He opened his eyes to see Quade sitting across the small cavern, back to the wall. The missing Kayrs was huge and scarred, with darker aqua eyes than his brother and matted black hair. Burn scars covered the side of his neck, disappearing beneath the animal hide he wore.
Ivar coughed and winced as his ribs rattled. “You’re Quade.”
Quick nod. “How long have I been gone?” Quade asked.
“About a thousand years,” Ivar grunted.
Quade sighed. “That’s all?”
It probably did seem like a lot longer. “Yes.”
“Time is different.” Quade took a knife from behind his waist, grabbed the nearest rock, and started to sharpen the blade. “Igor?”
“He died in the last war,” Ivar said, the words a punch to the gut. He missed his brother every day. “I took his place with the Seven.”
Quade tilted his head but kept his gaze on the knife blade. It appeared to be made out of some sort of silvery rock.
Ivar tried to mend his ribs. “Jacer Kayrs and Zylo Kyllwood both died as well.” Three of the original Seven had passed on from this life.
Quade showed no reaction, but tension rolled through the cavern. “Ronan?” he rumbled.
“Alive. His bubble exploded, and he’s back home.” Ivar’s feet began to heal over the burns.
Quade looked up, his eyes darkening. “Alive? Home?”
“Yes,” Ivar said quietly. “The bubble burst, though. Yours is probably next, then, finally, Ulric will be set free.”
Quade set down the weapon and rubbed the ruined skin on his neck. “Almost over.”
Ivar swept his arm out. “What’s almost over? I kind of understand what Ronan did in his bubble to keep the prison world intact. But what do you do in this horrific hell?”
Quade stared at him as if the words had no meaning.
Ivar just looked back, his chest aching for this brother he’d finally met. “I can take your place.”
Quade’s eyes cleared. “No. I feed the dragon.”
“There’s a dragon?” Ivar tensed.
Quade snorted. “Figuratively. The magnetic fields of this world bind the prison world to it. Let the magnets fall…”
What the hell was he talking about? Did he even know? “There must be a ritual, just like Ronan had. Tell me what to do, and I’ll take it over.”
“You can’t. It’s too much, and it took centuries to develop.” Quade looked around. “Didn’t start like this.” He wiped at a bloody cut across his upper arm, almost absently. “But it’s gonna end like this. Soon.”
Ivar studied him, his mind snapping. “You’ll be free, Quade. Ronan survived the end of his world, and so will you. You can heal and find a life.”
Quade’s lids dropped to half-mast. “Already dead…Viking.”
Ivar’s stomach hurt. What hell the hybrid must’ve gone through. Ronan had no clue how different his brother’s prison had been from his own. Ronan’s had been calm and boring. Not so deadly. “You’re alive.”
Quade snorted. “I die every night.”
What the hell did that mean?
A gust of wind swept into the cave, followed by a scattering of salt rocks.
Quade sighed. “You go now.” He stood and moved to haul Ivar up by the arm.
