Viseron traveled until he could no longer feel the dark magic, until the Shadowalker could no longer sense him. No, he ran; ran from the thing threatening to consume him, that was coming for him. He fled, not looking back.

He still wasn't sure if it truly was the Shadowalker, but the magic he felt was strangely familiar. It had to be him, however impossible it may seem. If he was here with him, he posed a threat to everyone, to every Kingdom, to every land. He would come back with the intent to finish what he started, to not stop until he achieved his goal. Viseron couldn't let that happen, and even though he had been betrayed by the Kingdoms, he had to warn them. If he had a chance to prepare them for what was coming, he would take it.

There was no ink in this place, and there was no parchment, except for the few scraps the occasional mage carried. He had enough for a small scroll. Viseron had saved it in case he had need of it. Now he was glad he had.

He withdrew the faded paper from the folds of his cloak, kneeling in the snow. Viseron took one of the shadowstone knives and turned his arm over, tugging the sleeve of his cloak back. He removed his gauntlet and drew the blade across his palm. Blood welled from the wound, stark against his skin.Viseron took a raven feather from within his cloak and dipped it into the copper crimson, beginning to write in neat, fine calligraphy.

He wrote the warning with urgency, not wanting to wait any longer than he had to. His raven watched with beady eyes, perched on his shoulder. When he was finished he waited for it to dry and rolled the parchment into a scroll, tying it a strand of black thread. He tied the raven feather with it as well, slipping it between the parchment and the thread.

Viseron looked at his raven and it cocked its head, looking at him. He could summon a bird to take the message, but his raven would carry the message faster than any creature, even those of the Drenzian.

He reached up and tied the message to the raven's leg, looking into its eyes. Viseron reached out, contacting the raven's mind, recalling a memory of her so the raven knew what she looked like.

"I need you to take this message to Islande, Queen of Crysinlor," he said.

The bird cawed once, spreading its wings and taking flight, soaring high above the trees. He watched it disappear, hoping beyond hope that the message reached her in time. Viseron looked down at where the cut to his hand dappled the snow with crimson. He closed his hand into a fist, blood running through his fingers.

Please receive my message in time.

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The raven flew with soundless wings to the windowsill, landing silently. Its beady eyes bored into hers, searching them, seeming to see the secrets she kept. Islande moved closer to it, reaching towards the scroll tied to its leg. A raven feather came with it, its tip darkened with blood.

When her skin brushed the bird's feathers a shiver ran up her spine. This raven wasn't natural, it wasn't of flesh and bone, of feather and blood. No, this creature had been created from shadows, contained Shadow Magic. Was Shadow Magic.

Islande moved away from where the bird perched, watching her. She set the feather aside, unrolling the parchment. Her heart leapt into her throat, pounding in her ears. She didn't want to know what this message said, what the Shadowhunter had written. But, when she unfolded the parchment, she froze. She recognized that handwriting; even after twenty years. She would never forget it.

Her eyes scanned the page, the crimson letters glittering in the firelight. He had written it in his own blood.

The words warned of a danger they had thought had passed, warned of the one Viseron had killed. His words carried urgency, a need to be believed, to be heard, to be seen as something beyond a ghost.

She stopped when she got to the end of the message, the room seeming suddenly cold even with the fire roaring beside her. He was asking her to meet him face to face. Islande wasn't sure if she was ready to face him knowing he was alive. That he hadn't died. That instead, he had been sentenced to a cold and unforgiving life. When she was finished she sat on the edge of the bed, a thousand emotions running wild within her. Intense relief and guilt warred within her as she began to truly realize that he was alive.

Her love was alive, but so was his enemy. Her enemy.

If he was telling the truth they were all in great danger. If he was telling the truth she would have to meet him in the very place she feared. If he was telling the truth, she could see her love face to face. If he was telling the truth, he may be their only hope.

If he wasn't, however, he would kill them all, take revenge on those who betrayed and banished him. That was what she feared the most. Islande knew he was powerful enough to win that fight; he was, after all, the Shadowhunter.

She reached out with her thoughts, contacting Tyros, telling him she had received a message. When the knock came she opened the door, Tyros' golden eyes darkening as he saw her shaking hands and pale skin.

"What happened?" the elf asked, entering the room.

His gaze landed on the raven still perched on the windowsill, then to where the message lay on her bed, crimson letters glittering ominously in the firelight.

"He sent you a message," stated Tyros, looking back at her.

Islande nodded, giving him the letter. She jumped as the raven cawed, flapping its wings. It was as if it knew they didn't have much time.

When Tyros was finished he was ashen-faced, staring at the words written in his looping longhand. It was then that Islande knew the true weight of the words written in blood. Tyros never let his fear show.

For him to react like this was... alarming.

"This cannot be..." he whispered.

"He is alive?"

Islande knew the question had two meanings, one meaning Viseron, the other the Shadowalker.

"He didn't die when he was exiled... the Drenzian instead chose him as the Shadowhunter, to use for its own purposes," said Islande. "He is still alive within its trees."

"As for the Shadowalker..." she continued. "I don't know. He says he is."

"The Drenzian changes people, Islande," said Tyros. "He will not be the same man you left behind all those years ago." He turned to her, his eyes searching hers. "We have to think about the fact that he may lie to you, Islande. He may be bitter and set on revenge."

Islande didn't want to think about him that way. She wanted to believe that he wouldn't do that, that he wouldn't lie to her, wouldn't seek revenge.

But he's changed. It's been twenty years, and you betrayed him. You let it happen because you weren't strong enough to fight back. She thought to herself. But somewhere within that empty shell, he has to be there. Some part of him still lives.

"I think we should take the risk," said Islande, knowing that Tyros wouldn't agree.

"He has changed, Islande. He is no longer the man you hope to find. He is no longer Viseron, he is the Shadowhunter. You must understand this."

Islande looked away from the elven warrior, not wanting to believe his words were true.

"At least there will still be a Kingdom to come back to. If we don't heed his warning there will be nothing left."

Tyros was silent, and she could see the elf thinking, weighing the consequences. If the Shadowalker was indeed alive and looking for vengeance he would destroy this Kingdom and everyone in it.

If it was a trap and he killed her, they would have a Kingdom to return to, the lives of her people would still be safe.

"I'm going," she began, taking her own piece of parchment, a Silver Eagle feather and a pot of golden ink.

"As the Queen of Crysinlor, it is my duty to make sure my citizens are safe, even if that means putting myself in between anything that threatens my people."

"Then I will accompany you," Tyros said, stepping forward.

"No, you won't," Islande answered, her tone booking no argument.

"It is my duty to protect you," said Tyros.

"I'm not going alone," she said, finishing her letter."I will have my Knights with me. I need you to stay here and stay safe in case something does happen. You need to take over this Kingdom in my place."

Surprise flashed in the elf's eyes, and he took a step backward.

"My Queen, I cannot take over as ruler. I am your General and your advisor, not a King." He said, bowing slightly. "I am also an elf, unsuited to rule The Kingdom of Light."

Islande looked up at the elf, a soft smile gracing her lips.

"You have been a mentor for as long as I can remember. You taught me how to find and harness my magic when I was a child. You were there when I needed someone to lean on. You were there when things got hard. You commanded Crysinlor's army during the First Shadow War.

"You were an adviser to my mother when she was Queen. You protected me and advised me when it was my turn to take the throne. You know how this Kingdom works, how it runs, how to survive ruling it.

"You are the only one I trust enough to give the position to, since I have no family. This Kingdom hasn't had a King since my father, and you would be suited to the task. Besides, having a King in power will appease everyone else. We've broken enough rules already and survived, why not break the mold again? I know you are more than strong enough to bear the role."

Tyros didn't say anything more, as he knew by now he wasn't going to win this argument. Islande thought she saw the hint of a smile grace his lips and smiled.

He watched as she attached the shimmering silver feather and the message to the raven's leg with a strand of golden thread.

The raven immediately took off with a cry, soaring into the dusk sky, dark wings carrying dark words. Islande walked away from the window, suddenly tired.

"Now we wait."

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Again I hope ya'll enjoyed! I'm gonna work in an update schedule, provably Saturdays. It'll be more regular eventually.

-Nightfury107