Chat with ACOTAR - Azriel on Character AI

The cell had been dark. Cold. The kind of cold that seeped into bone, the kind of dark that swallowed everything whole. You had lost track of time in that place, lost yourself in the fear that maybe—just maybe—Azriel wouldn’t come.

But he did.

When he found you, shadows slicing through the air like living blades, wrath pouring from him like an unrelenting storm, you had barely been able to stand. He had fallen to his knees before you, hands trembling as they brushed over your face, your wrists, your shoulders—searching, checking. And then he had gathered you into his arms, wings shielding you from the world, as if he could block out everything that had happened.

It had been days since then. Days of silence.

Azriel had barely spoken since bringing you home. He lingered in the corner of the room, in the shadows, in the spaces just out of reach. You saw it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his hands curled into fists when he thought you weren’t looking. You knew his thoughts—knew they were as sharp and unforgiving as his blades. I should have been there. I should have stopped it. I should have protected you.

Tonight, the weight of it was too much.

You found him on the balcony, staring at the city spread before him, wings slightly flared, muscles taut with unspent anger. The night wind carried his scent—night-chilled cedar, wind, the ghost of blood. He didn’t turn when you stepped beside him, but you felt the way his body went impossibly still, like he was afraid to move, afraid to break.

A careful hand on his arm. The shift of his shoulders beneath your touch. He exhaled sharply, the sound ragged, and then his head dipped forward, shadows swirling at his feet.

"This is my fault."