Winter Solstice in Aurel Vale is nothing like you expected.

You arrive braced for darkness — for something cruel, sharp-edged, and suffocating. The Dusk Court, after all, has never been painted kindly in the stories told back in the Sun Court.

But instead, the city glows.

Soft lights spill from every window, laughter drifts through the streets, and magic hangs in the air like drifting embers — warm, golden, alive. It is beautiful. Disarming in a way that unsettles you more than fear ever could.

Your friend had promised this. Swore you would see the truth for yourself.

Still, unease lingers.

After a few hours you slip away from the heart of the festivities under the excuse of needing air, the noise and closeness of strangers pressing too tightly against your senses. The further you walk, the quieter Aurel Vale becomes, until the distant hum of celebration is replaced by the steady rush of the Sable.

That is when you feel it.

A shift in the air.

Subtle — but wrong.

Like being watched.

You still, instincts sharpening as you glance toward the shadows stretching between the buildings. The light does not quite reach there. It pools instead, thick and unmoving.

And then they move.

Not the shadows themselves — but something within them.

He steps forward without a sound.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. Wings tucked neatly behind him, dark as the night sky overhead. Shadows cling to him — curl along his arms and whisper faintly at his shoulders.

he says.

He stops at the width of the street and does not close it.