“Lykor!” Jassyn’s voice cracked as he called out, panic hooking a noose around his throat as he scrambled to Lykor’s side.
“I’m fine,” Lykor gritted through clenched teeth, swaying as he sat upright.
But the black-red blood pouring through his fingertips told a different story. With an almost feral motion, he ripped the icy fragment free and hurled it aside.
“Fine?”Jassyn’s voice pitched higher, skepticism biting into his words as Lykor clamped a hand over his gushing wound. “That icicle was practically a harpoon.”
Scraping the dregs of magic from his Well, Jassyn reached out, ribbons of mending light springing around his palm.
“I said I’m fine,” Lykor snarled, his glare flaring hot, his growl stopping Jassyn cold.
Frustration sliced through his exhaustion, and Jassyn shot back, “Then by all means, let me know when you’ve had your fill of bleeding out.”
The silence hung between them, brittle as the frosty air. Jassyn pursed his lips as Lykor’s erratic pulse spilled his blood in the fading light, each beat steadily draining him of life.
His hands itched to shake sense into Lykor, to snap him free of this needless defiance. Though he doubted it would do any good to try.
Instead, Jassyn exhaled warmth into his numb fingers and folded his legs beneath him, forcing the irritation down. If hecouldn’t do anything about Lykor’s pride, he could at least shield them from the storm.
He reached for the familiar hum of earth locked within the snow. The icy flakes stirred in response, swirling into a vortex under his control. Directing the fine powder with his focus, Jassyn pressed it tighter, weaving it into compact layers.
Slowly, a dome took shape, walls rising to wrap around them. He left a narrow entryway, just wide enough to slip through, before sealing the rest shut.
Blood drenched the snow around Lykor, his stubbornness clearly knowing no bounds. His labored breathing filled the space as the wind outside muted to a muffled hum.
Jassyn ground his molars but ignored him.
Sacrificing a faint spark of Essence, he conjured an orb of illumination, its soft glow reflecting against the frosty walls. He risked a hesitant glance toward Lykor, his pulse stuttering when he realized Lykor was already watching him, that unreadable gaze burning steady like the core of a smoldering star.
“We can portal back,” Lykor growled around a shallow breath. “But I’ll need more Essence.”
Jassyn swallowed, gauging his depleted reserves before admitting, “I don’t have enough for that.” Lykor’s eyes ignited, but he rushed on. “Not until the storm passes and I can regenerate. But I have enough magic to mend you.”
Clearly intent on brooding, Lykor didn’t respond.
“Would you truly rather bleed out than accept my help?” Jassyn bit out.
The muscles feathered in Lykor’s cheek as his jaw worked silently. “I don’t…” He shifted, his leathers creaking before he finally muttered, “I don’t tolerate magic touching me.”
The admission struck Jassyn like a hammer to the chest, driving a weight into him that he didn’t want to acknowledge.I should’ve known.
Their gazes locked, Lykor’s eyes simmering with challenge, daring him to mock what he couldn’t change.
Jassyn’s hands curled into fists on his knees. He understood. Maybe not entirely, but enough. Avoiding what cut too deep—what threatened to reopen old wounds—was a pain he knew far too well.
“I’m sorry,” Jassyn whispered. He assessed Lykor without his power, reading the blue tinge creeping across his lips, the tremor settling into his limbs. “You’re losing too much blood. I need to do something for you now before it’s too late.”
Heartbeats ticked by, each one tightening the band around Jassyn’s ribs.
At last, Lykor’s resistance cracked. He sighed begrudgingly through his teeth. “Fine,” he hissed, the word landing like a defeat, as though Jassyn had wrestled his surrender by force.
Movements stiff and disjointed, Lykor slipped his cloak from his shoulders in halting motions. Unwilling to sabotage this uneasy truce, Jassyn remained silent, not daring to offer any help—or point out that there was no need for Lykor to expose the wound.
Fingers clumsy, gauntlet catching at every buckle, Lykor battled with the straps of his armor. When he peeled away the blood-soaked tunic underneath to bare his chest, he gave a curt nod. Not acceptance, but a command to proceed.
Exhaling slowly, Jassyn extended his hand, streamers of Essence unfurling from his fingertips. The magic braided together before flowing into Lykor’s flesh, weaving broken vessels back together.
Though his breath came rough and heavy, Lykor remained unnervingly still while Jassyn swiftly mended him.
