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 moltenstorm. 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 senseswere 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 washisturn 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.
