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. “Thisis 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, scrutinizingeveryonein 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 mightyCinderax 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. “Youwillfree 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 yourdragon.”
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 thisdragonwas 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 notreadyto 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.”
