Page 52

CHAPTER 52

LYKOR

T he biting echo of Jassyn’s admission punched through Lykor’s teeth. “A dragon ?”

His gaze cut from the stone beast carved into the rocky arch and back to the others—Serenna, Vesryn, Fenn—all standing far too composed. Watching. Waiting for his reaction. Only Fenn looked remotely abashed, eyes downcast as he gnawed on a lip ring, toeing his boot against the pier.

So they had all known. Kept it from Aesar, even. Sidestepped them both entirely.

Realization slammed into Lykor. Every overlooked detail—these druids, their scales, their fucking wings —landed like hammerblows against his skull, each one pounding the shape of his own stupidity.

Aesar stirred at the edge of his awareness, surely poised to advise against an outburst, but Lykor ignored him. Anger wasn’t brewing—it was something worse.

Lykor homed in on Jassyn, his question a scathing demand. “You didn’t think that this was worth mentioning ? How long have you known?”

Jassyn’s hand drifted to the scar on his brow, tracing the jagged line. “Since yesterday,” he mumbled, raking his fingers through his curls before glancing away.

Lykor clenched his fist, talons biting deep into his palm. The sting only punctuated his folly—surrendering his gauntlet. For this deceiver.

Silence stretched between them, broken only by the sound of his own uneven breaths. This was the revelation they’d all sought—yet he’d been the only one left blind.

The price of isolation settled over him. He’d forged this distance, built his world upon it. But now that he stood alone at its precipice, the chasm stretched wider than he’d ever imagined. By keeping others at arm’s length, he’d only ensured they kept him out.

Protecting themselves. From him.

Unbidden, shadows coiled around Lykor’s feet, rising like the fury pounding under his skin. But beneath the instinct to destroy, to unleash emotions he didn’t know what to do with, a deeper wound festered—a bitter feeling he wanted to reject.

“We needed the rest yesterday,” Serenna said carefully, as if stepping around broken glass.

“And it’s not like Cinderax was going anywhere,” Vesryn clipped, rising to her defense.

Cinderax.

The name seared in Lykor’s mind, sparking a hesitant ember of hope. The beast could be the force to shift everything. Possibilities raced through him. A dragon’s might, buried magic waiting to wake. The Heart of Stars weighed heavily in his pocket, a reminder of its purpose.

But this victory—finding a dragon—was spoiled. And the source of the betrayal made it even worse.

Lykor’s gaze burned into Jassyn, his words clawing free before he could stop them. “You don’t trust me.” His throat cinched tight, voice scraping like gravel. “Do you?”

Lykor tensed as Jassyn reached out, those amber eyes searching his face. “I wanted to tell you last night.” Jassyn’s fingers hovered near his arm—a bridge half-built, waiting to be crossed. Or burned. “I just…”

Lykor’s attention dropped to that extended hand, the same one that had settled against his shoulder in the dark. But now Jassyn hesitated, as if the thought of touching him had suddenly become unbearable.

Instinct flared as Lykor braced for the rejection. He recoiled first, pivoting on his heel. Regret filled the space he’d abandoned, but he ground his fangs and forged his anger into steel.

Jassyn’s voice followed him. “Lykor, I—”

“Enough,” Lykor growled over his shoulder, the word edged with a finality that he forced.

He stalked past his traitorous companions, who stood around like they had all the time in the world.

His scowl deepened as he caught the druids’ impassive expressions, their cursed wings casting shadows over the ground.

Drawing to a halt beneath the great archway, Lykor pinned his glare on that slithering viper Kaedryn and asked, “Why are we waiting here when there’s a dragon to free?”

“Free?” Kaedryn’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Cinderax is imprisoned by ancient Aelfyn magic. How—”

Lykor ripped the Heart from his pocket, brandishing it in her face as the relic blazed in his knuckles. “You ransacked our supplies and didn’t realize that we had the fucking key ?”

Kaedryn blinked, the claws on her wing tips seizing. She glanced first at the other guild masters, who began murmuring amongst themselves, and then at Serenna—searching for an explanation.

Lykor scoffed. So the girl hadn’t bared all of their secrets to these lizards. Unexpected.

“We mistook your crystal for a relic akin to the Starshards,” Kaedryn said cautiously. “Our records speak of the Heart of Stars’ power…but not their form. Without starlight of our own to ignite them, they remain indistinguishable from any other gem.”

Kaedryn’s wings quivered as she extended her arm, talons reaching for the artifact. Lykor tightened his grip, yanking the Heart out of her reach.

“We will free your dragon,” he bit out, each word a barely-leashed snarl. How, he had no idea. “But I want something in return.”

Kaedryn bristled, the obsidian scales lining her cheeks catching the sun as she drew herself up. “You dare deny Cinderax his freedom?”

Lykor sneered as she towered over him. “I want assurance that your beast won’t incinerate us the moment he rouses.” He stepped closer, crowding her space. “Swear it,” he hissed. “The dragon fights for us. Your people fight for us.” The other guild masters pressed closer, but Lykor sliced them back with his gaze, his shadows rearing up. “The king’s forces are already on the hunt for the others. This war is inescapable. And you won’t be able to stand alone.”

Kaedryn tore her stare away from the Heart and gestured to Serenna. “The scalebound will serve the children of earth and starlight.” Her eyes flared, a firestorm swirling as she tilted her chin. “If this key truly frees Cinderax, he will decide for himself what follows.”

Lykor choked back his retort and gave a curt nod. If the beast was going to be temperamental, this was the best he could hope for.

Kaedryn swept a hand toward the archway, motioning them through.

Spine tingling as darkness gaped before him, Lykor lingered and stared out over the lake, unseeing. Boots scraped past him as the others and the guild masters descended into the tunnel.

Lykor’s shoulders twitched as Jassyn drew closer. His grip tightened around the Heart of Stars, but he kept his focus riveted ahead, jaw clenched so tightly his teeth creaked.

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Jassyn’s mouth parting, drawing a breath to speak. But the moment slipped away, devoured by silence, and Jassyn stepped past him without a word.

Lykor exhaled slowly, falling in behind everyone else. The sandstone path sloped downward and a damp chill seeped into his skin—a welcome reprieve from the desert sun. The tunnel constricted, a mineral tang thick in the air as he passed sputtering torches.

Lykor ruthlessly steered his thoughts to what lay below, wondering how the druids had moved a dragon under a lake—especially through a passage barely wide enough to accommodate their own wings.

Since you weren’t paying attention, Aesar drawled, resurfacing in their mindspace with his unwanted commentary. Kaedryn said her ancestors drained a lake in the Wastes to create this one. Obviously, they built a chamber first to cradle the beast beneath the water.

Lykor rolled his eyes to the ceiling, where rivulets of moisture snaked through fissures. AND WHY DID THEY THINK ENTOMBING A DRAGON WAS WISE?

It’s defensible. Aesar shrugged, but Lykor sensed his curiosity boiling over. And they can just as easily empty the lake to free it. I’ll spare you the details of their canal systems since you wouldn’t listen anyway.

Ahead, the passage abruptly opened to a vast atrium. Unexpected light spilled down, unveiling a realm suspended between water, glass, and stone. Translucent walls stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, channeling shafts of sunlight. The fractured brightness rippled across towering pillars, each carved with dragons spewing fire mid-flight.

Liquid beams of light streamed dozens of feet through the water, scattering over darting fish, their silver scales flashing like falling stars. Wispy lake plants swayed with the current, ushering in an otherworldly calm.

Lykor’s heartbeat thundered through his skin as he swept his gaze over the chamber—then stumbled.

At its center, raised upon a dais, lay an unmistakable creature.

A dragon.

Coiled in stillness, a glassy prison identical to the Heart of Stars encased Cinderax entirely. His snout rested between his claws, tail looped in tight, wings folded close—trapped in an eternal slumber.

Lykor’s pulse roared in his ears, drowning out whatever the others were saying. He stared at the dragon, the cruel reality striking like a dagger between his ribs.

Cinderax was absurdly small—no larger than a fucking cat.

Lykor blinked rapidly, willing the watery light to distort, to stretch, to twist into some trick of perspective.

But it didn’t.

This was it. Their great hope. Their chance to stand against the king.

A joke.

Before he could stop himself, a guffaw burst free and ricocheted around the sanctum—manic, breathless, and hysterical.

The druids and his companions stared at him, but Lykor barely noticed. He threw his head back, caught in the bitter irony.

“This…” He strode forward, spitting the rest of his words like venom. “ This is Cinderax?” Circling the dais, he glared down at the minuscule, crystallized beast. “You can’t be serious.”

Lykor’s gaze snapped between Kaedryn and the dragon, searching for some wisp of power, some promise of might, some fucking mistake.

Anything.

He whirled around, scrutinizing everyone in the chamber. Was this some elaborate deception that he was on the receiving end of?

But Serenna offered no snide remark. Neither Fenn nor the prince betrayed any humor with a smirk. The guild masters only shifted uncomfortably at the edge of the atrium, their faces unreadable.

“Tell me,” Lykor said, scoffing. “Were the Aelfyn afraid the mighty Cinderax might gnaw on their boots?” He flicked the dragon’s diamond-encased snout.

Kaedryn was on him in an instant. Warping to his side, she knocked his hand away. Her wings reappeared, tearing free from her back to flare wide.

“Cinderax is the Fire Warden, and he will be treated as such,” she hissed, eyes a burning storm. “He’s the last hatched of his line, but hope doesn’t end with him. Our ancestors saved a clutch of his Emberhart kin.”

Kaedryn lifted a talon, pointing toward the far side of the chamber. Lykor’s eyes followed, drawn to the glint of crystallized eggs wreathed in sunlight.

Fragile echoes of a forgotten age. Remnants of a power lost to ruin. Fossilized eggs that offered nothing against Galaeryn’s unyielding might.

Unwavering, Kaedryn continued, her words vibrating with defiance. “You will free him from his chains.”

His companions had edged closer, their silence thick with disbelief, their expressions mirroring his doubt. Lykor battled Kaedryn’s gaze, a challenge sparking. His hold on the Heart of Stars constricted, the edges biting into his palm.

He wanted to believe they had a chance to end the king’s reign. But the ember of hope he’d clung to guttered and died in this tomb of forgotten beasts.

Shaking his head, Lykor flung the relic toward Kaedryn. If they wanted to chase myths, then let them.

He was done.

He sneered over his shoulder as he stalked out of the chamber. “Go ahead. Wake your dragon .”

Lykor shoved Aesar’s unhelpful opinions away before they could materialize. He vanished into the tunnel’s gloom, intent on leaving this stars-forsaken place behind, but hurried footsteps caught up to him.

“Lykor, wait—”

The words lashed through him, snapping the frayed leash on his temper. He whirled—warping faster than thought—slamming Jassyn against the wall, an arm pinning him by the throat.

“Were you also aware that this dragon was a hatchling?” Lykor snarled. “Useless. Weak. Barely out of its shell.”

“I—I didn’t know.” Jassyn swallowed, his breath uneven. But he didn’t fight. Didn’t cower or try to shove him away.

“And are there any other revelations you’ve neglected to mention?” Lykor demanded, voice razor-sharp. “Anything else you’ve collectively decided that I’m not ready to handle?” He bared his fangs, rage scraping away all reason—even as some distant part of him knew he was only proving Jassyn right.

“I thought it would be best if we waited and did this together,” Jassyn continued quietly. “With Vesryn’s head clouded by venom and everyone shaken and exhausted from the arena… It didn’t feel like the right moment.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry.”

Lykor’s chest heaved in the silence. He didn’t want to admit that Jassyn had a point.

Jassyn’s shoulders dropped along with his voice. “It wasn’t because I don’t trust you. I do.”

The apology chipped away at Lykor’s anger, splintering it piece by piece. The truth had only been concealed for a night—barely a flicker in time. Hardly a betrayal.

Even so, the deception writhed inside him. It shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter.

And yet…

Fury continued to pulse beneath his skin, but aimless now—adrift, disarmed—especially with Jassyn looking at him like that. Steady and unflinching, his calm slicing cleaner than any blade. Lykor couldn’t tell where the anger ended and the ache began—only that both feelings belonged to him, and both were burning.

In the silence that followed, he became acutely aware of the rise and fall of Jassyn’s chest beneath his arm. The slow pull of fabric stretching over skin.

Releasing the pressure from Jassyn’s neck, Lykor lowered his hand. But instead of letting go entirely, his fingers curled into Jassyn’s tunic, knuckles grazing against the bared skin at his throat.

Jassyn’s breath hitched, but he didn’t look away.

Neither did Lykor.

Heat licked up his arm at the contact. Lykor went still. Lingering. He found he couldn’t move—didn’t want to.

His gaze traced the sharp line of Jassyn’s jaw and the planes of his cheeks before landing on the scar slashed across his brow. Lykor’s chest tightened, guilt squeezing around his ribs like a vise.

He didn’t want to hurt him. Not again.

Torchlight flickered in Jassyn’s eyes, gilding the green and gold flecks, deepening the regret that rested there.

Lykor tried to will himself to break free, to step back. But his focus only dipped lower. To the parted line of Jassyn’s lips. To the pulse fluttering at his throat.

A reckless heat seared through him, wilder than rage had ever been. More consuming. More dangerous, scrambling his thoughts.

Lykor leaned in, close enough to share breath. Close enough that a single shift would collapse the distance entirely.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He’d never done this before. Had never wanted to.

Until now.

His weight tipped forward before he realized it—a slow, inevitable draw he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t control.

Jassyn didn’t pull away. His eyes widened, breath catching, but he stayed utterly still.

Didn’t move at all.

And that was the problem.

A jolt of clarity lanced through him. Did Jassyn want this—or had he simply been conditioned not to refuse?

So much had already been stolen from him. Stripped by uncaring hands—those who’d never given him a choice.

Lykor refused to be one of them. Refused to claim something that Jassyn might not be willing to give.

The thought shattered the moment. He wrenched himself back so suddenly that Jassyn staggered forward.

Jassyn blinked, reaching to where his touch had been.

Lykor’s pulse thrashed in his skull. He wanted to pretend that it hadn’t happened. Nothing had happened.

But he could still feel it, what might have been if he hadn’t—

Jassyn exhaled a shaky breath and stepped forward. Like he always did. Always following. Always closing the distance Lykor tried to preserve.

And Lykor didn’t know if he wanted to shove him away again—to test if Jassyn would keep closing the gap.

“I know you’re disappointed, but this isn’t a waste,” Jassyn said with a soft insistence. “We still have the druids at our side. If we walk away now, we lose their alliance and their warriors. But if we can actually free Cinderax, we gain an advantage—no matter how small.” Jassyn took another step closer, nearly breaching his space. “You’re the one who brought us this far. Don’t turn away now. We need you.”

Lykor’s heartbeat stumbled. Unprepared. Unguarded against this strange gravity pulling them closer.

Jassyn’s eyes lifted through his lashes, catching Lykor’s gaze with a quiet, unwavering intensity. A flush bloomed across his cheeks, and when he spoke, it was barely more than a breath. “ I need you.”