Thunderhead Dreadnought tore across the vast sea at breakneck speed—faster even than the Tower of Trammel had managed on their journey to the Dark Continent.
The Tower had taken almost twelve hours. Northern made it to the white borders of the Central Plains in five. Midnight still cloaked the land, but he spotted movement below.
Forces from different nations, most likely—the ones Annette and the rest had contacted. He sensed a Paragon among them too.
The air vessel's flight over the white borderlands was brief. All the people below could see was a massive drifting storm ripping across the sky at great distance. The Paragon—a dark-skinned man with a scarf coiled around his hair and neck—suspected it was more, but before he could worry about whether it posed a threat, it was gone.
Northern leaned against the reinforced railing, watching the storm surrounding the vessel as it hurtled forward at terrific speed.
He shifted, diving deep into thought. Where would he find his parents?
