The world was still half-asleep.
Soft strands of sunlight broke over the horizon, scattering gold across the endless sea of clouds. The Kunpeng glided through them like a celestial continent — massive wings slicing through the sky with a grace that defied its size.
Most of the elves slumbered where they lay, curled beneath stray feathers or leaning against traveling packs. Exhaustion hung like a blanket over the deck of feathers.
Luca wiped the lingering fatigue from his eyes and stretched, a quiet yawn escaping. The cool morning air brushed against his skin, sending a small shiver through his still-waking body.
As he started forward, a silhouette caught his gaze.
A lone figure stood on the Kunpeng's head — dark and elegant, framed by the rising sun. Silver hair whipped wildly in the wind while obsidian skin shimmered with the first light of dawn, creating a striking silhouette of contrasts.
Sylthara.
