A ripple of unease moved through the druids, their eyes darting to Lykor’s shadows. Waging a silent war of wills, Jassyn swallowed the words clawing up his throat. That he wanted Lykor on his side rather than crushed beneath a command he didn’t deserve.
Lykor’s jaw locked before he tore his gaze away and stepped back, the motion steeped in resentment rather than surrender.
The druids hurried past, lowering the unconscious magus onto the gravel.
“We’ll make room in Asharyn,” Jassyn said through gritted teeth as he began healing. “Others deserve the same chance of freedom that we gave Daeryn’s people.”
Lykor didn’t answer. But he moved closer, a dark pillar at Jassyn’s side, wings twitching as he glared up at Skylash hovering. Shadows continued to pour around him in restless currents, agitated enough that Jassyn felt the silent disapproval.
Still, Lykor didn’t move when the druids lifted the healed magus into a waiting portal and vanished.
Jassyn exhaled, an ache building behind his eyes. The world flickered at the edges. He swayed once, caught himself, and forced his attention toward the next broken warrior before him.
A boy. Or near enough. Limbs still too long for his body. Jaw shadowed with the scattering of a beard rather than the growthof one. More human than elf, but still in Kyansari armor, blood trickling down the side of his face.
Too young for war. Too young to have chosen any of this.
Wet gravel bit into Jassyn’s knees. His palms tingled with the beginning of numbness as a healing lattice unfurled, crimson light trembling across scorched armor. No mortal wound that he could sense, just a blow to the head that had stolen the boy’s consciousness.
The boy’s breath rattled as Jassyn eased the swelling from his skull. With a sudden shocked drag of air, his eyes snapped open and locked onto Jassyn.
For a flash, Jassyn saw himself at that age, innocent and terrified, before panic devoured the boy’s gaze. He bolted upright. Eyes wild, shadows leapt around him—raw panic, no skill behind it.
“Wait—” Jassyn barely managed. Raising his hands, a shield spread between his fingers.
The boy’s rending never reached him.
A concussive pressure split the air. Lykor’s shadows whipped forward faster than the lightning cracking above.
For one horrifying instant, there was a face full of fear in front of Jassyn as his shield snapped into place.
Then there wasn’t.
The boy didn’t fall so much as detonate. Blood and bone slammed against the ward with a wet, sickening sound, crimson smearing across the violet light. The rest of the gore slapped the gravel.
Jassyn choked on a strangled gasp. His shield’s recoil shuddered up his arms, the space before him violently devoid of life.
He forced himself to look up.
Lykor stood over him, shadows rolling in dark waves. His gaze remained fixed on the spot where the threat had been, not on what was left of the boy he’d erased.
No hesitation. No apology. Nothing at all.
Disbelief hit Jassyn first in a hollow, gutting blow before fury followed.
His ward shattered as he lurched to his feet so fast the world tilted. His heartbeat didn’t know where to go—up, down, anywhere but the cage of his ribs. Lykor grabbed his arm—to steady or restrain, Jassyn couldn’t tell—but he tore free, pulse a whirlwind hammering against his throat.
A growl twisted behind Jassyn’s teeth as heat flared in his palms. Reckless and rising, his beastblood surged, ravenous for retaliation instead of reason. He barely forced it back, locking the instinct down before fire could spill from his fists.
“I was healing him!” The words ripped out, copper stinging the back of his tongue.
Lykor didn’t even blink. “He reached for power.”
Indifferent. Immovable. As if that alone settled the matter.
“That doesn’t mean he deserved to die!”
Jassyn’s shout cracked across the shore, sharp enough that the nearest druid flinched. His hands still trembled, the image of the boy—first a face, then a burst of red—seared into his mind.
