The midnight air of Galen Town was freezing… with sharp wind biting at the exposed skin of Sylvia's face and hands as she flew over the quiet cobblestone streets.
She didn't run like an adventurer anymore… She didn't use crude loud bursts of aura to violently propel herself forward, and she didn't rely on the heavy momentum of a frontline warrior.
She moved like a phantom… Her dark leather boots touched the edges of the tiled rooftops without making a single sound as the radiant golden aura flowing from her skin acted as a perfect frictionless barrier against the wind, carrying her forward with an elegant terrifying grace that only a high-born noble could possess.
She was Sylvia Longlon.
The intricate, glowing crest currently burning into the flesh of her back was a heavy, undeniable anchor, tying her to a brutal reality she had spent the last several months forgetting…
She landed softly in the narrow dusty alleyway behind the commercial district.
