Page 88 of Hell's Secret Omega

When Ekko’sflight has evened out, Cyrus takes Mezor’s bow off his back and draws a white arrow from the quiver. He raises the bow to his shoulder, turning his waist the way Mezor taught him.The arrow goes where you will it, Mezor told him.

Well, I know where to will it this time.

Ahead of them is nothing but velvety black. Cyrus holds his breath and lets the arrow fly. It leaps from his bow in streak of white. Unbalanced, he nearly topples from Ekko’s back.

He grabs Ekko’s feathers tightly. “Follow the arrow!” he says over the chill wind rushing past his ears.

Ekko’s powerful wings drive them on. Cyrus keeps his gaze fixed on the arrow until his eyes water and his face goes numb from the cold, determined not to let it out of his sight. The pit falls away beneath them, and soon the shale is overtaken by the dark, tangled forest of the wilds. Flashes of light catch Cyrus’s eye below—a golden network of roots, with glimmers of new life springing up along the lines. Life that comes from Mezor’s sacrifice. A transformation overtakes Mezor’s home.

But Mezor has becomehishome. He’s not willing to sacrifice his mate, even for the good of all the realm.

The ground is eaten up by the powerful sweep of Ekko’s wings. His heartbeat syncs to their rhythm, slow and steady. Ekko follows the arrow, untiring, even as Cyrus struggles to stay awake. The sky gradually lightens, and soon a bright thread unrolls across the horizon—dawn breaking over the sea. The arrow is reduced to a glint against silvery streaks of cloud.

A nearer light rises from the forest. Cyrus grips Ekko’s feathers and straightens, straining to see. The world tree emerges from the treeline before them, reaching for the sky. Its golden crown unfurls rapidly, until it blooms to fill his vision. It’s broad and beautiful, almost a forest unto itself. Cyrus glimpses veins of bark and leaves lined like palms and tight-curled buds, all in eye-watering detail, before Ekko dives suddenly and it’s rendered into a blur of light. He clings to Ekko’s back.

The surrounding trees beckon with bare black fingers. Ekko evades them with ease, shooting toward the bare ground of the clearing. Too fast. He banks at the last second, sending Cyrus flying from his back. Cyrus rolls horns over heels through the grass with a yelp, landing flat on his back, pulse pounding. Ekko lands in the world tree silently.

He gets to his feet slowly, still half dazed by the madness of what he just did.

And what I’m about to do.

The grass itself glows beneath his feet, lighting up in welcome wherever he steps. Above, the world tree’s branches form a shelter over the clearing and the pond. His white arrow is embedded point-first in the huge stone that lurks in middle of the pond.

Cyrus makes his way to the water’s edge. The pool is clear, dark, and still. Flowers still bloom at the shoreline. It looks unchanged since Mezor brought him here. Except this time, all along the shoreline the spiderweb of glowing roots is thicker and brighter, and they stretch farther into the water.

He crouches and dips his hand in. The water is cool.

Silence meets him. For a moment, doubt rises.Did I imagine the voice?

He shakes himself. Someone spoke to him when he was last here, and in his heart he knows it was Mezor’s brother.

Cyrus strips off the bow, his boots, and his clothes, and wades into the water. The roots sting his feet at first, but the cold water soothes the sting, then numbs it. He pushes the flowers aside gently and they float free, leaving the way clear, and dives.

The murky depths rise up to meet him. He’s a strong swimmer. In no time, he reaches the rocky island.

Kalad.The stone is smooth and warm to the touch. A shiver runs through him as he strokes the grey green surface. How many times has Mezor swum out here to do this?

“Please,” Cyrus whispers.

Please. You have to help me.

He goes under.

Below the surface the water is dark with silt and runoff from the dying forest. The occasional glimmer of light from the depths call to him. He swims down, down, following the curve of the stone. Its surface seems to vibrate under his hand. The pond is deeper than it looks, and soon his lungs burn. He feels for a crack in the stone shell, looking for an opening, a sign of life. Anything. But all he sees are gold filaments all through the water. He bats them away, frustrated. Surfacing, he gulps air before diving once more.

His fingers trace the stone all the way around. When his hand sinks wrist-deep into the silt, he recoils. He’s hit the bottom.

Again, he surfaces to breathe and dives. And again. But each dive tells him the same thing. Kalad’s tomb appears impenetrable.

Dragging himself up the rock, he slumps next to the arrow. It’s sunken into the stone, a full handspan of the shaft swallowedup. There’s no crack or chip from the force of its entrance. He grips the shaft and tries to yank it free, but it’s unmoving.

Paranoid, he reaches for the bond again. It’s still there—but fainter than before. A whisper. How long does he have before it fades altogether? How long before the King finishes his dark work and snuffs out Mezor’s life—permanently?

Anger at the injustice stirs in his gut. Why should the rest of Mezor’s kin hide from the destruction of their realm while his mate sacrifices his body and soul? Doesn’t Mezor deserve peace?

He sits up.

“Wake, damn you!” He slams his fist into the rock. “I know you’re in there. Wake up! The universe brought us together so I could help him! I won’t be stopped by a chunk of rock. You owe him—youallowe him.”

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