Chapter 10
JASSYN
Jassyn stepped out of Lykor’s portal and onto a ledge deep in the Dreadspire Range. The air seethed with menace, static threading through his curls.
Beyond the precipice, peaks rippled outward, surrounding the hollow bowl of the Crackling Maw. Each cliff rose sharper and higher, stones frozen in waves, straining toward the storm’s open jaws.
When the rift winked shut, Jassyn’s gut registered the drop before his mind. Altitude clawed at him, cold fingers raking his ribs. Lightning veined the sky in silence, each strike pulsing in time with his heart.
Nausea surged, but he clenched his jaw and forced himself onward. One step. Then another toward Lykor’s next portal, as if moving faster might keep fear from catching up.
They crossed ridge after ridge, each void spilling them onto narrower stone, footing fraying beneath their boots, the air thinning until breath itself cut. Lightning drew nearer with every leap, no longer watching from above but prowling just beyond.
Out of the corner of his eye, Jassyn felt Lykor tracking the way his steps staggered. He didn’t speak or try to explain because words would’ve split open the bitter truth.
So he let silence stretch. Somehow being seen like this was worse than naming the weakness. Yet with a clarity that left no refuge, Jassyn knew that if he fell, Lykor would catch him. And the thought peeled him open in ways the drop never could.
The next rift carried them onto a ledge that sheared into emptiness. Below lay a vast lake, a mirror to the storm. Like a starless night, its dark surface swallowed light—the Blackreach, he’d heard the rangers name it.
“Is this close enough?” Lykor asked, boots grinding against stone. “We should be near the threshold.”
The threshold. That invisible edge where lightning chose to lash down, hunting from the sky. Jassyn had seen what flying too close could cost—he’d mended the scorch marks branded into Zaeryn’s dracovae.
He exhaled and nodded, arms crossing tight as if pressure alone could cage the tremor in his ribs.
Wind shrieked across the peaks as the sky fractured with lightning, every soundless flash skittering Jassyn’s pulse.
The horizon spun, but he locked his gaze on the storm, studying how the lightning coiled and writhed yet didn’t strike.
But his focus slipped sideways.
Lykor stood too close.
Close enough that pine and leather drifted through the wind, scorched cedar curling through the cold. Whatever lived between restraint and ruin sank into Jassyn’s senses, breathing against his skin.
Jassyn wrenched his attention back toward the flickering veil of storm. Steadying his palm, he extended his hand and awareness outward, and reached.
A single bolt of lightning snapped down from the clouds. In the breath between heartbeats, Jassyn caught it.
Sparks coiled through his fingers, arcing across his skin in static threads. He twisted his wrists, spooling the charge between his palms. The energy shifted before every surge. Yet something in the frenzy tugged at him wrong, a rhythm just out of reach.
“There’s a…pattern,” Jassyn said slowly, winding the charge tighter. “The lightning feels…honed. Like it’s searching for something.”
Violet light caught in Lykor’s eyes. “Like offensive magic?”
“Maybe,” Jassyn said with a nod, turning his palms outward and letting the charge go. The lightning hissed, spiraling upward as it vanished into the clouds.
His hairs lifted, a shiver tracing along his spine as the air bent with purpose. Too much purpose. As if not belonging to the storm alone, but the mountains themselves.
Scanning the range around the Blackreach, one peak rose above the rest. Taller and broader than others, its summit leveled flat, black stone flashing with every strike. Clouds funneled and churned around that single point, pressure boiling to burst.
And from that wound, the lightning bled.
Not from the sky, but upward from the 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.
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.