Call Out My Name

On The Ground

He would look at her, steal glances, try to be discreet. He would see her smile, see her being herself, see her being the same, just as she was, just as he remembered her with her Grisha powers. She had a strong foundation, a strong sense of duty, and ambition. She was not crashed and weak like he had hoped to see her; she was not crying herself to sleep or lie on the ground begging the Saints to take her with them. She was so much different from him, so much stronger. Maybe it was because she didn't know eternity and pain as he did. Or maybe it was because the right people had surrounded her from the start. They gave her strength.

He would have begged to be put out of his misery if he had lost his powers. He realized then that Alina was much stronger than him, than all of them. She knew how to survive without powers all these years; she had suppressed them long enough, for love, for the love towards a boy. Alina did not reduce herself to her Grisha powers; she knew her worth; she knew her capabilities.

And this, this was truly something to admire and fear. What was scarier than a woman who knew she did not need magic to face her biggest enemy? His greed for her? His powers which could swallow the country whole in its darkness?

He would look at her, talking to her friends, smiling, laughing. She was the truest sun he had seen. She was the warmest light he had even got to touch, and yet it hurt him. She hurt him, and it hurt to look at her. Because they were meant to be on opposing sides, they were meant to be at a distance, never close to the other.

Let me forget all our moments; he would think to himself—even the smallest traces.

At night, when he could visit her and watch her sleep peacefully, he would look at her, he would touch her hair, her cheek, and whisper words she could never hear.

"I can't get any closer to you, Alina," he would tell her while she slept. "I'm so afraid of these feelings."

He could only see her like that, in secret, in the dark. He could only love her in the darkness, where his adoration for her was invisible. And he wanted more, and the more he wanted, the greedier he got, the worse his intentions became. He knew he would end up hurting her, doing the irreversible.

"The memories you gave me become thorns. I wish it'll all disappear; I wish it'll all get erased. So I can rest."

"Aleksander," Alina would shift in her sleep. He would let a sad laugh out. She made it hard for him, even when she slept, even when she didn't know he was there, trying to separate himself from her. Trying to admire her in silence, and there she was, dreaming of him. This was torture for both of them.

"I'll leave; I know I can't have you. I'll let you go, all the memories with you," he would tuck her in and leave her be, let her sleep in peace. And sadly, he was the only one who could not close his eyes.

He would stand there, in darkness and silence, his only solitude, his only haven. Alone.

He would play with the few white strands that had caught in his button when she had pushed him against the pillar. He would get drunk on the feel of her soft hair between his fingers, its smell, its texture.

This was the only thing he would keep, the only thing he could have.

His life had been so long, so enchanting, yet so lonely. He had thought he knew what he wanted, he knew he was right, but he knew his approach had been wrong. And then he realized he had given it the wrong name.

He wanted to belong; he wanted to be loved. He had strived for power and respect from the nations, for him and all the Grisha that had been mistreated and killed unjustly. He wanted a safe place for himself and the ones like him.

It had taken him so many lifetimes to realize that something like this was impossible to achieve, that this sense of belonging and love, he could not fight it from people, he could not bully himself into their hearts.

And then when Alina had made way to his heart, when she had found a place in that darkness, in that place he deemed untouchable, he realized that one person was enough. The Darkling had realized too late that it was not a place he had longed for; it was a person, someone like him, someone to share eternity with, someone like Alina. Someone who would accept him.

And then he had gone and pushed her away too hard; he had made her mad, to the point where she lost her powers, just to stop him, to get rid of him, to free him from his corrupted mind, to free him from his darkness and his eternal pain and to free Ravka from him. And she had been there, to cry for him, to cry for the boy she wanted him to be, the boy he once was, the boy his mother once thought that love was fickle and that power was eternal and loyal.

She was there to mourn him, to feel his loneliness and pain, to promise him not to be alone. He had given her his name, his name that was engraved deep in his heart.

What would become of him now? They all have moved on; they all have settled down and have found their purpose in life. And there he was, still alone and lost in his choices.

He had realized too late that everything he wanted and needed was there, within reach, on the ground, not above the clouds, not in the skies, not amongst the ancient Saints and old tales about powers who never died. It was no something to be made; it was something already there, to reach for, to take.

What had become of him? What and who would he become now? He had to die a little to survive. This was not a second chance; this was a rebirth.

Alina has always been the one to run away from him, always the one hiding from him. The one to get away.

This time, it would be his turn to leave.

What name should he take this time? There was no wondering; he would take the oldest one he had. The one he kept hidden for centuries.

He would become his true self; he would be as he was meant to be. He would not hide behind an identity or a veil of darkness he cast over his heart and himself. He will not put on a mask to satisfy the ones around him. He would be as he is, and whoever accepted him this way would be enough for him. He would know they were true to him if he shows his true colors, his true self to them and the world.

He would step out of his eternal darkness and be the one he was truly meant to be.

Aleksander Morozova.