Chapter 39
Above the boundless, majestic plains of Vados stretched an endless sea of golden grass swaying under a vast, cloudless sky. Six wyverns glided in loose formation, their powerful wingbeats slicing through the warm updrafts.
The wind rushed steadily past, carrying the sharp, clean scent of sun-parched grass blended with the faint, mineral tang of distant earth.
Dax stood balanced on Cain's broad, armored back, boots planted firmly against shifting scales.
His long white hair danced and streamed behind him in graceful, untamed waves. Hands clasped loosely behind his back, he turned slowly to face his squad. He studied them one by one.
Panic was written plainly across every face: eyes wide and glassy with unease, knuckles bone-white around leather reins, breaths coming in short, shallow pulls.
Even the wyverns beneath them sensed it—their wingbeats grew hesitant, tails flicking nervously.
"Do you know why we're here today?"
