Page 25

CHAPTER 25

JASSYN

J assyn plunged through the portal after Lykor, each step a rebellion against his better judgment. He might be courting death with this reckless pursuit.

The rift flung him into a world of savage cold, where a violent gust of wind clawed in greeting, raking him with icy talons. Jassyn wove a shield—not as a preemptive defense, but to stave off the bitter chill.

Or so he told himself.

The jagged silhouette of the wraith fortress loomed in the distance, the volcanic ridge a shadowed crown against a cloud-streaked sky. Boots sinking into the shifting snow, Jassyn drew his cloak around his shoulders.

Ahead, Lykor stood as if forged from the surrounding mountains, crimson eyes flaring with a dangerous glow. He jabbed a finger toward the portal, the motion sharper than the biting wind.

“Go back to the jungle,” he growled, voice rolling across the frozen expanse like distant thunder.

A gale howled between them, whipping Jassyn’s curls across his face. He shoved them back with a trembling hand, the cold seeping through his shield.

“I’m coming with you,” he said, voice steady despite his pounding heart. Tunneling his awareness into the frosty air, he swept out a hand and forced the wind to part around them.

Lykor’s lip curled over his fangs, disdain sculpted into the unforgiving planes of his face. “No. You’re not.”

Without waiting for a reply, Lykor stalked toward him in a deliberate challenge, each step punching through the snow, his breath billowing in furious plumes. Jassyn braced himself, clutching his cloak tighter, anchoring his feet against the reckless rush of standing his ground.

He’d done it before and he’d do it again if that’s what it took to crack through the wall Lykor had built around himself. Whether it was guilt for using coercion against him, a sense of duty to make amends, or some darker thrill, Jassyn held firm as this storm of a male bore down on him.

Retreat wasn’t an option—not with what was at stake in their resistance against the king. Not when Lykor’s relentless drive might lead to his own destruction.

“Let me help,” Jassyn insisted, his pulse a thudding wreck as shadows writhed in Lykor’s fists. A streak of rending slashed through his ward, the magic fraying like his nerves. His breath hitched. “I…I can weave shields, restrain the wind, or—”

With a snarl, Lykor’s gauntlet struck forward. Jassyn tensed, but he saw the motion falter—so slight it could have gone unnoticed—before Lykor seized the front of his cloak.

“I don’t need your help,” Lykor hissed, steam curling around his words.

For an agonizing moment, Jassyn was certain that Lykor would hurl him back through the portal, reducing his effort to nothing but a stubborn mistake.

“I barely managed to mend you the last time you portal jumped alone,” Jassyn pressed, meeting Lykor’s blazing glower. It was madness to provoke him, to trust that Lykor wouldn’t obliterate him on the spot. But he didn’t back down. “Maybe if you let me accompany you, you won’t end up freezing to death.”

Lykor’s eyes narrowed, fangs flashing inches from his face. “Enlighten me as to which part of no you didn’t understand.”

Jassyn drew a shuddering breath, the icy air stabbing his lungs as temptation whispered through his mind. He could force Lykor to accept his assistance—perhaps even erase the memory of this argument.

But that wasn’t something he could live with. The thought unraveled as swiftly as it had formed, tension draining from his shoulders. The decision had to be Lykor’s—this would never work unless he knew that he still held the reins of control.

“I know you don’t trust me,” Jassyn said softly, “and you can throw me back through that portal if you want.”

He hesitated, throat squeezing tight as he searched Lykor’s eyes. “But I’ve been where you are. I know what it’s like to chase something so hard that it leaves you in pieces. You don’t have to do this alone or tear yourself apart in the process.”

A flicker of confusion flashed across Lykor’s face before his features shuttered. “What the fuck is that supposed to—”

Something shrieking slammed into them.

The impact clubbed the air from Jassyn’s lungs, an animalistic scream lancing through his ears. Fangs snapped perilously close to his throat as he tumbled, cloak twisting around his legs. His shoulder struck Lykor’s armor as they crashed into the snow.

Warping to his feet, blue light erupted from Lykor, bursting outward in a violent pulse. The shockwave of force flung their attacker through the air, body spinning against the gray sky before crashing to the ground.

The snow seared into Jassyn’s hands as he wrestled free from his furs, staggering upright.

A wraith skittered toward them on all fours, its lurching limbs a nightmarish distortion of life. Tattered leathers clung to its wasted frame, braids frozen into brittle knots. Frostbite had gnawed its ears to mangled stumps and blackened eyelids framed a vacant stare, oblivious to the barren world.

A tremor ran through Jassyn—not fear of the wraith, but of what it symbolized. Another soul bent and broken, shackled to servitude. One of the compelled.

I can fix this.

Essence flared to life in his palm, its steady hum sharpening his focus. Casting out an arm, Jassyn whipped telepathic chains around the wraith’s mind.

The creature’s snarl fractured into a choked howl. Its limbs seized mid-lunge, immobilized under his control. As the wraith faltered, so did he, the irony biting deep.

He hadn’t hesitated. Hadn’t questioned. But did it even matter if the end justified the means?

Jassyn stole a glance at Lykor, each beat of his hammering heart a condemning echo of his choice. To brazenly wield the magic Lykor despised—almost as much as he seemed to despise him—was hardly a convincing bid for trust.

Lykor stood motionless, arms crossed over his armor, his sneer cutting between Jassyn and the writhing wraith. Shadows coiled around him like a second cloak, seething with quiet menace. A silent fury burned in his eyes, one that promised swift consequences.

Jassyn swallowed, his chest tightening. This is different. I can free it.

Sometimes it was necessary to inflict a wound to heal a deeper scar. And the alternative—leaving the wraith bound, stripped of its will—was a cruelty he refused to allow. Surely Lykor would understand.

Clearing his throat, Jassyn forced the words out. “I can take it back to the jungle,” he offered, gesturing to the subdued wraith. “Untangle the coercion. We could heal—”

Darkness lashed from Lykor’s fist, obliterating the wraith in an eruption of blood and bone.

Jassyn staggered, the severing of his control jolting through him like a physical blow. The remains splattered across the snow in gory chunks, dark streaks staining the pristine frost.

He whirled toward Lykor, disbelief crowding out the edge of his shock. “We could have helped it!”

“The reavers are traitors,” Lykor growled, the words remorseless. Restless shadows churned around him as though waiting for another chance to strike. “You’re naive if you believe they deserve to wake up from their fate.”

Jassyn stared at him, a shiver that had nothing to do with the chill scraping down his spine. Words stuck to his tongue, half-formed and useless as he glanced at the steaming smear on the ground. He could do the same to me.

With a metallic squeal, Lykor’s claw tightened, his armor groaning under the strain. His scowl darkened as he glared at his fist, shadows rippling around his knuckles. Muttered words tumbled from his lips—unmistakably aimed at Aesar.

Lykor’s eyes suddenly snapped back to him, flaring like embers caught in a gust. “We’ve lingered too long.” His gaze cut to the volcano in the distance before he flicked his gauntlet, snapping the portal to the jungle shut.

Essence coiled around him as he wrenched open a new rift. Across the snowy valley, the other end gaped like a wound against the horizon. Without waiting for a reply, Lykor strode forward, boots crunching through the snow.

Over his shoulder, the wind carried his growled words. “If you’re so insistent on following, then keep up.”

Tugging his hood over the points of his ears, Jassyn released a breath, his chest tight against the icy air. Somewhere in this mountain range, far to the south, the prince flickered at the edge of his awareness. He hurried through the gateway, never once tempted to tug on the bond to have his cousin retrieve him.

The fortress dwindled to a speck behind them, devoured by the expanse. A shadow cutting through the drifts, Lykor moved ahead, carving rift after rift into the frozen void.

Jassyn rushed after him, the monochrome landscape blurring into an endless sea of white, broken only by the ice-capped peaks. Portal by portal, they advanced, bridging valleys and threading through narrow passes. Each gateway opened just far enough to reveal what lay ahead, the only means to navigate into the unknown.

Most believed crossing these mountains impossible—even the king had deemed the effort futile. But Lykor seemed determined to press beyond any boundary, intent on proving the world wrong.

Ice clung to Jassyn’s boots, each step heavier than the last. The rhythm of their passage—portal, trudge through snow, portal—lulled him into a weary trance as an hour passed. His breath misted before him, the cold creeping deeper with every stride.

Without warning, Lykor stopped.

The sudden halt jarred Jassyn back to himself. He skidded, nearly colliding with Lykor’s rigid spine.

Turning slowly, Lykor’s eyes burned through the frost-filled air. “Why are you really here?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous. Then, sharper, “Were you sent to ensure Aesar’s safety?”

Jassyn blinked. A flicker of irritation sparked at Lykor’s assumption, but guilt quickly smothered it.

Aesar hadn’t even crossed his mind. It wasn’t Aesar who needed him—it was Lykor. And the fact that Lykor believed an obligation to Aesar had drawn him here cut deeper than Jassyn had anticipated. But can I blame him?

Unbidden, fragments of Lykor’s past surfaced in Jassyn’s mind—glimpses he’d never meant to see. Rejection. Isolation. Even from those closest to him. Kal and Mara—well-meaning but blind—had tried to coax Aesar back, denying Lykor’s existence. They’d tried to shove him into the mold of a prince he never was. Their ignorance hadn’t been malicious, but it had come at a cost.

“I’m following you through these portals,” Jassyn said, his voice nearly stolen by the wind. “Not Aesar.” He shoved his numb hands into the folds of his cloak, silently cursing the absence of gloves. He forced himself to continue despite the disbelieving flash in Lykor’s eyes. “Your life isn’t worth any less than his.”

Lykor’s jaw tightened, the muscles straining beneath his cheek. His leathers creaked as he rolled shoulders, his gaze skimming over Jassyn’s scar before breaking away entirely. No acknowledgment. No rebuttal. But for the briefest moment, something wavered in that molten stare—something unguarded, almost vulnerable—before it vanished.

Snow began to fall, flakes gliding through the stillness between them.

“I’m here because I chose to be,” Jassyn said quietly. “Not because Aesar’s my—”

“Don’t,” Lykor snarled. His eyes ignited, the Essence shimmering around him combusting into shadows. “Don’t try to make this about duty. Or family .”

Jassyn stiffened, breath catching. “I wasn’t.”

Lykor stepped closer until they were chest-to-chest, their exhales misting in the frigid air. “Whatever ties you think we share, they don’t exist.” His voice dropped lower, colder, each word honed to a cutting edge. “Aesar might be your kin, but let me make this clear—I’m not. And I never will be.”

Lykor turned before Jassyn could react, darkness trailing in his wake as he tore open another portal. Without a backward glance, he prowled onward, swallowed by the midnight void.

Stumbling across the snowy ground, Jassyn rushed through the gateway, fearing that Lykor intended to leave him behind for good.

Emerging into the boundless white beyond, he caught the faintest glimpse of Lykor’s boots disappearing through another rift. The cold frosted his lungs as he drew a stinging breath. Each portal felt like a door slammed shut, another barrier raised. Still, he pressed forward.

Lykor could keep running, keep driving him away. Jassyn was determined to follow—however long it took. He recognized the unyielding walls Lykor had built around himself. But isolation was fear disguised as armor, a burden Jassyn hadn’t even realized he’d carried until Serenna had refused to let him be alone.

And now here he was, trying to breach someone else’s fortress, knowing full well the unease of allowing another to get close. Maybe that’s why he couldn’t turn back no matter how many times Lykor tried to push him away. He understood how easy it was to cling to the lie that solitude was safer—how much harder it was to accept the possibility that someone might care enough to reach out.

And as the horizon stretched endlessly before them, Jassyn knew with burning certainty that he was chasing someone who needed to know they didn’t have to face the darkness alone.