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 followingyouthrough 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. Orfamily.”
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 weshare, 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.
CHAPTER 26
SERENNA
“The last time I held the Heart, the dragon spoke of searching in ‘nature’s roots, the shade of the glade,’” Serenna said, finishing her explanation for the prince. The insight had come from what Lykor believed to be the voice of one of the chained dragons—his theory that her connection to the earth allowed her to hear it.
“So, where do we start?” Vesryn asked, scanning the towering expanse of trees surrounding the clearing. He tipped his chin toward one, its sprawling canopy stitching the sky into fractured patterns of light. “That behemoth over there?”
Serenna hummed noncommittally and cast her awareness outward, attuning herself to the jungle. She skimmed past wraith and rangers butchering their kills, over the magus meticulously arranging supplies, and around a flight of dracovae sprawled in shafts of sunlight. Each pulse of plant life thrummed through the forest, weaving among the leaves above, twisting around the roots below.
Closing her eyes, Serenna sailed deeper into the resonance. Every inhale wove a tapestry of scents, sweet blossoms mingling with woody resin. Her breath snagged as the rhythm faltered,her awareness plunging into a sudden void. The break jarred her like a missed step, a hollow where she expected a constant pulse.
Serenna’s eyes flew open, drawn to the tallest tree, looming above the others.Her heart quickened, the emptiness within the tree scraping against her senses like a dissonant chord.Of course it’s the one Vesryn pointed out.
Gnarled and ancient, its bark knotted in harsh whorls. A crown of twisted branches clawed skyward like jagged talons, pooling sharp shadows on the ground.
Dragging her teeth along her bottom lip, Serenna glanced at the prince and shrugged. “We have to start somewhere.”
Vesryn arched a brow. “You didn’t have to make a show about agreeing with me.”
Serenna rolled her eyes, knowing there was no convincing him otherwise.
They wove a path around wagons stacked high with supplies as they angled toward the far side of the clearing, the massive tree growing larger with every stride. Near the stream, hammers clanged as a group assembled a makeshift bridge. Waist-deep in the current, wraith hefted beams into place, their efforts bolstered by magus weaving Essence.
Serenna’s steps slowed as they reached the sprawling base, her breath hitching at its sheer size. The colossal trunk spanned so wide that she doubted even fifty wraith linking arms could encircle it.
She exchanged a look with the prince before reaching out, fingertips sinking into the spongy moss clinging to the bark. The void struck her immediately. The tree’s rhythm pulsed unevenly, layered with something foreign. It wasn’t quite the hollow emptiness she’d anticipated—it thrummed, alive with an undercurrent of purpose.
Something ancient stirred within, its presence pressing against her. The weight of unseen eyes lifted Serenna’s hairs, as though the tree itself was watching her.
A whisper of movement stirred the canopy, so faint she might have imagined it. Yet the leaves rustled, their motions too synchronized to be guided by the wind.
