Malik's journey to the gate was fast. Stupid fast.
Between Devil's Footsteps and Scorched Grace, he was moving quicker than anything he'd ever seen—quicker than he even thought was possible.
The only thing slowing him down was Crimson.
Every now and then, he had to stop, let him catch up.
He was fast too, but not his kind of fast.
Crimson made up for it by knowing the way, though, so he kept pace just enough to follow.
Not that there was much to slow him down anyway.
Sandworms? Please. He didn't even need to think about avoiding them—he just flew over their territories. Left nothing but a trail of heat and scorched sand in his wake.
Miles blurred past. Dozens. Hundreds. But he barely noticed.
His focus was ahead. Always ahead.
Then—finally—Crimson slowed.
And that meant one thing.
This was it.
They had arrived.
Malik exhaled as he came to a stop.
Morning had come. And damn, what a morning it was.
The city gates loomed ahead, massive, towering, built for giants.
