Page 20

CHAPTER 20

LYKOR

A portal ruptured the air. With a strangled curse, Lykor barely warped clear. He’d been overseeing the evacuation in the residential district, regenerating with the scattered scraps of starlight ricocheting off the cavern’s mirrors.

Essence hummed as Vesryn and Jassyn tumbled out in an undignified heap, the rift collapsing behind them so abruptly that it nearly sheared the prince’s boots in two.

Lykor stormed toward them, each step dropping like a hammer. Ignoring Jassyn’s floundering, he snatched the prince by his bandolier and hauled him upright.

“About time you showed up,” Lykor growled, irritation at the delay boiling his blood. “I need more portals—”

“Where’s Serenna?” Vesryn interrupted, panic rising in his voice.

He spun, wild eyes darting toward the volcano’s crater. Essence thundered in chaotic bursts, reverberating through the fortress like the heartbeat of a dying beast.

“The king attacked the Ranger Station, but I thought I sensed her…” Vesryn stiffened upon noticing the evacuation lines, eyes widening as he took in the scene. Draped in cloaks, rows of wraith waited with their burdened packs, wraithlings clinging to their parents’ legs, faces etched with silent terror.

“What the bleeding stars is going on here?” the prince demanded, whirling toward the two portals where Mara and Thalaesyn calmly ushered the clans through.

A fresh surge of irritation ignited in Lykor’s chest, stoked hotter by the prince’s misplaced priorities. The dusty stables didn’t matter—not while his fortress crumbled and his warriors died to buy precious time. And fretting about the girl? Pathetic.

What does he mean the rangers were attacked? Aesar interjected, his voice a coil of concern in Lykor’s mind. He’d been restlessly pacing since the evacuation began, worry mounting with every passing moment. Nevermind. Every second we delay, the noose gets tighter. Vesryn won’t focus until you answer him. Just do it.

“Your fucking academy is invading my fortress.” Lykor flung an arm toward the battle’s distant cacophony, where screams and the clash of steel echoed through the caverns. “And the girl is following orders. Open more rifts to that druid jungle,” he barked. “I don’t have time to align your short-sighted priorities with the reality of our impending doom.”

Vesryn’s jaw tightened but Essence sparked to life as he obeyed without further argument. When four more portals spun into existence, Lykor allowed himself a shallow breath of relief.

Then Vesryn paled. “The—the jungle?” His gaze flicked to Jassyn, then back to Lykor. “That’s where I just sent the rangers and our wraith. Do your people even know we’re allies? What if—”

Lykor’s patience shattered like glass under a blow. “Then go through and regulate, Prince .” He shoved Vesryn toward the rifts.

The ground shook beneath him again as Essence roared through the stone. The warriors spilling their blood needed him, every drop a stain on his hands. This invasion—this chaos—was his fault and he needed to shield them from it.

But the terrified civilians clutching their wraithlings needed him too. If they didn’t make it out, their deaths would be his doing. He had to save them all.

We need to get to Kal, Aesar urged, the storm of his thoughts battering Lykor’s mind, the clipped echo of his boots striking across the library’s marble grating in Lykor’s skull. He said humans are everywhere. They can’t return and they’re getting slaughtered—

I’M WORKING ON IT, Lykor bit back, agitation bucking against his ribs.

His threats had been hollow and Aesar knew it. They weren’t leaving anyone behind—not even Kal. Especially not while the blathering fool still carried their other Heart of Stars.

Lykor brushed the relic resting in his pocket, a reminder of what was at stake. He ground his fangs, cursing himself for the folly of relying on someone else—he should have kept them both.

Fingers clenching, Vesryn took a step back toward the overlook, away from the portals—away from where Lykor needed him. “I have to go to Serenna.”

Lykor seized the prince’s tunic, yanking him forward until their faces were inches apart. “I’ll bring her back—along with everyone else,” he growled. “For now, she’s with the lieutenant and he’ll die before anything happens to her.” Vesryn’s nostrils flared but Lykor railed on. “You’re needed here .” His muscles tensed, ready to drag Vesryn through the portal if necessary. Or, stars fucking forbid, beg Mara to deal with her unruly son. “Keep order in the jungle. If we’re overrun, I need you to dissolve the portals.”

Lykor didn’t wait for the prince’s reply as he pushed him away. Twisting on his heel, he stalked to the edge of the viewpoint, where the fortress clung to the volcano’s slopes. Its tiered levels jutted from the rock, stone pathways winding between towers anchored deep into the mountain’s bones.

From the lower streets, the roar of mortal voices surged upward, tangling with the clash of steel as they slammed into the wraith protecting the retreat.

Aesar received a vision and it flashed in Lykor’s mind—a fleeting glimpse of Kal and his warriors pinned between humans pouring through the unsealed tunnels. From above, archers unleashed relentless volleys, raining death—obstructing any chance of warping.

Flayed by frustration, Lykor’s shoulders twitched. Portaling closer wasn’t an option—the prince had just proven the risk by nearly splitting him in two. He needed to warp, but efficiency demanded vantage. His gaze latched onto an archway spanning the upper levels. From there, he could map the quickest route.

Steering his awareness to the center of his chest, Lykor folded in on himself. Something clamped around his arm just before he warped.

He wasn’t alone.

Boots struck stone—two pairs. Jassyn stumbled beside him as they reappeared a hundred paces higher. Lykor whipped his hand out, snarling a curse—half at Jassyn, half at himself for seizing the elf’s leathers and hauling him back from the ledge.

Jassyn’s eyes darted across their precarious perch, widening as he stared at the abyss below. The blood drained from his face as he met Lykor’s glare, swallowing hard before managing to speak.

“Vesryn sent me to help you.” He extended the prince’s sheathed blades. “Well, to make sure Serenna is safe.”

Aesar perked up, recognizing his glaives from a life long past. We could use his help.

Lykor ignored him but accepted the weapons. As he slung the leather strap mechanically across his spine, his gaze flicked to Jassyn’s face.

Blood. A faint smear streaked his cheek.

It didn’t matter.

Yet his eyes hunted for an injury, finding none. An ember of relief kindled—unwanted and swiftly smothered under scorn. Whatever had happened to Jassyn at the stables was irrelevant. Letting anything beyond hate surface felt like a betrayal after everything Jassyn had done.

You don’t have to like him, Aesar continued, his tone sharper now. But he’s not the king. His talents are an asset.

Lykor’s lip curled as he grabbed Jassyn by the front of his armor, hauling him close in a gesture that the elf’s height made more awkward than intimidating.

“Fine,” he hissed. “But if you even think about bending my will, I’ll eradicate you from existence.”

Aesar tossed up his hands. Do we really have time for this?

Lykor’s irritation flared, but Aesar was right. Concessions. Jassyn could be used for now, and discarded later. Accepting his help wasn’t surrender—it was strategy.

With a glance at the next tier, Lykor yanked Jassyn into another warp. He jumped from bridge to bridge, each shift carrying them closer to Kal’s location.

Eventually, they reached a slender path suspended high above the fray. A few levels below, a landing stretched between them and the wraith, bristling with archers. Their volleys tore through the air in deadly arcs, slicing downward toward Kal’s fighters.

The violet glow of a shield drew his attention—Serenna’s—the fragile canopy flickering under the relentless hail of arrows. Her ward deflected the attacks from above, but the sides gaped open, leaving the wraith exposed as they clashed with the mortals.

The human horde churned like a storm-fed river, flooding from tunnels on the ground level. Steel rang like distant thunder, the wavering torches casting shadows across the stronghold walls. Hundreds of mortals clad in mismatched scraps of armor pressed in from every direction, shoving Kal’s fighters toward the cusp of slaughter.

Lykor edged along the narrow path while Aesar murmured suggestions about where to descend. No longer having the wraith ability of cloaking—a price paid weeks ago when he’d siphoned that ranger’s talents—left him vulnerable. Exposed. And he felt it now, the prickle of hostile eyes latching onto them from below.

A shout rang out from one of the archers, followed by the whistle of arrows shrieking toward them. Before Lykor could warp, Jassyn’s hands flew up. A shield webbed out between them and the hail of quarrels, solidifying just in time. The arrows struck the barrier, clattering to the stone.

Lykor’s scowl tightened, a flicker of grudging acknowledgment creeping in. Maybe the elf would prove more useful than he’d expected. But that didn’t mean he trusted him.

“We’ll have to kill them,” Lykor said bluntly, ignoring the archers for the moment. Decades in the Wastes had honed his instinct for survival, but he’d always avoided taking the lives of helpless mortals. That restraint cracked now under the weight of necessity. “Are you prepared for that?” He clenched his gauntlet at his side as he met Jassyn’s gaze. “Or should I leave you up here?”

Jassyn folded his arms, a fresh volley of arrows ramming against his shield as he scuffed a boot against the stone, pointedly staring down. “There might be another way.”

“There’s not,” Lykor snapped, jerking his chin toward the incessant archers firing at them. “This is war, not a debate.” He jabbed his finger into Jassyn’s chest, baring his fangs. “Unless you can burrow into every brain down there and force them to stand down, their lives are forfeit.”

Jassyn’s jaw tightened, but resignation settled heavily onto his shoulders. He gave a reluctant nod, abandoning any further argument.

Stalking toward the edge of the barrier, Lykor pressed his palm against the shimmering surface. Essence flared around him as he moved to unravel a small window in the ward, but Jassyn beat him to it.

Lykor grunted, sparing Jassyn a glance that might’ve been a glower before fixing his focus on the mortals assaulting them from the bridge below. Igniting the scant power he’d restored, shadows erupted from his palm. The writhing cloud of darkness plummeted toward the archers, expanding as it fell.

Brief screams rang out before the blanket of rending smothered them. When the fog finally dissipated, the bridge stood eerily silent—except for the steady drip of blood falling on stone.

Next to him, Jassyn shifted his weight but remained quiet. Lykor unsheathed the twin glaives strapped to his back. The blades felt unwieldy, the strain they put on his spine a nuisance.

Essence had always been his weapon of choice—brutal, efficient, unburdened by the weight of steel. But with his reserves running low, he needed to conserve what remained for a portal once they reached Kal.

Lykor stiffened as Aesar’s voice broke through his thoughts.

I can do it.

Grinding his molars, Lykor choked back the retort clawing its way to his tongue. This wasn’t the time for one of their disputes. Not while his people were dying. They needed speed—precision. And as much as it blistered his pride to admit, Aesar’s mastery might be the necessary edge when they warped down.

NO HALF MEASURES, Lykor growled into the depths of his mind. WE WON’T MAKE IT OUT IF WE’RE TRYING TO SPARE EVERY LIFE. OUR PEOPLE COME FIRST.

Aesar exhaled slowly. I know.

The droning thunder of his heartbeat punched between his ears, cold sweat sliding down his neck. Lykor’s grip on the glaives tightened before he forced his fingers to slacken, hesitantly relinquishing control.

A cold shiver ignited at his fingertips, snaking up his limbs with an eerie numbness as Aesar slipped into place. Lykor braced himself, a knot in his gut twisting tighter as he fully ceded. Becoming the observer. Watching through their eyes.

Rolling their neck, Aesar hefted the glaives to test their balance—a bird stretching its wings, recalling how to fly.

The slight crease in Jassyn’s brow, his perceptive frown seeming to detect their shift, scraped against Lykor’s nerves. Muttering to himself that it didn’t matter—any halfwit could tell them apart—Lykor hovered at the brink of Aesar’s awareness. Close enough to intervene, yet careful not to disrupt.

Feeling their body move without his command felt like teetering on the edge of a chasm. Every instinct screamed at him to seize control. But he had no choice—he had to trust.

Aesar focused on the battle below. Countless humans swarmed around the fifty wraith holding a shrinking perimeter next to one of the tunnels. The tumult of combat left no room to materialize within the compressed ring of soldiers.

“We’ll jump to the outskirts of the mortal lines,” Aesar explained for Jassyn’s benefit. “From there, we’ll carve a path through to reach Kal. As soon as you drop your shield, we’ll jump.”

Inhaling deeply, Jassyn raked his hand through his tousled curls. “I’m ready.”

Aesar inclined their head in acceptance, sealing their fate. “Grab my arm.”

Lykor nearly flew out of their skin at the sudden contact, the press of Jassyn’s fingers against their wrist jolting through him.

Abrupt. Invasive. Far too close.

Buried memories unearthed. The king’s cold hands on him, voice like silk but poisoned with venom. Coercion slithering through his mind, contorting his thoughts. For a heartbeat, he was back in the prisons—powerless, his will twisted into another’s weapon.

Lykor ruthlessly severed his unease. This wasn’t the time to falter.

As soon as the ward’s violet strands dissolved, Aesar warped.

Their boots struck the earth behind the humans, the clamor of battle swallowing the sound. The bitter sting of bile scorched their throat, the stench of entrails and metallic blood snaking up their nose. Lykor knew Aesar was far from eager to press forward, but there was no sidestepping now.

The cavern floor churned with bodies, the ground slick with blood and littered with the fallen. Cries of pain twisted into wet gurgles, wraith and human alike collapsing beneath the tide of combat, trampled into pulp.

But Aesar’s focus was homed in on Kal. The human forces squeezed like a tightening vise, pressing against the wraith that desperately held their line.

Weapons bared and bloody, Kal and Fenn fought side by side at the front while Serenna defended their backs, her shield abandoned. Essence flickered around them like dying embers, their magic nearly drained.

Jassyn thrust his palms outward. Flames ripped free from nearby torches and sconces, streaking toward him in a molten storm. The nearest humans spun, eyes widening in fear. Shouts rang out as they raised their weapons and charged.

Shifting their weight, Aesar lowered his glaives, the blades flashing in the fire. Balanced and lethal, a hunter poised to strike.

Grim and white-faced, Jassyn whipped his arms, unleashing a flaming torrent into the human ranks—a searing wave that consumed the front line in a screaming inferno.

Panic ignited. Mortals broke formation, shouts morphing into shrieks as they stampeded over each other to escape the blazing chaos.

Seizing the opening, Aesar flowed into the rhythm of battle, drifting into remembered fighting stances that decades hadn’t dulled. The glaives spun in his grip, slicing at the first human who stood against them. A collision of steel rang, showering sparks.

It became less like a fight and more of a dance—a deadly sequence of gliding, dodging, bobbing, and weaving. The blades whirled, every step pressing their advance forward, the humans too disoriented by Jassyn’s fire to maintain any semblance of order.

Lykor sensed Aesar shrouding his mind against the shuddering impacts, the wet squelch of skin yielding. He ignored the way metal sliced through flesh, jarring their teeth as the blades crunched, sinking into bone.

Aesar refused to register faces lest his concentration shatter under regret—he couldn’t let himself see the innocents caught in the tides of war. A cruel twist of fate had made reasoning with the mortals impossible, their ears deafened by the elves sowing seeds of fear across the realms.

Unflinching, Lykor watched through their eyes, detached as Aesar’s glaives tore free against a body’s suction. His own senses were dulled to the carnage, stirring nothing within him. This was battle—brutal, necessary, and unworthy of remorse.

Beside them, Lykor caught glimpses of Jassyn unleashing bursts of raging flames to tear a path toward Kal.

If we make it through this, Aesar gritted out, muscles screaming from overuse, chest hauling in air faster than they could suck it down, we need to start conditioning.

BE MY GUEST, Lykor muttered. Now it was his turn to restlessly pace in the darkness of their mind, silently seething as he watched. His talons itched to intervene, to rip a path of destruction. At least the elf had proven his worth.

Lykor inwardly scowled as soon as the reluctant appreciation materialized. Perhaps keeping access to the shaman power held more value than the fleeting satisfaction of driving Jassyn away.

Through the remaining mortals separating them, an unspoken coordination passed between Jassyn and Serenna. Sweeping his arm, Jassyn launched a stream of fire toward her in a blazing comet. Serenna reached out, snatching it from the air, the molten coil wrapping harmlessly across her wrist.

The fire shifted, drawing taut, a mooring line of flame connecting them. They swept the arc of destruction through the human ranks like a blazing scythe.

Flesh sizzled and blackened, the stench of burning meat choking the air. Acrid smoke curled upward as the ground was reduced to a smoldering wasteland of charred corpses.

The inferno sent fresh panic tearing through the humans. Those caught in the path of the flames scattered, dropping weapons as their ranks crumbled. Burning bodies began shoving and trampling over one another as they fought each other to get back down the tunnels. Fleeing.

Finally, Aesar and Jassyn reached Kal and his warriors as the humans disappeared. Their retreat wouldn’t last. If those from the academy were closing in, they would soon drive the humans back into the fight.

Kal panted heavily, wiping away remnants of gore that clung to his brow.

Aesar sheathed his glaives and clasped Kal’s forearm. “Vesryn will need assistance in the jungle.” With the last dregs of their Essence, he opened a portal. “It sounds like my brother brought some old friends. Help keep the peace.”

Kal simply nodded. Of course he’d obey Aesar’s orders without a combative remark. His grip briefly tightened against their arm before releasing them, waving the battle-weary wraith through the rift.

Impatience roiled within Lykor, a tempest battering the walls of his restraint. He was done sitting idle. Ramming Aesar aside, he seized control, reclaiming his limbs. He didn’t hear Aesar’s protests because something—someone—collided with his chest.

Stunned, Lykor blinked as Serenna wrapped her arms around his middle. Hugging him. WHAT THE—

Before he could process the absurdity of it, Fenn approached behind her. His eyes glowed, clearly intending to follow her lead.

Arms stiff at his sides, Lykor bared his fangs at the lieutenant. “Don’t you fucking dare.”

“I knew you wouldn’t leave without us,” Serenna said with a laugh, squeezing the air out of his lungs.

He was certainly considering it now.

She stepped back with a grin that only widened when she caught Fenn’s eye. Triumphant. Whatever asinine exchange passed between them, Lykor didn’t care to decipher.

“But if you didn’t steal my portaling talent,” she snipped, refocusing on him, “ I could have gotten us out of here.”

Lykor’s lip curled as he scruffed her by the back of her armor, propelling her unceremoniously through the portal.

Scowling and ensuring Fenn wasn’t going to embrace him in the same manner, Lykor tracked him until he disappeared through the void too. Only then did he study the darkened tunnel where the humans had fled, noticing the hum of Essence approaching. The invasion was far from over.

Time pressed heavily against him—he couldn’t afford any more delays, but one more task demanded his attention.

The last of the group filtered through the portal. Safe. Lykor’s eyes narrowed. All except one.

“Go with the others,” he ordered.

Arms crossed, Jassyn remained in place. His brow furrowed deeper until the scar slicing across it paled. “Are you going somewhere else?”

Reading Lykor’s intent, Aesar objected. Absolutely not. You are not risking—

“It doesn’t concern you,” Lykor clipped, addressing both of them before forcing Aesar away.

Jassyn’s gaze shifted upward, drawn to the thundering pulse of Essence reverberating through the keep. “Do we really have time to linger?”

Lykor rounded on Jassyn, jabbing a finger at him. “There is no ‘we.’”

“ We need to get back to the others,” Jassyn insisted, pursing his lips.

Lykor’s shoulders twitched, irritation tightening his spine. He weighed his options—it would be easy to toss this stubborn male through the portal like Serenna. Rid himself of the constant insolence, this grating calmness.

“And if I refuse?” Lykor gritted out. “Are you going to stop me?”

The question hung between them, a guillotine poised to drop. A dare, to see if Jassyn would cross that line and bend him into compliance.

Jassyn didn’t look away, the amber in his stare unwavering, as searing as molten gold. Heat prickled up Lykor’s neck as that look wormed under his skin, burrowing around.

Jassyn’s might wasn’t in strength—it was control, the kind that could crush him with barely a thought. But restraint held him back. And that discipline mocked Lykor with everything he wasn’t.

Authority without fury.

Power without chaos.

Lykor hated it. Hated him .

And yet beneath that seething hatred, something deeper and more treacherous stirred—a shadow he dared not confront.

“No,” Jassyn finally answered, his tone infuriatingly defiant. He drew himself up, towering just enough to make Lykor’s annoyance spike. “I’m coming with you.”

Exasperated, Lykor threw his hands up, a sharp breath hissing between his teeth. He was tired of fucking around. “Fine.”

With a flick of his wrist, he unraveled the open portal, its destination irrelevant now. This was his operation, and he would take control the way he always did—by force. Jassyn’s obstinacy wasn’t worth the fight, and if he was so star-bent on following, then Lykor would ensure it would be on his terms.

“If you insist on accompanying me,” Lykor sneered, “then make yourself useful.” He thrust out his palm. “Essence. Now.”

Jassyn hesitated, suspicion flickering across his face. But he complied, drawing a sphere of light from his chest. Before he could fully extend his arm, Lykor snatched the orb, its energy crackling into his Well as he absorbed it.

“And not a word,” Lykor growled, ripping open another gateway, “when we get to the other side.”