Page 21

CHAPTER 21

LYKOR

“ G oats? ” Jassyn spluttered when he stepped through the portal behind Lykor, disbelief strangling his voice as the void vanished.

“What did I just fucking say?” Lykor snapped, yanking open the gate to the makeshift pasture nestled deep in one of the stronghold’s crevices.

Bioluminescent vines and moss clung to volcanic rock, casting a faint glow. Overhead, bridges arched into a stony lattice, their shadows swallowed by the gloom. In the distance, the fortress shuddered again, faint tremors shaking the ground.

The dwindling seconds pounded against Lykor’s chest, each a driving spike. His people were slipping away to safety, but the elves were closing in. Time was a blade against his throat—he had to finish this swiftly.

Lykor whistled sharply and flicked his wrist, slicing the air open with another portal. The rift unfurled, the other end spilling open to a secluded stretch of rolling green hills—a sanctuary far from civilization where the herd would be safe.

Jassyn’s lips twitched as forty pocket goats trotted toward them, their woolly heads bobbing and jostling. A few bold ones butted against his legs as they milled around. “You’re seriously evacuating goats ?”

“I didn’t ask you to follow me,” Lykor muttered. Delicate hooves pattered like rain on stone as the flock converged.

Aesar grumbled in his mind. This detour is excessive. He retreated back into the library, rubbing the mirrored ache in his skull.

Lykor clenched his jaw as he watched the goats vanish through the rift one by one, their bleats dissolving into silence. He’d already ensured that Aiko made it to the jungle, but the forest wasn’t an option for the flock—especially not now with dracovae that would be eager to snatch them up.

The last goat hesitated at the portal, tiny hooves tapping before it leaped through. An absurd pang clamped Lykor’s chest as he collapsed the rift. He wasn’t going to miss the flock—he barely tolerated their incessant bleating—but they had meant something once. An attempt to give the wraithlings a shred of normalcy in this merciless world.

And he couldn’t abandon even these creatures to the fate that awaited them—slaughter. Blood was blood and his hands were already drenched.

Lykor rolled his shoulders, as if that would shake off the invisible touch of Jassyn’s probing gaze. “ What? ” he bit out, turning toward the elf.

Jassyn shook his head. “Nothing,” he said lightly, but a grin fought to surface. “I just didn’t expect…” He gestured around the cavern. “This.”

Lykor bristled, certain Jassyn was mocking him. And yet, against all reason, some treacherous part of him wondered what it would take for that half-formed grin to stretch into a real smile. A fleeting, insidious thought—one he crushed instantly, stamping it out like a stray ember before it could ignite into something worse.

Aesar, ever vocal, withheld his usual barbs, though Lykor sensed his amusement. He floundered briefly for what to say, but a pulse of thundering Essence spared him.

The thrum of energy jerked his eyes up to the bridges. Dread thrashed in his gut. He’d idled for far too long.

Elves—the mixed-blood from the academy—flooded the paths above, their white leather armor haloed by Essence. The fortress groaned, another tremor shaking the foundation. Cracks raced through the stone walls, showering the cavern floor with dust and loose shards.

Portals ruptured the air beside them.

DRACOVAE’S TITS!

With no time to think, Lykor seized Jassyn’s arm and warped. The world blurred and—

Lykor collided with something solid, the impact rattling his teeth as he and Jassyn staggered back. Baring his fangs, he spun.

Caged.

A violet shield cinched around them, its pulsating energy suffocating. Power hummed, the current of Essence prickling along his arms.

Lykor clawed at his Well but dredged up only drops of magic from his depleted reservoir. Rending flickered, a faint wisp of shadows smoking feebly around his fist. Not enough to scrape through.

Like a trapped animal, he lashed out with his gauntlet, each desperate strike useless against the ward.

Magic spilled from the elves advancing through the portals, streams of Essence reinforcing the barrier. A hundred—maybe two—surrounded them, hands outstretched, raw power hovering at their splayed fingertips. The bioluminescent light cast shadows across their faces, expressions grim with purpose.

“Give me what’s left in your Well!” Lykor barked, fear burning away as fury ignited. “Or do something useful and unravel this fucking shield!”

Jassyn’s hands shook as he pooled magic into his palms. His eyes darted around the elves, a swarm of hornets closing in for the kill.

Before he could offer the gathered power to Lykor, the barrier shattered, splintering into fractured light.

In its wake, shadows surged. Darkness coiled around Lykor and Jassyn like binding chains, driving them to their knees.

Helpless.

Lykor wrestled against the rending, his muscles straining in vain. This was his doing—his reckless stupidity had dragged them into danger. And for what? A herd of fucking goats.

A savage snarl ripped from his chest as two females stepped forward, breaking from the circle of Essence-wielders. Lykor’s glare seared between them—an elf clad in blood-red leathers and…a partially transformed wraith.

Disbelief jolted through him. Peering at her, Lykor processed the bones woven into her golden braids, the paint rimming her eyes. A hollow laugh escaped him, the realization bitter in his throat.

Of course the elves had infused the fucking reavers with Essence, no doubt twisting them into puppets with empty promises of power.

“That’s Lykor,” the traitorous reaver crowed, her voice honeyed with triumph as she turned to the crimson-haired female at her side.

Lykor glanced at Jassyn, whose eyes were unfocused and distant, staring at nothing. Of all the fucking times to go catatonic.

He’s probably sending for help to clean up your mess, Aesar fumed, flinging an accusatory finger.

But Lykor needed him , the bite of his shaman power. Or his darker side. That vile, gut-wrenching coercion that could bludgeon minds and obliterate wills.

Lykor loathed it, his lip curling at the thought, but right now, he’d turn that weapon against these elves—do whatever it took to tear them free from this stars-cursed disaster.

“Interesting,” the female in red mused. A crystal embedded in her diadem gleamed as the elves summoned globes of illumination.

Lykor’s nostrils flared when she reached for him, plucking a strand of his hair and twirling it around a painted nail.

“A portal to the palace,” she clipped over her shoulder before shooting him a smirk. “We’re going straight to the king with these two.” Snapping her fingers at one of the Essence-wielders and the renegade reaver, she said, “See that we’re expected.”

A rift unfurled and the pair disappeared.

The threat of the king sent a tremor rippling through Lykor, instinct flaring to life. He didn’t think—he shoved Aesar deep into the recesses of their mind. Cocooning him in safety, locking him far away from this rising peril.

Taunting him, the female trailed a finger along Lykor’s jaw. He snapped his fangs at her before he could stop himself.

She flinched and yanked her hand back, her lips parting to release a quick gasp. But her shock dissolved as quickly as it had appeared, teeth flashing through a serpentine smile.

“You’re going to be a delight,” she purred, seizing the back of his head. “Your brother was incredibly dull, but you …” She twisted her fist in his hair, yanking his neck back so her glacial eyes could bore into him. Dissecting piece by piece. “I’ve heard so many fascinating things,” she murmured, her voice a velvet razor. “I can’t wait to discover what makes you tick.”

Releasing him, the female flicked her wrist. The rending closed in like a tightening noose, jerking Lykor to his feet.

Gliding around him, the elf skimmed her palms over his tunic, a slow and deliberate sweep—a dominating performance. Essence spiraled around them, wisps of magic landing on his skin, slithering like vipers savoring their prey.

Lykor bared his fangs, molten rage erupting as he thrashed against the shadowy bindings. He was going to rip every bone from this elven bitch’s hand, grind them to dust, and shove the ashes down her throat until she choked. But he wouldn’t stop there. He’d tunnel up her arms, string her up by the tendons and—

Her hands slid lower, toward the waistband of his trousers. Lykor’s heart nearly punched free from his ribs.

It wasn’t the pathetic attempt at provocation that froze him—it was what she might uncover.

Her fingers brushed over the concealed object he’d so witlessly carried here. Moments stretched. Lykor’s chest compressed, lungs straining as if the air had turned to stone.

The female cocked her head, crimson hair spilling over her shoulder like a curtain of blood. She rooted around in his pocket, drawing out the Heart of Stars.

Lykor’s breath stalled, vision splintering as the halo around the relic ignited with color, the hues of her talents shining brightly. The light seared into his eyes, blinding him with the sting of his failures.

He should have left the artifact with Mara, given it to the prince, buried it in the jungle. Should’ve thrown it into the fucking sea. Anything but this.

The female’s eyes gleamed with curiosity as she tilted the prism in her palm. “Now this is unexpected.”

Lykor’s thoughts fractured, spiraling under the calamity he’d wrought. Galaeryn’s face flashed in his mind—those malicious silver eyes gleaming as the Heart fell back into his grasp.

A key to the chained dragons.

But the relic was only the beginning—the worst was yet to come.

Lykor would be dragged back to the dungeons. The king would rip into his mind, tearing out every secret he’d fought to protect.

He could already feel it—coercion slicing through his thoughts, pulverizing any resistance. The elves would find the wraith hiding in the jungle. The world would fall, his fleeting dream of freedom lost to shadows.

Lykor’s breaths came too fast, too shallow. The weight of his folly crushed down, suffocating him, each gasp sharper than the last.

His hearing muted to a distant hum as the female turned away, already losing interest in him. She slipped the Heart of Stars into her cloak. Claiming it as her own.

“And why in the stars are you here?” the elf demanded, turning her attention toward Jassyn.

She twisted her wrist and the rending coiled tighter, yanking him to his feet. Jassyn rapidly blinked as he came back to himself, finally rousing from the depths of his mind. A subtle flash fossilized his amber eyes into dark defiance.

An unnatural wind stirred through Jassyn’s curls. The female, blinded by her own arrogance, missed it entirely.

But Lykor didn’t. A wicked shiver of anticipation skipped his pulse as he watched the exchange, hobbling his breath to see what chaos Jassyn would summon.

The female dismissively waved away Jassyn’s stony silence—his detached and hollow look. “No matter,” she said with a pointed sniff, reaching out to grab at Jassyn in the same way. “My sire will be pleased to have you—”

Her shriek split the air. One moment, the red-haired female was standing there smirking. The next, she was stumbling back, arms and shadows flying up in a frantic attempt to ward off lashing vines. Roots ripped free from the walls as the plants came alive, whipping toward her in a ravenous frenzy and wrapping around her limbs.

Moss and lichen anchored to the stone pulsed with an ethereal glow before withering as Jassyn siphoned their life force. Like stardust swept by a phantom gale, luminescence bled from the plants, shimmering flecks streaming through the air.

Lykor’s breath hitched as the glowing spores shot toward the surrounding elves. In a heartbeat, they detonated, splattering across faces, blooming with sickening speed. Mushrooms erupted from eyes, burrowing deep into sockets before bursting into grotesque clusters of fungal growth.

The rending around Lykor and Jassyn disintegrated. The leader screamed, clawing at her face as she fled through the portal.

With a snarl, Lykor yanked Aesar’s glaives from their sheathes, steel hissing as he resorted to fighting with metal.

He didn’t need to bother.

Lykor’s eyes widened, his grip on the weapons slackening. An uneasy awe tangled between his ribs, his brain fumbling to process the scene.

Jassyn was already a storm unleashed, raining destruction, veins in his arms glowing green with otherworldly light. Teeth bared, he whipped golden blades from his leathers, his movements wild and savage. The daggers streaked too fast for Lykor to track, gold flashing as elves crumpled beneath their bite.

But that wasn’t what made him stare.

It was the fucking plants.

Leafy tendrils erupted through throats, splitting skin like overripe fruit. Elves toppled forward, choking on gurgled screams that bubbled through gaping mouths. Fingers shredded eyes, desperate to purge the parasitic infestation bursting to obscene life. Lichens branched rapidly in necrotic lines, crawling across cheeks and throats, rotting flesh into putrid pulp.

The stench hit next. Death, taking root. It slammed into Lykor like a fist, colliding with his gut. His stomach churned at the sourness of decay, yet…the revulsion never came.

He couldn’t tear his gaze away. The glowing spores, beautiful as starlight, twisted into something monstrous. Something so insidiously creative. A deadly elegance.

Lykor felt outside of himself, unmoored and floating, his stupid eyes latched onto Jassyn. Seeing him in a different light. The elf moved with unsettling precision. But there was grace, too—an art in the way he painted death with his fingertips.

Lykor’s knuckles tightened around the glaives dangling uselessly at his sides, his pulse hammering loud enough to shatter thought. A foreign heat simmered in his chest. He strangled the traitorous surge of his blood—the way it roared when Jassyn turned, amber eyes blazing.

Impressed or not, it didn’t matter. Jassyn was a weapon. An asset, just as Aesar had claimed.

Essence thundered at Lykor’s side.

He blinked, instincts snapping back just in time. Whipping his glaive up, steel squealed against steel as he intercepted a sword that had nearly split his idiotic skull. The impact jolted through his arms, teeth grinding together from the force of the blow.

Snarling, Lykor shoved the brazen elf back.

Shadows converged and erupted into a spray of blood and bone. Lykor whirled, hunting for the source of the rending.

And then he saw it.

The elves were fighting each other.

Blades and magic clashed as ally turned into foe, the Essence-wielders tearing each other apart. Before Lykor could even comprehend what was happening, the elves started opening portals. The attackers bolted for the rifts, their retreat a blur of white armor.

Mind stalling, Lykor stood frozen, stunned and disoriented as the fight disintegrated before his eyes, the army unraveling. A few dozen elves remained behind, but they stood down, sheathing weapons before their magic winked out.

Silence settled around the bodies littering the cavern floor—twisted, broken, most overgrown with fungal blooms. Lykor nudged one fallen warrior with his boot. A puff of glowing lichen stirred, exposing pieces of brain with mushrooms clinging to the folds.

The surreal haze cracked, and loss hit him like a blow. The Heart of Stars was gone—ripped from his grasp. Its absence hollowed him out, an ache so deep that it carved into his bones. He’d failed. Delivered the relic that was meant to be their salvation straight into the king’s hands. There was no telling what Galaeryn could do with it, what he could twist out of the dragons if he found the slumbering beasts first.

Tearing away from the ruin of his thoughts, Lykor crossed his arms, glaring at the lingering elves. When he turned to demand an explanation, he found Jassyn hunched with a small female standing at his side. Hands braced on his knees, his shoulders shuddered with each ragged breath.

Slowly, Jassyn straightened, passing murmured words to the elf. He blew out a sigh, dragging his fingers through his curls before finding Lykor.

“This is Nelya,” he said, nodding to the female. “And this…” He paused, the faintest glow of pride showing before he gestured to the other elves. “This is our ring of rebel magus.”