This is how it goes: during the day, you train and play your part. During the night, you slip out under the cover of darkness to the forest, where you use your magic again and again. Sometimes Baghra is there, sometimes she is not. The first time you practiced your spells was electrifying, like the first drop of water after centuries spent toiling in the desert. You don't think you could willingly hide it away again.

You're careful now, more careful than you were before. You have no more meetings with the Darkling, no collisions where he seems more unsettled than composed, where his eyes rove over your face like he can see traces of your past life in every tilt of your head or question on your lips. In the end, he is disappointed, and so are you. If you didn't know better, you'd say you wanted to be caught.

If you can't reveal yourself, you can at least use your spells once more. Inky emerald chokes out the trees, dances over miles and miles of land until you're sure that you could engulf the entire city of Os Alta, cover the golden spires of the Grand Palace and the wooden carvings of the Little Palace as you wished. Let his tribute to Hecari return to you, let all that you had built crumble into ruin once more. If you wanted to, you could drown out the entire city. Sometimes, when you stand by Baghra and she watches your near destruction, you think that she would let you do it. She might want to watch all traces of her son's legacy fall just as much as you do.

In the end, you always reel it back to you, watching the viridian magic pour like oil back over the rocks and stones to return to you, homeward bound once more. There will always be a time when you have to don the hood once more, to call up the charade of oprichnik and First Army cartographer to hide who you are. You have no doubt in your mind that this will not last forever, that you'll be found out either by some slip of your hand or some discovery of his. Regardless, you have a duty to hold out as long as you can, both to protect Alina and yourself.

Baghra has spoken to you about the need to train Alina to defend herself, about how the Darkling may be close to finding Morozova's stag and garnering a new pawn in his relentless push to have Ravka borne anew for the Grisha. There's no question of a Sun Summoner's role in remaking the world in shadow, and so you must do your best to protect her. You're coincidentally there whenever the Darkling approaches her, and Baghra makes sure to teach Alina as much as she can before your time runs out. Between the two of you, it's barely enough, but it will have to do. The hourglass has been upended, and there's only so much sand left before it all falls down once more.

Your duty is to protect Alina and by extension Ravka, you know that. However, you would be lying to say that it was easy for you. The Darkling's best weapons are his words, and Alina is falling victim to them just like you had all those years ago. You can see it in her eyes, when he appears to walk with her through the grounds. You can see it in the gold that seems to gild her tongue whenever she speaks his name.

It is truly his name that she speaks now: Aleksander. He told her his name. You had been unable to hide your shock when she casually referred to him as such, unable to hide the widening of your eyes and the twist in your heart. How long had you been with him before he gave you his name, offered it up as a reluctant secret? He told it to her within a week, as if it was nothing at all.

The same goes with his color. You had been escorting Alina to training with Botkin, and she had been tugging irritably at her sleeves, saying something about how kefta could be so difficult to run and fight in. You hadn't entirely been able to disagree, but then she'd added something else. "I don't think Aleksander likes it either. He gave me a black kefta at first, but I had them change it to blue. I don't need any more reasons to stand out. I'm practically a pariah as it is."

You had flinched twice, at the mention of his name and then at the color. Alina had raised her eyebrows. "Why does everyone have that same reaction? I'm supposed to be a summoner, so I should wear blue. I didn't think it would be that much of an issue." You force a laugh to your lips, although it feels harder to maintain than even the hardest of your spells. "Maybe we all thought you'd like the extra thrill of the color. I mean, arriving in a blaze of attempted murder and Sun Summoning isn't enough, why not pepper in the fact that you're wearing the Darkling's color?"

Alina had grinned at that. "I know, it's practically impossible to imagine me not wanting to be the center of attention. Crazy." She had frowned then, turning back to you as if lingering over a word you'd said. "You call him the Darkling, not General Kirigan. Is that what the oprichniki say?" You had shaken your head hastily. Another slip. "It's what everyone called him in the town I lived in. Farmers don't hold much honor for the Second Army, I guess."

Alina had shrugged, evidently just as content with abandoning the matter as you were. "Well, I'm glad you've let all that go. I wouldn't want anyone else to be here with me." You had donned a vicious smile, elbowing her in the side. "Are you sure about that? What about your Mal?" Alina had groaned, annoyance and laughter mixing in her eyes. "He's not my Mal as much as he is yours."

You had scoffed. "Ridiculous. You should see the way he combs the cartographers' tents whenever his unit is stationed near yours, just looking for you. It's like watching a hunter track a firebird." Alina rolled her eyes. "You're impossible. Besides, he certainly wouldn't come looking for me now. He hasn't responded to a single one of my letters since I've arrived here. So much for childhood friends."

You have a sinking feeling that you know exactly why Alina's been cut off from any scraps of her past, and you can't help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the Sun Saint. That mounting feeling of abandonment isn't easy, that familiar sensation of being completely and utterly alone. You sling an arm around her shoulders, utterly disregarding the usual professional oprichniki protocol. "Well, you've got me, which is infinitely better. I'm considered a blessing by many." This is more true than she'd know. Alina gives in to a smile that may have more sunshine than the very light she summons. "Oh, I appreciate it every day. You know what I would appreciate more, though, is if you took my spot in Botkin's lessons today-" You cut her off with a laugh. "Not a chance. I don't much fancy the bruises."

Alina is your friend, the one true thing about your entire Y/N Stassov lie. That being said, watching her fall harder and harder for the Darkling seems to tear at your very existence. He's so good at maintaining the charade of a battle-scarred general with a broken heart that it's hard not to believe that he's seconds away from falling in love with Alina, if he hasn't already. Sometimes, you wonder whether or not it's an act at all, and if he's actually found love with her. You've seen them on walks through the grounds or in the halls, the way his eyes linger on her like she's the only thing he could ever truly care about.

It hurts you more than you'd like to admit. You were the one to leave him, to fake your death and flee in the dead of night. He'd been the one to think of your death, to plan it out so he could take your powers. Feeling any emotion outside of outright anger seems wrong, yet you can't pretend that it doesn't sting to see him and Alina smiling at each other through the lead paned windows of the Little Palace. Like it or not, he is still the man that you'd loved through the centuries, and being near him without being able to be with him feels like a knife slowly twisting in your chest.

Maybe this pain is why you requested the transfer. There's an opening for an oprichnik captain in the Ryevost encampment, a good distance from Os Alta. It's an impressive position, giving the lucky candidate the opportunity to see battle as well as manage the oprichniki garrison there. You think you could get it if you asked, and so you do. You told Baghra of your plans beforehand, harping on the fact that you'd be close to Tsibeya and in the position to keep an eye on the trackers' progress on finding the stag as opposed to the fact that you can't stand to see your centuries-old lover flirting with someone else. She agrees, and if she believes that finding the stag is truly your sole reason for leaving Os Alta, she does not speak of it to you.

Approximately one day after you place your transfer request, you're summoned to the Darkling's war room. You think nothing of it, assuming that he'll be the one to approve of your new position as the oprichniki are his personal guard. When the heavy wooden doors close behind you and you see that you're alone with him and his furious gaze, you begin to wonder if he's found out something else about you.

He manages to collect himself after seeing you come in, his tone shifting to an icy neutral. "I hear you requested the Ryevost position." He leaves it at that, the empty stillness of the war room seeming to echo around you, so you feel the need to answer him. "Yes. It's a good opportunity, a way for me to hone my skills outside of the drills and training rooms. I think-" He cuts you off. "Was that it? This was not enough for you?"

You're taken slightly aback by this. "It was excellent, General, don't get me wrong, I just think that I could do more for Ravka by being out in the field." The Darkling tilts his head at this, not agreeing or disagreeing, just acknowledging that you had a reason. "What of Alina? Would you leave her to be alone?" You're not sure why he's issuing this interrogation, and so you respond with slightly more confidence than a former cartographer should carry around the general of the Second Army.

"She is my friend and I support her progress as a Sun Summoner. I also support her ability to live without me being in her immediate vicinity all the time." For a second, you think he's going to be angry with you for speaking of his Sun Saint like this, but then his eyes glint like a precious stone and he laughs. "Maybe so." You're a little confused by this sudden changing of the tides, but you decide to press your advantage. "So I am able to go?"

It appears that his humor only extends to Alina Starkov, and his gaze shuts down once more, laughter locked away behind shuttered windows. "You're a useful soldier, Y/N. I don't want to lose you." If you didn't know better, you'd say that he's referring to more than your help with Alina or your skill as an oprichnik. However, you do know better. You know him, and you should be used to all the twisting games that he plays with the heads and hearts of those closest to him. You clear your throat and carry on. "I could be helpful in Ryevost. It's a good position."

He shakes his head slightly. "You'll be of most use here." You can sense the debate slipping away from you, so in a flurry of desperation, you ask the question that's been burning behind your mind since the second you walked into the war room to see him. "Why? What is so important about me staying here that I couldn't do in Ryevost or anywhere else? What use is an otkazat'sya to you?" His gaze wrenches up to you, practically drowning in some unnameable emotion that you haven't seen on him in a long time.

He hesitates a moment, then steps around the table until you're practically no more than a few inches apart. You can sense his chest heaving as he struggles to keep his emotions in check, a battle he's usually had no trouble in facing. At last, he finds the words he's been looking for. "You remind me of her. The way you speak. The way you look at me. It's like she's still with me." He doesn't have to say the name for you to know that he's speaking of you, the person you'd been in the centuries past.

Your throat feels dry. "You don't want me to go because I remind you of a woman long dead." They are cruel words, crueller than he deserves, but they are what must be said nonetheless. He flinches slightly, the same flinch you can't help whenever Alina says his true name or wears his color. After all this time, you're still bound by the same small things. "I know how it sounds. If you had known her, you would understand." You do understand, being her. It is precisely for this reason that you must wrest this weakness from him. He would have done the same for you.

"Is that why you kept me here? Why you gave me the title of an oprichnik? You thought not of me but of someone you loved?" He shakes his head slightly. "You won that title for yourself. I've never met a First Army cartographer who could knock all of my men senseless, and I must admit that I admire it. Your resemblance to her may have been why I chose you as a double, or regretted the thought of you leaving, but it never did anything to stop your progress as a soldier. I have a feeling that you would choose what path you wanted regardless of what I wanted for you."

You nod once, somehow unable to meet his gaze. These quiet words, full of more truth than you've heard in years, conjured up in this darkened room, are more than you are owed. He is baring his soul, and you are pulling up the shields around yours. This is the moment when you look back up and tell him everything, conjure up the telltale threads of pine and juniper magic just like you'd done with his mother.

Instead, you keep your eyes fixed resolutely on the edge of the table, the edge of wood flickering briefly from the wash of firelight crackling from the grate. His hand rises almost involuntarily, pressing lightly against your face to raise your gaze back to his. His voice is soft, free at last from the jagged edges he'd worn for so long. "Do not think of me too harshly for this. I had to let her go, I do not want to lose you too."

You let your own hand join his for just a second, pressing your fingers lightly against his own. Then you gently remove his hand from your cheek, guiding it away from you once more. "Only if you do not hate me for leaving." His smile is bitter, the knife's edge already sliding back across it. "I could never."

There is an envelope marked with his seal waiting for you when you return to your bunk. The wax is hard and cool, evidently marked a long time ago. So he'd known what would happen in the hours before, known that you'd come to him and he wouldn't be able to make you stay. You are leaving him again, letting him darken your door no more. You're not sure which departure hurts more, this one with him willing or the false one before. You're not sure that it should matter to you, or that it cuts at you until you swear you can taste copper on your tongue.

The horses leave early the next morning. You bid your goodbye to Alina, having said your farewell to Baghra last night at your final practice, and mount your horse. You can't help but turn around one last time before you leave the Little Palace, and notice a figure dressed all in black watching you go from the steps of the wood-carved citadel. Neither of you raise a hand or acknowledge the other in any way. It is enough to know that he came. It is enough to know that you will still go.

The other oprichniki traveling with you tug on their reins, calling for the party to start off before it grows too late to reach Ryevost before nightfall. You take your last look at the palace you'd built with him, then turn around and allow the grounds to recede behind you. Leaving again feels like a mistake from the second he leaves your line of sight, but you know it must be done. You were getting too used to being with him, too willing to let go of your charade. Think of what he would have done if he had your power back in his grasp once more. This is for the best.

Yet, when you leave the walls of Os Alta, you can't help but think of the previous night, the two of you alone in the war room with only the roaring fire to keep you company. What would have happened if you had stayed? What would you have given up for him? Practically everything you had.