Light of the Dawn

26. Accept

The first rays of sunrise spilled into the room, painting it with soft hues of gold and pink. Isarella stirred, the warm light brushing against her skin, waking her from a dreamless sleep. For a brief moment, as her eyes fluttered open, she thought of the place she once called home—a realm of laughter and love, now a distant memory. But when she turned her head, her gaze fell upon Azriel, her mate, lying peacefully beside her, his arms wrapped securely around her.

The ache of what she had lost faded, replaced by the soothing realization that he was her home now. He was her sanctuary in a world that had shown her so much cruelty. She reached out, brushing a soft kiss against his brow, her heart swelling as he murmured something incoherent in his sleep.

Quietly, she slipped from the bed, her bare feet making no sound on the pale pink rug that adorned the floor. The soft bedding was a comfort Azriel had insisted on for her, and it brought a smile to her lips as she glanced back at him, his dark wings draped protectively around the empty space she'd left. Moving to her wardrobe, she carefully pulled out her pink fighting leathers and tiptoed to the bathroom to change.

In the mirror, she tied up her golden hair, her fingers lingering as her reflection stared back at her. Her eyes traveled over the faint scars that peeked from the edges of her leathers—remnants of her enslavement, her torment. They were a map of her survival, but she wasn't yet sure if she could wear them with pride. With a determined exhale, she straightened her spine. Today, she would try. Today, she would take one more step toward reclaiming her strength.

When she returned to the room, Azriel was still fast asleep, his dark hair tousled, his face relaxed in a way it rarely was. Her heart clenched as she realized how much she loved him in moments like this—unguarded and hers entirely. The sight of him surrounded by her pale pink bedding made her smile again. He was so out of place in the softness of it, yet he belonged there, with her.

She turned and left the room, heading upstairs to the training space. The moment she stepped inside, she was greeted by a familiar smirk.

"Well, well, Princess. Didn't expect to see you here this morning," Cassian said, leaning casually against the wall.

Isarella returned his grin, though her eyes shone with quiet determination. "I need to do this, Cass," she said firmly. "I need to get through this hurdle. My body... it needs to be strong again. For the war. For my family." Her voice faltered slightly on the word "family," but the fire in her expression didn't waver.

Cassian's teasing demeanor softened, and he stepped forward, pulling her into one of his signature crushing hugs. "I've wanted to say this for a while, but I needed to wait until you were ready to hear it," he murmured. "I'm so glad you're okay, Isarella. And you're part of this family—not because you're Azriel's mate, but because you are you." His voice thickened with emotion, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.

Her throat tightened, but she managed a smile. "Thank you, Cass. That means more than I can say." She pulled back and gave his chest a playful shove. "Now, help me regain my strength. You know I beat you on this very mat before my enslavement."

Cassian let out a booming laugh, his grin returning. "Oh, you're on. Let's do this."

The session began with simple strength exercises—Cassian knew better than to push her too hard. Isarella was still healing, and her body, though willing, had its limits. She shrugged off her leather top, revealing the scars on her arms and shoulders, wearing a white tank and leather leggings instead. Though her scars were a reminder of her torment, today she chose to see them as proof of her resilience.

"Good form," Cassian said as she finished a set, nodding in approval. "You're tougher than half the soldiers I've trained, you know that?"

She laughed softly, shaking her head. "Not yet. But I will be."