The wind had changed.
It wasn't just colder now, it was heavier. Like breathing through ash.
Ashwing's wings beat slow and steady above the clouds. Lindarion sat along his back, hood drawn, cloak stiff from salt and sea spray. The world behind them was only a line now, a memory of green fading into sky.
He didn't know how long they'd flown.
Days blurred. Nights even more so.
There were no stars here anymore. Just thick gray hanging overhead like an old breath no one had exhaled.
Even the ocean had turned black.
Not dark.
Black.
It churned below in silence, no gulls, no sky-fish, not even the distant hum of mana-rich reefs.
Nothing lived here.
And now… neither of them spoke.
'This place is wrong.'
He didn't need to say it aloud. Ashwing felt it too.
They hadn't landed in nearly two days. There was no land to land on. Just wind. Endless, churning wind and clouds that didn't move unless they forced their way through.
Then, finally—
"Land," Ashwing murmured.