hot take: Darklina's kid wouldn't be a Sun OR Shadow Summoner...
this theory goes against the regular Grisha power "inheritance" rules (if you're Grisha, one of your parents was the same type as you), but I don't care, bc neither Alina nor Aleksander were really "normal". & that shit w/Zoya & Juris still makes me salty (no spoilers though), OP ugh.
ANYWAY--
imagine the Darklina kid having the power of gravity, kinetic energy, or merzost itself (w/the harmful effects). let me explain.
gravity is unseen. stars are basically just balls of plasma held together by gravity & a lot of movements/phenomena we study concerning outer space is thanks to the gravitational pull of a star on other stuff. also, Aleks controls the unseen, in a way.
kinetic energy = movement in general. Gambit/Remy LeBeau from the X-Men (Marvel Comics) controls this, so he can make objects spontaneously combust OR slow things down. cue the ultimate form of Etherealki!!
merzost is, in short, forbidden magic that everyone finds unpredictable & costly. but Ilya Morozova had a pretty good handle on it. he was able to resurrect his daughter using it & his exposure to it altered his blood/DNA/whatever enough to give his descendants a new Grisha power (IDK why HE didn't become a Shadow Summoner). so a merzost Grisha might be an advanced Healer, able to completely resurrect & reconstitute people. maybe they could speak to spirits. tbh merzost is just witchy jurda parem.
I've seen lots of fics about the Reader being a "Star Summoner" or a "Moon Summoner"...if you use these ideas, please tag/credit me! I'd love to see your take on these--
@starlsssankt @sankta-alina-s
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Deserted Winter Night:
Summary: When SiZhui falls ill, Lan Wangji tells him the story of Sankt Zichen and Sankt XingChen of the Deserted Winter Night, history and legend’s two most tragic Saints.
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Stories were what cemented SiZhui’s faith in Saints. Tales of the noble Sheng, as they were called in Shu. Stories Lan Wangji told him at night to help him sleep when SiZhui, a young child, was plagued by fevers and the nightmares that accompanied them.
“Sheng Zichen,” Lan Wangji would murmur as the snow fell outside SiZhui’s window. “The silent frost. Sheng XingChen,” he would nod to the moon, allowing its light to spill over his features and onto the bed. “The blind moon.”
“Who were they?” SiZhui whispered, his voice feeble but his mind eager. It didn’t matter that Lan Wangji was a man of a few words to others—for his son, he could tell stories as well as he could play the guqin.
Lan Wangji sighed, looking away from the snow to brush his son’s hair from his forehead and lay a cool cloth to burning skin.
“They are the greatest tragedy of the world.” Lan Wangji answered after a moment. “Sheng Hua Cheng and Sheng Xie Lian, the greatest love story, the Saints of overcoming obstacles and eternity. You remember them?”
SiZhui nodded. Lan Wangji folded his hands. “Sheng Zichen and Sheng XingChen are like them, a pair of Saints, but their story does not have a happy ending. They are the Saints of mourning, of that which is lost to winter. Huāng dōng yè de Zǐchén shèngrén hé XīngChén shèngrén; Sankt Zichen and Sankt XingChen of the Deserted Winter Night.”
“What happened to them?” SiZhui asked, entranced by the name.
“They were once two mighty Etherealki.” Lan Wangji raised his hands, and at his command, snow swept into the room and hovered in a swirl, forming a star before flying back out. “Xiao XingChen was a Tidemaker. Song Zichen was a Squaller.”
“Like you and Grand-Uncle!” SiZhui grinned. “Sheng XingChen was like Uncle Xichen, long ago, right?”
Lan Wangji’s lips turned up slightly, and he fixed the covers. “Right. We looked up to them, your uncle and I. I wanted to be a powerful Etherealnik who could control the snow like Song Zichen. Your uncle admired Xiao XingChen greatly, because he was exactly like the moon. The tides bowed to his will the way subjects bow to a king.”
The word ‘king’ made SiZhui curious. “Which king did they serve?” he asked. “Were they part of the Grisha army?”
Lan Wangji shook his head. “They served no king, fought in no army. They were like the elements the commanded, coming and going to help those in need, who wished to establish a sect based on not blood ties or abilities, but ideals. They were wanderers who did not care about who had power, only who needed theirs. Unfortunately,” he sighed, his light eyes looking regretful, “it would later be what caused their end.”
SiZhui attempted to sit up, eager to listen, but Lan Wangji gently pushed him back down.
“Patience, and I will tell you.”
As SiZhui obediently tucked himself into his covers again, eyes shining with curiosity, Lan Wangji straightened, closing his eyes to think, and then opened them.
“Xiao XingChen was the student of the immortal Baoshan Sanren, and people say he descended from her mountain to travel the world and help those in need. Song Zichen came from a temple, a follower of The Path. Song Zichen and Xiao XingChen travelled together, helping those in need. They asked for no payment and did not walk away from those who were suffering.
“One day, a man came to Xiao XingChen for help. His family had been murdered and he wanted to find the criminal. Xiao XingChen was a kind soul, and eventually he tracked down the killer, an Alkemi named Xue Yang. Xiao XingChen turned him over for trial and execution, but the man suddenly recanted his statement, even though Xiao XingChen had found the culprit. The man refused to explain further, leaving behind Xue Yang and Xiao XingChen. Xue Yang warned Xiao XingChen not to forget him and that they would meet again. Xiao XingChen took no heed of the words and left.”
“So what happened?” SiZhui asked.
Lan Wangji looked back at the window, studying the moonlight as it fell on the snow.
“The temple Song Zichen belonged to was attacked, its inhabitants slaughtered and its floors soaked in blood. Xue Yang had massacred Baixue temple, and within it, he poisoned Song Zichen’s eyes. ‘Tell Xiao XingChen this is a gift from me!’ Xue Yang said to Song Zichen, leaving him for dead. When Xiao XingChen discovered him, Song Zichen was almost gone. Despairing with grief, Song Zichen told Xiao XingChen not to meet with him again.”
“Then?” SiZhui breathed, fascinated.
“Xiao XingChen broke his vow to Immortal Baoshan Sanren, taking Song Zichen to her mountain and begging for him to be healed. Xiao XingChen carved out his own eyes for Song Zichen, then left the mountain. Song Zichen recovered and left as well, but they did not reunite.”
SiZhui frowned, dissatisfied. “Why wouldn’t they reunite? Weren’t they close?”
“They were, but wounds are wounds.” Lan Wangji soaked the cloth again and returned it to SiZhui’s forehead. “Later, Xiao XingChen had been found in a small town called Yi City, living with a young otkazat’sya girl named A-Qing and another young man. Xiao XingChen had been hunting fierce corpses, but what he didn’t know was that the young man whom he had saved from death was really Xue Yang, who kept himself hidden from Xiao XingChen even after he was healed. Xue Yang used corpse powder to poison the villagers and cut out their tongue, tricking Xiao XingChen into killing humans instead of fierce corpses.”
SiZhui’s eyes were wide with shock. “What?” he gaped. “He made him kill people?”
Lan Wangji nodded.
“What happened to Song Zichen?” SiZhui asked.
“He wandered the world searching for Xiao XingChen to apologise for their falling out. When he arrived at Yi City, he confronted Xue Yang, who revealed to him Xiao XingChen’s sacrifice. Stunned by this, Song Zichen was caught off-guard, and Xue Yang poisoned him with corpse powder and cut out his tongue. Alerted by the corpse powder, Xiao XingChen unknowingly drove his sword through Song Zichen’s heart. When Song Zichen was stabbed, the winds stopped and the weather became colder, as if the sky had stopped breathing.”
SiZhui’s mouth fell open, his eyes twice their size. This was not a children’s tale anymore, but he needed to know what happened. “And then?” He tugged on Lan Wangji’s sleeve.
“Song Zichen became a fierce corpse. A-Qing, having seen the ordeal, tried to convince Xiao XingChen to leave, but before she succeeded, Xue Yang arrived. Xiao XingChen confronted him, stabbing Xue Yang in the gut, but before he could kill him, Xue Yang revealed that Xiao XingChen had killed the villagers and Song Zichen. Distraught, Xiao XingChen took his own life. People say that at that moment, the seas churned as if in agony, and the moonlight seemed to spill as if weeping, while Yi City was covered in shadows.”
“What happened to Xue Yang?” SiZhui asked.
“He remained in Yi City for several years, until finally, he was killed by Song Zichen, who had managed to break free of the control Xue Yang had put him under, and regained control of his summoning powers. Legends say he became a Shadow Summoner after reawakening. Xiao XingChen’s soul was contained in a pouch, so Song Zichen swore to travel the world and exorcise evil with him, hoping that he would return. And if he did, he would tell Xiao XingChen that he was not at fault.”
Lan Wangji looked out the window at the nighttime scenery.
“Song Zichen, the distant snow and bitter frost, silent grief. Xiao XingChen, the bright moon and gentle breeze, blind justice. Sheng Zichen, patron saint of those seeking a reprieve. Sheng XingChen, patron saint of those who wish to help. Together, saints of mourning. Huāng dōng yè de Zǐchén shèngrén hé XīngChén shèngrén; Sankt Zichen and Sankt XingChen of the Deserted Winter Night.”
SiZhui looked out the window at the night sky, admiring the moonlight coating the fresh snow, the way the frost danced in the breeze.
“When you are wandering, pray to Sankt Zichen and Sankt XingChen,” Lan Wangji said gently. “The moon is blind, so we may find what we seek. The frost is silent, so we may hear what lies around us. For those who wish to help others in this world, A-Yuan, there will always be a reprieve. In the shadows of the winter night, A-Yuan, you will never be alone. Do you understand?”
SiZhui nodded, smiling. “I understand, Father.”
Lan Wangji smiled and smoothed over the covers. “Sleep, now. I will see you in the morning.”
SiZhui’s dreams that night were filled with swirling snow and frost, of bright moonlight and breeze, the way oceans and wind danced together. Shadows covered his mind as two swords flew in sync, perfectly complementing one another.
‘Shuang Hua and Fu Xue uphold righteousness
Stay hidden in a melancholic dream
The knocking of the bamboo sounds like crying, my life is in vain
Leaving behind a lonely city with nowhere to go’
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