"…You're getting bold," she said finally, her voice soft but edged. Admiration, warning, and something else—something deeper—threaded through her tone like silk through steel.
Atlas stood, crossing to his desk. He pulled out a rolled parchment—creased and torn at the edges—and spread it over the surface. A map of Berkimhum, annotated in red ink, black charcoal, and bloodstains that had never been fully scrubbed away.
"We lack speed," he said. "The latest reports… they crossed the mountain range already. That's near impossible. They're using something."
Claire leaned in, eyes narrowing. "Something faster than drakes?"
"Much faster."
He moved to the cabinet beside the fireplace. Its lock shimmered with residual arcane glyphs. With a click and a soft hiss of releasing pressure, it opened. Inside lay a single, compact motor crystal—the core of a design the soilders found or stolen from one of the empire's war ruins days ago.
"What is that?" she asked.
