Chapter 27 #2
Jassyn exhaled slowly, raking his fingers through his curls before lifting his eyes to Bhreena’s. “We can’t lose another dragon. Rimeclaw warned us that Galaeryn has already bound one deep beneath the earth. And if he claims Skylash, if he subdues three Wardens…”
Cinderax chuffed, and a low growl rumbled straight into Lykor’s skull. Kaedryn spoke next, giving voice to the dragon’s words.
“If Skylash falls,” she said for Daeryn and Bhreena, “this usurper will command sea and storm and we’ll be left fighting with fire while he drowns the world.”
Bhreena’s jaw worked, but she said nothing after Kaedryn went silent.
“We haven’t forgotten your people,” Jassyn said, steady but fierce. “We will free them. But if we don’t move toward Skylash now, we might lose the chance to strike back with her at our side.”
Bhreena’s nostrils flared, her silence stretching taut beneath Jassyn’s gaze.
Lykor ground his fangs. He knew how he’d handle this kind of insolence.
Strike with shadow or his fist. Crush the argument before it festered.
Make any tongue too bold regret it ever flapped.
If Bhreena had a problem, he’d dump her back into the Wastes.
Let her freeze or starve. He didn’t care which.
“This is Jassyn’s fight,” Aesar murmured off to his side.
So Lykor bit his tongue. Watched Jassyn sit there, so scorching calm and unflinching. Commanding the tent without magic or threats. And stars help him, the composure of it scraped against Lykor’s pride.
Finally, the fight dimmed in Bhreena’s eyes and she sank back onto her cushion.
“If we tie ourselves to your cause,” Daeryn said at last, severing the silence, “if we join you and bleed to find Skylash, I’ll want more for my people than a place behind yours.” He studied the guildmasters, their folded wings. “We could use your druid gifts to fight.”
“Prove you are with us in this war first,” Kaedryn relayed as Cinderax’s eyes flared beside her. “Then Cinderax will judge who is worthy of his flame.”
Bhreena’s lips thinned, but Kaedryn spoke again before she could protest.
“Even if we free Skylash,” she said, “Cinderax warns us not to expect gratitude. Stormstrikes are as volatile as their lightning. He can’t predict what she’ll do.”
Lykor exhaled through his teeth as the risks mounted, one upon the next. “We can’t delay any longer,” he said. “We organize our forces now. Fly to the Maw with Serenna and Jassyn. Start the search at dawn.”
Across from him, Bhreena sniffed, her gaze settling too long on Jassyn and Serenna. Lykor caught the calculation in her eyes. While Daeryn had bargained for his people’s place, Bhreena wanted a seat—like them—at the heart of it.
Lykor almost admired the gall.
Almost.
Kaedryn’s wings quivered as her shoulders drew taut. “If we’re to stand together, we cannot face the future divided. There must be one to lead us—the First Keeper of the Ember Accord. One flame to carry the will of all. A single voice to bind the factions.”
Her gaze swept the gathered leaders, the illusion map still pulsing with lightning around the Maw, before settling on Serenna. “It should be one of the children of earth and starlight—someone who’s earned a place in every circle here. One whose name is already woven through every fire.”
Lykor sensed the refusal before Serenna even moved. He saw understanding flicker in her eyes, but she turned from it.
“If anyone bridges every faction, it’s Jassyn,” Serenna said, angling to face him.
Jassyn’s scar drew tight across his brow as he frowned, a single shake of his head denying it, but she went on.
“He’s lived at the crossroads between elves and mortals and is one of the few who carries Essence, earth, and the druid gift.”
Kaedryn exchanged a glance with Cinderax before speaking again, her voice carrying the weight of a verdict carved in stone. “The scalebound will follow if every leader here agrees he should bear the flame.”
Jassyn’s reaction nearly made Lykor flinch. The way he went still. The faint catch of breath that sounded like the first spark before everything burned.
“The rangers and magus will stand behind him,” Vesryn promised without hesitation. “Jassyn held the line with us—steadied me more than once.”
Jassyn shook his head again, more firmly now, as if the motion alone could keep the fire from spreading. “I’m not—” His voice cracked, eyes darting around the circle, searching for a way out. “I’m not even a ranger.”
“You fought beside us when the capital overran the stables,” Zaeryn countered. “You took Elashor down and are the reason we made it out. And before that, you spent weeks tending the wraith we pulled from the wilds—erasing the king’s coercion on their minds.”
Every muscle in Lykor braced when she didn’t look away from Jassyn. Not once.
This was how it began. The reverence. The expectation. The moment a name became a symbol.
They would turn Jassyn into what they needed to believe in. And if they made him the face of this alliance, it wouldn’t be power they handed him. It would be sacrifice. Marking him as a target, a beacon blazing from every side.
Jassyn didn’t need to be sanctified. He needed the world to stop breaking him open just to see what he’d give next.
But no one said any of that. Lykor’s jaw ached from holding back the words, dread uncoiling beneath his ribs.
All heads turned to Daeryn when he spoke. “My company would be at ease following one of our own.”
Color rose in Jassyn’s cheeks and the air itself seemed to lean toward him.
“Poetic, isn’t it?” Aesar’s voice slid in Lykor’s thoughts like a blade oiled in irony. “They raise up the one who’s borne every shackle of the realm.”
“IT’S A FUCKING SENTENCE DRESSED IN CEREMONY,” Lykor growled. “THE GREATEST SHACKLE OF ALL.”
Jassyn turned toward Lykor—desperate and searching—like a pleading look alone might keep the decision from becoming final. As if Lykor were the last one who could smother the fire before it settled on his brow like a crown.
“I don’t have ties to the wraith,” Jassyn said, the words tumbling now.
Breath punched from Lykor’s chest, a collapse hollowing him from the inside out. What gutted him was that Jassyn still didn’t see it. That Lykor was already his to command.
Lykor felt the weight of every gaze, the verdict balanced on his word. He shut his eyes, wishing darkness could delay the moment. But it was too late. Jassyn was the best choice.
All he could do now was try to shield him from the burn.
When Lykor opened his eyes, he didn’t look at the others, only at Jassyn. He hated himself when he saw the fear flickering in the amber, the fragile hope that this might still end differently. That Lykor would step in and stop it.
He’d never wanted to follow anyone before. But he did now. Not because Jassyn had asked, but because every fool in this circle had just placed the burden of leadership in his hands as if it wouldn’t scorch him.
“You have the wraith,” Lykor said at last. Unraveling. Surrendering. His voice broke on the last truth he had left to give. “You have me.”