Wings tore free on instinct as he fell. Another bolt of lightning seared past, nearly grazing his shoulder. But all thoughts fled as the drop opened. Bottomless through the clouds.
The wind struck like a blow to the chest. His wings flared as he tumbled, but caught no air. The sky spun—static roaring in his ears, air too thin to breathe.
Down blurred.
Up twisted.
Panic surged.
And for one suspended moment Jassyn didn’t know if he was falling. Or if there was no ground left to fall to.
Then a hand seized his arm. The world snapped sideways—light, motion, thought—before darkness claimed him.
He existed nowhere.
Everywhere.
Yanked into a warp.
Reappearing, Jassyn’s boots crashed onto stone. The impact jarred up his legs, rattling his knees. He staggered upright—barely—before his back slammed into a cliff wall. Pain flared through his ribs as his wings slapped against rock, grit scoring the membranes.
Lightning hunted, chasing the flare of Essence whirling around Lykor.
No place to dodge. No time to run.
“Let it go!” Jassyn gasped, voice torn ragged.
He flung his hand up, reaching for the bolt, but caught only wind and static. The current slipped from his grip, focus scattering as his breath burned.
Too late.
Even as Lykor released his power, the storm had already claimed the ledge. Clouds split wide with veins of violet, the air ringing metallic as sparks gathered in a frenzy.
Jassyn’s lungs seized as he failed to snatch the charge again. He hadn’t settled from falling. Couldn’t corral his focus. Bile crawled up his throat, every heartbeat racing as though it might be the last.
Time thinned.
The world narrowed as Lykor turned toward him and shifted. His eyes burned, pupils slicing to draconic slits. Scales rippled down his neck and arms, catching each flash of light as they darkened to obsidian. His wings flared partway, like sails without wind. The ruin of them didn’t just tear something in Jassyn’s chest—it shredded him.
Lykor surged forward, stepping between Jassyn and the sky.
Jassyn didn’t think. His wing talons were already reaching, stretching toward Lykor’s. Their claws collided and locked—seamless, instinctive. The soft click nearly vanished into the wind, but Jassyn felt it like thunder in his chest.
“Lykor—” he gasped, throat closing, the moment breaking faster than his words.
Lykor slammed their joined talons back against the stone, chest driving Jassyn hard into the cliff. His ruined wings arched forward, forming a wall around them. A shield.
The storm inhaled. The sky drew taut, breath suspended.
And then lightning struck.
CHAPTER 11
SERENNA
Serenna now understood why Cinderax had refused to join them underground.
Time slipped unmeasured beneath the earth’s depths, vanishing into the dark. The den carried no stench of damp decay, only a faint metallic whisper that prickled her skin—like the breath of something once alive, lingering long past its time.
