He beat his wings hard, body tilting upright as he fought to hover. Each stroke shuddered through his shoulders, boots dangling above the canopy. Muscles burned, but he held—barely—and glanced toward Lykor.
Arching a brow, Lykor only waited.
Right. Fenn and Vesryn had probably clawed their way through like animals. But he and Lykor didn’t have to.
Jassyn reached for the trees, sinking into the pulse of the earth. With a whisper of intent, he coaxed the branches apart, the foliage folding back like a living gate.
They dropped through the opening and a broad bough caught them high above the forest floor. Jassyn’s boots hit moss slick with rain, and the branch dipped under his weight, pitching him forward.
Before gravity could claim him, a hand snagged his arm. Lykor released him when he steadied, as if the gesture had meant nothing at all.
Jassyn let go of the earth and the jungle sealed overhead, leaves rustling shut. Before he could locate the prince, the world around them blurred.
He flinched as a veil settled over him—mist without weight, shadows without Essence. Fenn’s cloaking, he realized, drawn tight like an invisible net around them all.
Further along the branch, he spotted Vesryn and Fenn crouched low on their heels, wings folded, attention pinned to the ground. The prince raised a finger to his lips, then pointed toward the clearing.
Jassyn followed his gaze and stilled as the scene unfolded below.
A soldier stoked a fire while another drew a blade across a whetstone. Others conversed as they stirred pots, pitched tents, and moved with a practiced ease—the rhythm of survival so ordinary it might have belonged to any camp.
As they worked, Essence shimmered around the clearing. But the hum of the earth also thrummed in Jassyn’s chest as the warriors coaxed flames higher and repelled water from gear.
From a distance, they could’ve passed for content. Obedience polished into loyalty.
As he watched, he noticed that this unfamiliar force bore no traces of Centarya or Kyansari. These soldiers were from somewhere else, though—judging by the way they wielded both Essence and earth—they were elven-blooded shamans like him.
Jassyn exhaled slowly, breath shuddering out of his lungs, unsettled by the calm. That could’ve been him down there, if fate had cleaved differently. If the realm had chained him a little longer. He could see himself among them—mending minor aches from the road, pouring tea from a kettle, casting his compliance toward someone else’s war.
Rimeclaw’s voice haunted him still. That the king’s armies weren’t bound by devotion, but by the fear of losing what they loved.
Their families.
That was the thread to fray. Theyhadto get this right.
The prince’s telepathic link coiled through Jassyn’s thoughts, a ripple through water. A heartbeat later, he sensed Fenn’s and Lykor’s minds braided into the connection.
“We counted more than fifty down there,”Vesryn said. His wings twitched behind him, the clawed tips catching on a branch above.
“More scout their perimeter,”Fenn added.
Lykor stood with arms crossed, glaring at the gathering below.“Their armor fits and their blades are capital forged. This isn’t like the half-starved human force that overran my fortress.”His jaw tightened.“This is a unit. Trained. Specialized. And it only confirms what Rimeclaw told us. Galaeryn’s forces are marching from the east in addition to those sailing from the west. If we’re not careful, Asharyn will become a cage. Especially if the dragon is forced to lead the armies straight to us.”
Vesryn frowned, whether at Lykor’s uncharacteristically long speech or the sight of his altered wings, Jassyn couldn’t tell. The prince’s gaze slid from the blue membranes to Jassyn, but he didn’t comment before asking,“Do you think the four of us can handle them? We could take someone prisoner, question them, or—”
“We’re not rushing down there,”Jassyn cut in, halting the idea before Vesryn could act on it.“According to Rimeclaw, these soldiers might be swayed to our cause. If we can help them.”
“Or they’ll follow us long enough to report back to the king,”Lykor countered, his voice flint edged in Jassyn’s mind.“We’d be fools to trust anyone whose loyalty turns at a better offer.”
Jassyn’s pulse ticked faster.“Not all loyalties are chosen,”he argued.“Maybe some of those here have no choice like Saundyl. Obedience doesn’t mean allegiance. And silence”—his gaze dropped again to the quiet campfire below—“doesn’t mean consent.”
Lykor’s lips drew tight.“We don’t have the means to offer them what they want.”
“We might,”Jassyn said.“If we learn more. It might be worth the risk to add fifty to our number. We barely have two dozen in Asharyn who’ve manifested control over the earth.”
“And none of them are prepared for war,”Lykor mumbled.
“I can go down,”Vesryn offered.“An elven face might win favor.”
