They spent the night in a tense, watchful silence. Rhys sat in a meditative state, his senses expanded, listening to the mournful whistle of the wind outside.
He was not just resting; he was analysing. He replayed the fight with the Harriers in his mind. He had won, but it had been a close call. His enemy was adapting.
It had sent aerial units to counter their ground-based travel. What would it send next?
He thought about the entity behind the Seal. It was intelligent. It had resources. It was playing a long, patient game. He felt like a single chess piece on a vast, cosmic board, and his opponent could see his every move.
His only advantage was that his opponent did not know his true strength. It still saw him as a simple, lucky cultivator. He had to maintain that illusion for as long as possible.
Emma spent the night with her mother's book open in her lap, her face illuminated by the soft light of Rhys's Voidheart Flame.
