Atlas rose above the spires of the half-broken castle, air peeling away from his skin in molten ribbons.
The wind screamed around him, folding into thunder as he broke the sky with a single beat of force.
The world blurred into colorless streaks until the summit formed beneath him, jagged stone and crumbled parapets where only ghosts of kings once stood.
Doom.
The sonic boom rippled down into the valley. Below, priests clutched their robes against the shock, warriors staggered, and even angels shielded their eyes from the blast. Beside him, Ureil trailed, her four wings snapping with violent rhythm, each stroke a desperate echo of his velocity.
Boom.
She landed a breath behind him, dust curling around her boots. The air still trembled, still carried the aftertaste of Atlas' flight—ozone sharp on the tongue, static prickling skin.
Ureil smiled faintly. Pride? Maybe admiration. She pulled her wings close, feathers shimmering with faint mana heat, and stepped beside him.
