Not from the sky, but upward fromthe mountain—intermittent bolts arcing into the clouds to clash with the rest.
Jassyn felt Lykor’s gaze flick over him again, a knife skimming skin, measuring the way he braced against the drop. Their eyes caught. Heat surged up Jassyn’s spine, and he ripped his focus back to the clouds.
“That summit,” he said, pointing across the lake. “Where the lightning’s…emerging. That could somehow be the origin point.”
Lykor’s attention shifted to the storm’s pulse. A frown carved across his face as he lifted his hand and summoned a flame. Just a flicker—barely enough to light a torch—but he flung it skyward.
The storm paused.
And then clouds convulsed.
Lightning veered sideways, drawn to the fire like a predator scenting blood. Flame and light collided in a shriek of sparks, the charge devouring the blaze in a blinding rupture.
“Yesterday, lightning chased fire just like that,” Lykor said, turning fully to Jassyn. “It could be our advantage. Everyone carries Cinderax’s flame. The druids—all of us—could shield you and Serenna when you lead the shamans here. You don’t have to face the storm alone.”
Jassyn blinked, air catching in his throat. He hadn’t asked for the responsibility. But worse, he hadn’t refused it. Terror settled where pride should’ve lived—terror that others were willing to follow someone who didn’t even trust himself to fly.
But storms didn’t pause for fear. And neither could he.
They were running out of time. If Galaeryn’s forces found Skylash first, Jassyn’s people wouldn’t only be late—they would stand powerless before a chained dragon, its fury shackled to the king’s will.
Wind stung his eyes as he squinted into the distance, tracking another flash of light spiraling skyward from the summit. He could feel it now, a current tugging from deep below.
If the storm had a heart, it beat inside that mountain.
“Can we get closer to that peak?” Jassyn asked quietly, though he knew it meant crossing the threshold. “If lightning strikes close, I can redirect it.”
Calculation burned behind Lykor’s eyes as he studied the slopes, sparks discharging upward into the coiled clouds. His jaw tightened, the look he leveled on Jassyn carrying more threat than the storm.
Whatever lurked in the Maw, Jassyn knew Lykor wouldn’t let it touch him.
“If you sense anything wrong,” Lykor growled, opening a portal across the lake, “we’re gone.”
Jassyn nodded and stepped through the rift onto a narrow slab of stone, so high the clouds no longer loomed but pressed in from every side. The instant his boots scraped rock, the wind came alive, slamming into him like the mountain exhaled.
Breath hitching, he braced a hand against the cliff wall beside him, clinging to something solid against the drop gaping below. Before Jassyn steadied himself, a thrum jolted through him, tension building in the teeth of the world as the Maw stirred.
Around them, the clouds began to roil.
The storm turned its gaze as Lykor’s portal sealed shut.
Toward the flare of Essence.
Jassyn should’ve known.He reached for the charge igniting the air.
Lykor must’ve sensed it too—fire gouted from a fist as he slammed a shield around them.
Too late. The storm had already broken loose.
Clouds split with veins of violet, sparks gathering until lightning screamed down in a funnel. Jassyn caught the first bolt and Lykor redirected the next with a blast of fire, but the third came too fast. It ripped through Lykor’s shield in a blinding burst.
Another slammed into the ledge.
Stone erupted. The shockwave hurled Jassyn sideways into jagged rock. His breath tore loose as the hold he had on the elements shattered.
A crack split the ledge. The world tilted.
Feet slipping, Jassyn lost sight of Lykor. He clawed for purchase, but the cliff face peeled away, pitching him into the void.
