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“Correct.” His thumb made another sweep across my lip. “The Ancients came to believe that mortals and the lands could not coexist. They figured they had to make a choice.”

“Mortals or…or the trees?”

“Mortals cannot exist without the bounty of the land,” he said. “So, to them, the choice was easy. They decided to cleanse the lands and clear it of mortals.”

“Dear gods,” I murmured. “And they could do that?”

“The Ancients were…well, remember what was said about a Primal of both Life and Death? How such a being could both destroy the realms and remake them in the same breath?”

“Yeah.” I shivered, thinking of Kolis having such power. “The Ancients could do that?”

“At first. Luckily, some realized the dangers of any being having such limitless power and took steps to lessen theirs long before the first mortal breathed. And they did that by creating offspring from their flesh.”

“Primals like your father?”

“Yes. They transferred parts of their energy—their essence—into each of their children, thus splitting their abilities among them and, therefore, creating a balance of power that was shared.”

Something about what he’d said struck a chord of familiarity.

“When the Ancients decided to cleanse the land, the Primals and gods joined forces with the mortals, draken, and their ancestors, to fight back.” He halted. “Even Kolis fought side by side with my father. It was a different time then.”

It was hard to imagine a time when Kolis and Eythos were on the same side.

The low, warbling trill of a draken drew our attention to the trees. “They’re waiting for us.”

“They are.” Ash guided my gaze back to his. “They can wait a few more moments.” Eather churned restlessly in his eyes. “How are you feeling? Honestly?”

Out of reflex, I started to tell him that I felt fine, but there was no point in lying. It also wasn’t fair to him. Or to me.

I took a breath that didn’t seem to inflate my lungs fully. It was a different feeling than the one that accompanied the anxiety-fueled breathlessness. This felt like a part of me simply no longer worked as well. “I’m…I’m tired.”

Ash’s expression revealed nothing, but his throat worked on a swallow. “How does your head feel? Your jaw?”

I wished I were still lying to him. “Just a dull ache right now.”

“Okay.” He dipped his head and kissed my brow. “Promise me you’ll let me know if the pain gets worse.”

“I promise.”

Ash stayed as he was for several moments, his cool hand against my cheek, and his lips against my brow. Then he stepped back and took my left hand, moving like he planned to lift me into his arms.

“What are you doing?”

His brows knitted. “I was going to—”

“Please, do not say you were going to carry me.”

“I want you to conserve your energy.”

“Walking doesn’t take any energy.”

The scowl deepened. “Along with not understanding what arguing is, I don’t think you get how the body works.”

My eyes narrowed. “I can walk, Ash. I’m dying,” I said, forcing my tone to be light as I swatted his chest, “but I’m not dead.”

The eather went unearthly still in his eyes. “That is not something to joke about.”

I sighed. He was right. “Which direction?”