RACES
Aelfyn (ALE-fin) - The elves’ ancestors.
Elves - Ruling race, subjugated humans and elven-blooded.
Elven-blooded - Those with any amount of elf blood mixed with human blood.
Humans - Natives of the mortal shores, provide resources to Alari.
Wraith - Two groups of wraith have been speculated on: “mindless” wraith and “organized” wraith (Lykor’s).
Druids - An extinct race who perished in the Great War with the Aelfyn, not much is known, but they were suspected to be shifters
Shamans - Ancient line of humans who had access to elemental power (fire, water, earth, wind, lightning).
PLACES
Centarya (Sen-TAR-e-ah) - The elven-blooded military academy.
Alari (a-LAR-e) - Elven realm
Kyansari (KEY-an-sar-e) - Elven capital
Frostvault Keep - Lykor’s haven with the wraith, a dormant volcano thought to be an ancient druid capital.
Ranger Station - stables where the dracovae rides under Prince Vesryn are based out of, in the plains of northern Alari.
Human Realms
Southern realm - Allaenar (Al-LAE-nar) Capital - Vaelyn (Vey-LIN), Serenna’s former home
Northern realm - Nydoraen (Nye-DOR-ain)
Eastern realm - Halaema (Ha-LAE-ma)
Western realm - Dosythe (Do-SITHE)
CHAPTER 1
JASSYN
Stars, am I seriously doing this?
Jassyn stalled in front of Vesryn’s apartment. Resolve slowly leached out of his raised arm. He couldn’t bring himself to knock on the looming oak doors.
Three harrowing days had elapsed since the wraith attack. In the wake of the destruction, a somber heaviness hovered above Centarya like a gathering storm. Based on gossip scavenged from other magus, Jassyn had gleaned that the prince had finally returned to campus that morning—presumably after spending days hunting the wraith that had fled.
After arguing with himself for the past hour, Jassyn had abandoned the safety of his chambers. He’d spent the entire ascent of the Spire—all five hundred stairs—fabricating countless excuses to turn around. Somewhere in the mire of his thoughts, he knew it was a futile attempt to convince himself that he didn’t require his cousin’s aid.
It would be better to go to the prince directly, he reluctantly reasoned, and accept the consequences. He didn’t have anyone else.
Like the spiral stairs leading up the tower, Jassyn’s thoughts circled back to the root of his problems—and the reason he desperately needed help sobering up. He’d nearly lost his ability to control Essence due to Stardust. If the wraith returned and he was useless during another assault…
Surely he could manage resisting the craving until his dependency no longer held his will hostage. But his determination to abstain from the drug eroded, like water weathering stone.
If someone like Vesryn can sober up, then so can I. Before Jassyn’s birth, the prince’s wild behavior had bordered on legendary debauchery in the courts. His cousin had somehow freed himself, overcoming his own addiction to Stardust decades prior.
Jassyn shook his head, wrestling with a festering madness. Tempted to return to his quarters, he warred with the urge to consume his remaining dust.
Initiates faced expulsion for possessing the drug on campus. On more than one occasion, the prince had ordered General Elashor to escort recruits off the island to stars knew where—most likely the human’s war training camps. He could only imagine a magus like himself would face a harsher punishment. They were expected to set the example.
A zephyr of crisp air flowed through the sparse corridor, whirling Jassyn’s awareness back to Vesryn’s chambers. The furious breeze did nothing to alleviate his body’s determination to scorch him with another wave of heat. He wiped a trickle of perspiration from his brow. Undoubtedly, his entire being would continue to revolt, wearing him down until he yielded and provided it with more of that condemning drug. I still have some dust in my chambers. Just a pinch for relief—
A pulse of Essence scattered Jassyn’s thoughts. Servants scurried past him, rushing to close the arched windows with pulls of force before the thunderheads unleashed their fury above the floating island. Turning his attention back to Vesryn’s doors, Jassyn’s stomach churned alongside the brewing storm.
Why am I seeking Vesryn out as the person to help me? It would be more effective to receive aid from a child. Jassyn pivoted on the purple runner. Dodging the prince’s staff, who were now igniting globes of illumination in the empty ivory sconces, he sped back down the corridor. I can handle this on my own. I’ve already made it three days.
Before descending the stairs, something Jassyn couldn’t quite discern caught his attention outdoors. He halted by a window, focusing on the swaying willows below. Like the scattered leaves ripped away by the wind, he knew his actions were spiraling out of control.
Disappointment settled onto his shoulders, a bleak grief encompassing him like a cloak. The only person to blame was himself. His justifications for turning to the drug as an escape buried him under a mountain of guilt.
Farine Vallende purchasing one of the slots on his contracts had nearly broken him. Recalling his helplessness against the realm’s laws, binding him to couple with Elashor’s mother, bile surged in Jassyn’s throat. He miserably failed at warding off the sporadic memories. All those faceless people Farine had imposed upon him for her entertainment. I can’t pretend what she forced me to do was about preserving the elven race. Overwhelmed, he’d started obliterating his mind when summoned to her estate.
Vesryn had unexpectedly swooped in and intervened, exploiting a loophole by using his position on the council to claim exclusivity to Jassyn’s bloodline, granting him freedom from the realm instead. Despite his liberation from contractually siring children, Farine’s gluttonous hands still haunted Jassyn’s dreams. All of that is over, so why don’t I have the strength to stop indulging?
Remorse twisted Jassyn’s gut. In his stupor after Vesryn had telepathically woken him the night of the assault, the only person he’d manage to save was one of their enemies.
Jassyn still tried denying that he’d summoned a foreign power, manipulating roots to halt that warrior’s fall. He’d dared to hope that it was a hallucination, an effect of the drug. But he’d walked past the ruptured ground’s glaring reminder at the base of the Spire. Touching his throat, Jassyn traced the scabs left behind from that soldier’s gauntlet, providing more blatant evidence of the events.
