Page 47 of Court of Twisted Angels

"The alignment must be precise." Azrael traces glowing sigils into the air. They hang suspended, casting eerie shadows across the room. "Each stone represents an element of the curse."

I position the crystals according to the diagrams in the spellbooks spread before us. My hands shake as I place the final stone - the one Azrael took from me during the trials. Its surface ripples like liquid mercury.

"Channel the energy through your conduit." Azrael's fingers brush my palm where the metallic band wraps around it. "Let it flow naturally, like water finding its path."

Power surges through the conduit, making my skin buzz. The sensation reminds me of climbing trees back home - working with something alive and ancient rather than controlling it. The stones begin to hum in harmony, their light pulsing in rhythm with my heartbeat.

"Good." Azrael places his hands over mine. His magic floods the circle, raw and potent. The stones lift into the air, spinning faster as their energies intertwine.

My legs buckle from the strain of maintaining the connection. Sweat drips down my back as I fight to keep the power flowing smoothly. One wrong move could shatter the delicate balance we've created.

The stones' light intensifies until it's almost blinding. Ancient words appear in the air around us, written in fire. Azrael reads them aloud, his voice resonating with otherworldly power. Each syllable sends shockwaves through the room, rattling the artifacts on their shelves.

"Don't let go," he commands as the magic reaches a crescendo. The curse manifests as writhing shadows that try to break our circle. "Focus on the flow, little bird. Like you're navigating a storm."

I grit my teeth and push through the exhaustion. The conduit burns against my skin, but I maintain my grip on the energy current. Together, we weave the spell that will begin unraveling generations of darkness.

I tracemy fingers along the spines of ancient books in Azrael's library, breathing in the scent of leather and parchment. Magical lights dance between the towering shelves, casting warm pools of gold across the floor. Through the arched windows, I watch zarryn graze in the meadow below, their silvery manes catching the late afternoon sun.

"Lost in thought?" Azrael's arms slip around my waist.

"Just... processing everything." I lean back against his chest. "Weeks ago I was scraping by in the slums, dreaming of wings while watching the xaphan soar overhead. Now here I am."

"Here you are." His lips brush my ear. "One of two humans to survive the trials."

I turn to face him, studying the sharp angles of his face - features that once seemed so cold now warm with affection. "You're different too. That first day, when you I bumped into you-"

"I thought you were just another desperate human." His thumb traces my jawline. "I never imagined you'd change everything."

We settle onto a plush window seat, enchanted cushions adjusting to cradle us perfectly. Outside, the magical gardensshift and transform as evening approaches, flowers closing while luminescent night blooms unfurl their petals.

"Tell me about your childhood," I say, playing with his fingers. "Before the curse."

"I used to race the wind." A rare smile crosses his face. "My wings were strongest in summer storms. Father would take me up above the clouds where lightning danced."

The mention of wings makes my shoulder blades tingle. Soon I'll have my own, earned through blood and determination rather than birthright. But the victory feels hollow without my family to share it.

"We'll get them the medicine they need," Azrael says, reading my expression. "Your mother will recover. Your siblings will never know hunger again."

I nod, throat tight with emotion. In the quiet moments like this, away from the politics and power plays of New Solas, I see the man beneath the cold exterior - the one who risked everything to save his family, who taught me to channel magic through my conduit with infinite patience, who looks at me now like I'm something precious rather than beneath him.

His fingers thread through my hair, and I close my eyes as he draws me closer. The magical flames in the library dim in response to his mood, casting us in soft shadows. Here, in this peaceful moment, I can finally admit to myself how completely I've fallen for him.

And I couldn't be happier now.

All that's left is to get my wings. Tomorrow, I'll have them, and that will fundamentally change me in a way I never wanted. But I'm not afraid like I thought I'd be.

"Are you nervous about the ceremony?"

"No." The lie tastes bitter. My heart hammers against my ribs like a caged bird. I've survived the trials, mastered the conduit'smagic, helped break an ancient curse. Yet this final step terrifies me more than all of those combined.

The wing ceremony itself is shrouded in mystery. Even Azrael won't tell me exactly what happens, only that the process involves powerful magic that will forever alter my body and soul. The few texts I've found mention searing pain as bones reshape and muscles form. Some candidates don't survive the transformation.

"You shouldn't be," he whispers. "I'll be right there with you. The whole time."

I grin at him. "That's all I need."

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