400 years ago.”

“Great,” Genevieve groaned. The past few days had been hell for her, with everyone finding out what her signet is. From her squad, it was just her and Sawyer so far that had manifested their signets, and Professor Carr was of no help in figuring out what Life Weaving really meant, so she was on her own. Not to mention, she had been practically ignoring Xaden since October, now it was mid November, and the only time she had talked to him was when he came to save her. “Let me guess, it’s in some obscure language that only you or the scribes know, so I can’t even figure it out for myself.”

“Let me finish.”Violet said, her voice snapping. “His name was Korrin Lysander, and according to this he’s the only other known Life Weaver, ever. Even then it was considered a rare and mythical power, even of the most skilled of riders.” Violet’s fingers gently brush over the worn pages, revealing a faded illustration of a man with pale eyes and pale hair, hand glowing with ethereal light as vines twisted behind him. “It’s said that Life Weavers can manipulate the very essence of life itself—both creating and destroying.”

Genevieve leans in closer, her eyes scanning the text as Violet continues. “Lysander’s notes are vague at best. He describes it as a power tied to the rider’s deepest desires and emotions. He mentions something about ‘balancing the scales’ of life and death, but it’s mostly cryptic.”

Liam appears from behind a bookshelf, pulling up a chair and sitting right next to Violet. Genevieve casts a sideways glance at how close the two of them are, but ultimately she ignores it, her fingers still trembling slightly as she turns the pages. The weight of the power she’s discovered presses heavily on her, each turn of the page feeling like a step deeper into the dark, uncertain path.

��So this Life Weaving thing… it’s not just about killing, it’s about giving life?” Liam asks, snaking an arm around Violet. “And sorry, I searched all the old Tyrrish texts, but nothing. Sawyer and Ridoc are in the Luceran section, but no luck there either.”

“Exactly,” Violet replies. “It seems like Lysander could heal as well as harm, but the specifics are unclear. Seems like his main mode of fighting was through rapidly growing vines and using them as whips or ropes. He also writes about the cost—how each act of weaving could take a toll on the rider’s own life force.”

Genevieve’s brow furrowed as she absorbed the information, her mind racing with the implications. The idea that every time she used her signet, it could drain her, chip away at her own life, sent a chill down her spine. The thought of losing herself bit by bit, becoming weaker each time she saved someone else, felt like another chain around her neck.

“So, I could heal people, but it’d drain me in the process?” Genevieve’s voice was quieter than she intended, her fingers tracing the faded ink of the ancient pages. She already carried the weight of her survival, the guilt of who she’d had to become to stay alive. But not, the possibility that her power could take even more from her—strip away her life—was overwhelming.

Violet glanced at her, her expression more sympathetic than usual. “It seems that way. Lysander’s writings are frustratingly vague, but I had Jesenia help me, and we found that there’s enough here to suggest that in order to be able to take you need to give too, and giving is easier than taking. It does suggest that the power isn’t infinite though, the more you use it, the more it could cost. It’s all about balance—creating life, taking life, it all seems to go hand in hand.”

Genevieve swallowed hard, leaning back in her chair. The tension between her and Xaden over the past few weeks had been like a boulder pressing on her chest, and now, with this new layer of uncertainty, she felt even more isolated. It had been bad enough when her squad found out about her signet, the fear and awe in their eyes as she realized what she was capable of. But now, learning that the very thing that had saved her life in that brutal moment could also lead to her undoing…

“How in Malek’s name am I supposed to balance something like that?” Genevieve muttered, running a hand through her dark hair. “What if I can’t control it?”

Violet doesn’t respond immediately, instead, flipping another page and scanning the text. “You’re definitely not the first person to feel that way,” she finally said. “Lysander writes about the early days of his power, when he was terrified of using it, afraid that he’d lose control. But he learned!”

Genevieve scoffed softly, her skepticism cutting through her fear. “That’s great in theory. But Lysander had time. I don’t.”

Liam, still seated close to Violet, finally spoke up again. “That’s why we’re here, right? To figure this out before something happens. And you won’t be on your own. You’ve got us.”

Genevieve glanced at him, her lips twitching with a hint of a smile. Liam’s loyalty was something she could always count on, even when everything else seemed uncertain. But the truth was, this was a path she’d have to walk largely alone. Life Weaving was rare, mythical even. No one, not even her friends, could truly understand what it felt like to have this burden.

Except Xaden. Shadow wielding was almost as rare as Life Weaving. He would know.

“Yeah,” she said quietly, her voice tinged with gratitude and exhaustion. “I know.”

But the unease lingered, heavy and suffocating. The memory of that night—of the cadets lying lifeless at her feet, of the vines she hadn’t even realized she’d summoned—flashed in her mind, and a part of her wondered how much of her life had already been taken.

“What now?” Liam asked, breaking the silence. “Do we keep searching? I could go back and run through the Tyrrish section again, just to see if anything is stashed away?”

Violet shook her head. “There’s no point. We’ve combed the archives top to bottom. If there’s anything more on Life Weaving, it’s buried so deep no one’s found it in centuries.”

“Maybe she could practice on Ridoc?” Liam proposed, his voice light, as usual. “Kill him quickly and then revive him. He’d never know the difference.”

“Be quiet!” Violet said, lightly hitting him on the arm.

Genevieve’s hands tightened into fists on her lap. She could feel her chest tightening, her breaths shallow. Her instincts were screaming for action, for something to fight against, but there was no enemy in sight—just this invisible force tying her to a power she didn’t understand.

“I need time,” she said, her voice hoarse. “I need to figure this out before it kills me or one of you.” She stood abruptly, pushing back the chair and grabbing the book, clutching it tightly as if it held the key to her survival.

Violet stood as well, placing a hand on Genevieve’s arm. “It won’t-”

“Don’t touch me!” Genevieve said loudly, earning a harsh shush from one of the scribes nearby. Violet immediately retracted her hand, mumbling a quick sorry.

“You don’t have to do this alone, Genevieve. We’ll figure it out together. Xaden will—”

”Don’t,” Genevieve cut her off again, her voice sharp. “Xaden and I… we’re not..” She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. The weight of their last encounter still hung heavily between them, unresolved and festering. She couldn’t think about him now, not when she didn’t know how to even deal with herself.

Violet hesitated but nodded. “Just… don’t shut him out forever. He cares more than he lets on. And he’s literally in your head, all day every day, you can’t avoid him.”

Genevieve didn’t reply, her focus already shifting to the book in her hands. she needed answers—needed to understand what she had become. The path ahead was dark, but it was hers to walk, even if it meant risking everything in the process.

————————————————

Hello all! I’m back a day early with this chapter, just because all of a sudden I’m getting a lot of love on this work, and I want to keep you all happy (make you all watch Genevieve slowly descend into a self-dedicating madness).

Either way, I’m going to update again on Wednesday this week with Chapter 12, and then Chapter 13 next Saturday or Sunday, but I want to know- I wrote chapter 13 with a little smut (😬) and it’s my first attempt ever so It sucks, do you still want me to post that?If no one says no I’ll post it with a warning LMAO.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and what do you think of her signet? I spent so much time thinking about it, and it’s definitely very much based off of the fates from Greek mythology. Please like and leave a comment on what you thought! Thank you~

#violet sorrengail #fourth wing #fourth wing imagine #fourth wing x reader #fourth wing xaden #liam mairi #xaden and sgaeyl #xaden riorson #xaden riorson x reader #garrick tavis x reader #bodhi durran #the empyrean

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