The sky above Delwig's outskirts burned a dim copper.
Arielle led the small party through the Verdant Verge—a woodland dozens of miles away from Delwig that had once been lush, now half-charred and silent. Every few steps, her boots crushed brittle ferns or cracked through blackened roots.
Beside her walked Lyone, alert but visibly tense, and behind them, Captain Veyne, a man built like a fortress with a single scar dragging from his jaw to his collarbone. His presence was quiet but heavy; the sort of soldier who spoke little but saw everything.
Overhead, Aquila glided low, its golden plumage catching stray beams of sunlight that pierced through the grey haze. The griffin's keen eyes swept across the ravine ahead, where faint traces of essence shimmered—like heat mirages on cold air.
"This is where the readings fade," Veyne muttered, consulting a small essence detector strapped to his forearm. "Whatever came through here didn't linger long."
