Remnants Of Ashes

Remnants of Ashes

masterlist

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 1097

Summary: Gale Hawthorne, now a Peacekeeper in District 2, struggles to adapt to its ambitious, unfamiliar atmosphere while haunted by memories of Katniss Everdeen from District 12.

***

District 2 was a world apart from District 12, place of stone and metal rather than ash and coal. Gale Hawthorne tried to make this new district feel like home, but the familiarity of District 12's ruins haunted him. The bustling activity of District 2 felt foreign, the people here driven by ambitions and ideals so different from the grim survival that had characterized his old life.

Each morning, Gale woke with the sun. He dressed quickly, leaving his small apartment and heading out into the city before the streets filled with people. His role as a Peacekeeper was a pragmatic choice, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He told himself it was for the greater good, to help rebuild Panem—but deep down, he knew he was running from ghosts.

He was running from Katniss.

Katniss Everdeen. The girl on fire. The Mockingjay.

To him, she had been so much more than just a symbol.

She had been his partner in crime, his confidante, his closest friend. But the war had changed everything. They had changed, and now, she was a phantom pain, an echo of what once was.

***

It was a Sunday when Gale decided to visit the training fields. It was a place of order and discipline, filled with recruits who were eager to shape the new world. He watched them sparring, their movements precise and calculated, so different from the desperate skirmishes he had known.

"You're here early," a voice said, breaking his reverie.

Gale turned to see Lyda, one of the senior Peacekeepers, approaching him. She was a tall woman with a sharp gaze, her uniform crisp and spotless.

"Couldn't sleep," Gale admitted, shrugging. "Thought I'd come see how the new recruits are doing."

Lyda nodded, her expression softening slightly. "You still think about her, don't you?"

Gale's jaw tightened.

"Every day."

That night, Gale couldn't sleep. He lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, listening to the silence.

The nights in the woods with Katniss, the warmth of the fire, the shared stories, the unspoken bond between them. Those nights were gone, buried under the rubble of war and time...

He got up and walked to the window, looking out at the city. District 2 was thriving, rebuilding itself with a ferocity that mirrored his own determination. Yet, it felt hollow.

No amount of anything could fill the void left by Katniss.

Gale sighed and turned away from the window. He opened a drawer and pulled out a small, battered notebook. It was filled with sketches and notes, plans for traps and strategies. But between the lines of his meticulous handwriting were glimpses of another story— drawings of mockingjays, notes about hunting trips, fragments of poetry that he would never admit to writing.

He flipped to a blank page and stared at it. Slowly, he began to write.

***

Weeks turned into months, and Gale threw himself into his work. He trained recruits, devised new strategies, and worked tirelessly to ensure the safety of the district. He became known as a strict but fair leader, respected by his peers and subordinates. But despite his accomplishments, the emptiness lingered.

***

One evening, after a particularly grueling day, Gale found himself wandering the outskirts of District 2. The air was cool and crisp, a stark contrast to the dusty heat of the city. He walked until he found a secluded spot, a small hill overlooking a valley. He sat down and let the silence envelop him.

"Hey, Catnip," he whispered to the wind. "I don't know if you can hear me, but I need to talk to you."

He paused, taking a deep breath. "I miss you. I miss us. The way things used to be before... everything. I know things can never go back to the way they were, and I don't even know if you'd want them to. But I can't help thinking about what we lost."

Gale closed his eyes, feeling a tear slide down his cheek. "I wish I could tell you this in person. I wish I could see you, hear your voice. But I can't. So I'll just keep talking to the wind and hope that somehow, you'll hear me."

***

As the seasons changed, so did Gale. He found solace in small things—a recruit's success, a well-executed plan, the beauty of a sunrise over the mountains. He began to accept that Katniss was a part of his past, a cherished memory that he would carry with him always.

One day, while sorting through his belongings, Gale found the notebook again. He flipped through the pages, smiling at the memories. When he reached the end, he saw the words he had written that first night in District 2.

"Katniss, if you ever read this, I want you to know that I forgive you. And I hope you can forgive me too. We did what we had to do, and we survived. That's all that matters."

He closed the notebook and placed it back in the drawer. It was time to move forward.

***

Katniss's POV:

Katniss stood by the rusted fence, the setting sun casting a golden hue over District 12. Memories of Gale flooded her mind. Unbidden. Unrelenting.

Gale.

The name alone caused a pang in her stomach.

His grey eyes, always intense, haunted her thoughts. The woods had been their sanctuary, a place to escape the harsh realities of their lives... their laughter, shared meals, and whispered dreams of a future free from the Capitol's grip.

Now, those dreams felt like distant echoes.

The fence, once a boundary she and Gale had often crossed together, now felt like a wall separating her from her past. Katniss ran her fingers along the cold metal, feeling the rough texture beneath her fingertips. Each ridge and rusted spot a reminder of times gone by.

A soft breeze rustled through the trees, carrying with it the scent of pine and earth. She closed her eyes, breathing it in deeply, trying to anchor herself in the present. But it was no use. Her thoughts drifted back to the days when she and Gale would venture beyond the fence, into the wild, untamed woods where they could be free, if only for a while.

She could almost hear his voice, low and comforting, as he spoke of rebellion and hope. "Someday, Katniss," he had said, his voice filled with conviction, "someday things will be different. We won't have to live in fear."

But someday had come and gone. The rebellion had happened. The world had changed.

Game Night With The Crows

so @padfoot-lupin77 i am still a bit confused about the whole re-blogging thing (since i joined Tumblr, quite recently-) but the idea caught me and grew in me like the most resilient disease *starts blabbering about Inception* *please ignore* ... well, anyways .... here i am!

Hope you like it!!

.•°☆°•.

Summary: The Crows take a break from their usual schemes to play a game of Monopoly, in which without a doubt, Kaz dominates.

***

The Slat was unusually quiet. The kind of quiet that always put Jesper on edge. Kaz was in his office, working through a stack of papers, while Inej sharpened her knives at the corner table. Wylan and Nina were huddled over some new schematics for a job, and Matthias stood guard by the door, his eyes scanning the room for any sign of trouble.

Jesper, unable to sit still any longer, wandered over to Kaz's office and knocked on the open door. "Kaz, we need a break."

Kaz didn't look up from his work. "A break?" he repeated, his tone flat.

"Yes, a break. You know, something to take our minds off the constant scheming and plotting." Jesper leaned against the doorframe, his usual grin in place, "how about a game night?"

"Yes! Monopoly, to be precise. Let's see who really knows how to make a fortune," Jesper suggested with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

Kaz glanced at the papers on his desk, then back at Jesper. After a long moment, he sighed. "Fine. But only for a couple of hours."

Jesper's grin widened. "Perfect. I'll get the others."

Jesper practically bounced back into the main room, where the others looked up curiously. "Guess what? Kaz agreed to a game night!"

Nina laughed. "You actually convinced him? This I have to see."

Matthias looked skeptical. "The demjin playing a game? I’ll believe it when I see it."

Wylan lan's eyes lit up at the mention of Monopoly. "I’m in. It’ll be nice to do something normal for once."

Inej smiled softly, her curiosity piqued. "I’ll play."

With everyone in agreement, they gathered around the largest table in the Slat, clearing off maps and blueprints to make room for the game. Jesper spread out the Monopoly board while Nina and Matthias brought waffles from the kitchen.

Kaz emerged from his office, looking slightly bemused but not entirely displeased. He took a seat at the head of the table, watching as the others chose their pieces.

"I'll be the thimble," Inej said, picking up the small metal piece.

Jesper grabbed the race car, of course. "Vroom vroom, here comes the winner!"

Nina picked the dog, Matthias took the hat, and Wylan chose the boot. Kaz, with a resigned air, took the battleship.

"Let's get this over with," Kaz muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

The game began with its usual mix of excitement and strategy. Jesper was the first to land on Boardwalk, a broad grin spreading across his face. "Looks like I'm building an empire!"

"Not if I can help it," Wylan said, eyeing the other properties strategically.

Nina and Matthias engaged in playful banter as they moved their pieces around the board. "You always pick the dog," Matthias observed.

"It brings me luck," Nina replied with a wink.

Kaz played with the same ruthless efficiency he brought to everything else, quickly accumulating properties and planning his moves several turns in advance. "Luck is for amateurs," he said as he landed on Park Place, solidifying his hold on the board.

At one point, Kaz bought up a whole block of properties, and Jesper couldn’t resist a comment. "Looks like Brekker’s Investments are expanding."

Kaz glanced up, "It's all about knowing where to invest your resources," he said, his gaze briefly flickering to Inej, who rolled her eyes but smiled nonetheless.

His eyes lingered on to Inej...

Inej...

Her quiet strength, the way she held herself with such grace and confidence, always struck him. Her dark hair fell in soft waves, framing her face perfectly. When she smiled, even the most hardened part of him seemed to soften.

She was more than just an investment.

Her eyes caught his, and for a fleeting second, the world outside of their little circle ceased to exist.

Her smile was like a rare glimpse of sunlight in the dreary streets of Ketterdam, and Kaz found himself caught in its warmth. He wondered —

Nina’s voice cut through his thoughts like a knife. "Kaz, are you daydreaming about Inej’s strategy or just imagining your next romantic move? It's your turn," she teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

Kaz blinked, realizing he had almost missed a crucial move. He quickly rolled the dice and made his play, landing on a property he had been eyeing for several turns. With swift precision, he bought it up, adding another piece to his growing empire.

As the night wore on, the board became a battlefield of hotels and houses. Kaz, unsurprisingly, was in the lead, but the others put up a valiant fight. Jesper, true to form, made a few reckless moves, much to Wylan’s dismay.

"You’re supposed to be good at this!" Wylan exclaimed as Jesper handed over another stack of cash to Kaz.

"I’m good at making things exciting, merchling" Jesper replied with his usual grin.

As Kaz placed his final hotel on Boardwalk, sealing his victory, Jesper groaned.

"Next time, we’re playing something that doesn’t involve you bankrupting us all."

"We’ll see about that."

Even in victory, Kaz allowed himself a rare moment of relaxation, knowing that sometimes, even the sharpest minds needed a break.

Echoes of Silence

masterlist

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 1410

Summary: In the aftermath of the war, Draco Malfoy wrestles with a profound identity crisis, liberated from the weight of his family's expectations but adrift in a world without the darkness that once defined him. Desperate, he turns to the one person he thinks might understand, the one person who’d always seemed to have the answers.

---

Without the looming shadow of his family’s expectations, he found himself in a profound identity crisis. Who was he without the pressure, without the darkness that had defined his life for so long?

Draco wandered through the halls of Malfoy Manor, a ghost in his own home. The once grand estate felt like a prison now, the silence echoing his inner turmoil. He’d tried to bury himself in books, in potions, in anything that could distract him from the gnawing emptiness inside.

But nothing worked.

Desperate, he turned to the one person he thought might understand, the one person who’d always seemed to have the answers.

Hermione Granger.

It had taken all his courage to send that owl. Hermione was busy with her work at the Ministry, tirelessly advocating for equality and justice.

She was everything he wasn’t—brave, strong, righteous. What right did he have to ask anything of her?

But he was drowning, and he needed help.

Hermione was surprised when she received Draco’s letter.

They hadn’t spoken much since the end of the war, their paths having diverged sharply. Still, she couldn’t ignore the plea in his words. Reluctantly, she agreed to meet him at a small café in Diagon Alley, away from prying eyes.

When she arrived, Draco was already there, looking pale and gaunt. His usual aristocratic composure was shattered, replaced by a haunted look in his eyes.

Hermione sat down across from him, unsure of what to say.

"Thank you for coming," Draco began, his voice barely above a whisper.

Hermione nodded, waiting for him to continue. She could sense the turmoil within him, and it unsettled her. Despite their history, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy.

" I don’t know who I am anymore," Draco confessed, staring into his cup of untouched tea. “Without my family’s influence, without the hatred that defined me for so long... I’m lost.”

Hermione’s heart ached at his admission. She knew the feeling all too well, the sense of being unmoored in a world that had changed so drastically.

She leaned forward, her expression softening.

"Draco, finding yourself takes time. It’s not something that happens overnight. You need to allow yourself to heal."

Draco clenched his fists, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But how? How do I move on from everything I’ve done? From the things I’ve seen?”

Hermione took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. “You start by forgiving yourself. And then, you make amends where you can. You can’t change the past, but you can shape your future.”

Her words, though well-meaning, struck a nerve. Draco’s temper flared.

"Forgive myself? You make it sound so easy! You don’t understand what it’s like to be me, to carry this guilt, this shame!"

Hermione’s eyes flashed with anger. “Don’t you dare tell me I don’t understand! I’ve spent years fighting for justice, for people like you to have a second chance. But you have to want it, Draco. You have to be willing to work for it!”

The tension between them crackled like lightning. Draco stood up abruptly, knocking over his chair. “I knew this was a mistake,” he spat, turning to leave.

Hermione was on her feet in an instant, grabbing his arm. “No, you don’t get to walk away! Not this time!” Her grip was firm, and for a moment, Draco saw a flicker of something in her eyes—compassion, understanding, maybe even a hint of her own pain.

Draco pulled away, his expression a mix of anger and desperation. “What do you want from me, Granger? I’m trying, but it’s not enough!”

“Then try harder!” Hermione shot back, her voice rising. “You can’t just give up because it’s difficult. We all have our demons, Draco. You’re not the only one suffering.”

Something in her words broke through his defences. Draco’s shoulders slumped, the fight draining out of him. “I don’t know how,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I don’t know how to be better.”

Hermione’s expression softened again, and she reached out, taking his hand in hers. “Then let me help you. We can figure it out together.”

Draco looked at her, the anger fading from his eyes, replaced by a glimmer of hope. He nodded slowly, the weight of his struggles momentarily lifting.

"Okay,” he said quietly. “Together.”

Later that evening as a rainstorm waged outside, Draco found himself restless. He paced the quiet halls of Malfoy Manor, his mind swirling with thoughts of his conversation with Hermione. Her words echoed in his ears, challenging him to confront his past and strive for a better future.

As Draco paced the grand halls of Malfoy Manor, the rain intensified outside, drumming against the windows like a persistent reminder of his inner turmoil. He couldn't shake the weight of his conversation with Hermione earlier that day.

Her words had pierced through his defences, stirring emotions he had long buried beneath the facade of Malfoy pride.

With each step, he felt the walls of his ancestral home closing in on him. He needed air, space—anything to escape the suffocating silence that echoed his uncertainty.

Without a plan, he found himself drawn to the large oak doors leading to the garden. Pushing them open, he stepped into the cool night air, the scent of rain and earth mingling around him.

Lost in thought, Draco almost didn't notice the figure standing at the edge of the garden, her silhouette illuminated by flashes of lightning.

Hermione stood there, her hair dampened by the rain, staring out into the darkness with a contemplative expression.

Their eyes met across the distance, and for a moment, time seemed to stand still. Draco hesitated, unsure whether to approach her. But as another crack of thunder echoed through the sky, Hermione turned towards him, her gaze searching his face.

"Draco," she called out softly, her voice barely audible over the storm.

He took a hesitant step forward, his heart pounding with a mix of apprehension and longing.

"Hermione," he replied, his voice carrying a rare vulnerability.

She didn’t respond with words. Instead, she closed the distance between them, pressing her lips to his in a desperate kiss. Draco responded immediately, his arms wrapping around her, pulling her against him.

The kiss was a release of all the pent-up emotions, the pain, the longing, the unspoken desire. It was rough, urgent, filled with years of suppressed feelings. Hermione’s hands tangled in his hair, while Draco’s grip on her waist tightened, anchoring himself to her.

She gasped into his mouth as he trailed fiery kisses down her neck, his teeth grazing her skin. Her back arched, pressing her body against his, feeling the heat radiating off him. His hands roamed over her wet clothes, sliding under her shirt to feel the warmth of her skin.

"Draco,” she breathed, her voice barely audible over the sound of the rain. “We shouldn’t...”

"Stop me,” he whispered back, his breath hot against her ear. “If you don’t want this, stop me now.”

But she couldn’t. She didn’t want to. Instead, she pulled him closer, her nails scraping lightly across his back as she kissed him with a renewed intensity. His hands slipped under her shirt, pushing it up, his fingers skimming over her bare skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake.

Hermione’s head fell back, her eyes fluttering shut as Draco’s lips found the sensitive spot just below her ear. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest, matching the frantic rhythm of her own. His hands were everywhere—her waist, her back, sliding down to grip her thigh and lift her leg around his waist.

"Gods, Hermione,” Draco groaned, his voice raw with desire. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

She let out a small sigh, hoping he couldn't hear it against the thunder-rain as his lips moved to her neck, sucking and nibbling on her sensitive skin.

Hermione's voice was a rough whisper as she pressed her forehead against hers. “Draco, I...”

Before she could finish, a loud clap of thunder echoed through the alley, startling them both. They jumped apart, their hearts racing with a mixture of desire and uncertainty.

"I... I should go," Draco stammered, his cheeks flushed.

Hermione nodded silently, unable to meet his eyes. Without another word, Draco turned and hurried away into the rain, leaving her standing alone in downpour, as the darkness slowly consumed her, the taste of his kiss still lingering on her lips.

Zoyalai au idea no 2. Canon divergence

Zoya's power did not reveal itself on her wedding day, it happened during her first night with the husband years later. She is 13 and accidently kills her husband before he even lays a finger on her. She is alone (her parents were paid and sent away long ago) with her newly aquired grisha powers, happily the servants help her and cover the death. She becomes a widow, with her late husband's money she doesn't feel the need to join the second army, so she hides her powers.

Years later when the fold is gone, the new king during his travels across Ravka stops in her estate. And one night his demon escapes.

*Genya is probably the general here...🤔

*Zoya's aunt and cousin join her after she becomes a widow

She was only thirteen when she became a widow. Married off to a much older nobleman for the sake of alliances, her fate had been sealed long before she could even understand it. Her parents, lured by promises of wealth and status, had sent her away without a second thought. And on that wedding night, in the quiet confines of her husband's lavish chambers, fear and desperation had gripped her heart.

It wasn't supposed to happen like this. She was meant to be a pawn in someone else's game, a tool to be wielded for power and influence. But when his hands reached for her, when the darkness threatened to consume her innocence, something inside Zoya snapped.

The power surged through her veins like wildfire, uncontrolled and raw. She hadn't even known she was Grisha until that moment, when the force of her newfound abilities lashed out in self-defense. In an instant, he was dead, his lifeless body slumped on the bed.

Zoya had been alone then, save for the servants who had heard the commotion and rushed to her aid. Fearful yet loyal, they had helped her conceal the truth, covering up the death as an unfortunate accident. She became a widow that night, inheriting her late husband's wealth and estate.

With newfound independence, Zoya chose to hide her powers. She had no desire to join the Second Army, no need to prove herself to anyone. Instead, she focused on managing her estate, rebuilding her life in the shadow of her past.

***

Present Day

Ravka had changed. The Fold that had once divided the land was gone, thanks to the efforts of Grisha and warriors alike. Darker days seemed to recede with the passing years, replaced by an uncertain peace tinged with hope.

Nikolai was unlike any king Ravka had known before—charming, cunning, and with a darkness of his own. During his travels across the kingdom, he stopped at Zoya's estate, seeking refuge and respite from the demands of his crown.

It was on one such night, when the wind whispered through the trees and the stars twinkled overhead, that disaster struck. A demon, a remnant of darker days, escaped its bindings and threatened to wreak havoc once more.

The air crackled with tension as Zoya and her companions faced the demon. It emerged from the shadows, a grotesque creature with eyes that glowed like hot coals, its form shifting and twisting as if it were made of smoke and darkness. The very ground beneath them seemed to shudder with its malevolent presence.

Zoya's heart raced as she focused her Grisha powers, feeling the electricity hum through her veins. Beside her, her aunt and cousin stood ready, their expressions a mix of determination and fear. Genya, the King's General, with her mastery of illusions, conjured shimmering images that danced around the demon, momentarily confusing its senses. Meanwhile, Zoya's cousin, skilled in elemental manipulation, summoned gusts of wind that whipped through the air, unsettling the demon's ethereal form.

The creature let out a guttural roar, its voice reverberating through the night. Shadows coalesced around its clawed hands as it lunged forward, aiming to strike at the heart of their defense. Zoya reacted instinctively, calling forth tendrils of lightning that crackled and lashed out towards the demon. The bolts of electricity sizzled through the air, striking the creature's shadowy limbs and forcing it to recoil momentarily.

But the demon was relentless. It surged forward again, claws slashing through the air with unnatural speed. Zoya dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding a lethal strike. Her aunt's illusions shimmered and flickered, momentarily diverting the creature's attention as it lunged towards a phantom image, only to find itself striking empty air.

In the midst of the chaos, Nikolai's voice rang out, commanding his guards to reinforce their defenses. Armed soldiers moved in around them, forming a protective circle as they launched arrows and spears towards the demon. Some projectiles passed through the creature harmlessly, while others seemed to strike true, causing it to emit a piercing shriek that sent chills down Zoya's spine.

The battle wore on, each passing moment a testament to their endurance and resolve. Zoya's lightning continued to dance through the air, each strike weakening the demon's shadowy form. Her cousin conjured pillars of earth that erupted from the ground, momentarily trapping the creature in a prison of stone before it broke free with a furious roar. Genya's illusions wove intricate patterns around them, creating distractions that bought them precious seconds of respite.

But as the night deepened and fatigue threatened to wear them down, Zoya felt a surge of determination. She gathered her power, drawing upon every ounce of strength within her. Lightning arced from her fingertips in a brilliant display of light and energy, illuminating the battlefield with its blinding brilliance. The demon faltered, its form flickering and wavering as if unable to withstand the onslaught.

With a final surge of will, Zoya unleashed a torrent of lightning, directing it towards the heart of the creature. The electricity engulfed the demon in a blinding cascade of energy, causing it to emit a deafening scream that echoed through the night. Shadows dispersed like smoke in the wind, dissipating into nothingness as the creature's form disintegrated before their eyes.

Silence descended upon the battlefield, broken only by the sound of their ragged breaths and the crackling remnants of dissipating energy. Zoya stood amidst the aftermath, her chest heaving with exertion yet her spirit ablaze with triumph. Beside her, Nikolai approached, his expression a mixture of admiration and awe.

"You are more than they say," he murmured, his voice carrying a weight of understanding that resonated deep within her soul.

Zoya looked up at him, meeting his gaze with a mix of relief and exhaustion. "As are you, Your Majesty," she replied, her voice steady despite the adrenaline still coursing through her veins.

He stepped closer, the space between them narrowing until their breaths mingled in the crisp night air. "Call me Nikolai," he said softly, his hand reaching out to brush a strand of hair away from her face.

Her heart skipped a beat at the intimate gesture, her cheeks flushing with warmth. "Nikolai," she repeated, testing the name on her lips, finding a strange comfort in its familiarity.

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of their shared experience hanging between them. Then, Nikolai spoke again, his voice low and earnest. "You've shown me tonight what true courage looks like, Zoya. And I... I am grateful to have witnessed it."

Zoya's gaze softened, her earlier defenses melting away in the face of his sincerity. "I couldn't have done it without you," she admitted quietly, her eyes searching his for any hint of doubt.

He shook his head gently, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "No, Zoya. You have a strength within you that is entirely your own."

Her heart swelled at his words, a warmth spreading through her chest that had nothing to do with the lingering effects of her Grisha powers. In that moment, she realized that Nikolai saw her not just as a queen in waiting, but as a woman worthy of admiration and respect.

Before she could stop herself, Zoya reached out, her hand finding his and intertwining their fingers together. His touch was warm and reassuring, grounding her in the reality of their shared triumph.

Together, they stood beneath the canopy of stars, their hearts beating in unison as the echoes of battle faded into the night. In that fleeting moment of peace, amidst the remnants of chaos and uncertainty, Zoya and Nikolai found a connection that transcended duty and expectation—a bond forged in fire and shadow, bound by courage, loyalty, and the promise of a future yet unwritten.

And as the first light of dawn kissed the horizon, casting its golden glow upon their intertwined hands, they knew that whatever challenges lay ahead, they would face them together.

The easiest way to steal a man’s wallet is to tell him you’re going to steal his watch.

WHAT'S THE EASIEST WAY TO STEAL A MANS WALLET??

Zoyalai au idea! Pre sab

Young Nikolai and Zoya meet at the winter fete. He has just decided to join the first army, and she doesn't think an otkazatsya can actually make any difference in the field. She seems mean, but he still wants to ask her to dance. Yet he doesn't, because people are watching and he has learnt to please the court, he doesn't want to draw his family's attention to the grisha girl. He is leaving, he doesn't need any more ties to this place.

But maybe in another life he will be braver, maybe in another life he will ask and she will dance with him.

**In Another Life**

Under the high-vaulted ceilings of the Grand Palace ballroom, laughter and music mingled with the clinking of crystal glasses. Chandeliers sparkled overhead, casting a warm glow on the lavishly dressed guests who danced and chatted, oblivious to the cold winter night outside.

The Winter Fete was a display of Ravkan nobility at its finest, but to Nikolai Lantsov, it felt like a gilded cage.

Nikolai stood near the edge of the ballroom, surveying the scene. His mind was a whirlwind of thoughts, having just committed himself to join the First Army. It was a bold move, one that he hoped would forge his own path away from the expectations of his royal lineage. He yearned for adventure, for a chance to prove himself beyond the pampered life of a prince.

As he scanned the room, his eyes landed on Zoya Nazyalensky. She stood apart from the crowd, a striking figure in a sapphire gown that matched her sharp, observant eyes. Zoya was a Squaller, one of the powerful Grisha, and her reputation preceded her. She exuded confidence and a touch of aloofness, seeming almost untouchable.

Nikolai took a deep breath, steeling himself as he approached her. “Good evening, Miss Nazyalensky,” he greeted, bowing slightly.

Zoya turned to face him, her gaze cool and appraising. “Prince Nikolai,” she replied, her tone polite but distant. “To what do I owe this rare honor?”

“I’ve just made a decision,” Nikolai began, trying to keep his voice steady. “I’m joining the First Army.”

Zoya raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk playing on her lips. “An otkazat'sya in the First Army? That’s ambitious.”

Nikolai chuckled, though her words had a sting of truth. “I thought you might have some advice. After all, you’ve seen more of the real world than most here.”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, scrutinizing him. “Advice? Surprising that a prince would seek advice from a Grisha.”

“Everyone needs guidance,” Nikolai replied, meeting her gaze. “And I think there’s more to you than the court gossips say.”

Zoya’s expression softened, just a fraction. “You’re persistent, I’ll give you that. But let me warn you, Your Highness, the battlefield is no place for pampered princes. It’s harsh and unforgiving.”

“I’m not afraid of hard work,” Nikolai said earnestly. “I want to make a difference.”

“Wanting and doing are different things,” Zoya said, her tone almost gentle. “But perhaps you’ll surprise us all.”

Nikolai felt a warmth spread through him at her words, a glimmer of approval from someone he respected. He hesitated, then, his eyes flicking to the dance floor. “Would you care to dance?”

Zoya’s eyes widened slightly in surprise, but before she could respond, a group of courtiers nearby turned to watch them, their whispers and curious glances weighing heavily on him. He remembered his place, the expectations, the scrutiny of the court.

He smiled, a touch ruefully. “Another time, perhaps. When the eyes of the court aren’t so intent on every move.”

Zoya’s gaze softened, a hint of understanding there. “Perhaps,” she said, inclining her head.

Nikolai took a step back, bowing once more. “I hope to see you again, Miss Nazyalensky. Maybe on the battlefield, maybe somewhere else.”

“Until then, Prince Nikolai,” Zoya replied, her voice carrying a promise.

As he walked away, Nikolai felt a pang of regret. He imagined a different life, one where he was braver, where he asked her to dance despite the eyes watching them. In that life, perhaps they would have shared a dance, a conversation that revealed more of themselves, and the start of something neither could predict.

But for now, he had chosen his path, one that led away from the glittering halls of the palace and into the unknown of the battlefield.

He cast one last glance at Zoya, her figure still a striking presence amidst the nobility, before stepping out into the cold night, ready to face whatever awaited him.